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Secwépemc water governance : re-imagining water relationality Matthew, Melpatkwa 2020

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  Secwépemc water governance: re-imagining water relationality by Melpatkwa Matthew B.Sc., The University of British Columbia, 2018 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  MASTER OF ARTS  in The Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies (Geography)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) August 2020  ©Melpatkwa Matthew, 2020 ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the thesis entitled:  Secwépemc	water	governance:	re-imagining	water	relationality	 submitted	by	 Melpatkwa	Matthew	 	 in	partial	fulfillment	of	the	requirements	for	the	degree	of	 Master	of	Arts		in	 Geography		   Examining Committee: Michelle	Daigle,	Assistant	Professor,	Department	of	Geography	&	Planning,	University	of	Toronto		Supervisor	Sarah	Hunt,	Assistant	Professor,	Department	of	Environmental	Studies,	University	of	Victoria		Supervisory	Committee	Member	       iii Abstract  This thesis traces how Secwépemc people conceptualize and (re)imagine their relationships with water across the Secwépemc nation. Using a mixed method of qualitative knowledge through one-on-one interviews with relatives and Secwépemc community members I use a strength-based research approach that honours and upholds Secwépemc voices. I include Secwépemc voices of Elders, educators, and youth to share stories and visions of Secwépemc water governance across five Secwépemc communities (Cstélen, Neskonlith, Tk’emlúps, Simpcw, and Sexqeltqín). The Secwépemc value of k'wseltktnéws is used as a theoretical and methodological approach to explore Secwépemc water knowledge and relationality. I examine how settler-colonialism and capitalism impact and attempt to disrupt Secwépemc people and communities’ embodiment, care, and responsibilities to water. Additionally, I discuss how resource extraction practices and narratives shape Secwépemc water governance. This thesis enables Secwépemc people and communities to (re)imagine water governance through the value of k'wseltktnéws, Indigenous futurity, Indigenous feminism, and grounded normativity. This thesis opens up space to improve upon Secwépemc relationality to each other and to water so that our tellqelmucw, the people to come, are supported and able to live freely within Secwepemcul’ecw (Secwépemc land and waterways).    iv Lay Summary  This research focuses on how Secwépemc people understand water practices and water knowledge. I ask: What are Secwépemc people across five communities doing to take care of water on a household and community scale, and where do they situate themselves and other Secwépemc people in terms of responsibility to water? How are Secwépemc people (re)envisioning themselves as contemporary Secwépemc people living amongst settlers and non-Indigenous people and upholding their responsibility to Secwepemcul’ecw (Secwépemc land and waterways)? This research uses a mixed methods approach of examining Secwépemc and Indigenous scholarship and six one-on-one in-depth interviews to examine Secwépemc water governance. This research contributes to Secwépemc scholarship and knowledge and offers an analysis of how Secwépemc people understand, envision, and enact Secwépemc water governance across individual, community, and nation scales.    v Preface This thesis, including design, analysis, and presentation, is the original unpublished work of the author. It was approved by the University of British Columbia’s Behavioral Research Ethics Board, certificate number H19-01436.          vi Table of Contents  Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... iii	Lay Summary ................................................................................................................................. iv	Preface ............................................................................................................................................. v	Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................... vi	List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ ix	Glossary of Key Secwépemc Terms ............................................................................................... x	Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................ xi	Chapter 1: Secwépemc People and Indigenous Water Governance ............................................... 1	Introduction ..................................................................................................................... 1	Coming into Indigenous Water Governance Research ............................................... 8	Research in Secwepemcul’ecw ................................................................................. 11	Research Questions ................................................................................................... 13	Violence to Secwepemcul’ecw ................................................................................. 15	Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwepemctsin, and Stsptekwle ............................................... 18	(Re)claiming Secwépemc Scholarship and Knowledge ........................................... 19	Brief History of Secwépemc Water Rights and Land Dispossession ....................... 23	Literature Review .......................................................................................................... 28	What is Indigenous Water Governance? .................................................................. 28	Situating Indigenous Water Governance .................................................................. 33	Indigenous Ontologies of Water ............................................................................... 36	Co-Governance and Co-Collaborative Water Governance ....................................... 39	“Water is Life” .......................................................................................................... 42	Water Governance and Indigenous Feminism .......................................................... 45	Overview of Thesis ................................................................................................... 53	Chapter 2: Navigating Secwépemc Ethics and Research ............................................................. 56	Learning alongside K'wseltktnéws ........................................................................... 56	 vii Secwépemc Relationality .......................................................................................... 56	Secwépemc Researcher ............................................................................................. 60	Moving Past Damage-Centered Research ................................................................ 63	Navigating University Ethics and the Band Council ................................................ 65	Locating Myself as a Researcher .............................................................................. 70	Secwépemc Consent ................................................................................................. 72	Research Methods ..................................................................................................... 75	Chapter 3: Understanding Secwépemc Water Governance .......................................................... 80	Introduction ............................................................................................................... 80	Water is a Way of Life .............................................................................................. 81	Secwépemc as Caretakers ......................................................................................... 85	Individual and Collective Governance ..................................................................... 87	Do we want to call it water governance? What should we call it? ........................... 90	We Had Freedom When I Was A Kid ...................................................................... 96	Chapter 4: Secwépemc Water Governance Challenges ................................................................ 98	Introduction ............................................................................................................... 98	“Whatever you come into, that's your life” ............................................................... 99	Government versus Governance ............................................................................. 102	“You flip the page and everything has changed” ................................................... 104	“We got the most water in the world, but we don't care” ....................................... 107	Everything is Changing for Money ........................................................................ 109	Chapter 5: Re-Envisioning Secwépemc Water Governance ...................................................... 118	Introduction ............................................................................................................. 118	Secwépemc Futurity ............................................................................................... 119	Circling back to my Slé7e ....................................................................................... 121	Envisioning Happens Across Scales ....................................................................... 123	Secwépemc Water Governance Mobilization and Transformation ........................ 124	 viii Dreaming Secwépemc Water Governance ............................................................. 