Pacific Spaces of Dispossession: Reflecting on Place and Memory in the Pacific Northwest and the Hawaiian Archipelago

Desiree Valadares and Mary Anne Vallianatos*

This is the second instalment of the Scholarship & Activism Forum’s zine project​. Over the past year, we have developed a collection of conversations, essays, and artworks that connect to the themes of the S&A Forum. Among these pieces, “community” emerged as a central theme. The zine will launch in early 2021.

Introduction

In this conversation, we discuss intersecting historic dispossessions and explore how we might situate Indigenous and Asian migrant demands for justice alongside each other [1]. We reflect on the relationship between the colonization of Indigenous territories and the histories of mass incarceration and displacement of Japanese North Americans during, and in the aftermath of, the Second World War.

We interweave two stories about distinct spaces of dispossession in the Pacific Northwest and the Hawaiian archipelago through a conversation between authors. Mary Anne begins by introducing research undertaken with the Landscapes of Injustice Research Collective on Indigenous place names in relation to Salt Spring Island, an island situated within Hul’qumi’num and W̱SÁNEĆ territories in the Salish Sea. It was from here that the court case Iwasaki v The Queen (1969) began [2]. In that case, Torazo Iwasaki brought a petition against the Canadian government for the return of land confiscated and sold by the Custodian of Enemy Property in the 1940s. Mary Anne considers how the narrative about the court’s ruling shifts by reading Coast Salish lands as central to the case’s wider history. Desiree then introduces recent preservation efforts of the U.S. National Park Service at the Honouliuli National Monument on kānaka ʻōiwi (Native Hawaiian) lands in Oʻahu, Hawaiʻi. This site was designated as public land through the Antiquities Act of 1906 to acknowledge wartime civilian internment of select members of the Hawaiʻi Japanese population.

As our essay moves between two geographical contexts, we identify points of connection and shared questions about place and memory. Desiree shares photos of onsite archaeology at the Honouliuli National Monument to question the uneven access to historic and sacred sites among differently racialized peoples. We contrast this visual mode of representing war memorials, with the preservation of historical wrongs in the legal archive.

Our dialogue represents unfinished conversations we had in 2018 as two doctoral students affiliated with Landscapes of Injustice. We are indebted to the scholarship, research, and community-building of the Landscapes of Injustice Research Collective. We find ourselves in conversation with contributions of Laura Ishiguro, Nicole Yakashiro, and Will Archibald (2017). They argued that the experiences of relocation, confinement, and loss in Japanese Canadian history “were intrinsically part of the Canadian settler colonial project.” We acknowledge that our conversations would not be possible without our time spent living and learning within the territories of the Lekwungen and WSÁNEĆ peoples. In this exploratory piece for the S&A Forum, we invite each other to consider possible ways in which the social justice desires of racialized and minoritized settlers are accountable to contemporary Indigenous claims and calls for decolonization [3]. The questions are resonant to us as East Asian and South Asian Canadian students of competing understandings of land, property, and Japanese North American dispossession. This is an experiment in holding space to keep conversations going.

Reflections on Place and Memory in British Columbia and Hawai’i

Mary Anne: When I was a research assistant with Landscapes of Injustice, I researched Coast Salish place names at several sites from which Japanese Canadians were uprooted and dispossessed. One of these sites was Salt Spring Island, which is a Gulf Island within Hul’qumi’num and W̱SÁNEĆ territories. Seventy-seven Japanese Canadians were uprooted from this island in 1942, including the Iwasaki family. Years later, the confiscation of their home and property was the focus of one of the few court cases arising from the government’s measures taken against Japanese Canadians. In the case, the Supreme Court of Canada would eventually deny Iwasaki’s petition seeking to have the property returned.

On the one hand, this court ruling is about how the state failed to uphold the rights of its own citizens. On the other hand, surely this text which affirmed a state program of mass property alienation, can be understood within a wider history of dispossession. Specifically, how might the history memorialized in the court’s records of Iwasaki v The Queen be redrawn as one attends to Indigenous peoples’ rights of self-determination in relation to land? Court cases form an archive in which some histories of injustice are preserved and others are not, much like physical monumentscommemorate the past to tell particular histories.

