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To date, game studies has largely undertheorized the co-production of postcolonial stories, exploration, and mapping in games. Furthermore, as has been noted before (Carr, 2006), the work that has been done on postcolonialism and play so far often leaves the player out of the equation, even sometimes as a theoretical construct. Yet player experience is crucial to understanding such games, as narratives are not only built on the ‘master’ level of game mechanics, but also through the personal stories players processually (Ash, 2009; Thrift, 2008) develop through their journey of touring and mapping, thereby developing spatial stories (De Certeau, 1984; Jenkins, 2004; Lammes, 2009) that may present us with conflicting spatio-temporal accounts. Through a comparative and collaborative auto-ethnographic analysis of Civilization VI (Sid Meier, 2016) – a turn-based strategy game – we want to push this discussion further and improve our theoretical understanding and analytical purchase of the triad relation between narrative and postcolonialism in games, thereby contributing to the field of postcolonial theory and game studies. Drawing on postcolonial geography, science and technology studies (STS), non-representational theory and game studies, we argue that games, through their playful, explorative and emergent qualities, are a powerful means of rethinking and reimagining colonial (hi)stories in this postcolonial era (Lammes, 2009, 2010) including issues of spatio-temporality, cartography and the hybrid relation between women and machines.

Thunderbird Strike, a 2D side-scroller developed by Elizabeth LaPensée, allows a player fly from the Tar Sands to the Great Lakes as a thunderbird protecting Turtle Island with searing lightning against the snake that threatens to swallow the lands and waters whole. The game encouraged players to learn about the indigenous culture, reflect on water protection and alternative energy sources, and gain awareness of risks posed by oil pipeline construction for the conveyance of tar sands.Thunderbird Strike was developed through residencies including O k’inādās Residency, The Banff Musicians in Residence Program, and Territ-Aur(i)al Imprints Exchange thanks to the 2016 Artist Fellowship grant from the Arrowhead Regional Arts Council.

Whose Land Is It Anyway? A Manual for Decolonization provides a variety of Indigenous perspectives on the history of colonialism, current Indigenous activism and resistance, and outlines the path forward to reconciliation. This audio version features renowned Indigenous writers Taiaiake Alfred, Glen Coulthard, Russell Diabo, Beverly Jacobs, Melina Laboucan-Massimo, Kanahus Manuel, Jeffrey McNeil-Seymour, Pamela Palmater, Shiri Pasternak, Nicole Schabus, Senator Murray Sinclair, and Sharon Venne. The late Arthur Manuel’s writings are read by his grandson, Mahekan Anderson.

In interviews the comedian Wanda Sykes describes being a successful black, openly gay woman in Hollywood as akin to being a unicorn. Clearly Sykes is majestic. Yet her joke hinges on a bitter truth: the mainstream media industry grants few women, not to mention lesbians of color, access to power. Despite shifts in the cultural imaginary around civil rights, Hollywood continues to maintain an embarrassing lack of diversity in its labor force, especially at decision-making levels. To battle this long-standing reputation, studios have developed diversity-hiring programs.

The postcolonial has still remained on the margins of Game Studies, which has now incorporated at length, contemporary debates of race, gender, and other areas that challenge the canon. It is difficult to believe, however, that it has not defined the way in which video games are perceived; the effect, it can be argued, is subtle. For the millions of Indians playing games such as Empire: Total War or East India Company, their encounter with colonial history is direct and unavoidable, especially given the pervasiveness of postcolonial reactions in everything from academia to day-to-day conversation around them. The ways in which games construct conceptions of spatiality, political systems, ethics, and society are often deeply imbued with a notion of the colonial and therefore also with the questioning of colonialism. This article aims to examine the complexities that the postcolonial undertones in video games bring to the ways in which we read them.

Today over half of all American households own a dedicated game console and gaming industry profits trump those of the film industry worldwide. In this book, Soraya Murray moves past the technical discussions of games and offers a fresh and incisive look at their cultural dimensions. She critically explores blockbusters likeThe Last of Us, Metal Gear Solid, Spec Ops: The Line, Tomb Raider and Assassin's Creed to show how they are deeply entangled with American ideological positions and contemporary political, cultural and economic conflicts.As quintessential forms of visual material in the twenty-first century, mainstream games both mirror and spur larger societal fears, hopes and dreams, and even address complex struggles for recognition. This book examines both their elaborately constructed characters and densely layered worlds, whose social and environmental landscapes reflect ideas about gender, race, globalisation and urban life. In this emerging field of study, Murray provides novel theoretical approaches to discussing games and playable media as culture. Demonstrating that games are at the frontline of power relations, she reimagines how we see them - and more importantly how we understand them.