129	Our Kids Know the Water ...................................................................................... 131	“As a Secwépemc you use the best tools that you have to solve your problems” .. 138	We start sharing our knowledge and we start working together ............................. 142	Chapter 6: Conclusion: As Secwépemc people we all have a role to contribute ........................ 145	References ................................................................................................................................... 149	         ix List of Figures  Figure 1: Map of Secwepemcul’ecw, SNTC & University of Victoria Indigenous Law Research Unit ..................................................................................................................................... 4	Figure 2: Photo by author near their house in Cstélen .................................................................... 6	   x Glossary of Key Secwépemc Terms  Cstélen   Adams Lake  Cstélnec  People of Cstélen  Cstélnetkwe  Cstélen watershed  Etsxe    Vision quest; training for power  Knucwestsut.s  Take care of yourself; strengthen self  K’wseltktnéws  Family; kinship; interrelationship  Kyé7e    Grandmother  Qw7ewt  Place name, Little Shuswap Indian Band  Secwepemctsin  The language of the Secwépemc people  Secwepemcul’ecw  The land and water of the Secwépemc people  Sek’lep   Coyote; the Trickster in Secwépemc storytelling  Séme7             Secwépemc term for ‘White people’ Sewllkwe         Water  Sexqeltqín        Community of Adams Lake Indian Band  Simpcw   North Thompson Indian Band  Sk’atsin   Neskonlith Indian Band  Skeetchestn      Skeetchestn Indian Band  Slé7e    Grandfather  Splatsín   Spallumcheen Indian Band Stsptekwle  Secwépemc storytelling; oral tradition  Tellqelmucw   Secwépemc term for the people to come  T’exelc   Williams Lake Indian Band  Tk’emlúps      Kamloops Indian Band  Tmicw   Earth; land                  xi Acknowledgements  I would like to start by saying a big thank you to my supervisor Michelle Daigle. Thank you for your constant support and mentorship, you have been a dream graduate supervisor and have made the writing process go smoothly every step of the way. Thank you for welcoming me into the Indigenous geography world. Thank you to Sarah Hunt for being an amazing co-supervisor and committee member. Thank you both for making space for Indigenous people to pursue graduate degrees!  Thank you to the Aboriginal Graduate Fellowship and Cordula and Gunter Paetzold Fellowship for financially supporting me through my research journey.  To my MA and PhD friends you don’t realize how much you’ve supported me and helped me along the way. Alexine, Maria, Chris, Peter, Nick, Nancy, Albina, Daniel, Mielle, Andrew, Corin, and Caolan I’m glad we met and shared in conversations and debates along the way. Thank you to all my UBC friends Delainee, Brennan, Trystan, Wenonah, Noah, Russell, Britany, Tony, Mercedes, Alexis, Mike, Shelby, Maddy, Josh, and Marina you have all been a part of my UBC journey.  Thank you to Alexis for being my best friend since TRU days. Look how far we’ve come and you’ve been supporting me through my thesis and are always willing to listen to my presentations and ideas about the Secwépemc nation. Thank you to Mercedes and Caolan for being the best graduate studies friends! Our phone calls and hang outs have kept me going and I am grateful for you two.  Thank you to my Indigenous Peoples Specialty Group friends and colleagues I’ve met at the AAG. You all have inspired me to get involved in the Indigenous geography community. Majerle, Andrew, Deondre, and Mike thank you for making the AAG so fun and exciting.  Thank you to my partner James. You don’t always know what I’m working on but you’re always there supporting and loving me. Thank you to my Maori whanau, Fiona, Graham, Mate, Rawiri, and Naomi for being accommodating and welcoming every time I’ve been to Aotearoa and treating me like family.   xii Thank you to my k'wseltktnéws the ones living, the ones who are in the spirit world, and the ones yet to be born. Kukstsemc to my siblings Seth, Tekawus, and Sekwaw for always supporting me. Kukstsemc to my nephews and nieces for keeping me laughing. To my CAS colleagues and Nest kids for keeping me motivated. To my Auntie Janice and Uncle Kenny for your unwavering support and for giving me canned salmon, elk and moose meat while living in Vancouver so that I was always nourished.  Last but not least the biggest thank you to my parents and Kyé7es and Slé7es. Thank you Dad for documenting Secwépemc history before I was born and providing me wisdom on the good (and the bad) of Secwepemcul’ecw. Thank you to my Mom for being my biggest fan and motivator. Without you pushing me to take opportunities and supporting me every step of the way I wouldn’t have gotten through two degrees at UBC. Kukstsemc to my Slé7e Joe for being the best Slé7e anyone could ask for! I miss you Slé7e and your teachings still guide me every day. Kukstsemc to both my Kyé7e Anne and Kyé7e Ida for being powerhouse Secwépemc women and teaching me about Secwepemcul’ecw. It really does take a community and I’m thankful for everyone in my life, I owe it to you.  1 Chapter 1: Secwépemc People and Indigenous Water Governance Historically Secwépemc people lived a good life. They lived in harmony with the land, using nature in a way which would not result in damage to the environment” (Coffey, Gottfriedson, R. Matthew & Walton, 1990, p.1) Introduction This research begins as I piece together what it means to be Secwépemc, how I embody Secwépemc practices and care for water in the Secwepemcul’ecw.1 My name is Melpetkwe2 Matthew and I have been carrying and embodying a water name my whole life.3 My name was gifted to me by my Slé7e4 Joseph (Cicwelst) Stanley Michel when I was born. My name follows the tradition of Secwépemc naming protocols where Secwépemc women are given water names. Secwépemc people are gifted names to connect to our spirits and to bring our ancestors’ spirit back to life (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Carrying a water name of my ancestor Melpetkwe is a rebirth of their spirit and, “in a social sense maintains continuity with [my Secwépemc] past” (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, p. 353). My responsibilities as a Secwépemc person began at birth and I try to learn, uphold, and create space for Secwépemc knowledge transmission and Secwépemc care-taking responsibilities. Secwepemcul’ecw roughly translates to mean the land of the Secwépemc people (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Michel, 2012). To identify as a Secwépemc person is to have a connection to  1 Secwepemcul’ecw roughly translates to the homeland of the Secwépemc people. It encompasses the land, water, plants, animals, and other non-human entities in the Secwépemc territory.  2 The way I spell my name is different than the legal spelling. 3 Some Secwépemc people have multiple names through different stages of their life.  4 Slé7e is the Secwepemctsin word for Grandfather.   2 other Secwépemc people through blood, (who we call our [k'wseltktnéws]5). Ron Ignace,6 a Secwépemc chief from Skeetchestn, and their7 wife, a European settler, Marianne Ignace (2017), describe our Secwépemc kinship as k'wseltktnéws, a “web of kinship [that] stretches across bands, or communities, throughout the nation and beyond, and in many ways it is the essence that holds the entire nation together … [and] in that sense, Secwépemc people are never just individuals unto themselves but are always thought of as someone's relative” (p. 320). My research on Secwépemc water governance brings together Secwépemc relationality and our embodiment and understanding of k'wseltktnéws.  When I think about Secwépemc waterways and Secwepemcul’ecw it does not always evoke feelings of reciprocity, love, and respect. Settler-colonialism and capitalist expansion has disrupted and negatively impacted Secwepemcul’ecw, including how we8 see ourselves, how we live and make decisions regarding Secwepemcul’ecw. However, this thesis is not about reproducing violence or trauma that have happened to my k'wseltktnéws. Rather, this research seeks to uncover, produce and center Secwépemc knowledge within a Secwépemc conceptualization of k’wseltktnéws and relationality to uncover how we learn from water, and uphold our responsibilities to water in Secwepemcul’ecw. I would like to carry forth the conceptualization of grounded normativity of Dene scholar Glen Coulthard (2014) and Michi  5 For continuity of text I changed Ron Ignace and Marianne Ignace’s spelling of k’wseltktenews (Western dialect of Secwepemctsin) to k'wseltktnéws (Eastern Dialect of Secwepemctsin).  6 Ron Ignace and Marianne Ignace in 2017 wrote a foundational Secwépemc book titled ‘Secwépemc People, Land and Laws: Yeri7 re Stsq’ey’s-Kucw.’ It is the only substantial published book in the Secwépemc nation that explores Secwépemc identity, land, Secwepemctsin, the history of Secwépemc people (pre and post-contact), Secwépemc spirituality, and Secwépemc governance and laws.  7 Throughout the thesis I purposely do not gender myself, or authors whom I cite, or my interview participants. In Secwepemctsin we do not gender people therefore I follow this Secwépemc writing/speaking style when I write in English. I go into further detail in Chapter Two to explain how pronouns are structured in Secwepemctsin.  8 When saying we I am referring to myself as a part of Secwépemc communities and nation.   