DesireeI study how Asian migrants and Indigenous people interact in the ongoing preservation and commemoration of Second World War confinement sites outside the contiguous United States. I am interested in how notions of place, home, and loss are simultaneously tied up in sites of trauma and entangled with Indigenous territories and Native homelands. My dissertation project focuses on areas in Hawaiʻi, Alaska and British Columbia to show how localized entanglements operate on occupied, contested, and unceded lands as former internment or confinement camps are recovered, remembered, and formally recognized amidst unresolved Indigenous land claims.

In Hawaiʻi, U.S. military confinement camps of the Second World War stood on kānaka ʻōiwi (Native Hawaiian) land [4]. The image below features the entrance of one such camp. Named Honouliuli, this former prisoner of war camp is now a ‘National Monument.’ It was designated as such on February 25, 2015 by President Obama through the Antiquities Act of 1906, a landmark in U.S. preservation legislation that allows U.S. presidents to unilaterally declare sites of national importance. Its 122.5 acres were effectively “relinquished and reserved” as public or federal lands According to Proclamation 9234, the National Monument serves as a reminder of “the fragility of constitutional rights and the historical effects of Martial Law” in the then-Territory of Hawaiʻi, which saw the longest institutionalization of Martial Law in the history of the United States.

Honouliuli National Monument. 2017. Photo by author

However, under this federal designation, few have access to this site. Upon arrival in the inland plans of O’ahu, one is met by a large yellow gate and a hand-painted sign: “KEEP OUT: PRIVATE PROPERTY VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.” This gate and sign exemplify both the physical and legal inaccessibility to knowing and living in relation with the land.

Mary Anne: With the State’s physical claims to possession of Indigenous lands, we see in this image that inaccessibility is a form of dispossession. The ‘private property’ sign is related to my interest in thinking about how legal systems influence human relationships to place. Indigenous place names teach us about the contemporary politics of land and what it looks like to unsettle colonial landscapes. In “Reclaiming Indigenous Place Names,” Gray and Ruck explain that the past practices of renaming and remapping of Indigenous territories by settler surveyors, cartographers, and political actors “has been a critical part of settler colonialism generally, which is predicated on the erasure of Indigenous peoples, including their languages, cultures and social structures” [5]. In contrast to settler geographies, the Hul’qumi’num Treaty Group (which represents First Nations whose traditional territory includes Salt Spring Island) explains that their “territory is alive with the stories, place names and history of the Hul’qumi’num people” (see note 2). In this way, Indigenous geographies can be understood to sustain living landscapes: place names connect land to Indigenous knowledges of oral histories, law, language, and culture, while also protecting historical relationships between Indigenous peoples and their ancestral territories.

As an example of past remappings, consider Salt Spring Island. In the 1850s, when settlers mapped the island, they renamed it Chuan Island. “Chuan” was likely an anglicization of ĆUÁN, the name given to the island by the W̱SÁNEĆ nations in the SENĆOŦEN language. Settlers would later change their maps again, adopting the contemporary name of ‘Salt Spring Island.’ This subsequent name may have been chosen based on the island’s salt springs near Tl’elhum, which is the Hul’qumi’num name for St. Mary Lake [6]. Both settler names connote a colonial story about land possession that overwrite and invisibilize Indigenous peoples’ jurisdiction concerning their territories.

Desiree: The multiple overlapping connections to place that you describe are also evident in the case of Honouliuli where Native Hawaiian claims and connection to lands remain obscured. Present-day Honouliuli refers to the Second World War prisoner-of-war camp and civilian internment heritage site. However, Honouliuli appears in Hawaiian mo’olelo (stories or oral traditions) for its prominence in the Kingdom Era as a watershed unit known as the Honouliuli ahupua’a (traditional land division system collectively held in trust that was not based on Western notions of private property and ownership). The lands and waters of the Honouliuli ahupua’a were confiscated, ceded, and condemned by the U.S. military and U.S. plantation barons in the 1800s. Today, this ahupua’a features a patchwork of private landholders including the O’ahu Sugar Company, Disney, the U.S. Navy, and agrochemical and biotechnology companies, such as Monsanto Corporation, which have long restricted access to this general location.

Today, the U.S. National Park Service (NPS), a federal entity, has jurisdiction over Honouliuli. It has no official mandate to recover Native Hawaiian history at this national monument. At present, Native Hawaiians are federally unrecognized and, as a result, there is no official mandate to consult or actively obtain consent from Native Hawaiians. In addition, a spate of NPS landscape assessments and landscape archaeology reports claim that, “the site has little integrity or physical evidence of Native Hawaiian occupation.” Other National Monuments and historic sites commemorating the Second World War on the island also have restricted accessibility: the adjacent U.S. naval base and Superfund or contaminated site, Pearl Harbor and the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial, were designated under the Antiquities Act of 1906 by President George W. Bush as units in the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument complex.

