Below the Radar Transcript
Episode 118: Kímmapiiyipitssini: The Meaning of Empathy
Speakers: Paige Smith, Am Johal, Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers
Paige Smith 0:01
Hello listeners. I'm Paige Smith with Below the Radar, a knowledge democracy podcast. Below the Radar is recorded on the territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples. This time on Below the Radar, our host Am Johal is joined by Indigenous writer, director, producer and actor, Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers. Together they talk about Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers' new film Kímmapiiyipitssini: The Meaning Of Empathy and how her past projects have influenced the making of this documentary film. I hope you enjoy the conversation.
Am Johal 0:39
Welcome to Below the Radar. We're really excited to have Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers with us, director, actor, social activist. Welcome Elle-Máijá.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 0:49
Am Johal 0:51
Wondering if we can just begin with you introducing yourself a little bit?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 0:55
Sure. [speaking in Blackfoot language]. Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Hi, I'm Elle-Máijá Apiniskim Tailfeathers. I'm Blackfoot from [speaking in Blackfoot language], or Kainai, in southern Alberta, what's now known as southern Alberta. I'm also Sámi from northern Norway. And I currently reside on the traditional unceded territory of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh nations here in Vancouver.
Am Johal 1:32
Great. Well, Elle-Máijá you have a new film that's going to be out at Hot Docs later this month, and I believe at DOXA as well, called, "Kímmapiiyipitssini." I'm wondering if we can talk a little bit about your new project. I do want to talk about your other work as well, but let's start with the new film that you have coming out — the new documentary.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 1:51
Sure. So, "Kímmapiiyipitssini: The Meaning of Empathy," is a feature length documentary that is about my community, about Kainai. And it's about our community's response to what's been known as the fentanyl or the opioid crisis, now often referred to as a drug poisoning epidemic. So it's a broad, but very carefully considered portrait of my community over a four-year period. And I'm just immensely proud of all of the hard work that's happening in the community and really looking forward to sharing that with a broader audience.
Am Johal 2:29
Your mother is a doctor in your home community. I know you did a film about her, a shorter one several years ago. Is that where this project sort of began in terms of the early stages, because at that time, fentanyl I think was just starting to come into the community.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 2:45
Yeah. So that short documentary that I made about my mom was part of a TELUS Optik series called, "Mavericks," which was produced by a local production company called Salazar Films. And they asked me to do a short about my mother. And it happened to be about a year into the opioid crisis in my community. And it was a really wonderful experience to be able to focus on my mom and her work. And I think that is sort of what planted the seed in terms of the necessity to document my community's journey. And, and also, there were just so many really problematic representations of my community, specifically regarding the opioid crisis. And I really wanted to be able to counter those narratives with a lovingly made portrait of my community that I hope leaves audiences with a sense of hope, and also positions my community in a place of dignity, rather than this sort of salacious approach to documenting Indigenous people living with addictions.
Am Johal 3:51
Yeah, Elle-Máijá I had a chance to watch the film last night. And I would say you totally succeeded in what you set out to do. You really feel the depth of relationships in the making of the film. And in kind of the thoughtful use of the camera and the editing, and it really comes across that way. It was really affecting, in a number of ways. And I'm wondering, in setting out to start the filming, it seems like a lot of your way of making the work, a lot of that happens before the camera ever turns on. So, the kind of depth of your relationships in the community, the kinds of conversations that have to happen before the camera gets turned on. And I'm wondering if you can speak a little bit about the process of making such a complex film over a number of years like this where there's some really deep complications from the arrival of fentanyl, contaminating the drug supply.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 4:51
Sure, well, I think often when we see films about particularly vulnerable Indigenous people, it's often been from the perspective of people who are not from those communities or not Indigenous, or from an abstinence kind of based lens. And, so this was an opportunity to kind of counter all of that. And I was starting at a place where I knew so little about harm reduction. I knew kind of like the basic, obvious stuff about, you know, distributing clean needles and that kind of thing. But I didn't really understand the fundamentals of harm reduction and the ethos of harm reduction. And so I had to spend a year just learning about that, just researching. And I also spent a lot of time just listening to people from within my community, I spoke to as many different kinds of people with various lived experiences and different perspectives, just to learn more about what they hoped could be put out into the world, regarding our community. And so the process of research for me, like begins with conversations with people first and foremost. And I've really been developing my own process in regards to narrative sovereignty as an Indigenous storyteller, and more specifically as a Blackfoot and Sami storyteller. And for me, it really is a process, it's about actively engaging with my community at every step of the way. It's about positioning myself from a place of accountability. Because this is my community, it's my family, it's my home. And at the end of the day, I have to be accountable to them, and respectful of our community protocols and our ways of operating. And so the process was very much rooted in that. In conversations, in deep listening to my community. And I also tried to implement the idea of kímmapiiyipitssini to my practice, which is working from a place of empathy and love and understanding, rather than approaching it as like an unbiased, objective documentary filmmaker, you know, I can't I can't do that. This is my community. And this is my family. And, and so I did my best to try and implement kímmapiiyipitssini into the process itself. And that also meant making sure that we were having as many local Blackfoot crew members as possible, and Indigenous crew members as possible, and helping to build capacity within the industry in regards to Blackwood storytellers and film technicians. So there was a lot to consider. And it was very much rooted in just accountability and love for my community.