3 Saagiig Nishnaabeg scholar Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017) into this Secwépemc water governance research. The enactment and theorization of Secwépemc grounded normativity throughout my research has enabled me to draw upon Secwépemc knowledge to formulate the basis of Secwépemc water governance.   L. Simpson (2017) states, “grounded normativity is the base of [Indigenous] political systems, economy, and nationhood, and it creates process-centered modes of living that generate profoundly different conceptualizations of nationhood and governmentality - ones that aren’t based on enclosure, authoritarian power, and hierarchy” (p. 22). Grounded normativity positions Secwépemc knowledge, lived experiences and knowledge as central to this thesis. It opens up space to conceptualize and enact Secwépemc governance and leadership based upon our intimate relations with place, land and water in Secwepemcul’ecw. Through Secwépemc grounded normativity, Secwépemc people and communities can create their own frameworks and theories based on our relationality to each other and Secwepemcul’ecw. Grounded normativity opens up opportunities to imagine Secwépemc knowledge outside of settler-colonial ideologies and capitalist modes of production.  This research came together for the purpose of learning and understanding how Secwépemc people think about water in the Secwepemcul’ecw, how we learn about water and environmental issues in our nation: and, how we are (re)envisioning water governance as we continuously resist the colonial state control of so-called British Columbia and Canada. This research journey is about (re)engaging, (re)activating and (re)envisioning Secwépemc grounded normativity over Secwepemcul’ecw, language (Secwepemctsin), and water practices.   4 Secwepemcul’ecw  Figure 1: Map of Secwepemcul’ecw, SNTC & University of Victoria Indigenous Law Research Unit The Secwépemc nation spans a vast geographical area of southern interior British Columbia, Canada (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; K. Michel, 2012). Long before Canada and British Columbia (B.C.) became formally recognized as settler colonial states in 1867 and 1871, Secwépemc people have continuously occupied and lived in Secwepemcul’ecw for over 10,000 years (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Secwepemcul’ecw encompasses land and water that has never been sold, bought, or surrendered to the British Crown (or what is contemporarily thought of as Canada) (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2005). In the early 1900s, through land dispossession practices, the Secwépemc nation was divided up into 17 federally recognized Indian bands9 (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Creating and reproducing colonial territoriality is a deeply political and violent spatio-legal process that erases Indigenous communities and land and confines  9 A “Band,” or “Indian Band” is a governing unit of Indians in Canada instituted by the Indian Act, 1876 (Crey, n.d).   5 Indigenous people to particular areas set out by colonizers (namely reserves and Indian bands) (Blomley, 2003). Determining the boundaries of the Secwépemc territory is complicated by the large numbers of Secwépemc people lost through diseases in the early 1900’s (Coffey et al., 1990). There were originally thirty Secwépemc communities, Coffey et al. (1990) cite that the 17 bands that now exist represent the survivors of the smallpox epidemic. The shift in the balance of population between Secwépemc people and white settlers meant that power and control was now in the hands of the settlers. Before settler contact, Secwépemc people and communities moved throughout Secwepemcul’ecw without restrictions and were able to activate their political agency and autonomy by moving freely through Secwepemcul’ecw.  Each Secwépemc community is situated near lakes and rivers that form an integral part of their survival and that help sustain their food sources all year round (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). The forced move of Secwépemc families and communities onto reserve land after settler contact restricted Secwépemc people from traveling Secwepemcul’ecw freely (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Rapid changes occurred throughout Secwepemcul’ecw after contact with European settlers (Coffey et al, 1990). Since European contact in Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwépemc waterways, forests, mountains, wildlife, and communities have been impacted by transnational forestry operations, mining developments, hydro-electric dams, urbanization, railway and highway construction, and tourism (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Skwelkwek’welt Protection Centre & Neskonlith Band, n.d.). As changes to the physical, social, and political landscapes across Secwepemcul’ecw occurred, Secwépemc people began to lose access and freedom to live and travel throughout Secwepemcul’ecw.  Although there has been a long history of colonial occupation and invasion in Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwépemc people are still here. In this thesis I consciously center and  6 uphold Secwépemc knowledge in relation to Secwepemcul’ecw because it is the land that sustains Secwépemc people, physically and spiritually. Secwépemc people are continuously living their grounded normativity based upon Secwépemc ways of knowing and being and taking responsibility for protecting Secwepemcul’ecw and taking care of our k’wseltktnéws.  This thesis aims to uphold and acknowledge my k'wseltktnéws living and the ones who have passed on, to honour their knowledge and protect Secwepemcul’ecw for future generations. Secwépemc Genealogy  Figure 2: Photo by author near their house in Cstélen Both sides of my family come from Secwépemc lineages. My mother’s family comes from the eastern region of Secwepemcul’ecw called Cstélen. My father’s family comes from the central region of Secwepemcul’ecw called Simpcw. I grew up in Cstélen right beside the lake and river. The lake is called Cstélnetkwe but settlers named it Adams Lake in honour of the anglicized name of a Secwépemc chief in the area (L. Michel & R. Matthew, 2017). Some of my fondest memories are of my sister and I spending the summer months swimming in Cstélnetkwe,  7 and in other lakes and rivers in Secwepemcul’ecw. From an early age, I learned about my duty and responsibility to protect Secwepemcul’ecw, especially it’s water, by traveling and visiting many waterways in the nation.  Cstélen encompasses a 45-mile long lake and is the birthplace of my maternal grandparents (L. Michel & R. Matthew, 2017). My parents built our house in Cstélen and became the only Secwépemc family to relocate to our once thriving reserve (L. Michel & R. Matthew, 2017). The majority of people now residing in Cstélen are white settlers living on Adams Lake Indian Band leased lands. In 1877, the Joint Reserve Commission, through colonial logics and practices of territoriality and dispossession, allotted seven reserves to the Adams Lake Indian Band (approximately 2,785 hectares in total) (Adams Lake Indian Band, 2019). Cstélnec are now spread across three reserves with the majority of community members living near Chase, B.C., in what is called Sexqeltqín (Adams Lake Indian Band, 2019). For various economic and land displacement strategies, the Cstélnec people were relocated to reserves near Chase, B.C. and Salmon Arm, B.C. between 1890 and 1905 by the Canadian government (L. Michel & R. Matthew, 2017). Therefore, although I live in Cstélen, my schooling, economic and social activities occurred in Sexqeltqín and Chase.  My father’s side of my family is from Simpcw (Chu Chua).10 Simpcw people have historically lived in the Thompson River Valley next to the North Thompson River (Simpcw First Nation, 2020). My father’s parents were both born and raised in the Simpcw (Chu Chua) community. Simpcw, Cstélen, and Sexqeltqín are geographically, historically, and socially different Secwépemc communities but both have been impacted by land dispossession, by the  10 The community is named Chu Chua (Tsútswecw) but the proper name for the community is Simpcw.   8 Canadian government’s assimilative efforts of the residential school system,11 the Sixties Scoop,12 and other settler-colonial neo-liberal capitalist ideologies and practices such as the child welfare system, prison system, and resource extraction industries (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; K. Michel, 2012).  Being connected through my k’wseltktnéws to two Secwépemc regions and communities enables me to spatially visualize the physical, social, and economic disparities across Secwépemc communities, land, and water. Growing up in the Secwépemc nation, and being raised by my k'wseltktnéws, I formed relationships and an understanding of the governance structures of the Secwépemc nation. Secwépemc governance structures are multi-layered and multi-faceted and engage with family genealogies, communities, imposed and traditional governmental structures, and reserve landscapes.  Coming into Indigenous Water Governance Research Water has not always been a focal point of my academic studies, but I have made my way back to learning about Secwepemcul’ecw and it’s waters from my k’wseltktnéws. My relationships to water and community are intertwined and help form the basis of my Secwépemc identity. While attending university, my relationships to water and Secwepemcul’ecw became  11 Residential schools refers to the extensive school system set up by the Canadian government and administered by churches that had the nominal objective of educating Indigenous children but also the more damaging and equally explicit objectives of indoctrinating Indigenous children into Euro-Canadian and Christian ways of living and assimilating them into mainstream Canadian society. The residential school system operated from the 1880’s with the last school closing 1996. The system forcibly separated children from their families for extended periods of time and forbade them to acknowledge their Indigenous heritage and culture or to speak their own languages (Hanson, n.d).  