By Tim Querengesser
What's an authentic piece of aboriginal art? Or, even harder, what's a fake?
Since my Christmas list includes gifts that look iconically Northern and traditional, I've been pondering this. For me, to qualify as both, an item should be designed and made in the North using materials gathered here. I also feel profits should go to the artist who made it.
That's why it was disheartening for me to learn that while it's easy to find products that look traditional and Northern, a lot of them -- from mocassins to dolls to parkas -- are made in southern Canada, the United States and China.
When it comes to aboriginal stuff, the real versus fake debate continually flares up. Take this week: In Vancouver, the First Nations owner of an art company is charging that the city's Olympic committee has "stolen" the brand of aboriginal authenticity. Shain Jackson, owner of Spirit Works Ltd., says when people Google "authentic aboriginal products," the first hit they get is the 2010 Olympic Store website.
Well, let's use this site as a litmus test in our real versus fake debate. On the site, "official" Vancouver 2010 inukshuks start at $760. While it's clear in the product descriptions that these have been made by Inuit artists, the aboriginal-themed baseball hats, t-shirts, purses, scarves and gift cards on the same page contain no such information. Their genesis and manufacture are conveniently left unmentioned. So, what's real and what's fake?
Unfortunately, the answer is relative. If it weren't for that darned "authentic" word, I doubt anyone would care, but we have to consider how it's being used. While Jackson feels it claims that the items are authentically aboriginal, it's likely VANOC feels the authentic tag is for souvenir collectors hoping to avoid buying fake Olympic merchandise.
So, again, what's real and what's fake?
This isn't just a Canadian problem. During my time in Kenya, I encountered Maasai people who were angered at the use of their iconography -- red sashes, body modification, colourful beaded jewelry -- to sell everything from cell phones to gasoline. They even claimed people dressed as Maasai, who walked the streets of Nairobi selling jewelry, were imposters.
The more I looked into this, the more I found: several European and Asian companies now own the trademark to the names of many traditional African crafts. Thus, were an African artist able to find the capital needed to begin selling these traditional crafts in Europe, they'd technically be breaking copyright law. In this example, the African artisan would be considered the fake.
Recently, in Inuvik, I met an RCMP officer visiting from Toronto. She asked me where she could buy some local art. I suggested Northern Images. "Yeah but it's so expensive," she said. I agreed, but said at least the products were actually from the North.
Which, if you've followed along this far, is what I feel it comes down to: money. The inukshuks from Nunavut cost $760 and up; the mystery aboriginal goods on the same page, likely made in China, start at $8.00. Authenticity for the Olympics requires the right logo. Aboriginal authenticity, however, has a price.
What do you think?