Am Johal 7:44
You know, Ellle-Máijá in watching the film as well, there's so incredible restraint with it in the sense that oftentimes, as you said, when other filmmakers come into communities and start to make a work, particularly focused on drug addiction, there tends to be certain tropes that people portray, or the kind of gotcha shots that sensationalize these issues. But in the meetings that you had with people, the meetings with doctors, the kinds of concerns going, there's a kind of pacing to the film that I found really interesting and illustrative that was very different than other documentaries that say, cover the same issue. I'm wondering how you went about in terms of the approach to do a feature length piece as well, that's two hours long, that allows you to tell the story in a more complicated and layered way.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 8:36
Thanks. Yeah, I mean, the film could have been four hours. Two hours really feels very short, because there's so much that didn't end up in the film, unfortunately, because, you know, it's hard to get audiences to sit longer than two hours. But it was about just again, like placing people in a position of dignity and respect. And recognizing the people who participated in the film as human beings who are giving so much of themselves in telling their stories. It's such a vulnerable place to be in front of the camera and to share your personal story. And so I did my best just to honor and respect that gift that they were giving me as the filmmaker and the trust that they were giving me as the filmmaker. But I also considered the audience first and foremost. And for me, it was always about making a film for my community and other Indigenous communities who might find this film of use because they're experiencing similar issues. And so when thinking about how to portray the drug poisoning crisis and how to portray the grief that exists within our communities, I wanted to take care of my audience. I wanted to bring in that idea of kímmapiiyipitssini with the audience. And that meant ensuring that I was isn't showing overdoses directly on screen like, I don't think people need to see that. As someone who's lost a family member to an overdose, just the idea of having to watch a film and seeing something like that can be really harmful. And if you haven't lost a family member to that, and you can see it on screen, that's fine, you know, but I think that when showing a film to an audience that knows all of that, that has lived that trauma and live that grief, that it's best to take care of them first and foremost, and honor their lived experiences. And so those were things that I consistently considered. And then again, with like, the frontline workers, it was really important to, to show a balanced perspective of what their work is like, and to show I guess, like the humorous moments in their lives as well, like so many of the frontline workers we see in the film are actually from Kainai and, and so they're experiencing this crisis on so many levels. So with the paramedics, for instance, it was really important for me to be able to show them laughing, to show the humorous sides of their day to day life and their work and the ways that they find hope and joy through their work, rather than just the fact that they're having to save lives on a very regular basis and have been doing so for years as this crisis persists in our community.