The majority of Secwépemc children attended the Kamloops Indian Residential School. Which operated from 1893 to 1977.  12 The term Sixties Scoop was coined by Patrick Johnston, author of the 1983 report Native Children and the Child Welfare System. It refers to the mass removal of Aboriginal children from their families into the child welfare system, in most cases without the consent of their families or bands (Hanson, n.d.).  9 weakened. The institutional spaces I have interacted in, such as universities, did not support me in applying Secwépemc knowledge or encourage Indigenous knowledge production as the main source of knowledge in course work. Indigenous knowledge is often an afterthought or exists within the margins of university course content. Within these academic spaces there are Indigenous specific courses, but outside of these courses, Indigenous knowledge and application is limited. Given this reality, it has been an educational journey to make my way back to engaging with Secwépemc knowledge systems within my academic work.  When I moved to the urban centers of Kamloops, Vancouver and Auckland, to pursue post-secondary education, I lost an everyday connection to Secwepemcul’ecw. In university I studied Indigenous health, Indigenous food sovereignty, food systems, and food (in)security, but I rarely had opportunities, nor did I feel comfortable in applying this knowledge to my own community or nation. I had to adapt to living in the city; the urban environment displaced my connection to land and water. I struggled with adapting to the taste of the tap water, the poor air quality, and the non-stop traffic of urban spaces. Most notably, the tap water was chlorinated in the cities I lived in. I longed to drink the water from Cstélnetkwe.  However, when I returned to Cstélen and Sexqeltqín for visits, I noticed that the water was not the same quality. The family members that live in Cstélen and Sexqeltqín could not freely drink water from the tap because Adams Lake Indian Band water monitors found contaminants in the water system(s). There were periods of time, sometimes months, when my parents and other family members who live in Sexqeltqín were drinking bottled water the band  10 would deliver each week.13 Forced to drink bottled water that was not sourced from Secwépemc waterways had an impact on my perspective of water quality. This drinking water problem became magnified when the band and B.C’s First Nations Health Authority14 (FNHA) never explained how the water system became contaminated, and did not explain when the water would be safe to drink again. To this day, my family remains skeptical of the quality of our water and are unsure if the tap water is safe to drink. A few years after the household water became contaminated in Cstélen and Sexqeltqín my interest was sparked to research Secwépemc water systems, when I was presented with an opportunity to work on a research project on Indigenous water governance.  At the beginning of 2017, I got my first research position as a Research Assistant for Decolonizing Water, a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) funded project housed out of the University of British Columbia (UBC). Being a research member of Decolonizing Water enabled me to meet and discuss Indigenous water issues with Indigenous and non-Indigenous students, professors, activists, Elders, and researchers from across North America. This gave me the opportunity to immerse myself in Indigenous theory, Indigenous water initiatives and struggles across North America, and to participate in land and water-based activities.  As I worked for Decolonizing Water, my understanding of water issues and water policy grew as I began to connect how water, food, health, self-determination, and Secwépemc freedom  13 My family member’s reflected the unsustainable nature of delivering plastic water bottles and jugs every week but the Adams Lake Indian Band did not fix or provide alternative solutions to providing clean drinking water to community members.  14 First Nations Health Authority (FNHA) is a British Columbia wide health authority presiding over BC First Nations. The Adams Lake Indian Band works with FNHA to administer household water testing and monitoring.   11 are intrinsically intertwined. I initially examined the political ecology of Indigenous community-based monitoring initiatives across Canada. I learned of the politics of Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) within Indigenous water funding arrangements in Canada and the power dynamics embedded within community-based monitoring funding allocation (Cohen, M. Matthew, Neville, & Wrightson, forthcoming).  Alice Cohen, Kate Neville, Kelsey Wrightson and myself (forthcoming) examined how financial systems, particularly governmental funding sources and competing Indigenous and Western knowledge systems and interests, shape how Indigenous people have control (or a lack of control and decision-making power) over community-based monitoring initiatives. This research demonstrated the complexities of water governance and how Indigenous communities struggle for water rights and resources for water infrastructures in Canada. The community-based monitoring and Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) research was just the beginning of my Indigenous water research because I yearned to do research and work with my own community and nation on water governance.  Research in Secwepemcul’ecw I wanted to apply what I had learned from the aforementioned research experience to my home nation of Secwepemcul’ecw. One motivation to pursuing Secwépemc water governance research was that I found little interest within communities or written accounts of mobilization in the Secwépemc nation on a broad scale to protect our water. Living in the Secwépemc nation for most of my life, I was aware that Secwépemc environmental, title and rights,15 and education  15 Title and rights refers to the inherent Aboriginal right to land. The Canadian legal system recognizes Aboriginal title as a sui generis, or unique collective rights to the use of and jurisdiction over ancestral territories. This right is  12 organizations existed, but Secwépemc communities remain politically and socially divided. Most Secwépemc community political decision-making and politics tend to stay internal, at a band level, and do not include the entirety of the nation. The Secwépemc nation is divided geographically, politically, and socially in many instances, therefore doing research within the Secwépemc nation is a process of working through family and community governance dynamics.  The current governance structures in the Secwépemc nation are based upon colonial structures and policies. Every Secwépemc community has a Chief and Council system (band council system)16 which was imposed on Secwépemc communities at the turn of the 20th century (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Chief and Council (band council) governance systems were established by Indian Act17 policies, imposing restrictions on Indigenous community governance (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; L. Simpson, 2017; Pasternak, 2017). As Tanana Athabascan scholar Dian Million (2013) explains, band council systems reproduce leadership structures within Indigenous communities that have “no jurisdiction, no authority, and no way of responding to people’s needs” (p. 137). Band council governance decision-making processes are restricted by Canadian federal government policies (that are directly informed by the Indian Act), therefore bands do not have authority over land and water within their territories. Although band council systems of governance are not suited to meet the needs or desires of the Secwépemc people, this is our current system of governance and the realities of leadership we currently operate within.   not granted from an external source but is a result of Aboriginal peoples’ own occupation of and relationship with their home territories as well as their ongoing social structures and political and legal systems (Hanson, n.d.). 16  Band Council Systems are the primary governing authority of “Indian Bands.” Band members elect a chief and council through Indian Act electoral processes. Band Council Systems of governance are fiscally accountable to Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada (INAC).  17  The Indian Act a Canadian Federal law passed in 1876 that governs Indian Status, Indian Bands, and Reserves.   13 Each Secwépemc community (band) controls their own political and social affairs. The Secwépemc nation does not have a coordinated collective governance system, although the Shuswap Nation Tribal Council (SNTC) collectively represents a majority of Secwépemc bands. SNTC was established in 1980 for Secwépemc chiefs to collectively advance and advocate for Aboriginal18 rights (SNTC, 2020). SNTC (2020) does not have authority or jurisdiction over individual Secwépemc communities, rather it serves to encourage and facilitate coordinated approaches and information sharing between Secwépemc communities to promote unity within the Secwépemc nation. The changing Secwépemc governance structures from Secwépemc traditional governance to imposed colonial forms of governance shifted the ways Secwépemc people related to each other and created a top-down governmental approach to community leadership (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Understanding the dynamics of Secwépemc governance systems enables us to visualize where issues of Secwépemc water governance stems from and how bureaucratic colonial systems such as band council governance prevent collective approaches to protecting Secwepemcul’ecw. Ultimately, this research seeks to envision a future beyond the rigid structures of band council systems and to encompass individual, family, and community spaces within resurging Secwépemc water practices and governance.  