Introduction: Oral History and Education: Hopes for Addressing Redress and Reconciliation

Oral history is about learning from the past. It is, as George Dei (2010) writes, “the oldest form of historiography” (2). The centrality of oral history to human cultures rests with Indigenous story practices.¹ Social reformers and journalists by the nineteenth century recorded the oral histories of immigrant and working-class settlers to expose oppression. During the 1960s and 1970s, academics turned to oral history methods to disrupt elite histories and focus historical accounts on the lived experiences of marginalized groups (Llewellyn et al. 2015). A definition of oral history and its purposes are contextual and continuously evolving. For the purposes of this collection, we offer a broad definition, which includes oral tradition, testimony, song, digital storytelling, and much more. Among its pedagogical purposes, oral history carries critical knowledge from one generation to the next, tells creation stories for communities and nations, provides markers of identity for families and groups, and records and archives eyewitness testimony and lived experiences. What most oral historians agree upon is that it is a “powerful tool to engage people in the discovery and making of history” (Llewellyn et al. 2015, 3). For this reason, oral history plays a crucial role in global movements for redress and reconciliation of segregation, apartheid, forced migration, genocide, and other human rights abuses. It is with such movements in mind that this collection seeks to address oral history as a form of education for redress and reconciliation.

Oral history is central to justice movements because of its potential to challenge closed narratives of the past told from the perspective of the most powerful and to open space for shared narratives of a contested past (Llewellyn and Cook 2017). Oral history democratizes history when there is a shared authority—collaborative relationships and collective decision making for interpreting life stories of the past (Frisch 1990; High et al. 2009). This refers not only to the co-creation of stories, but also to a process of listening that requires an individual to bear responsibility for stories they hear. Oral history, as praxis, is also a path to consciousness raising. Learning from the lived experiences of the past is relational and demands people “see the Other in full human moral complexity” (Duckworth 2014, 110). Michalinos Zembylas

(2015), writing about peace education in Cyprus, contends that oral history “creates openings for different affective relations—such as empathy, humility, and compassion” to advance reconciliation (42-43).” In short, oral history can be part of the development of a people’s historical consciousness towards right relations. Historical consciousness refers to how the “past is interpreted for the sake of understanding the present and anticipating the future” (Riisen 2012, quoted in Clark and Peck 2018, 2).⁵ It is how people, individually and collectively, make sense and use the past. It is the capacity to recognize, as Paul Ricoeur (1981) writes, “the fundamental and radical fact that we make history, that we are immersed in history, that we are historical beings” (274, quoted in Clark and Peck 2018, 2). As Cherokee scholar Thomas King (2003) eloquently reminds, while we make history, it is stories that make us: “The truth about stories is, that’s all we are” (2).

Redress and reconciliation are rooted in hard truths of our storied pasts and how we collectively use that history to re-story a just future. That requires peoples and nations to work through difficult knowledge. Drawing upon the scholarship ofDeborah Britzman (1998, 2000), difficult knowledge refers to the challenge of teaching and learning from representations of social trauma, including histories rooted in suffering and oppression (Zembylas 2018, 189—193).⁴ Internationally, government commissions, the judicial system, para-public institutions, and non-governmental organizations are engaged with oral histories as they attempt to redress historical harms. In Canada, thousands of survivors of the Indian Residential School Systems have shared their oral histories with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC). Their testimony was the foundation for the Commission’s Final Report (2015), which issued 94 Calls to Action for the nation to reconcile with its colonial past and present. Out of the United States, Voice of Witness⁵ is a non-profit organization whose mission is to amplify the voices of the unheard in human rights crises. This organization’s projects address topics such as the occupation of Palestine, wrongfully convicted Americans, and youth migrants from Central America. They offer training and resources to a variety of professionals, from journalists to medical doctors, asserting the transformative power of learning from firsthand accounts of injustice. These are only two examples among many that illustrate how oral history is increasingly being taken up as a public pedagogy— learning through informal and collective means.

