Indigenous Information Literacy: nêhiyaw Kinship
Enabling Self-Care in Research
Jessie Loyer

Introduction
Indigenizing the library is a project that shares some of the theoretical
foundations of critical librarianship. Yet in the same way that Indigenous
activism critiques mainstream social justice movements for their lack of longterm relationship building and their ethics devoid of a relationship to land,
librarianship (even critical librarianship) lacks a rigorous understanding
of relationality (defined roles in how we are related to each other) and
reciprocity (who we are accountable to and responsible for) that characterizes
Indigenous perspectives on librarianship.
This chapter begins with a discussion of the violence of classroom
research, and the way this trauma and research intersect intimately for
Indigenous students, to provide context for why librarians need to address
the student’s whole self — mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical — in
information literacy instruction. Next, some existing information literacy
instruction models, both mainstream and feminist, that address emotion
will be reviewed. As a comparatively more comprehensive approach, the
nêhiyaw law of wâhkôhtowin, which uses building kinship as a framework
for responsibility and accountability in information literacy, will also be
considered. The chapter ends with a sense of how wâhkôhtowin provides
an onus for librarians to create capacity for self-care in student researchers.
Research as Violence
As Indigenous students, Erica Violet Lee and Jesse Thistle speak about the ways
that existing in the academy can be violent: in both the dynamics in racist class

The Politics of Theory and the Practice of Critical Librarianship

assignments and longer research projects where trauma may be encountered.
Erica Violet Lee writes about her experiences as an undergraduate student
and the power dynamics of her work being seen “not just as a personal
failure but a failed responsibility to break stereotypes and represent all
Native people everywhere in a positive way.”1 Her expertise, voice, and
very existence is scrutinized and threatened, and she rejects it: “Fuck any
academic career that comes at the price of my safety and bodily sovereignty.
Fuck any academic career that requires my silence.”2 The classroom is a site of
ongoing colonization, where stereotypes about the Indigenous student as the
expert work against brilliant individuals, in classrooms where Indigeneity is
pathologized.3 This experience speaks to the gap between Indigenous and
non-Indigenous students; unlike other students who may be afforded the
luxury of simply writing a paper, Indigenous students may have to challenge
their professors on racist essay topics. Librarians recognize the problems
of teaching information literacy with someone else’s poorly conceived
assignment; add racist overtones and the challenge students have with these
poor assignments intensifies, particularly for those whose experiences are
weakly reflected, absent, or negated in these assignments.
But racism is not the only reason that Indigenous students experience
violence when conducting research; the stories they research may inflict
harm too. While studying Batoche Métis history, Jesse Thistle realizes that
his health suffers as he engages in the research that looks primarily at trauma stemming from generations of hardship.4 The stories of the elders he
interviewed remain with him: “During my early research, I could deal with
the emotional pain that came with the stories about my ancestors and the
road allowance, as it helped me to understand why I was plagued by the
effects of intergenerational trauma throughout my life. But my ancestor’s
stories linger and revisit me and harm me as they are trying to be remembered.”5 He is hardly alone in this experience. He speaks of the reactions
of scholars also working in this area: mental breakdowns, being sidelined
from academic work for a period of time, emotional instability, even having to quit school. The trauma of researching affects him entirely.
1 Erica Violet Lee, “Good Philosophers Don’t Have Anxiety Attacks,” Moontime Warrior, March 27, 2014,
https://moontimewarrior.com/2014/03/27/good-philosophers-dont-have-anxiety-attacks/.
2 Erica Violet Lee, “That Deadly Academic Silence,” Moontime Warrior, August 17, 2017,
https://moontimewarrior.com/2015/08/17/that-deadly-academic-silence/.
3 “What I Learned in Class Today: Aboriginal Issues in the Classroom,” University of British Columbia,
accessed December 6, 2017, http://www.whatilearnedinclasstoday.com/.
4 Jesse Thistle, “Vicarious Trauma: Collecting the Herd,” Active History, November 3, 2015,
http://activehistory.ca/2015/11/vicarious-trauma-collecting-the-herd/.
5 Thistle, “Vicarious Trauma.”

