I meet with Trevor on a Friday at the end of a work day, before a long weekend. He is a guest speaker on the monthly U of A vodcast, Presenting our Presence (POP). His episode on hair teachings and Indigenous student recruitment - our discussion for this interview - makes me hesitate to turn my video feed on. I am aware of the state of my hair. It’s still in its renewal stage since becoming a mom and I apologize for its state at the beginning of our chat. My thoughts are a jumble of preoccupied responsibilities and to-do tasks, but for those thirty-odd minutes Trevor’s enthusiasm, charisma and captivating storytelling transports me to memories of my own family, my late mom especially. I am thankful and am immediately put at ease by his warm approach and humour with which he describes his Beyonce floral maternity-inspired background. The fact that he is wearing a toque doesn’t hurt.
You elude that our relationship with our hair can help us process change and come to a place of peace in who we are and what we represent. How did you come to such a profound understanding?
Elders teach us that we feel our experiences in our bodies before we can understand them. Our hair emulates our experiences, our lives in its own way: It's absorbing the material circumstances of our lived experience. It's its own living spirit and energy.
Hair care can address spiritual imbalances and show us what no longer serves us. The other piece is that our hair carries all of our histories and our memories. It can act as a moment of grounding, reminding you of your community and of your connection to who you are and where you come from. It can give you a ton of power and a ton of validation.
I was going through a process of washing it a lot in going to Ceremony. When it gets washed, it becomes totally unruly. It's frizzy, it's voluminous, it's big, it's loud, and it will not be held into place by elastic, by pin, or by hairnet. It just wants out.
I tried to do everything to control it, but now I let my hair be. For so long, I was fixated on making my hair look the way that I thought it should be. My vanity was satiated. And growing my hair out immediately put a stop to that. That's when I really started to pay attention to the signs my hair was giving me about myself. In letting go and letting my hair be whatever it's going to be - whether I put it up or keep it down - I started to see how people see me in a way that I had never allowed before. I no longer hear my own inner critique, but instead hear the compliments from the people around me about what they like about my hair, about me.
Getting my hair braided for the first time last year by my mom was really personal for me. I distinctly remember her body against mine and her fingers in my hair. I could hear her breathe and I could smell her. It brought me back to my childhood. I felt protected by my mom in a really wild way. I’m six inches taller than her, but at that moment I felt young and small. It was a very nostalgic feeling and a very comforting one at the same time. I gave her gifts and it was a really beautiful moment for us to connect. This is one of the only times my mom has braided my hair, even though this practice is a common experience that many First Nations community members go through - especially for women, female-identifying folks, and even for many boys who have long hair. It was really sweet, my Mom was very concerned about how my hair looked after she cut it. I think she did a great job and I appreciated it so much. Short-hair Trev, as I refer to my younger self, would have never had the capacity to understand what it meant to support her through her process of inner criticism.
You come from a long line of square dance callers, pool sharks, talented cooks, voracious readers, and beautiful laughter. In what ways does your family shape the values you travel with when you engage with prospective Indigenous students?
My family informs everything about my style to my academic research, the reason why I went to University in the first place. I've started a PhD in literature - that was my response to that direction. And they also inform my approach as an Indigenous Student Recruitment Manager with the Office of the Registrar.
My dad taught me it’s not what you make, but what you leave - your legacy - that’s important. To me, it doesn't matter if I raise application rates this year. It’s about the reputation and memories I share with the communities I visit. It’s about the difference we are making over time in that community, with those prospective Indigenous learners.
I try to connect with the folks that I'm meeting with: how do I braid the hair of this community? How do I get that close to the community and its people, to the prospective learners, as my mom did with me while braiding my hair? The only way to do that is by being honest about the way the community is impacting me. I speak with them. I engage with them. But it’s also about learning from them and I think this approach, for me, really works and facilitates really good connections.
Do you have any advice for Indigenous students who may be experiencing anxiety about returning to in-person course delivery due to previous on-campus experiences with racism and/or challenges connecting to the University community?
Attending university is really exciting. It’s vibrant. Students can be introduced to thousands of words of Indigenous literary brilliance, you might fall in love with somebody exceptional who could change the trajectory of your life. And, you're going to do wild, crazy, (sometimes) regrettable but unforgettable things - that's the coolest part of attending a university community.
But that’s not always the case for every learner. Racism is real on this campus. Half of our Indigenous students relocate to Edmonton to study. They are leaving the security of their community behind to participate in higher education. That is one of the biggest threats, in my opinion, to Indigenous student success. They get completely cut off - whether it's by physical relocation or by intellectual focus – from everything that has helped them survive and thrive. That separation is incredibly intrusive and has a monumental impact on a student's wellbeing.
For some of us, our hair can be a target and bring intense discrimination. The stress, anxiety, isolation and in very real instances the threat from other campus community members can be a huge deterrent to raising our voice. It’s important for all Indigenous students to remember: Racism is built on a fallacy. You are an incredible Indigenous person. You are brilliant, you are capable, you are vital to this community. You deserve to be here. Seek out spaces that reaffirm that and ask for help to protect you against those who do not respect you.
Catch more of Trevor’s storytelling, and insights from other Indigenous knowledge-holders who work at the U of A, on Presenting our Presence.
This conversation has been edited for brevity and clarity.
About Trevor
Trevor J. Phillips is a Member of the Métis Nation of Alberta and the first Manager of Indigenous Recruitment in the Registrar’s Office at the University of Alberta. When he’s not visiting Indigenous communities across Western Canada or reading Indigenous literature, you can catch him calling play-by-play for Pandas Women’s Hockey on CanadaWestTv.