My initial research led me to reflect on National Monuments and other forms of federal preservation and conservation that rely on the cordoning of lands and waters for study and protection. I ask: What is the place of National Monuments in the context of Hawaiʻi as an occupied nation supported by U.S. militarization? As a settler state and former U.S. territory founded on a multiculturalist ideology? And as a space of active, ongoing Indigenous resurgence and resistance against U.S. colonialism?

A partial answer comes from my experience as a visiting student to Hawaiʻi in Summer 2018 and Spring 2020. I had the privilege of gaining access to this site through a summer course in forensic anthropology at the University of Hawaiʻi West Oʻahu. In the next image, my field-school classmates are exposing the extant foundation of the African American military officials’ quarters at the prisoner of war and civilian internment camp at Honouliuli.

Honouliuli Field School. Summer 2018. Foundations of African American Guard Quarters. Photo by author

As students, we had access to a parcel of land that is currently gated and fenced off to prevent trespassers from encroaching. I spent a summer onsite in 2018 where I worked to restore and stabilize cracking concrete foundations, retaining walls, aqueducts, and canals. We also cleared out invasive guinea grass and removed dirt. I interrogated my own positionality on these lands and reflected on my privilege in gaining access to securitized or nationally protected sites otherwise cordoned off to the public.

Mary Anne: Your reflection about onsite fieldwork speaks to the tensions at play when racialized students research the intersecting histories of Indigenous and migrant peoples. My questions are connected to yours because I seek to historicize the claims of Asian Canadians in a manner that is accountable to their fight against past wrongs and accountable to Indigenous futures. Returning to the case of Iwasaki v The Queen, how might we consider both the property loss at issue and the dispossessory ideology of settler colonialism on which Iwasaki’s property claim depended?

The land at issue was purchased by Torazo and Fuku Iwasaki in 1928. It was a large waterfront property at the north end of the island in Hul’qumi’num territory. To the north of the property was P’q’unup or Southey Point which means ‘white ground’ in Hul’qumi’num. To the southeast of the property was Tl’elhum or St. Mary Lake, which means ‘salt.’ To the west, looking out across the water, was Hwtth’isutsun or Tent Island, which means ‘place that is nailed.’ The couple would raise five children here before they were uprooted. In 1942, the federal government relocated the Iwasakis to Greenwood, BC. In 1945, Torazo learned that the Custodian of Enemy Property had confiscated and sold their home. He wrote to the Custodian, “You have sold my property without my consent.”

The land at issue was purchased by Torazo and Fuku Iwasaki in 1928. It was a large waterfront property at the north end of the island in Hul’qumi’num territory. To the north of the property was P’q’unup or Southey Point which means ‘white ground’ in Hul’qumi’num. To the southeast of the property was Tl’elhum or St. Mary Lake, which means ‘salt.’ To the west, looking out across the water, was Hwtth’isutsun or Tent Island, which means ‘place that is nailed.’ The couple would raise five children here before they were uprooted. In 1942, the federal government relocated the Iwasakis to Greenwood, BC. In 1945, Torazo learned that the Custodian of Enemy Property had confiscated and sold their home. He wrote to the Custodian, “You have sold my property without my consent.”

The family challenged the government’s taking and sale of the land in 1967, when Torazo launched a court action to have the land returned. In 1969, the Exchequer Court of Canada decided in favour of the government and dismissed the case. According to the court, the Custodian had followed its powers created under the War Measures Act; therefore, the custodian was not liable for actions related to the sale of the land. On appeal, the Supreme Court of Canada upheld the Exchequer Court’s ruling.

The courts told a particular history of the dispossessory government actions that were part of the removal, confinement, and resettlement of Japanese Canadians. The legal narrative emphasized the legitimacy of emergency war powers, including the Custodian’s “very wide free discretionary powers” over “Japanese evacuee” properties. Because the Custodian had followed the letter of the law, both courts rejected Iwasaki’s contention that the government had made a substantive promise to Japanese Canadians that their belongings were taken as “a protective measure only.” That judicial narrative foreclosed Iwasaki’s equitable demands that the government account for its actions. It was a historical telling that left no space for the court, or state lawmakers, to consider repairing the state’s forcible severing of a family’s ties to their home. The jurists erased a story about racial injustice. This text also buried the story of preceding dispossessory Crown actions in relation to Indigenous peoples and land.