146

Loyer – Indigenous Information Literacy

Stories of Indigenous researchers like Jesse Thistle and Erica Violet Lee
illustrate how research affects emotional and spiritual facets and the need for
librarians to be conscious of our varied roles in facilitating research. Librarians
may fail to realize the violence that research can be violent, particularly for
Indigenous students. As librarians teaching information literacy, we seldom
reflect on how the work of a university sees Indigenous people primarily as
Othered objects of research and rarely as researchers. To be Indigenous in
Canada is to be inherently political: my body and my legal identity is regulated by the state through biopolitical processes such as the inheritance of
Indian Status.6 If I want to research even my own family history, trauma is
inevitable; to research as an Indigenous scholar is to confront horrific stories,
many of them directly tied to my own experiences or the experiences of people
I love. Recognizing, confronting, and assessing how trauma is experienced
in the university looks different for different Indigenous people. Librarians,
archivists, and others who work with materials from the Holocaust, for example, provide a model for considering the emotional and spiritual caretaking
element of librarianship7 and recognizing that trauma may be unavoidable.
Paul Howard Hamburg, a librarian at the Simon Wiesenthal Center Library
and Archives, reflects on his stewardship role: “In assisting survivors, children
of survivors and their relatives, in closing the circle of uncertainty with regard
to loved ones who perished at the hands of the Nazis and their collaborators, I am present at moments of intense pain.”8 As a librarian working with
Holocaust researchers, he is aware of his own emotional and spiritual stability as a facilitator of research.9 From an Indigenous view, particularly from
a nêhiyaw perspective, it is harder to delineate the borders between mental,
physical, emotional, and spiritual components of self.10 How notable then,
that Hamburg calls his work with trauma and research “truly sacred,”11 align-

6 For a more nuanced discussion of biopower and Indigeneity, Morgensen’s theoretical perspective on the
bodies of Indigenous people and state is helpful. Scott Morgensen, “The Biopolitics of Settler Colonialism,”
Settler Colonial Studies 1, no. 1 (2011), http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/2201473X.2011.10648801.
7 This is not necessarily unique to librarianship. The emotional and spiritual element of memory work done
by archivists, particularly those working with records of trauma, provides insight into this relationshipbuilding. The work of Caswell (2014) on a survivor-centered approach to records is outside the focus of this
chapter but well worth exploring. Michelle Caswell,“Toward a Survivor-Centered Approach to Records
Documenting Human Rights Abuse: Lessons from Community Archives,” Archival Science 14, no. 3 (2014):
307–22, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-014-9220-6.
8 Paul Howard Hamburg, “Closing Circles, Opening Pathways,” in Introduction to The Holocaust: Memories,
Research, Reference, eds. Robert Hauptman and Susan Hubbs Motin (New York: Routledge, 1998), 236.
9 Hamburg, “Closing Circles,” 236.
10 Sylvia McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted: Revitalizing nêhiyaw Legal Systems (Saskatoon: Purich
Publishing, 2015), 29.
11 Hamburg, “Closing Circles.” 242.