Am Johal 11:25
There's clearly, there's trauma informed approaches that you're taking in bringing a camera into a context and into kind of healthcare settings and meetings. And I'm wondering how complicated it was to get those kind of layers of permissions to be there. There's also visit to the Downtown Eastside, which was really interesting as well, in terms of seeing harm reduction facilities in places. But I'm wondering, I'm thinking of audience members for our podcast, who are emerging filmmakers who are still in university, for example, in terms of the complexity of that part, to get the permissions to be in a place and what that looks like.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 12:07
It was about relationship building. And I think that's kind of a core aspect of narrative sovereignty, when it comes to Indigenous storytelling. Like I think a lot of it is rooted in relationships and, and relationship to story, relationship to community, and the relationship to the you know, the people who are helping you tell the story. And so that year that I spent researching, and then every subsequent year that I worked on this film, I was actively working on just building relationships, and listening and learning from the people who are on the front lines and from the people who are living with active substance use disorder or who are in recovery. And so a lot of that what they call, "access," just had to do with building relationships and trust and continually examining my own position as the filmmaker and the power and privilege associated with being the one who gets to decide what the film looks like, at the end of the day. And so that relationship wasn't just something that happened in development or production, it also happened in post production. So almost all of the participants in the film, so a fine cut of the film, I wanted to make sure that they were happy with the way they were represented. And that's also really critical to I think, an ethical means of telling a story that's not just extractive not just taking from, from others lived experiences, but ensuring that those people are actively engaged in the process, and also confident and comfortable with the way that they're represented. And, you know, there are a lot of people who are in vulnerable situations who participated in this film. And I had to always kind of consider, you know, like, what, what will this film mean for them five or 10 years down the road? Like, is this going to have negative implications for them? Is this something they might regret? And how can I ensure that the way that I represent them, does the least harm to that person down the road, and then also, of course, respecting their agency and willingness and desire to participate in the film and share their story for the benefit of, you know, deeper dialogue and understanding with audiences who see the film?
Am Johal 14:19
Yeah, in the making of this film, you had a significant Indigenous cast and crew, but also in the feature film, which I saw just a few months ago, The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open. I'm wondering if you can talk a little bit about that part of the making of the work: who you hire and bring on as part of your process.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 14:40
Sure. So I started making this documentary five years ago, so it was a five year long journey. And then we made The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open in the middle somewhere. And I also made c'sna?m: The City Before the City in partnership with the Musqueam First Nation in there. So I feel like all three of those projects were really fantastic opportunities for me to learn about what it really means to enact narrative sovereignty, what it means to tell a story that actively reflects Indigenous ways of being and relating to one another and reflects our protocols for story and reflects the diversity of Indigenous nations and nationhood and those distinct protocols that exist within those communities. And also, you know, what does it mean to be an urban Indigenous person telling urban Indigenous stories. So I feel like all three of those projects were kind of like a PhD in learning how to, how to ethically tell films as as an Indigenous person. And so with Kímmapiiyipitssini it was critical to hire as many Indigenous key technicians as possible, specifically Blackfoot key technicians. But it was a challenge, because there are, you know, so many talented Indigenous writers, directors and producers, but not enough experienced key technicians, you know, like sound, lighting, camera, all of those things, that's something we're still working on in terms of building capacity. And so with Kímmapiiyipitssini, we built in a trainee program as well to ensure that in those positions where I couldn't necessarily fill it with an Indigenous person in that key technical position, that there would be at least a trainee position available. And so that was part of the process. And we included that in The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open as well. We built an Indigenous youth mentorship project. So we hired 11, young Indigenous people in all of the key technical departments, who worked in a collaborative way with the head of each department, in an effort to build capacity within those technical departments, but also to ensure that we weren't replicating extractive forms of filmmaking and storytelling wherein people who come from outside a distinct community kind of swoop in and tell a story, extract that sort of lived experience and that story from the community without ever building a relationship or without there ever being any form of reciprocity. And so some of the youth who worked with us on our Indigenous youth mentorship project had been through the foster care system. And it was really important for us to ensure that in telling a story about a young woman who had been through foster care, that we were also actively engaging with youth who had those lived experiences and making sure that what we were putting on screen was reflective of their lived experiences and respectful of their lived experiences. And then another thing that I kind of learned with Kímmapiiyipitssini that we implemented with The Body Remembers was to do basically an Indigenous history workshop, and a Blackfoot, a specific Blackfoot cultural training workshop for our non-Indigenous crew members. Because, you know, as, as we know, settlers in Canada have a lot of unlearning to do regarding settler colonialism and the ways that it impacts all of us, but more specifically, Indigenous people. So I organized a three day kind of workshop type thing with my non-Indigenous crew to learn from a Blackfoot lawyer about the history of settler colonialism in Canada and the way it's impacted Indigenous people and specifically Blackfoot people. We also had ceremony and an opportunity for them to sit with an elder and just learn about Blackfoot ways of relating to the world and our way of being. And so we did something similar on The Body Remembers where we had basically anti-racism, Indigenous history workshop that was facilitated by a Cree law student named Sarah Robinson. So yeah, I mean, there's plenty of ways to I feel kind of interrupt or disrupt conventional Western storytelling practices to make it I guess, more of like a lateral approach in the sense that you can deconstruct these hierarchies that we're so accustomed to working with when it comes to film, and build a community based approach, a way of working that, that I think is more reflective of the ways that my people relate to one another. And, you know, I would go so far as to say other Indigenous communities operate.