Research Questions  This thesis provided an opportunity to bridge my Secwépemc upbringing with Secwépemc knowledge to co-create water governance knowledge with my k’wseltktnéws. While growing up in Secwepemcul’ecw, I witnessed the gaps in Secwépemc knowledge across Secwépemc communities and age groups. Through this research, I wanted to gain an  18 Aboriginal is a term that includes First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples and it became used in Canadian contexts after 1982.   14 understanding of the relationship(s) that exists between my family and community experiences water and environmental issues, specifically the disconnect of Secwépemc knowledge across generations. Secwépemc people are impacted by colonial systems of oppression and subsequently, have faced barriers in accessing Secwepemctsin19 and Secwepemcul’ecw reproducing gaps in Secwépemc knowledge. For this reason, I wanted to explore how Secwépemc people are teaching each other traditional land-based practices despite everyday challenges perpetuated by settler-colonial capitalism. In an effort to work through the complexity of Secwepemcul’ecw, I wanted to build an understanding and theory around what is Secwépemc water governance and how it is enacted across intimate scales of the individual and family and across community and nation scales.  Key questions that guided this thesis on Secwépemc water governance are:  1. What are Secwépemc people across different age groups and communities doing to take care of water on household and community scales, and, where do they situate themselves and other Secwépemc people in terms of responsibility to water?  2. How are Secwépemc people (re)envisioning themselves as contemporary Secwépemc people, living amongst settlers and non-Indigenous people upholding their responsibility to Secwepemcul’ecw?  3. How are Secwépemc people going to translate and transmit knowledge to our k’wseltktnéws living now and for tellqelmucw, the people to come?   19 Secwepemctsin is the Secwépemc language.   15 4. How are Secwépemc people and communities (re)envisioning relationality to each other and to water?  Violence to Secwepemcul’ecw Before I delve deeper into (re)envisioning the future of Secwépemc water governance, I must provide my perspectives on the state of the Secwépemc nation.  The Secwépemc nation in many respects has made efforts to resurge and revitalize Secwepemctsin, traditional food gathering and preservation practices, and ceremonial practices (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Michel, 2012). Despite land and language revitalization efforts, Secwépemc people and communities are still largely impacted by violent colonial histories of water and land20 degradation, dispossession of Secwepemcul’ecw, and settler-colonialist impacts on everyday relationships to land and water. During my post-secondary education, I began to witness the embodied impacts of colonial capitalist violence on Secwepemcul’ecw through band and governmental politics and policies and extractive resource industries. Specifically, I witnessed the explicit and often hidden violence to women, queer, trans, Two-Spirit, youth, children and Elders that is embedded within heteropatriarchal governance and educational systems. Secwépemc communities are living through increasing pressures of colonial capitalist practices that exploit and harm Secwepemcul’ecw. Secwépemc relationships with water have developed alongside these violent colonial encounters which have impacted the way my k'wseltktnéws look after each other and Secwepemcul’ecw.   20 I define land/water as something Secwépemc people are in relation to and what sustains us. Secwépemc understanding of land/water is not something that can be claimed, exploited, and/or owned.   16 Oftentimes, when visiting with Secwépemc people across the Secwépemc nation and while attending community events, I witness the heteropatriarchal violence embedded within our relationships to each other. I witness how divide and conquer tactics written and encoded into Canadian legal systems manifests through interpersonal relations within Secwépemc communities and amongst families. The ruptures and divides amongst Secwépemc families and communities are perpetuated by constructions of heteropatriarchal gender binaries.  These divide and conquer tactics, in part, reproduced through colonial gendered hierarchies, erase and invisibilize Secwepemc people’s embodiment of k’wseltktnéws. The value of k’wseltktnéws is inclusive of every gender and emphasizes that every Secwépemc has a role within community and family. Jeffrey McNeil-Seymour (2015), a Secwépemc scholar from Tk’emlúps, states that Secwépemc concepts and embodiment of Secwépemc identities is reliant on “taking up [our] traditional roles and responsibilities within [our] communities” (p. 92). Within a Secwépemc worldview there are few strictly defined gender roles or divisions of labour between genders (Kathryn Michel, Secwépemc nation, lives in Cstélen, personal communication, August 2020). To ensure survival of Secwépemc communities, Secwépemc people all had a role in helping each other, and each person’s role was based on their strengths and skills (Kathryn Michel, Secwépemc nation, lives in Cstélen, personal communication, August 2020). This way of viewing and identifying yourself as a Secwépemc person with responsibilities to the collective has values embedded within it that as a Secwépemc, we have responsibilities and roles to yucamin’min,21 to “protect the Earth and protect the people” (McNeil-Seymour, 2015, p. 92).   21 In the Western Secwepemctsin dialect it is spelled yucwemin.  17 This Secwépemc embodiment of k’wseltktnéws was disrupted by rigid heteropatriarchal gender binaries and strict gender roles imposed by white settlers (L. Simpson, 2017; McNeil-Seymour, 2017). The reproduction of colonial heteropatriarchy is still very present within the Secwépemc nation and perpetuates violence to Secwépemc bodies. Heteropatriarchal violence “is a foundational dispossession force because it is a direct attack on Indigenous bodies as political orders, thought, agency, self-determination, and freedom (L. Simpson, 2017, p. 52). L. Simpson (2017) calls for Indigenous people to think beyond dispossession as solely land loss but it is the “gendered removal of our bodies and minds from our nation and place-based grounded normativities” (p. 43). Colonial imposed gender binaries and land dispossession sever Secwépemc ties and access to Secwepemcul’ecw thus making it difficult for Secwépemc to take-care of each other and Secwepemcul’ecw. More conversations are needed between Secwépemc people to learn about the impacts of the imposed heteropatriarchal governance systems to the Secwépemc nation. Due to the limitations of this research on Secwépemc water governance, a gender analysis will not be undertaken, rather, I strengthen my view of relationality through the embodiment and concept of k’wseltktnéws.  .  While approaching research in Secwepemcul’ecw I was aware of the ruptures and divides within our families and communities and how colonial violence and a heteropatriarchal violence has harmed Secwépemc families and communities. Therefore, it was timely to conduct research in the Secwépemc nation with family members, community members, and friends to re-introduce and embed our values of k'wseltktnéws and relationality within the Secwepemcul’ecw.   18 Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwepemctsin, and Stsptekwle  One of my primary motivations for this research is to contribute to the body of Secwépemc scholarship on our histories, governance practices, Secwépemc beliefs and values, and how Secwépemc people take care of Secwepemcul’ecw. Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwepemctsin, and stsptekwle are all intertwined and interconnected to form the basis of our identity, culture, land, and water (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; K. Michel, 2012). Most of our traditional stories are told orally in the form of stsptekwle (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; K. Michel, 2012). Listening to, and learning from stsptekwle transmits our worldview(s) and our practices; it is how we learned from each other (K. Michel, 2012).  From our stsptekwle, Sek’lep plays a main role as our teacher (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, K. Michel, 2012). Sek’lep is our transformer and trickster (K. Michel, 2012). Sek’lep’s role in stsptekwle is to reflect human behavior, especially our negative human qualities. In a physical sense, Sek’lep has a male body but can be thought of as an archetype representation of human  behaviour, without a gender attached (K. Michel, 2012). Through stsptekwle we form the basis of our Secwépemc law and governance. Sek’lep and stsptekwle help us discover our identity, how we are connected to our relatives, how we need to conduct ourselves, and how we learn with and from Secwepemcul’ecw. R. Ignace and M. Ignace (2017) describe Sek’lep stories as “link[ing] the past with the present, continuing to engage our emotions, notions of contradictions, and ambiguities of life through multiple layers of reality and experience” (p. 60). To learn about water, we must first understand and learn from Secwepemcul’ecw, our k’wseltktnéws, and from stsptekwle that has been passed down through generations. Stsptekwle is a powerful tool that teaches us to understand Secwepemcul’ecw and Secwépemc worldview.   