Likewise, oral history is being taken up as a school-based pedagogy for teachers and students to learn about the past. In Argentina, Laura Benadiba coordinates the international student-led Oral History Congress and led the ArCa project (2012) in which high school students gathered oral histories about the impact of dictatorship on everyday life. Alan McCully (2018) has created a project for school curriculum in Northern Ireland, entitled Troubling Tales, in which students create oral histories about their community’s past political violence based on nationalist and sectarian beliefs. The Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling at Concordia University in

Montreal, Canada, has produced curricular units for teachers and students to help them understand the life stories of survivors of war, genocide, and other human rights violations (e.g., Tutsi, Haitian, and Holocaust; Low and Sonntag 2015).⁶ Educators around the world are equipping students with digital devices to record the lives of people in their communities and drawing upon existing oral history sources to understand the legacy of injustices. This turn to oral history in schools is why we recently published Oral History and Education: Theories, Dilemmas, and Practices (Llewellyn and Ng-A-Fook 2017). That book asks if and how oral history enables students to democratize history, provides a lens for understanding nation-states’ development, and supports historical thinking skills in the classrooms.

This collection, which grew from that work, brings together scholars who critically assess the role of oral history in education more broadly defined as a public pedagogy and a school-based pedagogy. Further, this collection explicitly examines the role of oral history in relation to redress and reconciliation. Authors explore questions, such as: How do community-based oral history projects affect historical memory of the public? What do we learn from oral history in government systems of justice versus in the political struggles of non-governmental organizations? What is the burden of collective remembering and how does oral history' implicate people in the past? How are survivor oral histories brought into conversation with youth who are wrestling with present injustices? How are oral histories about difficult knowledge represented in curriculum from digital storytelling and literature to environmental and treaty education?

Contributors ask these questions with reference to international literature and movements; however, the context for their scholarly examination is primarily Canada. Canada, like Australia, South Africa, and many other countries, is engaged in the redress and reconciliation of historical injustices. As the authors in this collection discuss, injustices include those made against Japanese Canadians who were displaced and interned during the Second World War, Chinese Canadians who were forced to pay an imposed head tax, Indigenous peoples forced to attend Indian Residential Schools, and others. Redress movements, in simplistic terms, are “campaigns launched by members of a community affected by historic injustice and their allies to seek recognition for the abuses committed against them” (Giesbrecht and Tomchuk 2018, 2). Reconciliation, much harder to define, is understood by the TRC and others as a process by which damaged relations are restored with mutually respectful relationships. The TRC reports that for reconciliation to happen in Canada, and we would add elsewhere, “there has to be awareness of the past, an acknowledgement of the harm that has been inflicted, atonement for the causes, and action to change behaviour” (6). The aims of redress and reconciliation are substantial and context specific, with outcomes ranging from an official apolog)', memorials, and educational initiatives, to the return of stolen land, legal sovereignty, and new knowledge systems (Giesbrecht and Tomchuk 2018; Henderson and Wakeham 2013).

In Reconciliating Canada: Critical Perspectives on the Cultures of Redress (2013), Jennifer Henderson and Pauline Wakeman warn “this everaccumulating list of reconciliatory gestures risks being read as evidence of a state coming to historical self-consciousness, in the manner of an awakened, repentant individual who has crafted a progressively enlightened program of righting wrongs” (7). Their warning speaks to an “age of apology” that is not accompanied with dismantling power structures—colonial, capitalist, and patriarchal systems—that caused and perpetuate harm. Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang (2012) argue that decolonization is being used as an educational metaphor to make “possible a set of evasions, or ‘settler moves to innocence,’ that problematically attempt to reconcile settler guilt and complicity, and rescue settler futurity” (2).⁷ Oral history cannot be complicit in re-storying or reproducing a historical consciousness that resides in the metaphorical.

This collection challenges assumptions about the inherent value of oral history for learning or, as is often required, “unlearning” certain settler colonial narrative accounts of the past. As Thomas King (2003) warns of stories: “Stories are wonderous things. And they are dangerous” (9). Illustrative of this caution is the survivor testimonials that are used in classrooms as emotionally charged, anecdotal evidence to an otherwise colonial history of the state. This form of oral history is dangerous because remembrance is a “strategic practice in which memorial pedagogies are deployed for their sociopolitical value and promise” (Simon et al. 2000, 3). Similarly, oral history can be dangerous when difficult knowledge leaves a sense of helplessness among a population. Jonathan Jansen (2009), in the context of post-apartheid South Africa, found that both perpetrators and victims experienced feelings of shame and resentment that further divided them when confronted with histories of harm.⁸ The contributors to this collection are attentive to the complex dangers in the work of oral history, education, and justice. They encourage oral history to be about “remembering well”—a pedagogy of living in relation with the past when the wounds still bleed (Simon et al. 2000, 7). The authors call attention to the context of oral history as a form of truth-telling about historical harms, to the purpose of oral histories in justice movements or “the story of telling the story” (7), to the limitations of oral history for the reclamation of silenced pasts, and to what is required for oral history to be a path for the disruption of unjust relations. The authors speak to oral history as a hopeful, yet not taken-for-granted, pedagogy for addressing difficult knowledge.

