CHELSEA VOWEL, MOLLY SWAIN, AND SOME DALEKS AT COMICCON | Photo courtesy Métis in Space

Métis in Space is a hilariously smart take down of Indigenous stereotypes in popular science-fiction

LAST SUMMER, friends Molly Swain and Chelsea Vowel were having a rough time, and looking for an excuse to spend more time together. Swain and Vowel, who are both Métis and live in Montreal, came up with a solution to fix their woes: create a podcast where they could “nerd out,” drink red wine, and talk about science fiction.

Swain and Vowel created Métis in Space, a bi-weekly podcast that reviews and critiques movies and television featuring Indigenous tropes and themes. It took the friends three days to come up with the podcast, record their first episode, and upload it to SoundCloud.

“When Molly and I hang out, we’re hilarious. I thought that the rest of the world should hear that,” says Vowel. “We expected our entire audience to be our moms, and then our moms were not interested.”

Indian and Cowboy, an independent network that creates, produces, and publishes Indigenous media projects across multiple platforms, hosts Métis in Space. Swain says the network is a “fabulous, fabulous idea” in how it allows Indigenous people to build relationships and communicate with each other in new ways.

With episodes gaining thousands of listens on Indian and Cowboy, SoundCloud, and iTunes, Métis in Space frankly, and often hilariously, analyzes shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The X-Files, and Supernatural, picking out common Indigenous representations that surface in mainstream pop culture. Vowel, who has been an avid fan of sci-fi since she was young, says she knew the tropes had always been there.

Recording Métis in Space, however, forces the friends to actively look for stereotypes. They’ve found that in science fiction, Indigenous people are often associated with mystic flutes and drum music, or the ability to turn into an animal.

Métis in Space recognizes that sci-fi creators are predominantly white men, who “explore concepts and anxieties related to colonialism in order to reassure themselves,” Swain says. Vowel adds she can’t “unsee” a pattern in science fiction that is often representative of colonial fears: the storylines often feature Indigenous people and societies who are “wiped out” or about to be erased.

“People don’t expect Indigenous people to be interested in the future,” Swain says. “That’s partially because nobody expects Indigenous people to have a future, which is what colonialism is.”

According to the hosts, Métis in Space listeners cite the “Ask a môniyâw (white man)” segment as their favourite part of the podcast, in which Swain and Vowel ask a stereotypical “white man” a question. Vowel’s husband, to his chagrin, participates in the segment by playing the môniyâw. After uploading episodes to SoundCloud, Métis in Space started receiving earnest requests from several men who wanted to be the guest môniyâw.

Métis in Space also actively confronts sci-fi creators. In Episode 5, they recorded a live-report podcast from the 2014 Montreal Comiccon. Knowing that Indigenous people are so often a part of science fiction, Swain and Vowel expected guests at the pop-culture fan convention to have some knowledge of Indigenous history, but they were surprised to find that wasn’t case. On top of that, there were vendors selling products with racist or inaccurate portrayals of Indigenous people.

“They had no consciousness. It was completely divorced from the fact that there are real Indigenous people out there,” Swain says. “It wasn’t only that we were confronting them about their lack of knowledge, but I think to a certain extent, we were almost confronting them with our existence.”

Despite the problems in science fiction, Swain and Vowel are still huge fans of the genre. For the second season, the hosts plan to uncover new ground by exploring what an Indigenous future look like 300 years from now.

“I think science fiction is almost inherently Indigenous because it is so much about world building and future building and telling stories in a way that points to where we want to go, or explores questions of, if this were to happen, how would we deal with it?” Swain says. “We’re going to reclaim ourselves from science fiction in order to create science fiction.”

Unfortunately, far too many horror movies seem to revisit the U.S. slave era or North American colonization—a.k.a. the genocide of Indigenous peoples. Though a historical context in a horror film can be beneficial—and intelligent—in a lot of ways, I find these two backdrops lazy at best and racist at worst.

Amityville Horror is one of the most recognized horror movies that uses the suffering of Indigenous people as an origin story for its hauntings. The house is haunted, apparently, because it was built on stolen land—more specifically an “Indian burial ground.” The term alone is problematic, relying on the mistake of the original ignorant dudebro Christopher Columbus—yes, let’s name a people based on someone’s inability to read a map! Worse, though, is the common storyline: “We’re white people on stolen land, but please don’t haunt us because that’s so mean!” When you watch these movies, you don’t like these spirits tormenting the protagonists, usually a wholesome American family. In one of the Amityville films (there are a lot, by the way), the story behind the haunting is that a white man used the house to torture Indigenous peoples. So, therefore, a negative presence manifested.