19 Although I will not explicitly engage with stsptekwle as methodology in this research, I want to acknowledge the importance of stsptekwle to Secwépemc worldview(s). Together with stsptekwle, Sek’lep, and Secwepemctsin, we embody our Secwépemc identity and Secwépemc intelligence and, through these, Secwépemc knowledge are transferred to all of our k’wseltktnéws and tellqelmucw, the people to come.  (Re)claiming Secwépemc Scholarship and Knowledge When I began my research journey, I discovered that there is limited literature by Secwépemc people on contemporary issues. Secwepemcul’ecw struggles over resource developments, climate change, water contamination, and the impacts of settler-colonialism are rarely documented through literature, despite ongoing issues and injustices across Secwepemcul’ecw. Some important exceptions to this are Secwépemc scholars22 Kathryn Michel (Cstélen), Janice E. Billy (Cstélen), Dorothy Christian (Splatsín), Rebecca Jules (Sexqeltqín/Cstélnec and Qw7ewt), Tania Willard (Sk’atsin), Janice D. Billy (Sk’atsin), Robert Matthew (Simpcw), Ron Ignace (Skeetchestn), Jeffery McNeil-Seymour (Tk’emlúps), and Nancy Sandy (T’exelc). The limited scholarship on Secwépemc water knowledge stems from processes of settler colonial capitalism that diminish Secwépemc efforts to revitalize and (re)claim water knowledge.  Similar to Syilx23 histories of water and land dispossession, Secwépemc people have also been alienated from their water resources since the 1870s when natural resources came under the control and jurisdiction of provincial and federal governments (Sam, p. 145, 2013). This lack of  22 This list does not include every Secwépemc scholar. While attending the inaugural Secwépemc Scholars Gathering in October 2019, it was announced there are over 200 Secwépemc scholars across Secwepemcul’ecw.   23 The Syilx/Okanagan people and nation are a neighbouring nation in southern interior British Columbia.   20 authority, control, and power over Secwépemc waterways resulted in a lack of literature on Secwépemc water rights and on water in general. Kenichi Matsui (2005), a Japanese scholar noticed the lack of focus on Secwépemc water rights and governance and said:  Unfortunately, these highly contentious Native water-rights issues have gained scant scholarly attention, even though in the last twenty years scholars have devoted a great deal of attention to Native land and fishing rights issues in British Columbia and elsewhere. This is because academic paradigms tend to separate Native water-rights issues concerning land and fishing rights. (p. 77)  Besides Kenichi Matsui’s (2005; 2009) book and article on Secwépemc water rights there has been minimal focus academically on Secwépemc water rights or governance. Most Secwépemc-focused literature are written by white settlers who came to Secwepemcul’ecw in pursuit of resources and knowledge on and about Indigenous people and lands. The following settlers travelled, studied, and wrote about Secwepemcul’ecw: James Teit, a European anthropologist and guide, Gary B. Palmer a European linguist, David Thompson, a European fur trader, surveyor, and cartographer, George Mercer Dawson a settler who surveyed regions of Secwepemcul’ecw, Albert Bowman Rogers a settler American who surveyed Secwepemcul’ecw to create Rogers Pass, and, Walter and Henry Moberly, European surveyors who recorded and wrote ethnographies on Secwepemcul’ecw (Akrigg, 1964; Cooperman, n.d.; Teit, 1975).  All of the ethnographies written about Secwépemc people used a similar process to document colonization: settlers travelled the Secwepemcul’ecw in the quest to map our territory, they found resources, mapped the resources, and met with Secwépemc people to ultimately gather information on how to degrade and make money off Secwepemcul’ecw (Robert Matthew,  21 Secwépemc nation, lives in Cstélen, personal communication, December, 2019). These settler geographers relied on Secwépemc people as guides to track and record our knowledge (Robert Matthew, Secwépemc nation, lives in Cstélen, personal communication, December, 2019). Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2012) a distinguished Maori scholar, discusses the impacts of white settler research on Indigenous people and communities commenting,  The role in this process of well-intentioned officials, missionaries, traders and travellers, who became familiar with Indigenous customs, languages and made friends, is a complex one. They were often identified as ‘friends’ of the natives to be used, reviled, sometimes honoured by their own societies and by their Indigenous host society. They often formed relationships with Indigenous women, had children, were gifted lands and things of value. Others became more serious scholars intent on recording the details of what they viewed as a dying culture. Many also reinvented themselves, so to speak, beginning their adventures perhaps as traders and ending them as highly respected ‘orientalists.’ Others built their careers as government soldiers intent on killing resistant indigenous populations and then became teachers or surveyors, magistrates or settler-elected politicians. (p. 147)  Subsequently, as L. Smith (2012) remarks these were one-way relationships where information and knowledge was funneled from Secwepemcul’ecw to settlers in the pursuit of colonizing and capitalizing on our land and bodies. As more and more settlers moved into Secwepemcul’ecw, we began losing control of our people, communities, knowledge, language, water, and land (Coffey et al., 1990).   22 Land, language, and community loss was accelerated during the Residential School and Sixties Scoop eras of assimilation, violence, and anti-Indigenous racism used by the Canadian Government to eliminate Indigenous people through death and/or removal from traditional territories (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; L. Simpson, 2017; K. Michel, 2012). For centuries of on-going colonial occupation, a one-way relationship was formed in which settlers benefitted from Indigenous bodies, water, and land (L. Simpson, 2017). Settler-colonialism culminated in white Canadian settlers shape-shifting and transforming Secwepemcul’ecw into a place that would be almost unrecognizable to my Secwépemc ancestors.  This thesis aims to bridge together ideas and histories of Secwépemc people’s past, and conceptualize how Secwépemc histories (oral and written), assist us in enacting Secwépemc grounded normativity and in (re)imagining our future to include relationality to each other, to Secwepemcul’ecw, and to our water. Secwépemc grounded normativity might come in the form of (re)claiming and resurging land-based practices, (re)imagining and formulating water policy and water system operations, and unapologetically asserting our jurisdiction over Secwepemcul’ecw. This thesis lays the foundation and possibilities to (re)imagine Secwépemc grounded normativity and provides space to envision what it means to live free in Secwepemcul’ecw. In this thesis, I consciously create space for Secwépemc knowledge production by Secwépemc people, and privilege how Secwépemc co-create, transmit and translate water knowledge, and communicate how Secwépemc people are embodying water governance on individual and collective scales. For this reason, I actively cite Secwépemc knowledge producers throughout this thesis, and provide a platform for my family, friends, and community members (interview participants) to share their knowledge. Secwépemc people have self-determination  23 that informs and shapes our rights and ability to imagine our Secwépemc future. I believe our Secwépemc intelligence should be shared across time and space to inspire knowledge sharing and relationality across Secwepemcul’ecw. I also prioritize and bring Secwépemc knowledge and scholarship into dialogue with other Indigenous knowledges (authors and peoples).  Brief History of Secwépemc Water Rights and Land Dispossession The water within Secwepemcul’ecw would not be in its current state if it were not for the intensification of resource extraction that coincide with an overall disconnection from our waters perpetuated by settler colonial oppression and land dispossession. Land and water contamination in Secwepemcul’ecw was precipitated by settlers permanently moving to Secwepemcul’ecw and forcefully disrupting a Secwépemc way of life (Coffey et al., 1990). Colonial powers systematically removed Secwépemc people from Secwepemcul’ecw and attempted to take away our power, agency, and desire to protect our lands and waters. Jurisdiction is one concept that helps us understand the shift of power and governance within Indigenous communities (Hunt, 2014; Matsui, 2009; Pasternak, 2017).  Jurisdiction can be thought of from varied perspectives: from within Canadian legal perspectives and within Indigenous worldviews and perspectives (Hunt, 2014). For instance, Secwépemc people might view jurisdiction through the lens of k'wseltktnéws that we are a relative to each other and have a responsibility and role to take care of Secwepemcul’ecw. Additionally, R. Ignace and M. Ignace (2017) write that a fundamental concept behind Secwépemc land jurisdiction is that all Secwépemc people have access to Secwepemcul’ecw. However, the arrival of European settlers, introduced a different spatio-legal version of jurisdiction.   