The collection is divided into two sections. The first is Public Pedagogy, Memory, and Redress. In Chapter 1, Henry Yu, Sarah Ling, and Denise Fong take up oral history as a future-oriented practice for political justice. The authors created three public history projects in response to government apologies for the long history of anti-Chinese legislation in Canada and, more specifically, in the province of British Columbia. They argue that public discourse following redress often portray Chinese peoples as victims, focus on episodic injustices of the past, and ignore lesser-known stories of Chinese—First Nations relations. The authors illustrate how their community-based projects engage the affective politics of historical memory for public education. Such historical re-storying, they argue, has the power to not only transform our collective memories but also create the necessary relational conditions to re-imagine more inclusive futures.

In Chapter 2, Timothy Stanley extends a call to take up oral history education in ways that seek to circulate knowledge that has been excluded from our historical consciousness. He contends that oral history is a key curricular and pedagogical tool for addressing antiracism education because it brings into public dialogue the lived experiences of those who have been formerly excluded by settler colonial government systems. Stanley makes clear, however, that racisms do not end with recounting past trauma. Every historical truth-telling is a calculated risk for those affected by racist exclusions. For oral history education to become an antiracist strategy, educators must be willing to contextualize the oral histories they choose to share in the classroom. They must ask: Who and why was a story produced? How is the story being shared and under what circumstances? These are some of the pedagogical questions Stanley explores as he retraces the absences and inclusions of oral history across the following three historical movements of redress: the Japanese Canadian Redress Movement, the Chinese Canadian Head Tax Movement, and the narratives of First Nations residential school survivors. Stanley concludes that oral histories support public education through justice movements when past injustices are brought into conversation with racisms of our present.

In Chapter 3, Aparna Mishra Tare provides an example for how the act of oral testimony has challenged racisms that define present-day public institutions and systems. Her contribution examines Mary Johnson’s efforts to sing her adaawk as testimony in the land claims case between the Canadian government and the Gitskan-Wet’suwet’en peoples (Delgamuukw vs. British Columbia 1991). Adaawk is an oral story (testimony) that is sung to communities to narrate a peoples’ being with the land. Johnson’s adaawk was a subversion of colonial discourses of justice and was repeatedly resisted by the judge in the case. Using postcolonial and psychoanalytic frameworks, Mishra Tare reminds us that this case cannot be read only as a reclaiming of the land, it must also be read as a reclaiming of the forms of knowledges, histories, and justices considered illegitimate by a nation and by its judicial systems. She concludes that oral history can be a “terrible gift”—an opening to hear the cries of ravages and pain—that when heard as a pedagogical and political form of dialogue can be educative and reparative for colonial systems.

While the previous chapters focus on the voices of racialized minorities in shaping historical consciousness, in Chapter 4, Pamela Sugiman turns our attention to the role Hakujin (white people) can play in (re)membering historical harms. Sugiman has spent over a decade gathering the oral histories of Nisei (second-generation Japanese Canadians) to understand the Second World War internment, dispossession, and resettlement of Japanese Canadians. What has been omitted in much of her research to date, and in public reclamation projects, are the narratives of non-Japanese Canadians. This silence places the onus, quite problematically, on those groups that have either been oppressed and/or challenged colonial systems to “give voice” to the past. By examining the Hakujin’s oral histories this chapter addresses the following pedagogical questions: What do they remember and what have they forgotten? How does remembering implicate them in the past? Sugiman’s thought-provoking contribution makes clear that for a nation to move towards reconciliation, it must be willing to educate the wider public about its shared silences and its responsibility to share the ongoing burden of remembering.

