TED@DestinationCanada 2023

Read The Script:

I come from a culture of storytellers; ​​our oldest legends stretch back to a time of the supernatural. They are so ancient they begin, “long ago, before time began, when the world was both light and dark”. So, I thought we could discuss the story of story itself, of legacy. In a Western sense, legacy is the mark a person leaves on history, statues are raised for the heroes, for those that are revered. In my culture we think of legacy a bit differently…

Taay.dal Haanuu Dii Kiiga ga

I am Taaydal – its closest direct translation is “Coming in Big”

I come from Haida Gwaii. An archipelago off the Northwestern coast of British Columbia where on a clear day you could paint the shores of the Alaskan Panhandle from our Northern Beaches. Our legacy, or the stories told about us, at least internationally, is of our Monumental Haida Art. Intricate 40-foot story poles, canoes, longhouses, and dance masks have become internationally renowned and collected. Yet it is, in my opinion, the weaving that is the unsung hero.

I dare say our entire culture and society was supported by weaving. The rope for fishermen, our clothing, and the baskets for gathering and storing food. When weaving a cedar basket, you have warps which cascade down your form and the weft which spirals continuously around the form incorporating itself over and under the warp creating the basket. We are, I think, the weft trying to find our way around the form, being careful not to miss a step or start unraveling altogether.

I think of legacy in those terms, as the weaving together of stories, passed on as a whole. That may seem esoteric, but I would like to share an example.

250 years ago approximately 20,000 Haidas thrived on the shores of Haida Gwaii, less than 600 remained at the end of the 19th century. You see, it was 250 years ago that an explorer arrived to Haida Gwaii on the ship Santiago, the first European to do so. What is his legacy, an inlet named after him on Haida Gwaii, or what I assume were the unintended consequences. Smallpox, Tuberculosis, residential schools, potlatch bans, the burning of our masks and poles as firewood, or the collectors who ransacked the villages we were forced to abandon.

That is the legacy of the colonial institutions. Our legacy is of those 600 Haida people who stood against the well-oiled machinery of an empire that sought to destroy us. None of them have inlets named after them, but their legacy is on display every time we stand up and say, we are the Haida Nation.

Their legacy was on full display last fall – when my clan the K’ayaahl Laanas, the sealion town people descended from those born at Ts’aahl Llnagaay, K’ay Llnagaay, Xaayna, Kaysuun, and Niisii held a potlatch.  A potlatch is when clans or nations come together to feast and conduct business, like a chief being inaugurated, a death, a marriage, or a person receiving a name. We witness these business transactions, to support or defend them if necessary. Our potlatch was a memorial pole raising honoring our late Chief Gaahlaay.

A memorial pole is a symbol of wealth much like a statue, but where they differ is in the rings carved up the pole, each one indicating a potlatch, which are the real measure of status for a chief. Marking each time a Chief and his clan redistributed their wealth beyond their needs to ensure other clans and nations could survive the winter.

My piece of this story began on a beautiful fall afternoon, the type of day you would take a jacket with you and just end up carrying it around everywhere you go. I had no sooner landed in Haida Gwaii then I was in a speed boat skimming across the inlet to our traditional village site of Xaayna Llnagaay (sunshine town). As I leapt off the bow onto the shore, we were told that we had just missed the Royal Canadian Mounted Police or mounties who came over on their zodiac to sleuth out the cause of the smoke billowing into the sky; they wanted to ensure Maude Island was not on fire.  

A crackling bonfire was going on the beach to burn branches from the trees being removed to unveil big rectangles of sunken earth where longhouses once stood. I had been to this village site before, but only ever as a place in slumber. For me the smoke was a bat signal in the sky. The Kayaahl Laanas have returned home. Shortly after arriving I was 6 feet deep in the earth and working to reach 7. I arrived late to the digging party, but it was my honor to complete the final foot needed so the memorial pole we would be raising in a few days’ time was seated deep enough in the earth that the greatest winds of Haida Gwaii would not topple it.

What made the moment even more powerful, was the treasures found during the initial digging. A portion of a carved stone bowl and blue and red glass trade beads that came by way of Russian traders all the way from Bohemia. In a way we were reawakening the spirits held in the land. Where external forces once drove us to abandon those shores, now we were coming home, and they were there waiting for us.

Hundreds of our community members, fellow clans and relatives from other nations came together to help us raise the pole. It began with an offering of food burned in a fire, a gift to our ancestors. The drums sounded announcing a canoe coming ashore carrying the carvers of the pole, the current chief Gaahlaay, and the daughter of the late chief Gwaaganad. The Wildman of the woods was drummed through the village site to clear out any unwelcome spirits. The pole which lay on the forest floor was cleansed by cedar boughs, dipped in ocean water, and brushed along its length. Eagle down was spread as a symbol of peace and good luck. New offerings of glass beads were placed in the hole that we had dug days earlier, so that centuries from now long after this memorial pole had returned to the earth they would find the treasures from us, when the next pole was raised in its place. Thick ropes that had been tied around the midsection of the pole were stretched down the beach to the water’s edge and all those who were able found a place along it. The call came to pull, within moments the pole rose up to become a permanent beacon for the next 200 years, that this place is Xaayna Llnagaay, and it remains the village of the K’ayaahl Laanas Xaaydagaay.

Over this 2-day event of raising the pole and then feasting, I stood in the role of master of ceremony alongside my clan brother Gaagwiis. A role I inherit from and share with my maternal uncle Kilslaay Kaadjii Sding. During our potlatch we shared stories, art, language, traditions, and celebrated a deep relationship with our lands and waters. That is true legacy. That is the warps that make up my basket. I am the weft that weaves myself through them, to become a basket that everything else I learn and do in my life can be collected in.

That day, I received this copper shield gifted to me alongside the name Taaydal. 

Perhaps you’ve had the same name since birth and will have the same name until you die. In my culture we are often the caretakers of multiple names over a lifetime. It is our duty to build the wealth and legacy of our names, not just ourselves. Last year I would’ve introduced myself first as Gidin Kuns. Now, I am Taaydal. But I hold Gidin Kuns as a secondary name until my sister has a child and I can pass it on so they can make their mark and build on the name for the next holder.

This shield is a witness to that creation of wealth and status. It is present at significant events, as I received my new name, at my wedding, and now tonight it is witnessing me speaking to all of you. Each of these occasions become tied to the shield and one day when I pass on the name of Taaydal, I will recount all that this copper shield has witnessed and ensure that these stories are carried on with it. It is a concept I encourage you to borrow in your own unique way.

Our choices today will be the reason our descendants will have all the warps in place to weave their own basket and fill it with new stories to be passed on.

We must not allow the environment to worsen to a point where it becomes impossible to carry on any of our cultures. We must be willing to do our business in the light, make decisions that we can celebrate together with our families, our staff, or our constituents. Mark individual achievement but celebrate the collective wellbeing of our team and communities. We must ensure that we build up our names, so we are proud to pass them on. 

Personal legacy is inevitable, as unavoidable as the passage of time. Though we may prioritize our personal legacy, to be the ones with statues erected in our honour, or an inlet that bears our name, I ask you to consider the collective legacy of those unnamed 600, they are the only reason I’m standing here today.

I hope future generations look back at us in gratitude and say look at all the gifts they left us. I would hate for them to look back and say wow he must have been very impressive, he even got a statue.

Thank you.

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