But here’s the thing, films like Amityville Horror or The Haunting in Connecticut 2: Ghosts of Georgia, which is based around the ghosts of the underground railroad from America’s slavery era, forget a key thing: you don’t have to add ghosts or ghouls to make slavery or colonization scary. They already are scary. They are the most terrifying parts of our history, especially because their remnants are still ever present today via the entrenched systemic inequality in our society and government institutions.

By adding monsters and demonic presences into the mix, we trivialize the injustices of the past and assert the misconception that it’s just that, the past. The ghosts of slavery and colonization are not rattling cupboards and ghouls in the basement. We have real horrors of inequality today: police brutality (think of what’s happening in Ferguson); racialized poverty; the legacy of residential schools; discrimination within social services, and on and on.

Take Skeleton Key —the ghosts are a malevolent black couple, who, to avoid being lynched, used voodoo to swap their spirits with two white children. So when the lynching occurs, it’s still happening to black bodies, only two white children are inside;  the “evil” black couple gets away with it. I’m astonished  this movie was even produced. The lynching of black people is, needless to say, a horrific and disgusting practice; these were innocent people brutalized by white supremacist mobs. Who wouldn’t want to escape that? The entire film also pushes the stereotype of the African voodoo queen who uses black magic to inflict terror upon others. These are exactly the kind of stereotypes that contribute to the dehumanization of black people, Indigenous people, and other racialized folks, and therefore act as justifications to the disproportionate violence they face in their lives.

It reminds me of an episode from Buffy The Vampire Slayer where spirits of Indigenous men rise from the grave and begin attacking Buffy and her friends. And as you watch this episode, you cheer for Buffy, Xander, and Willow to save the day and vanquish the evil spirits, without realizing that these are the spirits of people who had their land stolen, their people murdered, and who underwent forcible assimilation. So who’s really the bad guy here?

Next week I look at heteronormativity and horror. Where all the gay people in scary movies?

Because I enjoy frustration and really bad customer service, I called Rogers. They informed me they could fix it, but not for six days. Six days! But, I was missing Gossip Girl! Panic set in. I worried about what kind of trouble the Real Housewives would get into without me. I imagined the anxiety caused by  being the only person on Twitter on a Sunday night not in on the Mad Men jokes or snark about Girls. What if some racial diversity suddenly showed up on Girls and I missed it? What about the dreaded plot spoilers? Rogers didn’t care.

I curled up on my living room floor and threw the best only-child in-a-world-that-is-unfair-woe-is-me- temper tantrum I could muster. I sulked and imagined my life without TV. Would I have to read books? Enjoy nature? Get a hobby? Interact with humanity? Screw that.

My life wasn’t always this way. There was a time when I often chose not to join a regularly scheduled program already in progress. As an avid consumer of pop culture, I sometimes find myself exhausted and overcome with the need to disengage. This has resulted in me avoiding: competitive cake baking shows, Brangelina, Glee, people trying to make Channing Tatum happen for me, and anything to do with the Hunger Games. I also refuse to make macaroons the new cupcake and, no, I haven’t seen the new Avengers movie. Leave me alone!

But when the fatigue really sets in and this pop culture junkie needs rehab, I often take my frustration out on my television. It’s not that I have high viewing standards. Not at all. I’ll watch and hate watch—sadly I’ve kept up with the Kardashians more than I would like to admit—pretty much anything. Except televised talent competitions. I have never watched an episode of American Idol. The terrifying combination of Ryan Seacrest, people breaking into song, and live studio audiences is too much for me.

But Lost was Seacrest free and I still managed to avoid it until season two. I knew it was about an island and a plane crash, but that was about it. Mad Men suffered the same fate. I felt like a feminist fraud when a friend and I were discussing pop culture heroines and Buffy made the list. I had to confess I’d never seen an episode. Battlestar Galactica. Whatever. Space sucks.

Eventually, I come around though. Resistance is futile. I finally started watching Lost and managed to annoy my friends—who were wondering why they were stuck in 2005 all of a sudden—with incessant questions about the hatch and the polar bears. I recently watched the first two seasons of Buffy and wish I hadn’t come late to her vampire slaying party. I now host Mad Men viewings on Sunday nights. No themed cocktails though. I’m far too lazy for that.

When faced with pop culture overload we sometimes just need to regain control and consume things on our own terms. I’ll care about Don Draper when I’m good and ready, thank you very much. It’s not just the watching of the TV. It’s the TV-related tweets. It’s the endless online recaps and media analysis. I had reached my saturation point with Girls before I even started watching it. It’s the friends who make you feel like a total loser if you’re not watching Game of Thrones. I am not watching Game of Thrones, by the way.