147

The Politics of Theory and the Practice of Critical Librarianship

ing with Indigenous librarianship’s calls for a more holistic stewardship of
information literacy.
Deborah Lee’s perceptions of relationship building include a similar sense of how the sacred and spiritual functions in librarianship.12 For
Indigenous students, the university, and by extension, the library, can be
inhospitable in part because the institution fails to act as a reciprocal party
in its relationships with students. Deborah Lee’s case study of Aboriginal
students’ information needs points to a lack of relevant library material, a
lack of research development on Indigenous issues, and “a lack of services
recognizing the Indigenous values of ‘being in relationship’ and reciprocity.”13 Lee’s work highlights the time and energy necessary in maintaining good relations and reciprocal relationships as a means of survival and
well-being for both librarians and students.14 For Lee, reciprocity is a key
element for librarians to engage meaningfully with the information needs
of Indigenous students, particularly as librarians work against the commonly held perception that interactions with non-Indigenous people will
be disappointingly non-reciprocal.15
Existing Models For Affect and Information Literacy
To arrest that expectation of non-reciprocity, I want to look at librarians
thinking through affect and emotion in mainstream and feminist
approaches to information literacy. Positioning research relationships
between librarians and students as important to the work of information
literacy is not new; research by non-Indigenous librarians provides some
context, and although somewhat flawed, a starting place for where
Indigenous librarianship might intersect with mainstream and feminist
approaches to information literacy instruction.
Mainstream pedagogy
Much of the research on students’ emotion in information literacy focuses
on research anxiety:16 students unable to choose a topic, or unable to know
12 Deborah Lee, “Aboriginal Students in Canada: A Case Study of Their Academic Information Needs
and Library Use,” Journal of Library Administration 33, nos. 3–4 (2008): 259, http://dx.doi.org/10.1300/
J111v33n03_07.
13 Lee, “Aboriginal Students in Canada,” 275.
14 Lee, “Aboriginal Students in Canada,” 265.
15 Lee, “Aboriginal Students in Canada,” 285.
16 Julie Obst and Joe Eshleman, “Librarians and Students: Making the Connections,” in Not Just Where
to Click: Teaching Students How to Think About Information, eds. Troy A. Swanson and Heather Jagman
(Chicago: Association of College & Research Libraries, 2015), 303. Their literature review is also a rich
source for librarians looking at research anxiety.

148

Loyer – Indigenous Information Literacy

why they need to research in order to write a good paper. However, simply
asking the question “shouldn’t the instruction librarian…ask [students]
how they feel about doing research?” as Obst and Eshleman do17 obscures
the possibility that research may be fundamentally violent, particularly
for Indigenous students. Emotional competency, and specifically, self-care
strategies, must be included in information literacy instruction, and this is
even more pressing when the research itself is traumatic. This next section
will outline three perspectives (experience-centered information literacy,
acceptance of uncertainty, and awareness of emotional intelligence) as
mainstream approaches that attempt to address relationships and emotion
in information literacy.
First, Susie Andretta makes a case for an experience-centered information literacy, relying heavily on Christine Bruce’s relational approach.18
Andretta positions the learner-information relationship as the most central
focus, with a “ternary information relationship between facilitator, learner,
and information”19 providing the basis for understanding the research experience. That relationship depends on librarians understanding the emotional
component of research: research shows that emotional dynamics affect research strategies20 and information literacy competency.
Next, Carole Kuhlthau’s model of emotional stages21 provides insight
on how research is not constructed simply as a mental exercise, moving closer to the holistic nêhiyaw conception of the world. Her model embraces
affective elements of research, incorporating the management of feelings like
uncertainty and anxiety into information seeking.
Finally, Julie Obst and Joe Eshleman see emotional intelligence as
helping students to prioritize their thinking and manage their emotions
throughout the research process.22 They emphasize a connection between
librarians and students, and posit that meeting students is a starting place
for understanding their needs.
Yet these examples of mainstream librarianship are only just beginning
to consider the affective aspect of information literacy. They recognize that
yes, research is not just a mental exercise, but do not necessarily dictate

17 Obst and Eshleman, “Librarians and Students,” 295.
18 Susie Andretta, Ways of Experiencing Information Literacy: Making the Case for a Relational Approach
(Oxford: Chandos, 2012).
19 Andretta, Ways of Experiencing Information Literacy, 188.
20 Obst and Eshleman, “Librarians and Students,” 298.
21 Carol Kuhlthau, “Inside the Search Process: Information Seeking from the User’s Perspective,” Journal of
the American Society for Information Science 44, no. 5 (1991): 361–71.
22 Obst and Eshleman, “Librarians and Students,” 298.

