Greg Staats, Do’-gah – I don’t know [shrugging shoulders], 2020

Some iterations suggest strategic withholding: “I do know, but I refuse to tell you, just for today.” Others acknowledge deeper histories of loss: “I don’t know… my language.” Still others confront the extractive, diminishing nature of colonial inquiry: “I don’t know, and because you asked me and expect a detailed answer, I feel shame and anger… for your extractive expectation of presumed knowledge.”

The concept of “generative refusal,” articulated by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, finds strong resonance here: withholding can protect sacred or intimate knowledges and uphold cultural safety. Yet, Staats’s work also leaves room to acknowledge a more complicated truth: refusal is not always strategic. Within Indigenous communities, “I don’t know” can also signal an absence of knowledge, a gap created by cultural disruption, or even a reluctance to engage. Staats does not resolve this tension; instead, his repetitions allow both interpretations to coexist in the same space, underscoring the complex legacies of what is often framed as loss but is more accurately understood as linguistic erasure and recovery.

Materially, the work is rendered as an archival matte canvas print overlaid with oil, earth, and Indian tobacco ash—substances carrying ceremonial and territorial significance. The choice of materials grounds the work in Hodinöhsö:ni’ (Haudenosaunee) values, where land is a monument, oral tradition is a living archive, and the “good mind” is practised daily through acts such as the Ganö:nyök (Thanksgiving Address).

By involving audiences in the recitation and gesture, Do’-gah challenges the usual passivity of viewing art. It transforms the space into a participatory encounter in which the physical act of shrugging and repeating “I don’t know” becomes a shared meditation on the politics of exchanging knowledge. Rather than an invitation to seek definitive answers, it is an opportunity to reflect on when questions should be asked, what answers can or should be given, and how uncertainty can be held without closure.

In Do’-gah, Staats turns a simple phrase into a densely woven inquiry into linguistic erasure, sovereignty, and the ethics of sharing. Whether read as a shield, a confession, or a challenge, “I don’t know” becomes a statement that refuses erasure and invites us to reconsider the responsibilities bound up in both speaking and staying silent.