While laying on my floor post-Rogers temper tantrum I considered becoming one of those people who doesn’t watch TV. Those smug people I avoid at parties cause they think they’re better than me. You read The Economist instead of watching Jersey Shore. Hooray for you, here’s a smarty pants medal!

Lucky for me I didn’t have to ponder this long cause my cable ended up returning after four hours. Turns out it was just a service problem in my area. I did miss Chuck Bass that night, but made it in time for Shameless. It’s a great show. You should totally watch it.

**Yes, I realize this is a very first world problem. I also realize I could watch these shows online, but really that’s not my preferred method of TV delivery.

Lisa Whittington-Hill is the publisher of This Magazine. Her blog on pop culture will appear every second Tuesday.

Thankfully, things have progressed and young (and not-so-young) girls now have a whole new breed of strong, smart subversive female fighters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer to Lara Croft, Tomb Raider.

Girls Who Bite Back: Witches, Mutants, Slayers and Freaks (Sumach Press) analyzes these new pop culture superheroines and their popularity, problems and, at times, conflicting messages. Through essays, analysis, fiction, art and comics, this insightful, entertaining and empowering anthology explores the evolution of the female superhero from early characters like The Fantastic Four’s Invisible Woman to today’s fictional fighters like Xena, Warrior Princess.

Along the way, contributors, including editor Emily Pohl-Weary, explore the roles of women as both comic characters and creators, challenging the idea that all -superheroines need be skinny, young, white, heterosexual and able-bodied. Contributors dissect old female superheroes, invent new ones and teach us about the superhero lurking in all of us.

There’s Candra K. Gill’s excellent essay “’Cuz the Black Chick Always Gets It First,” exploring issues of race and diversity in Buffy. Halli Villegas introduces us to Jane Bond, Catherine Stinson takes on her childhood hero Little Orphan Annie, Lisa Rundle slays so-called feminist superheroes on the big screen and Esther Vincent seeks out the elusive female action hero to add to her collection.

And just in case you thought it was easier to leap tall buildings in a single bound than bridge the gap between average everyday gal and superhero, there are enough reminders in this anthology (check out Rose Bianchini’s story “Everyday Superhero”) that it’s the little things we do daily that grant us superpowers. Whether it’s sexism, ageism or depression, we all slay vampires and monsters each day (in whatever form they might take). And if you get hungry from a life of fighting crime there’s even an adventure comic complete with a spring roll recipe. — Lisa Whittington-Hill

LD: Mayor Louis Taylor and the Rise of Vancouver By Daniel Francis (Arsenal Pulp Press)

On the strength of his reputation as “an ordinary man representing ordinary folk,” Louis D. Taylor was elected mayor of Vancouver eight times between 1910 and 1934. But his life was closer to extraordinary: he was, at various times, wanted by the Chicago police, owner of the tallest building in the British Empire and a starving Klondike prospector. As mayor he was ahead of his time, encouraging women’s suffrage and an eight-hour workday, but he was also thoroughly of his time, declaring the need to “preserve British Columbia for the white people.” As a result, LD is both lest-we-forget history and celebration of an unsung visionary, made eminently readable by Francis’s graceful style. —Adam Lewis Schroeder

Borders Matter: Homeland Security and the Search for North America By Daniel Drache (Fernwood Publishing)

The title distills the essence of Drache. The early Canadian nationalist, critic of free trade, eminent globetrotting political economist and, once upon a time, editor and writer for This Magazine, powerfully demonstrates that borders never ceased to matter, free trade agreements notwithstanding, and are now all too much in vogue in all the wrong ways since 9/11. Goods—and so-called intelligence, mostly false—move too easily, while people, particularly those in need of a safe haven, face increasing obstacles. This book is an essential background guide to following the Maher Arar inquiry, arguably one of the most revealing political happenings in Canada in recent history. —Mel Watkins

Catch and Release: Trout Fishing and the Meaning of Life By Mark Kingwell (Viking Canada)

Perhaps his best book, Catch and Release is a memoir of sorts, built around a fishing trip to Kelowna, British Columbia that Kingwell took a few years ago with his father and two brothers. The trip begins with Mark the Skeptic declaring that “I will not fish,” and it ends a few days later with the philosopher soundly converted to the Brotherhood of the Angle. Along the way, Kingwell uses the intersection of writing, fishing and philosophy to work out familiar philosophical problems about the relationship between thought and action. Ultimately, we are left with a sort of Zen koan as written by Izaak Walton:

Q. What is the meaning of life?

A. Let’s go fishing! —Andrew Potter