Am Johal 19:27
Elle-Máijá I'm just thinking about your journey as a filmmaker. When I first met you, I was on some panel at the UBC Journalism School that Shayna Plaut had put together. Somewhere around that time, you had made a short film related to fracking in your community, you'd borrowed some film equipment, I think, from UBC, and done a short film and I remember seeing later a really amazing film of your's: “Bihttoš,” about your parents. And you clearly have a really strong social political upbringing and background, but in moving into filmmaking, into making aesthetic choices, that kind of thing. How have you tried to think through the kind of form of filmmaking as you've made new work both documentary and, and narrative films? Has there have been some challenging things about that process?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 20:18
Yeah, definitely. I mean, I didn't go to film school for, for filmmaking, I went to film school for acting a very long time ago and started as an actor, and grew very frustrated with the industry as an Indigenous woman. And my grandmother convinced me to go back to school and get a degree in something real. So, I went to UBC, and I studied First Nations and Indigenous Studies. And while I was there, I learned how to operate a camera and use editing software. And for Dory Nason's class, she gave us the opportunity to make multimedia work rather than submit a paper. And so I did that I made a terrible short documentary that I shot on a camcorder and edited in iMovie, which was about representations of Indigenous women in film. And it was the first opportunity where I had like narrative agency, where I had control over, you know, what unfolds in the film. And it was a really profound moment for me, to be able to have narrative agency and to be able to create something. And so the following year, I made a short film called, "Bloodland," in my last semester of school at UBC. And again, just having that experience of being able to make something about something that I cared about, was really incredible. But in terms of like, interacting with the form of film or finding my footing, I think the reason all of my work is so different is because I'm not trained in film. And so every time I make something, it's like, just an experiment, you know, just trying things out. And sometimes it works. And sometimes it doesn't. But yeah, I feel like every project I have is just an opportunity to try something new and to learn something new. And just keep figuring it out. Because I don't know, I hope that I can continue to learn and that I've never had a place in my career where I feel like I know everything.
Am Johal 22:30
Now, you've continued to do some acting as well, because you've recently had some films come out. Wondering if you can talk a little bit about, are you back to acting in particular films compared to what made you leave that part of your relationship to film?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 22:45
Yeah, yeah, I was kind of like called back to acting. And yeah, have had a really great few years in terms of acting experience. It's funny because I was thinking about it, and realize that I've only ever once been cast by a non Indigenous person to play an Indigenous role. I think because I don't necessarily fit within the kind of make believe fantasy that settlers have about who Indigenous people are and what we look like. And so in the last few years, I've been fortunate enough to work with Jeff Barnaby on his second feature called, "Blood Quantum." And I worked with Danis Goulet, who's a really talented tree filmmaker on her debut feature film called, "Night Raiders," and then got to act in The Body Remembers, and it was just really, really wonderful to be part of this exciting new wave of Indigenous filmmakers who are making feature films. There hasn't been enough access to the resources necessary to make feature films, in previous years. There are people who have made features and have had to do so with like very few resources. And so we're kind of in this exciting time in Canada in particular, where funding agencies and funding institutions are finally recognizing or being held accountable, and recognizing that they need to offer fair resources to Indigenous filmmakers in order to be able to make the kinds of films we want to make. So I was able to work with Jeff and with Danis, an act and watch them work and be part of a couple of like, really, really exciting, incredible projects. And it's been really fulfilling for me, as an Indigenous filmmaker, to be able to watch other Indigenous filmmakers work and to learn from them. But also just as a performer to be able to be one piece of the puzzle and telling these really, really important and innovative stories.