The history of homesteading within Hul’qumi’num territory on Salt Spring Island began in 1859. At this time, the Crown treated Salt Spring Island as part of the Colony of Vancouver Island. In the face of Indigenous opposition, the Crown encouraged settlers to acquire “cheap access to the soil” and would grant them parcels of land. The parcel of land in Iwasaki can be traced to 1886 and 1887, when the Crown granted lots to settlers Robert Holburn and Carl Mathers. The Crown grants are shown below. These documents are instruments of the colonial process of land acquisition. As such, they are illustrative of the imposition of a system of settler land tenure upon existing Indigenous systems for governing land. The original Crown grants were made in contravention of Hul’q’umi’num snuw’uy’ulh (laws) and in the absence of a Treaty. In a petition to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, the Hul’qumi’num Treaty Group has called the taking and selling of their lands without consent a violation of human rights.

The two grants with attached surveys indicate Holburn acquired about 640 acres for $140, and Mathers acquired 176 acres for $175 [7]

Attention to the colonial injustice of the homesteading system raises issues that are not addressed by studying only the racial injustice at the heart of the Iwasaki case. Speaking for myself, my engagement with the multiple dispossessory histories linked to settler colonialism has meant disentangling the close relationship between land alienation, ideas of property, and the Canadian legal system. It is these entanglements that marginalize and erase alternative narratives of decolonial and racial justice.

Desiree:  In Hawaiʻi, the taking of Native Hawaiian lands has restricted access to sacred and cultural sites to expert archaeologists, scientists, the military, and federal officials. We see this very clearly in the case of recent Mauna Kea Thirty Meter Telescope protests. The Antiquities Act of 1906 re-enacts and legitimizes a process of “relinquishing” lands for “protection” under federal services. Placing lands and waters (including submerged reefs, atolls, and deep waters) under federal jurisdiction constitutes a new form of protection and boundary making that privileges the pursuit of Western science. While federal protective custody may genuinely protect these lands, it simultaneously removes Pacific Islanders from land and seas and from active relations in cultivating or watching over [8]. Furthermore, I ask: What do federal conservation and preservation strategies that replicate processes of land dispossession mean in the space of active Native Hawaiian resurgence where claims to occupied land and waters have never been officially recognized despite former President Bill Clinton’s 1993 Apology Resolution for the Illegal Overthrow of the Hawaiian Monarchy in 1893?

Today, Pacific Islander and Indigenous demands for the return of lands and waters intersect in complicated ways with Japanese American redress, reparations, and commemorative agendas. This is visible when one looks to the physical management of space around the confinement sites of the Second World War on the U.S. West Coast.

Composite Image of various Japanese American pilgrimages from 2016 – 2018. Photos by author.

The composite image above contains photographs from pilgrimages to landscapes such as Manzanar National Historic Site, Camp Amache — a National Historic Landmark, Minidoka National Monument, and Angel Island State Park between 2016-2018. These visits attuned me not only to culturally specific intergenerational commemorative practices in the Japanese American community, but also pointed to the various and often complicated forms of land ownership and federal historic designations that currently enshrine these sites of trauma [9].

The stories of these historic designations are complex. In California, Colorado, Idaho, Wyoming, and Arizona, the land that the U.S. War Department leased for confinement and internment sites was near or on Bureau of Indian Affairs reservation lands. Since 2006, the federal government has sold, transferred, purchased, donated some of these leased lands and former camps and placed them under the management of the U.S. National Park Service. Congress officially mandated this gesture when it established the Japanese American Confinement Sites Act grant program that allocated money toward the preservation of primarily “Japanese Americans confinement sites.” Indigenous histories as these sites are further obscured since there is no federal mandate to consult with federally recognized or unrecognized tribes located on or near these lands.

Mary Anne:  It strikes me that the federal designations you describe, like British Columbia’s land tenure system that I recounted above, both share a power to transform human experiences of place. Land tenure systems have been described as “accumulation by dispossession” [10]. This description identifies the ‘how’ of property systems that prioritize individual possession over community well-being. The multiple dispossessory histories of the Pacific Northwest are about more than the loss of property. We can understand alienations from place as harms to citizenship. These are harms that express themselves as constraining the well-being among impacted communities and disrupting collective authority to ensure the well-being of children and future generations [11].

