The racist 'mythification' of geography in Quebec
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Catherine Larochelle's analysis of educational discourse in School of Racism provides a lens through which to understand how colonial ideologies were naturalised through the mythification of Indigenous and Black bodies. Focusing on the ethnocentric framework of Quebec’s first geography textbooks, Larochelle reveals how visual observation became central to shaping a racialised hierarchy, wherein the bodies and ways of life of marginalised groups were rendered as "Other", dehumanised and debased. The visual framing of Indigenous and Black people in these educational texts did more than just describe; it actively mythologised their bodies (112). The West's reliance on sight and visual observation is an interesting theme in this text as it established early ethnological practices that articulated firm convictions that presentations of knowledge through visual and spatial images were particularly well suited to the description of "primitive cultures" (102).
Indigenous peoples were portrayed as a vanishing race, caught in a liminal state between extinction and symbolic absorption into French-Canadian identity. This served a dual colonial purpose: affirming their inevitable disappearance while simultaneously using their presence to construct a French-Canadian claim to indigeneity. By weaving the "Indian element” into their cultural identity, French-Canadians could position themselves as both heirs to and preservers of the land, reinforcing their colonial legitimacy (134). Larochelle’s analysis is particularly striking in how it unpacks the racialised construction of land ownership. By visually and textually linking whiteness with progress and indigeneity with extinction, these textbooks redefined who could claim legitimacy on the land. This narrative reinforced a racial hierarchy that accepted French-Canadian colonial ambitions. The "hybridisation" of French-Canadian identity with Indigenous elements was not an act of inclusion but a calculated strategy to assert dominance, suggesting a paradox: Indigenous peoples were simultaneously essential to the French-Canadian national myth and excluded from its realisation (135).
Meanwhile, Black individuals were relegated to a state of perpetual inferiority, framed as childlike in both physicality and population. This infantilisation not only stripped them of agency but also aligned them with broader colonial narratives that justified exploitation and exclusion. The educational discourse thus framed Black bodies not as part of the future of Quebec society but as static and marginal—existing only as a counterpoint to the supposed civilisation of white, French-Canadian identity. It reveals the insidious power of educational materials in shaping societal structures and identities; the myths perpetuated in Quebec's early geography textbooks laid the groundwork for racial ideologies that justified exclusion, appropriation, and dominance throughout Quebec's long history of racist pedagogy.
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Alice, I really enjoyed reading your discussion post as both a visual artist and an urban studies major. Your discussion post compellingly unpacks Larochelle's analysis, shedding light on how educational discourse in Quebec was not just descriptive but actively mythologized and racialized Indigenous and Black bodies to serve colonial ambitions.
Your connection to visual observation as a central ethnocentric framework is particularly striking. As you note, it wasn’t merely about describing Indigenous and Black peoples but about encoding their bodies and ways of life within a racialized hierarchy. This visual framing aligned with broader Western colonial practices where sight and categorization were used as tools of domination. By framing Indigenous peoples as "vanishing" and Black individuals as "static," these texts not only denied their agency but also sought to fix them in a temporal and cultural limbo that validated French-Canadian colonial dominance.
The paradox you identify—Indigenous peoples being both essential to and excluded from French-Canadian identity—is a powerful example of the calculated flexibility of colonial ideologies. By appropriating Indigenous elements, French-Canadians could claim a form of symbolic indigeneity that bolstered their claim to the land while erasing the actual sovereignty and presence of Indigenous peoples. This dynamic resonates beyond Quebec, echoing similar patterns in settler colonial contexts globally, where indigeneity is appropriated as a national symbol but denied political and territorial recognition.
Moreover, the infantilization of Black individuals you discuss highlights another layer of exclusion. By framing Blackness as perpetually marginal and childlike, the textbooks not only justified exploitation but also solidified a racialized boundary of belonging within Quebec society. This infantilization echoes a broader colonial narrative that sought to naturalize racial hierarchies by portraying Black people as incapable of self-determination, reinforcing their exclusion from narratives of progress and citizenship.
Finally, your analysis points to the insidious power of educational materials in shaping societal structures. Education is often assumed to be a neutral or progressive force, yet Larochelle’s work exposes how deeply it can be implicated in perpetuating systemic inequities. The geography textbooks you discuss laid the ideological groundwork for exclusion and dominance, showing how colonial power operates not just through overt violence but also through the subtleties of pedagogy and representation.
Your discussion invites us to think critically about the enduring legacies of these colonial frameworks in contemporary educational systems. How might we interrogate current curricula to uncover similar myths that perpetuate exclusion and hierarchy? And how can education, geography, and visual arts be reimagined as a tool for decolonization and empowerment rather than subjugation?