Am Johal 24:49
I was going to ask you is both in this recent documentary, but also in your feature film work, the Downtown Eastside comes up as a place where you return to, in a way. And I'm wondering if you can talk about your interest in the neighborhood and how you've found yourself working there in terms of setting for a feature film, or also in the context of this documentary, where there was a site visit of Insite and a few other places there. But what about the neighborhood draws you in as a place to share stories about?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 25:24
Sure. Well, I've lived in East Vancouver for 10 years, more than 10 years now. And in regards to the work that's happening on the Downtown Eastside, specifically, with harm reduction, it's been an incredible sight of learning for me. Like I said, when I started making this documentary, I knew, like sort of the bare minimum, or the basics about harm reduction, but I had so much to learn regarding harm reduction. And so in that year of research, I spent a lot of time just learning from people on the Downtown Eastside, at the Portland Hotel Society, and also the Western Aboriginal Harm Reduction Society. So Tracey Morrison, who's now passed away, was really, really welcoming and inviting. And let me come and sit in on quite a few meetings with the WAHRS board and just learn from them. Because harm reduction is something that's not widely accepted as, throughout Canadian society as a whole, but also within Indigenous communities. Because abstinence has been so heavy handedly, really placed within our communities in a way that hasn't really allowed for any sort of alternative approaches to treating addiction. And so when my community implemented harm reduction, it was a really big deal. And there's still a lot of people who have certain attitudes, more conservative attitudes towards harm reduction that aren't necessarily accepting of what's going on. And so in terms of learning from people on the Downtown Eastside, that was absolutely crucial to just being able to understand the ethos of harm reduction, to be able to understand what it means to Indigenous people living with active substance use disorder, what harm reduction can mean to them, and the ways that it can positively impact their lives and all of the political work that has to happen. Yes, I'm just so grateful to have had the opportunity to learn from the folks at WAHRS and the Portland Hotel Society. And I feel like being able to show that in the film was also just so important. It was really wonderful to have a group of 10 women from home, all working in health, come out to Vancouver and learn from people working in harm reduction, and also just being able to hear firsthand from Indigenous people living with substance use disorder how harm reduction has positively impacted their lives. And it was while this group of women came to the Downtown Eastside that my mother sort of had this epiphany, when she realized that kímmapiiyipitssini, which is a Blackfoot teaching that essentially means it's a gift to be able to give compassion, to give kindness, to give empathy. And that gift of kímmapiiyipitssini is one way that we have survived genocide. And that's how we continue to survive as a people through love and generosity and compassion. And so, when this group of women came to the Downtown Eastside and witnessed what harm reduction looks like, in a very tangible, physical way, my mother had the epiphany or the realization that the ethos of harm reduction of meeting people where they're at, of having empathy for drug and alcohol users, is very much in line with that traditional Blackfoot teaching of kímmapiiyipitssini. And so that is how the film evolved into this idea of looking at substance use disorder, of looking at people who use drugs and alcohol, through a lens of compassion is really the necessary way forward. It's how we're going to survive as a community as well as surrounding ourselves in hope and compassion.