24 Sarah Hunt (2014), a Kwagu’ł scholar, describes the establishment of colonial jurisdiction in Canada as a process of “bulldozing over pre-existing Indigenous geographies” (p. 65). Manifested ‘colonialscapes’ such as reserves, define the geographical boundaries of the ‘Indian’ (Hunt, 2014). Colonial jurisdiction over the ‘Indian’ and their lands is enforced through laws that perpetuate colonial power. The dominant power is sustained within Indigenous-settler relations where ‘Indians’ are constructed as subhuman and inferior to white people (Hunt, 2014). The portrayal and construction of ‘Indian’ as inferior to white people reproduces the notions that Indigenous people lack agency and therefore lack the capacity to enact jurisdiction over their own lives, waters and lands (Hunt, 2014).  The imposition of colonial law displaced Indigenous systems of law. Indigenous peoples had “become trespassers in their own territories, at the same time as becoming subjects of the federal Indian Act as status Indians” (Hunt, 2014, p. 61). The creation of reserves as ‘Indian’ land deconstructed Secwepemc peoples’ long-standing relationship with Secwepemcul’ecw. Lands and waters were fragmented within colonial jurisdiction and exploitation of land by resource extraction industry was facilitated (Hunt, 2014). The processes of colonial land dispossession of Secwepemcul’ecw becoming a part of British Columbia and Canadian land is explained further in Japanese scholar Kenichi Matsui’s (2009; 2005) research and scholarship on Secwépemc water rights. Kenichi Matsui’s (2009) insights on Secwépemc water rights and jurisdiction provides a historical account of the lack of Secwépemc water rights we have today. Matsui’s (2009) scholarly contributions chart the historical economic and social changes that occurred through irrigation, agriculture, and hydroelectric power in Western Canada and how settler-colonial and capitalist practices shaped and challenged the way Indigenous people traditionally took care of  25 water. Matsui (2009; 2005) learned about Secwépemc water rights (or lack thereof) through Secwépemc people from Neskonlith (Sk’atsin), Adams Lake (Sexqeltqín) and Kamloops (Tk’emlúps).24 Matsui (2009; 2005) traces the fight for jurisdiction, water-rights, and water access by Secwépemc people in Neskonlith and Kamloops and the complex layers of settler colonial dispossession that led to a lack of water access and rights for Secwépemc people. Matsui (2009; 2005) provides foundational historical underpinnings of Secwépemc water rights. I hope to contribute to this work by expanding our knowledge on how Secwépemc people experience (or do not experience) water governance, and what Secwépemc people are doing contemporarily to renegotiate and (re)claim water knowledge and water practices within our grounded normativity as Secwépemc people.   Before settler contact, Secwépemc people lived a hunter-gatherer-fisher subsistence lifestyle (Coffey et al., 1990; Ignace & Ignace, 2017). This way of living changed with the fur trade, arrival of missionaries, gold miners, and settlers in Secwepemcul’ecw (Coffey et al., 1990). The fur trade ushered in a new economic system driven by a settler market economy where the trading and exchange of money took place (Coffey et al., 1990). The decline of the fur trade complicated matters further when gold was discovered along the Thompson and Fraser Rivers (Coffey et al., 1990). Coffey et al., (1990) notes that “by 1858, the news had spread and American gold miners had invaded [Secwépemc]25 territory. Settlers not only brought new ideas about exploiting the land, but also diseases” (Coffey et al., 1990, p. 7-8). The gold rush brought in hordes of settlers seeking resources and when the gold ran out they stayed and settled  24 Similar communities as I engage with and interview members of these communities. 25 The anglicized name for Secwépemc is Shuswap. When Shuswap appears I change it to Secwépemc to denote what we call ourselves.  26 throughout British Columbia (Coffey, et al., 1990). Soon after the gold rush Secwépemc people were outnumbered throughout Secwepemcul’ecw, creating an imbalanced number of settlers in relation to Secwépemc people. Miners, missionaries, and settlers practiced acts of racial and gendered discrimination “inflict[ing] long lasting damage in the [Secwépemc’s] ability to live a balanced life” (Coffey et al., 1990, p. 2).  In the late nineteenth century, the subsistence lifestyle shifted into an extractive economy based on farming and agriculture (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2009). Farming became an integral part of Secwépemc subsistence and trading economies. During the transition from being a predominantly hunter-gatherer-fisher society to Secwépemc people gardening and working in small-scale agriculture, competition over water rights and access escalated with settlers (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Secwépemc people were adapting to a farming lifestyle when the 1862 small-pox outbreak hit (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2009). After parts of the Secwépemc population were killed by small-pox “colonial land policies gradually marginalized Secwépemc rights to land” (Matsui, 2009, p. 68). That same year, in October of 1862, the assistant commissioner for lands and works William G. Cox was instructed by British Columbia Governor James Douglas to set aside land for reserves for the Kamloops (Tk’emlúps), Neskonlith (Sk’atsin), Adams Lake (Cstélen), and Little Shuswap communities (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2009). The land set aside was labelled the ‘Douglas Reserves’26and amounted to approximately 384,000 acres (Matsui, 2009). The ‘Douglas Reserves’ never materialized for  26 ‘Douglas Reserves’ refer to the allocation of  lands to Natives in British Columbia in the early 1860’s by Governor James Douglas. Within the Secwepemcul’ecw the ‘Douglas Reserves’ were never encoded into law therefore British Columbia and Canada does not recognize the original surveyed ‘Douglas Reserves.’  27 those Secwépemc communities as politics over land and water ensued with the British Columbia government.  Settlers in the area became jealous of the surveyed ‘Douglas Reserve’ lands to be ‘given’ to the Secwépemc people in the area and some settlers saw this as an opportunity to negotiate land purchases with Secwépemc chiefs (Matsui, 2009). The government realized that land negotiations were going on between some Secwépemc people and settlers and,  Unilaterally decided to reduce the size of the reserves. After Douglas’s retirement in April 1864, the new chief commissioner of lands and works Joseph W. Trutch led the business-oriented expansionism that many colonial officials upheld at the time and enthusiastically advocated the reduction policy.27 (Matsui, 2009, p. 69) As Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works, Trutch brought in racist and white supremacist policies where white settlers were the only ones permitted to buy and sell land, establish ranches and farms, and enacted plans to forcefully offer monetary compensation or ‘gifts’ to Secwépemc people in exchange for reducing their reserve size (Matsui, 2009). By the end of the Trutch era in 1876, the Secwépemc people were left with minimal reserve lands comparatively to the original ‘Douglas Reserves’ (Matsui, 2009; Ignace & Ignace, 2017).  27 After James Douglas retired, Joseph Trutch was appointed Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works. Trutch held imperial England beliefs of a race hierarchy and Indigenous people were at the bottom and English people were superior. Trutch created policies that undid the “Douglas Reserves” and reduced reserve size considerably. Lands were re-surveyed and land-bases were reduced and Secwépemc people were not compensated in any form (Fisher, 2010).   28 Changes within the Secwepemcul'ecw came quickly after 1876. In 1876 the Indian Act was passed and by 1869 it included the establishment of the elective band council system. The Indian Act defined who would be eligible for band and treaty benefits, including placing gender-based restrictions on who could be defined as a status Indian (Hanson, n.d.). With white settlers receiving more water and land rights and privileges, the Secwépemc people were left with reduced water access and rights to water (Matsui, 2009). Understanding the Secwépemc water and land socio-legal histories enables us to interpret how Secwépemc governance has shifted and transformed over time as Secwepemcul’ecw became controlled by white settlers now called Canadians.  Literature Review  What is Indigenous Water Governance? Before focusing on Secwépemc water governance I will explore literature and scholarship on Indigenous water governance, specifically, how Indigenous water governance has been theorized in academic literature, who has studied Indigenous water governance, and why Indigenous water governance is an emerging topic in geography, environmental studies, and Indigenous studies within Canada. In the early 2000s Indigenous water governance emerged as a topic in Canada, United States, New Zealand, Australia, Africa, and the Philippines (Arsenault et al., 2018; Carvalho et al., 2009; Gomani et al., 2010; McGregor, 2014; Memon & Kirk, 2012; Nikolakis et al., 2019; Tsatsaros et al., 2018; Yazzie & Risling-Baldy, 2018). Within these countries and contexts, water governance is activated across different scales of nation-states, communities, governmental and non-governmental organizations, however, for the purposes of this thesis, I will focus on Indigenous water governance in Canada and British Columbia.  