149

The Politics of Theory and the Practice of Critical Librarianship

the creation of a space where librarians can help build students’ capacity
for emotional awareness. How can we make space for not just emotional
awareness, but reciprocal relationships in information literacy?
Feminist Pedagogy
Feminist pedagogy attempts to create space for relationships in information
literacy. In many ways, feminist pedagogy blends organically with
Indigenous librarianship; this is a rich space for research outside the scope of
this chapter. Feminist pedagogy, as articulated by Maria T. Accardi, provides
an illustration of the power of this perspective. For example, information
literacy is positioned to necessarily include conceptions of self-care and allow
for social change in instruction, referencing bell hooks and Paulo Freire.23
That social justice bent creates a meaningful space for understanding
research violence. Feminist pedagogy carves out a space in higher education
that is truly student-centered,24 thus engaging with relationships in a way
that mainstream approaches seem unable to articulate.
Though feminist pedagogy is, at its best, intersectional, acknowledging and making space for Indigenous perspectives is often absent from
these analyses. Consider a framework like James Elmborg’s ethnographic
contact zone, which conceives of students entering a zone where they learn
to communicate;25 this is particularly problematic in considering how
Indigenous students are still positioned as sites of research rather than as
researchers. Here, they are literally ethnographic subjects. This rhetoric of
anthropology paints them with a lack of agency. In an attempt to amplify Indigenous perspectives that feminist pedagogy may make space for, I
present a more comprehensive and holistic model of relationship building:
the law of wâhkôhtowin, of building kinship.
wâhkôhtowin and Information Literacy Instruction
Even though mainstream and feminist approaches to holistic care in
information literacy instruction are encouraging, they fail to account for
the relational accountability between librarians and students in dealing
with traumatic research. In the nêhiyaw (Cree) and Michif (Métis) law of
wâhkôhtowin, the importance of understanding relationships provides a

23 Maria T. Accardi, Feminist Pedagogy for Library Instruction (Sacramento, CA: Library Juice Press,
2013), 36.
24 Accardi, Feminist Pedagogy, 42.
25 James Elmborg, “Libraries in the Contact Zone: On the Creation of Educational Space,” Reference &
User Services Quarterly 46, no. 1 (2006): 56–64, https://dx.doi.org/10.5860/rusq.46n1.56.

150

Loyer – Indigenous Information Literacy

model that inscribes that responsibility and accountability. What follows
is an attempt to translate the way wâhkôhtowin works, applying it as a
conceptual model to structure ongoing research relationships.
wâhkôhtowin as Building Kinship
The nêhiyaw and Michif concept of wâhkôhtowin is one model for building kinship,
which provides a structure for reciprocal accountability through relationship. An
introduction to this nêhiyaw law of relationality is found in commentary from
nêhiyaw and Michif thinkers on wâhkôhtowin, or wahkootawin (an alternate
spelling in Michif). There are some slight distinctions between nêhiyaw and
Michif understandings of wâhkôhtowin, but Michif concepts primarily draw
from their maternal link to nêhiyawak. This section looks at Sylvia McAdam’s
work on nêhiyaw law, Jesse Thistle’s historical work on Michif wahkootawin, Zoe
Todd’s work on kinship as radical love and accountability, and Lindsey Nixon’s
work on kinship as survival to expand and discuss components of wâhkôhtowin.
These are discussions from various individuals, drawing gratefully on the work
of Sylvia McAdams, who translated this nêhiyaw concept into academic English.
This will not be a comprehensive understanding of wâhkôhtowin as nêhiyaw
legal systems are interrelated and numerous.26 I speak about them because they
structure my own practice as a librarian. 27
Maria Campbell, a Métis elder interviewed by Jesse Thistle in his work
on Métis trauma and research, speaks of wahkootawin as the “foundational
philosophy, the foundation of our culture and our governance structure”28 for
Michif people. In nêhiyawêwin, it “is used to describe the kinship connections
to all of creation, such as the various clan systems that create kinship responsibilities to the animals and to creation in general.”29 This life philosophy,
worldview and way of life is about interconnectedness; it positions families as
the foundational relationship for shared cultural activity and responsibilities.30
This goes beyond an anthropological sense of how kinship functions in nêhiyaw and Michif culture, and is rooted in the nêhiyaw law miyo-wîcêhtowin,
to have good relations, which directs both individuals and communities to
create positive relations in every relationship.31 wâhkôhtowin privileges the

26 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 38.
27 All inaccuracies here are from my own limitations in understanding and attempting to translate these laws,
in writing down legal systems meant to be shared in other ways.
28 Jesse Thistle, “The Puzzle of the Morrissette-Arcand Clan: A History of Métis Historic and
Intergenerational Trauma” (MA thesis, University of Waterloo, 2016), 2.
29 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 60.
30 Thistle, “The Puzzle,” 42.
31 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 47.

