In Summer 2020, I coordinated a collective research project documenting the lack of Black artists shown in the “Calgary” artist-run scene. While that project was independent, I’ve been lucky enough to be able to continue my inquiry, paid, through a contract job at a local artist run centre, The Bows.

I’m getting to a place in my research where everything is collapsing in upon and rebuilding itself. My brain is so blessedly full of information, wax is falling out of my ears, but I’m semi-immobilized by questions, ideas, information, and the fact that anti-racist research requires continuous critical awareness of my shifting positionality in varying contexts, despite struggling with identity.

Underlining book passages and trying to remember articles I forgot to bookmark, I work away hoping to feel better for getting something done. Many well meant, well appreciated ‘thank you for your works’ make me pause to wonder exactly what ‘the work’ is I’m doing. 

Many have written and are writing about the same things I am, but better, and less…pale. Nothing I’m doing is new. At what point does writing cross the line from informative to masturbatory? 

I need to start gathering primary sources again, but how? What is research? Do they teach us how to do it in graduate school or something? What the fuck is research?! 

This is what we know: research has a questionable past and present. Ethics weren’t always a thing apparently, and they’re very mutable. What’s ethical for a scientist trying to cure a deadly disease may be cruel to a vegan wanting to see no creature harmed; what was seen as an ethical approach to interviewing fifty years ago may be seen as exploitative today. 

Hierarchies lie inherent in research, wherein the researcher is traditionally seen as the one who both creates and owns the knowledge they “produce.” As noted in Becoming an Anti-oppressive Researcher by Leslie Brown and Susan Strega, even “giving people voice and hearing their stories can be exploitative/paternalistic or empowering or a confusing mix of power relations,”  and “there is inherent power in naming an issue to be studied and why it is worthy of study...articulating what is, and therefore what isn’t, to be explored.”  

Of immense importance, in my opinion, is the understanding that “anti-oppressive research puts the ownership of knowledge into the hands of those who experience it, who need it.” 

2020’s resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement stoked the growing focus on and awareness of the value of knowledge, lived experience, and compensation. I recall many threads on Instagram where Black people were asked to share experiences, feedback, or opinions, but were also encouraged to drop their Venmo or Cash App so that the poster and non-Black viewers could tip/pay the Black respondents for their effort, even on a small scale.  

This isn’t the only way people have sought alternative methods of equitable remuneration.

When musician Paxsi began drawing attention to unaddressed racism at MacEwan University through their Instagram, @listentowarawara, they put out a call to action over a livestream asking for BIPOC students to write letters sharing experiences of racism within the music department. Paxsi took care to consider the safety and labour of those they were soliciting information from, both timewise and emotionally. As a student likely on a student budget, Paxsi came up with a thoughtful way of repayment. A skilled beader of Andean descent, they offered an exchange of labor: writers were asked not to spend more than two-and-a-half hours on their letter, and they would be given a pair of beaded earrings that took the same amount of time to craft, or an equivalent exchange. In their video, they explain that this is done from a spiritual standpoint, less transactional and relationship building.

Beyond well considered non-financial compensation, Paxsi’s approach is commendable for multiple reasons. Upfront and transparent about what they wanted and why, they explained their goals, compensation, and how the data was to be used, published and anonymized, as well as how any funds donated were being distributed. This process does not strip agency from participants; it is done with consent, in a safer way, and is intended to demand immediate action that would benefit those who contributed and the student body at large.

There is something to be learned from grassroots initiatives managing to offer compensation in some form despite lack of funding. However, it’s equally important to make it clear to established organizations that, no, you cannot get away with crowdfunding your artist’s fees, but to say that if people who don’t have access to funding can figure out something, there’s no excuse.

Again, I aim to critically consider my positionality while working, and let reflections on that guide me. “Black” is a diverse and varied grouping. While I grew up around Black people and West Indian culture, and experienced racism daily for years of my childhood, I’m still really freakin’ pale, and benefit from that. While I experience racism, colorism privileges me, including artistically. 

After completing research on anti-Blackness in Calgary’s artist-run scene during summer of 2020, I noticed that most of the Black artists given multiple shows, including myself, were lighter skinned. Given my lifelong interest in pro-Black, anti-oppressive efforts, and having done the audit, colorism is something I want to help dismantle, and I want to learn about people’s experiences with it in the arts. However, it's not as simple as interviewing people and publishing it. 

How does my status as a lightskin impact the conversations? I feel community members should be taking up this nuanced work, but is the boundary of “community member” drawn at racialized artists supporting other racialized artists? Black artists supporting Black artists? Or does it continue into colorism as well?

Anti-racist work requires a high degree of nuance and conscientiousness, and while I often wish I had the unbridled, bullish confidence of a white male academic, they're the reason I do this work anyways. And with a lack of black-and-white solutions, achingly self-reflective we stand.



Work Cited:

Potts, Karen, and Leslie Brown. “Becoming an Anti-Oppressive Researcher.” Research as

Resistance: Revisiting Critical, Indigenous, And Anti-Oppressive Approaches, by Leslie Brown and Susan Strega, Canadian Scholars' Press, 2015, pp 261-265.