I recently had the honour of visiting Haida Gwaii, an archipelago of islands off the west coast of Canada. The island was colonised by British settlers in the late 1800s, with devastating results. The entire Haida nation was almost wiped out. The pre-contact population was in the tens of thousands with several dozen towns dotted throughout the islands. After contact was made, the British intentionally introduced diseases such as smallpox – by infecting blankets they would give to the unsuspecting Haida. The population fell to just 600.
Today, there are around 5,000 people living on the islands, and around half of them are Haida. They are skilled fishermen, and rely on fishing to provide food for their families. They also now hunt deer – an invasive species on the island, which responsible for eating much of the nation's precious medicinal plants. Recently, Canada handed over half a million acres of land to the Haida, in an historic deal, transfering the land title of more than 200 islands to the nation. It's a huge win for the Haida, and hopefully signals a shift in government attitudes towards indigenous populations (there's a lot of work to be done in the US...)
I met so many wonderful Haida on the trip, and we spoke about what it meant to be indigenous, how they communed and connected with the land. I rode a boat with a man named Sean, who had hunted the venison and fished the salmon that we ate for lunch. He doesn't sell the meat or fish he hunts, he shares it with his friends and family.
I walked through ancient growth forests with Tyler, a forester who spoke to me about the tricky spot he was in – he thinks the island should get rid of all the deer as they're destroying native plants. But they're a valuable food source on an island where most people work multiple jobs, and the few grocery stores are eye-wateringly expensive.
Tyler showing off "the best totem on the island" (his, a mythical two-finned killer whale)
It's a pivotal moment for the island, and a lot of people will be watching the Haida Council Nation as they navigate these new title rights.
While I was on the islands, I visited an ancient village called Ḵ'uuna Llnagaay – village on the edge – or Skedans, as it is known in English. Guarded by watchmen – locals who take turns living on the settlement to protect its heritage – the village once had 27 longhouses, which housed anywhere up to 600 Haida.
All that remains now are deep pits where the longhouses once stood, and long wooden stumps at various precarious angles – totem poles from the times that chieftains would erect them in front of their homes.
One particularly well-preserved pole, which leaned backwards at a 45° angle, had deep rings around its entire length. I asked what they were. The watchmen told me each groove represented 10 or 15 blankets that the chief had given away. "We mark wealth by how much we give away, not by how much we hold onto," the watchmen told me.
Credit: Flickr
Potlatches were a regular practice: gift-giving feasts where hundreds would attend from other clans and villages. Potlatches could run for days and days – the wealthier a chief was, the longer his potlatch would run for. (Potlatches were later outlawed by the British colonisers, although tribes continued to hold them in secret in face of punishment.)
Chief O'wax̱a̱laga̱lis of the Kwagu'ł (a tribe from outside Haida Gwaii) described the potlatch in a speech to anthropologist Franz Boas:
"We will dance when our laws command us to dance, we will feast when our hearts desire to feast. Do we ask the white man, 'Do as the Indian does'? No, we do not. Why, then, will you ask us, 'Do as the white man does'? It is a strict law that bids us to dance. It is a strict law that bids us to distribute our property among our friends and neighbors. It is a good law. Let the white man observe his law; we shall observe ours. And now, if you are come to forbid us to dance, begone; if not, you will be welcome to us."
A couple of weeks have gone by since I've returned from the trip, crashing down in the chaotic city – a rude awakening from the blissful silence, old growth forests, and vibrant green moss that called to be walked on barefoot (which I did, many times). I live in a city that runs on wealth, is fueled by superficiality, whose inhabitants race towards fame. It feels so far removed from this beautiful way of thinking. It's easy to slip into the race and forget these kinds of soul lessons. I'm hoping by writing this down I'll remember this teaching: that true wealth is defined by generosity, that honour is measured by how much you can give away – not by how much you hoard.
After all, we can't take any of it with us, can we? Even the Ancient Egyptians knew that.
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