151

The Politics of Theory and the Practice of Critical Librarianship

collective over the individual, not vaguely, but through specific relationships:
“[it is] the understanding that, when we are born into our humanity, we are
born into our nation’s obligations and responsibilities.”32
Kinship delineates blood ties, but also connections in addition to
family, including but not limited to marriage, kin, trade, law, and social
structures.33 Oral histories of treaty making during Treaty 634 show how
kinship is co-constituted with ancestry and community connection:
When treaties became binding, it became a ceremonial covenant of adoption between two families. kiciwâminanak, our cousins: that is what my
elders said to call you. In nêhiyaw law, the treaties were adoptions of one
nation by another. At Treaty 6 the nêhiyawak adopted the Queen and her
children. We became relatives. When your ancestors came to this territory, kiciwâminiwak, our law applied. These kinship relationships were
active choices, a state of relatedness or connection by adoption.35

Though buffalo hunt governance is not actively practiced by the Métis now,
its structures of reciprocity, sharing, and awareness of the collective remain
central to Michif culture.36 The land informs understanding of nêhiyaw law,
as another relationship to reckon with: “The land is intertwined in a most
profound manner, so to separate the two would mean death to many aspects
of nêhiyaw culture.”37 It is impossible to conceive of nêhiyaw law without the
“inextricable relationships between land, bodies, time, and stories.”38 Kinship
is connected to land; it grounds this accountability as “we must liberate both
land and life by actively honouring our responsibilities to kinship in this
moment, fostering good relations within all creation in our intentions and
actions.” 39 Those good relations can also extend the breadth of a librarians’
responsibilities to consider how research affects our students.

32 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 22.
33 Jennifer S. H. Brown, Strangers in Blood: Fur Trade Company Families in Indian Country (Vancouver, BC:
UBC Press, 1980), cited in Thistle, “The Puzzle,” 5.
34 Treaty 6 was signed in 1876 between the British Crown and Indigenous nations, primarily the nêhiyaw.
There were several adhesions to Treaty 6: Michel Callihoo, the author’s ancestor, signed an adhesion to
Treaty 6 on September 18, 1878 (giving his name as Michel Calistrois).
35 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 24.
36 Thistle, “The Puzzle,” 3.
37 McAdams, Nationhood Interrupted, 23.
38 Zoe Todd, “Relationships,” Theorizing the Contemporary. Cultural Anthropology, January 21, 2016,
https://culanth.org/fieldsights/799-relationships.
39 Lindsay Nixon, “Visual Cultures of Indigenous Futurisms,” GUTS Magazine, May 20, 2016,
http://gutsmagazine.ca/visual-cultures.

152

Loyer – Indigenous Information Literacy

wâhkôhtowin as a Model for Teaching
Informed by the context of our relationship to the land and to each other,
wâhkôhtowin allows librarians to position ourselves in a framework of
care because it recognizes that those who teach information literacy are
responsible not only for the mental work of research but also for providing
an ethic of care. We can lean on “principles of loving accountability and
reciprocity [that are] deeply embedded in Indigenous legal orders and
relationships”40 to guide our research relationships. This accountability
informs us, as librarians, of our responsibilities to those we teach: it helps
us understand that we are responsible for teaching to a comprehensive sense
of research, not only a mental exercise. Awareness of emotional, spiritual,
and physical health become necessary principles in teaching students about
accessing information.
In nêhiyaw worldviews, kinship and relationality are core values;
knowing how you are related to other people is essential. wâhkôhtowin defines those relationships, even beyond familial kinship ties. There is space
for librarians as instructors to see themselves as responsible for building a
student’s research capacity, including the physical, emotional, and spiritual
components of challenging research; within this concept is a sense of holistic care and radical love that requires a recognition of emotion as wellness.
We go beyond relationships (vaguely defined) to kinship (clearly, strictly
defined). Zoe S. Todd suggests we use kinship to face the past, present,
and future with care — tending to relationships between people, place, and
stories through reciprocity, love, and accountability.41
From this lens, creating capacity for self-care is a responsibility for librarians working in academic contexts. Considering our professional work
as building wâhkôhtowin allows us to engage in reconciliatory action and
avoid the trap of decolonizing without centering Indigenous thought, which
Lindsay Nixon warns infantilizes “those Indigenous people who exercise
agency in their interactions with the state, including elders.”42 Decolonization
only occurs by re-centering Indigenous ways of knowing, rather than layering them superficially on a Western conception of the world.
Kinship is less concerned with us as individuals, but more concerned
with our relationships to others; it delineates who we are accountable to and
responsible for. It is built on a radical love. As an “okanaw’masinahikanêw” —
a nêhiyaw word for librarian that translates to “the one who watches the