At the outset of our dialogue, I proposed that the Iwasaki v The Queen records encase multiple narratives. Even as I look beyond the language of property, I continue to understand Iwasaki as being about a fight for racial justice and restitution (predating the 1988 Redress Agreement). I don’t want to lose sight of this history. Matsuda, a legal scholar, has powerfully written about why the histories of people of colour matter for how we define justice [12].

Desiree: As I write from the San Francisco Bay Area, I am inspired by the Sogorea Te’ Land Trust, an urban indigenous women-led land trust founded in 2012. More specifically, this effort to rematriate land by a non-federally recognized tribe through a ‘land trust’ system supports Sogorea Te’s work to acquire and preserve land. The Sogorea Te’ Land Trust reframes broader discussions around ‘property,’ ‘land,’ ‘access,’ ‘knowledge’ and ‘justice’ by holding settlers accountable and aware of non-federally recognized tribes such as the Ohlone, which have no land base [13].

Undoubtedly these ongoing efforts have influenced my larger research project which puts Honouliuli National Monument in conversation with two other former Second World Warsites to show how traditional territories of Native Hawaiians, Alaska Natives and Coast Salish peoples become entangled in wartime histories and subsequent federal and provincial preservation schemes that fundamentally alter land title and jurisdiction.

Conclusion

In the Landscapes of Injustice working paper by Ishiguro et al. (2017), the authors observed that the literature on Japanese Canadian ‘Internment’ history focuses on one community in relative isolation from other peoples. At the same time, Canadian colonial history is primarily concerned with the relationship between Indigenous peoples and white settlers and the state. Yet, for those of us learning and teaching about historic dispossessions, we are increasingly called upon to consider how the racism experienced by Asian migrants is connected to settler colonialism (see note 1). Above we described examples of layered dispossessions that we encountered during our research and through our conversation we saw connections between stories from the Hawaiian archipelago and an island in British Columbia. We have presented a partial exploration of past, ongoing, and parallel social movements across oceans and beyond settler borders.

Author Bios, Notes and Further Reading

* Desiree Valadares is a South Asian Canadian settler, a landscape architect, and PhD Candidate in Architectural History at UC Berkeley. Mary Anne Vallianatos is a Japanese-Greek-Canadian settler, lawyer, and PhD Candidate with UVic’s Faculty of Law.

[1] Price, J. and O’Bonsawin, C. “Introduction to (Un)Settling the Islands: Race, Indigeneity, and the Transpacific” (2020) 204 BC Studies 15; Leong, K. & Carpio, M. “Carceral States: Converging Indigenous and Asian Experiences in the Americas” (2016) 42:1 Amerasia Journal vii; Day, I. Alien Capital: Asian Racialization and the Logic of Settler Colonial Capitalism. Duke University Press. 2016; and see especially Ishiguro, L. Archibald, W. and Yakashiro, N. “Settler Colonialism and Japanese Canadian History.” Landscapes of Injustice Report. 2017, which has recently been cited by Stanger-Ross, J. (ed) Landscapes of Injustice: A New Perspective on the Internment and Dispossession of Japanese Canadians (McGill-Queen’s UP 2020). We note that we finished writing before this major work was released, and for this reason we have not engaged with it fully in this reflection.

[2] Iwasaki v The Queen, [1969] 1 Ex CR 281 (Exchequer Court of Canada); aff’d [1970] SCR 437; Montler, T. SENĆOŦEN: A dictionary of the Saanich language (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2018). Hul’qumi’num Treaty Group, Shxunutun’s Tu Suleluxwtst: In the footsteps of our Ancestors. Interim Strategic Land Plan for the Hul’qumi’num Core Traditional Territory (2005),  online: www.hulquminum.bc.ca/pubs/HTG_LUP_FINAL.pdf?lbisphpreq=1

[3] Saranillio, D. “Why Asian Settler Colonialism Matters: A Thought Piece on Critiques, Debates, and Indigenous Difference” (2013) 3:3-4 Settler Colonial Studies 280; Tuck, E. & Yang, W. “Born Under the Rising Sign of Social Justice” in Toward What Justice?: Describing Diverse Dreams of Justice in Education (Routledge, 2018). See also Byrd, J. Transit of Empire: Indigenous Critiques of Colonialism (Minnesota UP, 2011).

[4] Hawaiian Islands Land Trust, “Place Name: Honouliuli” online: www.hilt.org/protected-lands/maui/honouliuli.

