Camosun College campuses are located on the traditional territories of the Lkwungen and W̱SÁNEĆ peoples. We acknowledge their welcome and graciousness to the students who seek knowledge here.
Settling into the first couple weeks of winter term, you probably heard your instructor perform some semblance of the land acknowledgement above within about five to 15 minutes of your first class. I’m going to guess that, in most cases, it was done quickly and efficiently; a box ticked so that the class could move on to the main event.
Whether this is your first or your eighth term at the college, I ask you to consider whether you even remember the acknowledgement. How many of your instructors took the time to thoughtfully address the land in a way that opened things up for you and your classmates to curiously explore the importance of this protocol?
Land acknowledgements have become common practice in Canada for almost every event, gathering, website, and memo since the release of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s final report in 2015. In many ways this act is an insidious way for settler colonizers to pat themselves on the back as being part of the good fight toward reconciliation. In most cases, when performed by a non-Indigenous person, the practice has strayed so far from its original intention that it has become nothing more than a superficial, performative regurgitation.
As a first-year Indigenous Studies (IST) student of settler descent, I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on this topic, but I will point out the stark contrast I’ve noticed on campus between my IST and non-IST classes.
In the Indigenous Studies program our first classes start with each student introducing themselves, stating where they’re from and what their intentions for study are. This protocol is a way of orienting ourselves both within the class and with each other.
From the moment we sit down, we’re creating the social contracts that build trust with each other so that we can be in community in a good way.
When discussing this practice with a non-IST class, our instructor exclaimed that it was a nice sentiment but would take far too long, and yet we were released from said class 30 minutes early on the first day.
Introducing oneself is a key component to acknowledging the land because it forces you into a process of self-reflection that leads to cultural humility. For the Lkwungen and W̱SÁNEĆ people the land is the very first classroom, informing how to live in harmony with the environment for the benefit of all living and non-living entities. When one considers that Indigenous people were able to benefit from the teachings of the land, keeping ecosystems in balance for millennia prior to colonial contact yet it has taken settlers under 200 years to undo that balance, one might welcome a little cultural humility.
Colonization imported the paradigms of individualism, land ownership, and utilitarianism, mindsets that are perpetuated by ordinary people influencing extraction practices that continue to debase the land and water today. Orienting yourself on the land is a foundational step toward understanding that your presence here comes at a cost to both the land and the original caretakers of it.
As I learn and grow in the Indigenous Studies program it has become increasingly clear that respecting Indigenous protocols is not about righting past wrongs—because how could those wrongs ever be “righted”?—but about restoring nations to a place of leadership and influence on this land to benefit all.