40 Todd, “Relationships.”
41 Todd, “Relationships.”
42 Nixon, “Visual Cultures.”

153

The Politics of Theory and the Practice of Critical Librarianship

books” — I have a responsibility not only to my materials, but also to the
people accessing these materials, those who engage in a research relationship with me and the information they seek. pamihisiw — the act of selfcare, attending to oneself, knowing when to take a break, to make sense of
the research’s effect on us — is a crucial information literacy skill.
Indigenous librarian and researcher Deborah Lee gives us a starting
place, rooted in Indigenous values, for librarians to conceive of our responsibilities and roles within the research relationships we nurture with
students.43 By expanding her ideas about building relationships between
librarians and those who use our services, I hope that librarians can recognize when research may be a violent, traumatic experience. As academic
librarians, we teach students how to assess, critique, find, and use resources; we must also instruct them on the lasting effects of doing traumatic
research and give them tools to take care of themselves in this process.
wâhkôhtowin as Radical Love
Critical librarianship allows us to humanize processes, to think about the
unquestioned assumptions of our profession. In many ways, Indigenous
perspectives on information and Indigenous ways of knowing dovetail
with this work. Yet relationality, the defined roles in how we are related
to each other, and reciprocity, who we are accountable to and responsible
for, informed by our relationships to the land, are often missing from
discussions of critical librarianship. Relationality and reciprocity animate
the work of information literacy as Indigenous resurgence: this kind of
project “is inanimate without an ethics of love and kinship as a guiding
principle. True deliverance from settler colonial occupation finds its
foundation in Indigenous knowledges that understand land, love, and
life as one and the same.”44 Is there space in critical librarianship for
Indigenous kinship, for wâhkôhtowin? The space is overwhelmingly white
in many cases. The language is academic, woven through theory that is
largely inaccessible to the communities that librarians serve. The canon
of critical librarianship, even when it considers race, is firmly rooted in
American perspectives and in America, discussions of race rarely include
Native Americans. Though critical librarianship prompts us to ask who is
missing from these conversations, I still don’t see my people’s voices being
amplified. Where are the Indigenous people in critical librarianship?

43 Lee, “Aboriginal Students in Canada,” 265.
44 Nixon, “Visual Cultures.”

154

Loyer – Indigenous Information Literacy

To truly “Indigenize” the library as an institution would be to transform
academia beyond recognition: educational institutions have played an unmistakable role in the genocidal project of the Americas. Indigenization must
go beyond beautifying the place or engaging in more accountable collection
development; instead, it must make room for Indigenous ways of knowing,
while recognizing that Indigenous knowledge has been systematically discredited by academia. This violent process is at the core of much research and as
librarians teach information literacy without acknowledging that history, we
continue to disregard the emotional and spiritual health of student researchers. Librarians should see building kinship and the resulting responsibility
to create capacity for self-care during research as a fundamental component
of Indigenous information literacy that combats the historical and ongoing
violence experienced by Indigenous researchers in universities.
Conclusion
Creating capacity in student researchers for self-care as they navigate challenging
research is essential to an Indigenous information literacy framework. Librarians
who perceive their research relationships through kinship in a nêhiyaw (Cree) and
Michif (Métis) worldview have defined roles by relationality which structure the
accountability towards their students. In our roles as teachers, we are responsible
for students’ holistic health while researching.
This approach creates more questions for us: relationality is a complicated concept and librarians are already pushed for time. So the prompt to
“do more” is challenging. With what time? With what resources? wâhkôhtawin, a nêhiyaw concept of relationality that defines roles and responsibilities, may give us clearer guidelines on who librarians are accountable to and
responsible for — a chance for further research.
In his study of historical Métis trauma, Jesse Thistle noted that the selfcare strategies used by other scholars dealing with intergenerational trauma
ranged widely.45 Detailing specific self-care strategies is beyond the scope for
this particular chapter and although strategies vary widely from individual
to individual, kinship dictates that librarians, in their research relationships
with students, create space in research for self-care, particularly when research is traumatic and violent. This is a component of information literacy:
how to find good research, how to assess it, but also how to assess its effect
on our lives. We do not do research only mentally; emotional, spiritual,
and physical health must be factors in how we teach students about accessing information.
45 Thistle, “Vicarious Trauma.”