In the final chapter of this section, Jennifer A. Tupper calls attention to the pedagogical role that questioning our settler consciousness can play in educational processes of redress and reconciliation. A white settler imaginary, she points out, has normalized the history of colonial relations and in turn the erasure of First Nations, Metis, and Inuit peoples from the historical narratives taught inside and outside of the school curriculum. Collective memories of the past, such as the myth of Canada as peaceful colonizers, serve to rationalize a settler futurity of privilege. If reconciliation is going to be possible, as Tupper suggests, then settlers must be willing to engage in a process of relearning the historical contexts of treaties and how we are always already implicated in treaty relationships. In this contribution, she advocates for settler life writing as a form of public pedagogy that promises to create a site for re-imaging ethical Indigenous—settler relations. Tupper draws on her life history as a settler living on and in relation to Treaty 4 territories and its people to illustrate how life writing can provoke the disruption of the colonial status quo.

In the next section, titled Unsettling Pedagogies, Curriculum, and Reconciliation, the first two chapters address key curricular resources that include Indian Residential School (IRS) survivor testimony as a response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. Chapter 6, by Kiera Brant-Birioukov, Nicholas Ng-A-Fook, and Kristina R. Llewellyn, discusses how educators may listen to the lived experiences of others—particularly survivors of Indian residential schooling—through a pedagogy that attends to an ethics of listening. They frame this discussion in light of a turn towards the pedagogical possibilities of emotion—a pedagogy of emotion— wherein the emotional consequence of learning about historical injustices can be purposeful and mobilizing. They provide an overview of the Legacy of Hope’s website, Where are the Children?, to guide educators in the educative possibilities of listening to the oral histories from survivors, available online, in their own classrooms. They suggest that when listening to oral histories from residential school survivors, teachers and students can focus on ethically engaging these counter-narratives as relationships with the story, storyteller, and personal lived experience. They also seek to understand the pedagogical possibilities of listening as ceremony as a way to subtly but impact-fully shift one’s settler historical consciousness from narratives of victimization, distancing, and settler disavowal towards remembering the intergenerational resilience of Indigenous communities’ survival, resistance, and inherent rights to nationhood.

In Chapter 7, Lisa K. Taylor draws upon a qualitative case study of the use of testimonial literature with preservice teachers. She argues that IRS testimonies necessitate a pedagogy of witness and remembrance—practices of listening and learning—that are quite distinct from much of history education. This is, as Taylor demonstrates, the difficult work that asks: What does Indigenous remembrance and land-based learning challenge students to hear? How do teachers and students alike receive testimony when they are implicated in its heritage? What kind of relationality does testimony demand from learners? Throughout this chapter, the author provides concrete strategies that teacher educators and teachers in Canada might bring to their classrooms to foster a different kind of historical imaginary.

In Chapter 8, Lisa Farley and Tasha Henry address the stories of residential school survivors. In doing so, they turn our attention to the use of picture books in schools. They focus on the juxtaposition of image and text in Shi-shi-etko and Shin-chi’s Canoe to unsettle colonial fantasies of childhood innocence purposefully denied to Indigenous children. Farley and Henry’s chapter examines how childhood innocence in stories censors trauma and re-establishes settler colonial logics that impede decolonizing pedagogies. They theorize that teachers need to continuously learn difficult knowledge from and about history to challenge white panics of child protection.

In Chapter 9, Kristian Stewart examines the use of digital oral storytelling in an assignment with pre-service teachers at a university in South Africa. This contribution reminds us that reconciliation is an ongoing, if not endless, pedagogical recursive process for educators in nations marked by a legacy of segregation and oppression. Drawing upon the concepts of troubled knowledge and a pedagogy of discomfort, Stewart illustrates how the digital oral histories of pre-service teachers’ personal and collective memories were catalysts for different relations. The author concludes that the pre-service teachers in her study embraced their mutual vulnerability by bearing witness to the personal implications of historical harms, and that they moved forward as historically minded educators seeking social transformation of racial segregation. This chapter ends with critical questions about the sustainability of change that oral histories may provide.