"Si tous les groupes humains sont touchés par la violence à grande échelle, les femmes la subissent sous des formes spécifiques, comme en témoignent les assassinats systémiques des femmes et des filles autochtones en Amérique du Nord et en Amérique latine, ou encore les nombreux conflits armés (Syrie, Lybie, Birmanie, entre autres) dans lesquels le viol est érigé en arme de guerre. Les deux phénomènes peuvent d'ailleurs se recouper puisque l'un des tout premiers féminicides à avoir été qualifié et documenté comme tel en Amérique est celui ayant été perpétré contre les femmes mayas durant la guerre civile guatémaltèque au début des années 1980. Cependant, les femmes ne sont pas seulement les victimes de la violence de masse, puisqu'elles sont aussi les premières à témoigner et dénoncer pour faire barrage à cette violence. Ce numéro hors-série regroupe des articles et des projets visuels qui décrivent et analysent la violence de masse liée au genre. Il s'agit de réfléchir sur la manière de représenter cette violence et d'en témoigner, d'autant plus qu'elle est bien souvent rendue invisible et inaudible par le patriarcat, le colonialisme, les intérêts politiques en présence ou l'impéritie de l'État."

This article offers a qualitative and quantitive analysis of the critical reception of two exhibitions, Sakahàn:International Indigenous Art (National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa 2013) and Beat Nation: Art, Hip-Hop and Aboriginial Culture (organised and circulated by the Vancouver Art Gallery, 2013-2014). The study treats articles which appeared between 2012 and 2015 in English and French visual-arts publications. The comparative analysis intends to highlight general trends, in order to identify challenges that contemporary Indigenous arts pose for art criticism. A review of the texts shows that all commentators, whether francophone or anglophone, indigenous or non-Indigenous, have welcomed these two exhibitions warmly. The discrepancy between the number of essays in French and those in English reflects the demographic weight of these two linguistic communities and the geographic distribution of First Nations in Canada. This will qualify, without denying, the hypothesis of Quebec's tardiness on the indigenous question. The authors largely recognize the necessity of initiating indigenization of the museum and emphasize the movement to internationalize contemporary indigenous art. Yet many commentators, particulary Indigenous people, dispute the efficacity of the concept of "strategic essentialism" put forward by the commissioners of the Sakahàn catalog. Despite both a real interest in these two major exhibitions and the quality of the commentary, in the end, for events of such a scale few texts have been published on the subject. The criteria for appreciation rooted in the institutional sociology of art endeavour to fully take into account the challenges posed by certain central aspects of the approach of several Indigenous creators, such as the intangible dimensions of their civic engagement, the dissolution of particular outside venues and the sisterhood of certain projects.

À la suite d’une série d’évènements historiques de grande relevance sociopolitique, les années 1990 ont connu une montée d'initiatives menées par les artistes autochtones nord-américains visant à une récupération et une divulgation de leur l’héritage culturel, et, de ce fait, à une revendication de leur visibilité dans le panorama international. De cette résurgence, l’artiste multimédial autochtone canadien, Kent Monkman, constitue l’une des voix plus actives et plus emblématiques. En créant un dialogue épistémologique entre les études postcoloniales et l’art autochtone, cet article interrogera l’œuvre de Kent Monkman au prisme d’une notion dont sera proposée une définition, à savoir le « Painting Back ».

In mainstream media, gays and lesbians of color are either woefully present or predictably absent. The litany of black gay and lesbian characters in Hollywood films and network television reads like its own form of blackface. They range from the burly, black “bulldagger” as whore house madam in the 1933 film The Emperor Jones (starring Paul Robeson) to the predatory lesbian vamp in Spike Lee’s 1983 She’s Gotta Have It ; from Eddie Murphy’s ultracamp Miss Thing hairdresser on NBC’s Saturday Night Live to the snap! queen duo on Fox TV’s In Living Color. These relentless stereo types are part of

Shari Frilot is a filmmaker and curator whose creative practice has been driven by sustained explorations of sexuality, technology, desire, cosmic and subatomic structures, mixed-raced identity, and chaos. She has often expressed her modus operandi in the following terms: “It’s impossible to see a cloud when you’re in the middle of it. You have to move outside of the cloud to really get a sense of it.” By continually shifting between the outside and inside of a given framework—whether institutional or personal—Frilot has developed keen modes of challenging conventional structures for understanding and engaging the moving image.

Shelley Niro is widely known for her ability to explode myths, transgress boundaries and embody the ethos of her matriarchal culture in a wide variety of mediums including photography, installation, film and painting. Niro creates photographic series that emphasize the medium?s inherent capacity for narrative and representation. She pushes the limits of photography by incorporating Mohawk imagery, re-appropriating traditional stories such as Skywoman and The Peacemaker, and by focusing on contemporary subjects with wit, irony and campy humor. Niro marries portraiture, performance art and satire by having her subjects and herself perform for the camera in ways that gently invite audiences to rethink their beliefs and preconceptions about indigenous peoples and themselves. With compassion and deep insight, Niro opens up the fault lines and desires of gender, sexuality and culture to create images of freedom from the status quo in representation. Photography was a medium that helped subjugate indigenous peoples, but in Niro?s revolutionary hands it empowers

How have video games evolved to now create meaningful stories about race and sports? This essay examines how Spike Lee's film-within-a-game, Livin' Da Dream (2015), reproduces some existing procedural and racial logics that reflect the desire to constantly manage and contain the centrality of black athletic greatness in mainstream sports and video game culture. While Lee's long-form cinematic model for turning sports video games into narrative games has been emulated across the medium as a whole, fans and gamers continually discuss the film as an evidently "broken" part of the popular NBA 2K video game series. As I argue here, however, the film-within-a-game productively insists on a default blackness when it functions as what I call "procedural cinema" (a rules and process based narrative). Ultimately, in functioning procedurally, Lee's otherwise conservative melodramatic story serves as a particularly instructive example of how computational blackness may, in systematically subverting the rules of the game, signify disruptively both within and against the machine.