155

Bibliography
Accardi, Maria T. Feminist Pedagogy for Library Instruction. Sacramento, CA: Library Juice Press, 2013.
Andretta, Susie. Ways of Experiencing Information Literacy: Making the Case for a Relational Approach.
Oxford: Chandros, 2012.
Elmborg, James. “Libraries in the Contact Zone: On the Creation of Educational Space.” Reference & User
Services Quarterly 46, no. 1 (2006): 56–64. https://dx.doi.org/10.5860/rusq.46n1.56.
Hamburg, Paul Howard. “Closing Circles, Opening Pathways: The Reference Librarian and the Holocaust.”
In The Holocaust: Memories, Research, Reference, edited by Robert Hauptman and Susan Hubbs
Motin, 235–44. New York: Routledge, 1998.
Lee, Deborah. “Aboriginal Students in Canada: A Case Study of Their Academic Information
Needs and Library Use.” Journal of Library Administration 33, nos. 3–4 (2008): 259–92.
https://doi.org/10.1300/J111v33n03_07.
Lee, Erica Violet. “Good Philosophers Don’t Have Anxiety Attacks.” Moontime Warrior, March 17, 2014.
https://moontimewarrior.com/2014/03/27/good-philosophers-dont-have-anxiety-attacks/.
———. “I’m Concerned About your Academic Career If You Talk About This Publicly.”
Moontime Warrior, February 5, 2016. https://moontimewarrior.com/2016/02/05/
im-concerned-about-your-academic-career-if-you-talk-about-this-publicly/.
———. “That Deadly Academic Silence.” Moontime Warrior, August 17, 2015. https://moontimewarrior.
com/2015/08/17/that-deadly-academic-silence/.
Kuhlthau, Carol. “Inside the Search Process: Information Seeking from the User’s Perspective.” Journal of
the American Society for Information Science 42, no. 5 (1991): 361–71.
McAdams, Sylvia. Nationhood Interrupted: Revitalizing nêhiyaw Legal Systems. Saskatoon, SK: Purich
Publishing, 2015.
Nixon, Lindsay. “Visual Cultures of Indigenous Futurisms.” GUTS Magazine, May 20, 2016.
gutsmagazine.ca/visual-cultures/.
Obst, Julie, and Joe Eshleman. “Librarians and Students: Making the Connections.” In Not Just Where to
Click: Teaching Students How to Think About Information, edited by Troy A. Swanson and Heather
Jagman, 293–310. Chicago: Association of College & Research Libraries, 2015.
Thistle, Jesse. “Vicarious Trauma: Collecting the Herd.” Active History, November 2015.
http://activehistory.ca/2015/11/vicarious-trauma-collecting-the-herd/.
———. “The Puzzle of the Morrissette-Arcand Clan: A History of Metis Historic and Intergenerational
Trauma.” MA thesis, University of Waterloo, 2016.
Todd, Zoe. “Relationships.” Theorizing the Contemporary. Cultural Anthropology, January 21, 2016.
https://culanth.org/fieldsights/799-relationships.
“What I Learned in Class Today: Aboriginal Issues in the Classroom.” University of British Columbia.
Accessed December 6, 2017. whatilearnedinclasstoday.com.

156