Am Johal 29:09
This most recent documentary is supported by the National Film Board and their supportive Indigenous filmmakers, at least from a historical point of view, is actually quite recent. In a way, when you look at some of the era in the late 60s and early 70s, supporting the work of Willie Dunn, Alanis Obomsawin, and others. I'm wondering if you can speak to who are the filmmakers that you draw inspiration from either historically or currently who are making work that you are inspired by?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 29:39
Yeah, sure. So the film is a co-production with the National Film Board and my company Seen Through Women Productions. It's a [speaking in Blackfoot language], which was made great, great, great grandmother no wait -- my great, great grandmother's name. Anyway, it was important for me to turn it into a co-production so that I would be able to care for and be the steward of these stories. So I own the majority of, I have 51% ownership in the film. But yeah, the NFB has a, you know, a complicated relationship with Indigenous communities and Indigenous storytellers. And I've been on the Indigenous advisory board at the NFB for the last four years. And that work has been all about re-shaping and building a new relationship between the NFB and Indigenous communities and film creatives. Because there are, there are issues and have been issues. And my community has been the subject of numerous NFB films told by non Indigenous filmmakers. And so, you know, there's the film Circle of the Sun , which we see like a brief excerpt from in my film, and Circle of the Sun was made by Colin Low, who's a lovely man, and he was from the area and he documented what was supposedly going to be one of the last Sun Dance ceremonies, because our people were, you know, our cultural ways were dying, and yada, yada, yada. But now, the Sun Dance is the largest it's ever been. And there's like a really beautiful cultural revitalization movement and language movement. And so it's just kind of interesting to, to think about the way that that film was framed, and told from an outsider's perspective to the way that this film was being told in that I'm part of the community. This is my family. And these are my people. And it's a very different time. But in terms of filmmakers who inspire me, there's just like, way too many to name. But I would say, Tasha Hubbard, she's a dear friend and mentor, and I just absolutely have so much respect for the way that she works. 'Birth Of A Family,' 'Two Worlds Colliding,' and I think it's 'Nîpawistamâsowin: We Will Stand Up' are just profoundly important works, not just as Indigenous films, but in terms of Canadian films. In terms of changing the conversations, and having honest conversations about settler Indigenous relations in this country. And she does so with great care, and I just have so much respect for the way that she works. So Tasha is right at the top of the list and, and then there's Lisa Jackson, another dear friend and mentor, who is consistently finding innovative ways to tell stories. And she's a real like philosopher, I love just to listen to her think and talk and the way that she approaches her work is so unique. And she just like really strives for out of the box ways of working. Gil Cardinal who's passed on, his work I think is really important. Obviously, Alanis Obomsawin is really important. Tracey Deer, she made some really fantastic documentaries. And she has a film called, "Beans," which just came out this year about the Oka Crisis. And then there's a ton of filmmakers who make mostly narrative films that I really respect and admire. Danis Goulet, obviously, Sterlin Harjo and Taika Waititi. And, yeah, there's a really, really long list. And I feel like if I start naming them all, then I'm just gonna, like forget people.
Am Johal 33:14
Totally understand, totally understand. And now the last few years, you've been spending some time in New York as well. How has that been for you in terms of communities of filmmakers, and that type of thing? What's been new about being in a big city like New York?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 33:29
Yeah, well, I'm back in Vancouver now that the pandemic well for the last year since the pandemic hit. But New York was a really fun experiment. And most of my work was still back in Canada. But there are some really talented creatives who live in New York. So it was great to kind of like step out of this sort of familiar zone of East Vancouver, and be in a place where there's just like, so much life and creativity everywhere, and just so many different kinds of people. Like it's like an assault of all of the senses, but often in a good way.
Am Johal 34:05
No, I know, you've had a lot of material come up both with you acting and also with the documentary coming up. But what are some new projects that you have on the go inside this pandemic context?
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 34:18
Well, I'm working on my next narrative feature, I've optioned the rights to adapt a short story by an Indigenous Australian author, who's named Ellen van Neerven. And the short story is, it's super weird and super great. It's about, it's an environmental thriller. It's like a queer love story. It's a little bit scary, and it's a little bit funny. And it's mostly rooted in realism. But it's also like a little bit science fiction-y. It does a lot of different things. But I'm really looking forward to kind of stepping out of this world of like, social realism that's like rooted in kind of heavy stuff. I mean, this film will be about heavy stuff too, but, but it's at its core. It's like a love story. And it's going to be quite experimental in the sense of like, process and I can't say I've ever really seen a film like this one before. So I'm yeah, I'm excited to try something new and really like step out of my own comfort zone.
Am Johal 35:22
Elle-Máijá, thank you so much for joining us on Below the Radar and really wish you well in getting the story of this documentary out and around. It was such a beautiful film to watch. Thank you so much for joining us.
Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers 35:35
Thanks for having me. It was an honour.
Paige Smith 35:40
Below the Radar is a knowledge democracy podcast created by SFU's Vancity Office of Community Engagement. Thanks for listening to our conversation with Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers. You can head over to the show notes to find out more about her film Kímmapiiyipitssini: The Meaning of Empathy, as well as some of our other projects. Thanks again for listening and we'll see you next time on Below the Radar.