On parle beaucoup au Québec, comme dans le reste du Canada, de réconciliation avec les Premières Nations. Mais pour qu'un rapprochement fécond puisse avoir lieu, qu'une nouvelle ère, égalitaire et respectueuse, s'ouvre, le cadre constitutionnel canadien ne peut à lui seul en définir les règles. Toute entente devra aussi tenir compte des traditions autochtones. C'est dans ce contexte que le livre de Leanne Simpson trouve toute sa pertinence. L'auteure s'y demande comment redonner force, consistance et valeur à un héritage politique, juridique et culturel mis à mal par le processus colonial. D'une façon aussi concrète que tonique et audacieuse, elle y explore la langue, les mythes, les coutumes et les expériences de sa culture ancestrale afin de recouvrer et révéler cette manière singulière et originale d'être au monde trop longtemps méprisée. Si l'entreprise est inspirante pour toute communauté issue des Premières Nations, elle l'est également pour quiconque s'intéresse aux contradictions de la modernité occidentale. -- [Renaud-Bray]

L’article part de la notion wendat d’ohtehra’ pour développer une approche de l’art contemporain autochtone comme processus de « ré-ensauvagement » à l’œuvre, entre autres, chez les artistes Kent Monkman (Cri-Irlandais) et Caroline Monnet (Anishinaabe-Française). L’auteur, en s’appuyant sur les théoriciens Deborah Doxtator (Kanien’kehá:ka), Georges Emery Sioui (Wendat) et Taiaiake Alfred (Kanien’kehá:ka) propose également une analyse de l’autochtonie en Amérique du Nord comme un fait glocal d’Américité.

Video games are inherently transnational by virtue of their industrial, textual and player practices. Until recently, the focus of research on the social and cultural aspects of video games has been on the traditional centers of the video game industry consumption, while the international flows of digital gaming remained largely underexplored. This chapter analyzes the cultural dynamics and technological processes influencing both video game development and the gaming culture in the Middle East. It conceptualizes Middle Eastern video games as imaginary spaces that entangle diverse and contradictory processes: global cultural flows, media policies of nation states, visions and engagements of private entrepreneurs, and migration and appropriation of Western game genres and rule systems. By mapping out dominant trends, the chapter offers the opportunity to think about processes and flows influencing the video game industry in the Middle East during the first fifteen years of its existence

It is the twenty-first century, and there is a black lesbian director and producer making pornography! Porn, a genre of film and media that in the last quarter of the twentieth century many black feminist lesbians viewed as capable only of representing and manifesting violence, abuse, and shame. In this essay I examine one of the early works of the black lesbian filmmaker Shine Louise Houston, In Search of the Wild Kingdom (2007), to explore how and why we have arrived at what is a transition from Blues Legacies and Black Feminisms to Pink and White Productions, and from New

This book examines the representation of blackness on television at the height of the southern civil rights movement and again in the aftermath of the Reagan-Bush years. In the process, it looks carefully at how television's ideological projects with respect to race have supported or conflicted with the industry's incentive to maximize profits or consolidate power. Sasha Torres examines the complex relations between the television industry and the civil rights movement as a knot of overlapping interests. She argues that television coverage of the civil rights movement during 1955-1965 encouraged viewers to identify with black protestors and against white police, including such infamous villains as Birmingham's Bull Connor and Selma's Jim Clark. Torres then argues that television of the 1990s encouraged viewers to identify with police against putatively criminal blacks, even in its dramatizations of police brutality. Torres's pioneering analysis makes distinctive contributions to its fields. It challenges television scholars to consider the historical centrality of race to the constitution of the medium's genres, visual conventions, and industrial structures. And it displaces the analytical focus on stereotypes that has hamstrung assessments of television's depiction of African Americans, concentrating instead on the ways in which African Americans and their political collectives have actively shaped that depiction to advance civil rights causes. This book also challenges African American studies to pay closer and better attention to television's ongoing role in the organization and disorganization of U.S. racial politics.

Cet article revient sur la polémique qui a éclaté en juin 2017, lorsque des artistes, des intellectuels et des militants cherokees ont publié une lettre ouverte dénonçant comme frauduleuse l'identité cherokee de l'artiste Jimmie Durham, l'une des figures les plus reconnues de l'art contemporain autochtone. Loin de vouloir trancher un débat aux ramifications complexes, cet article entend plutôt restituer les termes de la querelle et examiner la façon dont cette controverse éclaire la notion d'« autochtonie