[5] Gray, C. & Ruck, D. “Reclaiming Indigenous Place Names” (Oct 8, 2019) Yellowhead Institute, online: yellowheadinstitute.org/2019/10/08/reclaiming-indigenous-place-names/. See further Morales, S. “Stl’ul Nup: Legal Landscapes of the Hul’qumi’num Mustimuhw” (2016) 33:1 Windsor Yearbook on Access to Justice 103

[6] Cowichan Tribes (Elder’s Advisory Committee), Quw’utsun: Hul’q’umi’num’ Category Dictionary (Cowichan Tribes, Quw’utsun Syuw’entst Lelum, 2007). Cryer, B. & Arnett, C. (ed) Two Houses Half-Buried in Sand: Oral Traditions of the Hul’q’umi’num Coast Salish of Kuper Island and Vancouver Island (Talon Books, 2007).

[7] Copies of the Crown grants for Lots 3 & 4 available online through the Japanese Garden Society of Salt Spring Island: http://saltspringjapanesegarden.com/history/. The above paragraphs rely on several sources. My discussion of Iwasaki’s claim was informed by Smallshaw, B. The Dispossession of Japanese Canadians on Salt Spring Island (MA Thesis, UVic 2017). For a history of Salt Spring Island, I relied on Sandwell, R. Contesting Rural Space: Land Policy and Practices of Resettlement on Saltspring Island, 1859-1891 (McGill-Queen’s UP, 2005). Court excerpts are found at paragraphs 19 and 21 of the Exchequer Court decision cited in note 2. The court relied on Nakashima v. The King, [1947] 4 DLR 487. To learn more about that case see Adams, E. & Stanger-Ross, J. “Promises of Law: The Unlawful Dispossession of Japanese Canadians” (2017) 54 Osgoode Hall LJ 687. For more information about the Hul’qumi’num people’s legal action see Petition to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights submitted by the Hul’qumi’num Treaty Group against Canada, 10 May 2007, Petition 592/07, heard on 28 October 2011, available online: law.arizona.edu/hulquminum-treaty-group.

[8] Santos Perez, C. “Transterritorial Currents and the Imperial Terripelago” (2015) 67 American Quarterly. Pacific Currents 619; Teves, N. “Aloha State Apparatuses” (2015) 67 American Quarterly. Pacific Currents 705; Vicuña Gonzalez, V. Securing Paradise: Tourism and Militarism in Hawai’i and the Philippines (Duke UP 2013); Shigematsu, S. and Camacho, K. Militarized Currents: Toward a Decolonial Future in Asia and the Pacific (University of Minnesota Press 2010); and Mei-Singh, L. “Carceral Conservationism: Contested Landscapes and Ecologies of Dispossession at Ka’ena Point, Hawai’i” (2016) 68:3 American Quarterly: Tours of Duty and Tours of Leisure 695.

[9] Keliaa, C. “Imprisoned on Native Land: Japanese Internment and Native Women’s Labor at Manzanar during World War II.” Pacific Historical Review (forthcoming)

[10] Harvey, D. The New Imperialism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 137–82; and see Saranillio in note 3.

[11] Bhandar, B. “Critical Legal Studies and the Politics of Property” (2014) 3 Prop L Rev 186. Settler place names are dispossessory as well. Past remappings by Crown surveyors sought to supplant Indigenous place names. In this way, colonial geographies would seek to render Indigenous peoples ‘out of place’, and in so doing, explicitly delegitimize Indigenous peoples’ laws governing land.

[12] Matsuda, M. Where is your body? And Other Essays on Race, Gender, and the Law (Beacon Press, 1997). See also Oikawa, M. Cartographies of Violence: Japanese Canadian Women, Memory, and the Subjects of the Internment (Toronto UP, 2012) which describes the politics of forgetting which has influenced the public consciousness about the history of the wartime incarceration of Japanese Canadians.

[13] Sogorea Te Land Trust. [Available] https://plantingjustice.org/nursery-sogorea-te. To financially support the goal of returning ancestral Chochenyo and Karkin Ohlone territory to Indigenous stewardship, the Land Trust created what it calls a Shuumi Land Tax (shuumi meaning ‘gift’ in the Ohlone language) or a ‘voluntary annual financial contribution’ to encourage non-Indigenous people living on Ohlone land to pay their dues. The goal is to establish a cemetery to re-inter stolen Ohlone ancestral remains that are currently stored at UC Berkeley and nearby at San Francisco State University.

%d bloggers like this: