CBC:

From racy stage shows to ‘bushoir’ calendar babes, how Indigenous artists are decolonizing sex

I mean, okay.

Not everyone would be willing to confess their sexual secrets to a room full of strangers. That’s where Kim TallBear and her Indigenous erotica event, Tipi Confessions, comes in.

That’s… a very – honestly I don’t even know man.

“I confess: my first lesbian experience was with a white person. Even if she couldn’t give any land back, she did give me many orgasms,” says TallBear, reading an anonymous confession written and submitted by an audience member at a show during Toronto’s 2019 Queer Film Festival. 

The CBC is a weird combination of anti-White, perverted, pro “indigenous,” (except for Indigenous Israelis), and hardcore pro-war. This is what you pay taxes for.

Tipi Confessions is a live theatre event, with its co-creators and hosts reflecting on sexual desire and sex positivity through an Indigenous lens. Alongside sexy storytelling and performances, the night is punctuated by the anonymous audience confessions.

TallBear, who is an Indigenous scholar of science, technology and sex at the University of Alberta, created Tipi Confessions in 2015, with Bear and Kirsten Lindquist, as a play on the Texas show Bedpost Confessions.

“I think that it provides people an opportunity to sit there in an audience, of sometimes a few hundred people, and realize that we all have these awkward, difficult, hurtful, challenging and joyful moments that we can bring into a conversation about sexuality,” TallBear told Unreserved’s Rosanna Deerchild.

Kim Tallbear

This is not the first time I’ve been introduced to this Tallbear woman. She’s been pushing anti-White hate propaganda, mostly with respect to the residential school gravocaust, for a while now. Apparently she is also a lesbian.

And they’re not the only ones exploring this. Indigenous creators across several artistic disciplines are rediscovering and reclaiming their sexuality through their work — sometimes for fun, other times as a direct response to the effects of colonialism. 

I’ve been stuck here for a while because I don’t even know what commentary to add. “I’m a little rug munching lesbian overthrowing colonialism by getting cummies from scissoring other short haired Abo Lesbians,” is really not something that I can comprehend, let alone add commentary to.

“Our bodies are sacred. And I think having a beautiful, soft, sacred hide next to them is … for me, it’s just such an amazing feeling,” said Terry, who is Anishinaabe-kwe from Lac Seul First Nation in Ontario.

Or Edmonton artist Tashina Makokis, who makes earrings resembling vulvas out of moosehide strips, Swarovski crystals — and thematically appropriate beaver hair.

I’m sorry doesn’t vulva mean vagina? I must have misheard, because there’s no way that –

It’s a more diverse landscape compared to when author and publisher Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm first started looking for Indigenous erotica more than 20 years ago.

I don’t think that I’ve ever had so much bafflement from one single article. Not only is she looking for Abo Pornos, but she’s been looking for 20 years.

At the time, she was surprised to find almost none.

It was a surprise to her that Aboriginal Verbal Pornos were not a big hit.

When she asked writers she knew about the topic, most realized it wasn’t even on their radar.

This propagandist just says that like it’s a normal thing to say. If you’d asked them about gay erotica featuring Philipino ladyboys and Guatemalan construction workers that wouldn’t have been on their radar either. 

“I’d see a light bulb go off over people’s heads when I broached the subject. They would … start to realize, like, ‘Why am I not writing about it?'” she said.

I have that exact same conversation all the time.

Shekelstein: Hey have you heard about Abo Sexual Stories?

Normal Person: Fuck me, why have I not already written three novels on that?

Anyway, the article continues being vaguely anti-White while also weird and creepy.

TallBear shares that sentiment, saying that one of the influences behind these stories is a need to break free from the legacy of colonialism, including residential schools in Canada — which erased cultural memories of all kinds.

“When we talk about sex and Indigenous people, it shouldn’t just be trauma,” TallBear said. “It shouldn’t just be that [sex] was turned into a weapon of violence by the settler state and all of its horrible institutions. It’s also a way to share joy and power among each other and our intimates.”

No do please go on here Tallbear, I’d really like to know how sex was “turned into a weapon,” by the “settler state,” and needs to be “decolonized.”

TallBear has researched how European settlers forced their views of gender, marriage and property on Indigenous populations as part of their assimilation efforts.

“For them, the heads of households can only be men. Marriages are supposed to be monogamous and heterosexual, and they’re supposed to last forever” — a far cry from some First Nations cultures, she explained, where polyamorous or LGBT relationships were common.

Funny how we never seem to get any writings by Whitey that are summed up as “it’s just one homo orgy after another with these Abos.” Instead we get unquantified bullshit like “LGBT relationships were common.” Like, really? You’re telling me that there were Abo Trannies in the Wild West? And that this was common?

I mean it’s either that or CBC is lying again.

Terry says a friend who photographed her coined the term “bushoir,” and she loved it. Soon, the idea gained momentum. She collaborated with friends and fellow artists to make the first Indigenous Hide Babes calendar in 2021, with a second out now for 2022.

“There’s some women, there’s some men, there’s some awesome hot boys in drag,” she said of the 2022 edition.

Alright, I have to print this for you. Don’t worry, you’ve seen worse.

She also has a non-bushoir calendar out this year for those who are looking to celebrate hide art and fashion in a more G-rated, all-ages context.

Imagine having your identity be “I have AIDS, but I’m also a proud Mik’Maq,” or whatever. But if you think that’s weird, imagine your taxes paying for these sorts of people to write propaganda.