In Chapter 10, Dan Roronhiakewen Longboat, Andrejs Kulnieks, and Kelly Young focus on issues of sustainability and Indigenous oral history education. They argue that while history/social studies curricula in the province of Ontario, Canada, increasingly examine colonization, human relationship with the Earth, our Mother, and the Natural world is not prevalent. Survival, given our social and ecological crisis, necessitates that history/social studies educators learn what connects story and nature, and how to integrate Indigenous core principles. Longboat, Kulnieks, and Young provide examples of Indigenous eco-justice education with oral history through what they term the 12 Rs: reconciliation through relationship, respect, responsibility, reverence, resilience, reciprocity, restoration, resurgence, renewal, regeneration, revitalization, and remembrance. Their framework illustrates a path for learning about ancestral stories that can change how students think about the pedagogical nature of stories and to consider how stories relate to each other and to the places where they live. Oral history education, employing these Indigenous pedagogies, holds potential for the redress of historical harms and the advancement of reconciliation.

This collection responds to this time of redress and reconciliation, when telling and hearing the stories of lived experiences of harm are pivotal to struggles for an equitable future. What makes this collection unique is that it brings together a group of scholars who conduct research within different disciplinary traditions (oral history, citizenship education, psychoanalysis, curriculum theory, history of education, antiracist education, Indigenous studies, feminist history, and so on). It also assembles a group of scholars who work with and for community groups that have and continue to lead political struggles in which there is a demand for oral histories of injustice to be heard. This collection provides, for the first time, scholarship that troubles both the possibilities and limitations of oral history in relation to the pedagogical and curricular redress of historical harms. The authors question how oral history may re-story education and national consciousness to disrupt structures of injustice. The authors also compel the reader to question what oral history calls them to do, as citizens, activists, teachers, or historians, in moving towards just relations. The hope is that oral history brings awareness of difficult historical knowledge and supports action to address the legacy of harms.

Notes

• 1 See, for example, scholarship by Winona Wheeler, including “Reflections on the Social Relations of Indigenous Oral History.” In Walking a Tightrope: Aboriginal People and Their Representations, edited by David T. McNab, 189-214. Waterloo: Wilfred Laurier University Press, Aboriginal Studies Series. 2005; and scholarship by Jo-ann Archibald (Q’uni Q’um Xiiem), including Indigenous Storywork: Educating the Heart, Mind, Body, and Spirit. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. 2008.
• 2 See also Bekennan, Zvi, and Michalinos Zembylas. Teaching Contested Narratives: Identity, Mentor)' and Reconciliation in Peace Education and Beyond. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2014; Zembylas, Michalinos, and Zvi Bekennan. “Education and the

Dangerous Memories of Historical Trauma: Narratives of Pain, Narratives of Hope.” Curriculum Inquiry 38, no. 2 (2008): 125—154.

• 3 See also Seixas, Peter. Theorizing Historical Consciousness. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2004; Schieder, Theodore. “The Role of Historical Consciousness in Political Action.” History and Theory 17, no. 4 (1978): 1—18.
• 4 See also Britzman, Deborah, and Alice Pitt. “Pedagogy and Clinical Knowledge: Some Psychoanalytic Observations on Losing and Refinding Significance.” JAC 24, no. 2 (2004): 353-374.
• 5 See http://voiceofwitness.org/.
• 6 See also http://storytelling.concordia.ca/.
• 7 For recent discussions on history education and reconciliation in Canada, see, for example, James, Miles. “Teaching History’ for Truth and Reconciliation: The Challenges and Opportunities of Narrativity, Temporality, and Identity.” McGill Journal of Education 53, no. 2 (Spring 2018): 294-311; and Gibson, Lindsay, and Roland Case. “Reshaping Canadian History' Education in Support of Reconciliation.” Canadian Journal of Education 42, no. 1 (2019): 251—284.
• 8 See also Lederach, John Paul. The Journey Toward Reconciliation. Scottdale, PA: Herald Press. 1999.

References

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Britzman, Deborah. “If the Story’ Cannot End: Deferred Action, Ambivalence, and Difficult Knowledge.” In Between Hope and Despair: The Pedagogical Encounter of Historical Remembrance, edited by' Roger I. Simon, Sharon Rosenburg and Claudia Eppert, 27—57. Lanham: Rowman & Little Publishers. 2000.

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Section I