29 Specifically, I will examine the rise of scholarship on Indigenous water governance in Canada by attending to different approaches to water governance and the complexities of water ontologies. I will also examine the rise of Indigenous water governance organizing, including the “Water is Life” movement that gained support and recognition on a global scale, as well as how Indigenous feminism has increasingly shaped understandings and activations of Indigenous water governance. The rise of Indigenous water governance in Canada can be attributed to numerous political events and initiatives that protest the lack of water infrastructure in Indigenous communities (Arsenault et al., 2018; Daigle, 2018; McGregor, 2014; Norman, 2015; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Indigenous water governance and rights are often entangled within broader movements of Indigenous rights, self-determination and freedom in Canada (Daigle, 2018; Matsui, 2005; Matsui, 2009; McGregor, 2014; Norman, 2017; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). For example, during the Idle No More28 movement that started in November 2012, Indigenous people demanded that the Canadian government and general public address poor Indigenous water conditions across Canada (Coulthard, 2014; Idle No More, 2020; L. Simpson, 2017). During the same period as Idle No More, Chief Theresa Spence held a hunger strike from December 2012 to January 2013 to raise awareness of Attawapiskat’s29 poor water infrastructure and high levels of water contamination (A. Simpson, 2014; Barrera, 2019). Mass movements such as Idle No More call attention to Indigenous rights and jurisdiction, and assert Indigenous perspectives towards protecting and upholding our responsibilities to water. Despite histories of  28 Idle No More is an Indigenous-led movement that started in November 2012 to protest “the Canadian government’s dismantling of environmental protection laws, endangering First Nations who live on the land” (Idle No More, n.d.).   29 Attawapiskat is a First Nation community in Northern Ontario that is a part of Treaty 9.   30 Indigenous resistance against the Canadian government and resource extractive industries, Indigenous water governance literature is predominantly focused on the failures of the Canadian government to deliver adequate water infrastructures on reserves and the relationships Indigenous people have to water and to the Canadian state.  The rise in water initiatives and movements is partially due to First Nation30 reserves being known for having poor water quality, water contamination, and unsafe drinking water (Arsenault et al., 2018). A pervasive theme running through Indigenous water focused scholarship is why do on-going water inequities exist in Indigenous communities in Canada? Mike and Cheung (2019) reported that in 2015 there were 105 long-term drinking water advisories on reserves across Canada. From reports updated on January 23, 2018 the Canadian government projected the long-term drinking water advisories31 would be reduced to 53 by 2020 (Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada, 2020). Since November 2015, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Liberal government has pledged to end all long-term drinking water advisories on public systems on reserves by March 2021 (Government of Canada, 2019; Mike & Cheung, 2019). This was a huge promise as many reserves are structurally compromised with poor water access and infrastructure (Arsenault et al., 2018). Since 2015, 87 water advisories have been lifted and 57 water advisories remain active (Government of Canada, 2019). The Government of Canada has not listed the number of new water advisories on reserves since 2015, but Mike and  30 The terms “Indian”, “First Nation”, “Aboriginal” and “Indigenous” are used to denote the various terminologies used to refer to Indigenous people in Canada. Indian is an outdated term and it is mostly used in the context of a First Nation person who is registered under the Indian Act. First Nation is a term used to describe someone who is Aboriginal who is ethnically neither Métis or Inuit. The term Aboriginal refers to the first inhabitants of Canada, and includes First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples. Indigenous is a term used to encompass a variety of Aboriginal groups. It is most frequently used in an international, transnational, or global context (Indigenous Foundations, n.d.).  31 A long-term drinking water advisory is classified as a household or community having a water advisory for over one year (First Nations Health Authority, n.d).  31 Cheung (2019) report 39 new water advisories since 2015. The government’s reluctance to report new water advisories enables a governmental narrative to continue to pacify the public in thinking the government is improving Indigenous water advisories, all the while leaving some Indigenous communities without access to drinking water.   Despite newfound governmental attention and finances targeted to fix water on reserves, the question remains to be asked, why has it taken over a hundred years to channel funds towards improving water systems in Indigenous communities? Governmental approaches to funding and fixing reserve water systems are paternalistic in nature and do not comprehensively take into account, or acknowledge, Indigenous water governance as practiced and understood by Indigenous people and communities. The power remains in the hands of the Canadian government to take-care of Indigenous communities and to finance adequate water infrastructure (First Nations Health Authority, n.d.). Initial Indigenous water governance literature consisted of reports from Indigenous communities pleading with the Canadian government to fix their community water systems. It then accelerated to Indigenous people and communities turning away from seeking government help to (re)activating, (re)claiming and (re)surging Indigenous water governance. Before the emergence of Indigenous water governance from an Indigenous perspective, Indigenous water governance literature was occupied by white scholars and governmental narratives and perspectives.   For decades, Indigenous people have experienced poor water quality, but it was not until the government declared it a crisis that Indigenous communities’ water issues came to the forefront in the eyes of non-Indigenous people (Human Rights Watch, 2019; Mike & Cheung, 2019; The Council of Canadians, 2011). Events and activities that have inspired non-Indigenous people and scholars to examine a range of topics related to Indigenous water governance include:  32 the increasing availability of funding through the Canadian government to Indigenous communities to improve water access and infrastructure (funding regimes that often stem from patronizing systems of control), the pervasive reconciliation32 discourse (another discourse initially caused by colonial control over Indigenous peoples), water activism by Indigenous people and communities through grassroots and community-driven movements, legislation such as the United Nations Declaration of Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP)33 and the British Columbia Water Sustainability Act34 (Armstrong & Sam, 2013; Askew et al., 2017; Government of Canada, 2019; Jollymore, McFarlane, & Harris, 2017; McGregor, 2008; McGregor, 2013; Million, 2013; Yazzie & Risling-Baldy, 2018).  Indigenous water governance scholarship occupies multiple levels of the politics of water including, who has control and power over water, who protects water, who is allowed to write about Indigenous water, and who is funding water systems and infrastructures. Within the last decade, Indigenous water governance has transformed from a predominantly government- 32 Reconciliation discourses and terminology emerged from the 2008 Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) of Canada. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) formed in response to a successful 2006 class action suit by Canadian Aboriginal peoples for their intergenerational abuse in residential schools (Million, 2013). Since its inception ‘reconciliation’ has been a contested and ambiguous term that can instill confusion and can mask or inhibit “substantive change but maintain the status quo” (Kotaska, 2013, p. 5). The ‘reconciliation’ era in motion has added an interlinking layer to Indigenous water governance. It can be witnessed through the increased availability of funding to Indigenous communities through government agencies for improving/building Indigenous water infrastructure on reserves (Castleden et al., 2017; Government of Canada, 2019). 33 Canada endorsed UNDRIP in 2016 (most of the world signed and endorsed UNDRIP in 2007) (Askew et al., 2017). At the time UNRIP was a promising step towards recognizing Indigenous people’s specific and special rights to land and water (Askew et al., 2017; Watson, 2011). The UNDRIP document states that Indigenous people have the right to “the lands, territories, and resources which they have traditionally owned, occupied or otherwise used or acquired” (van der Porten & Loë, 2013).  34 The Water Sustainability Act came into effect in 2016 and was supposed to “ensure a sustainable supply of fresh, clean water that meets the needs of B.C. residents today and in the future” (British Columbia, 2018, para 1). Despite its optimistic intent to supply fresh water to everyone in B.C. in a sustainable manner, there was opposition from First Nation communities in B.C. (Armstrong & Sam, 2013; Jollymore, McFarlane, & Harris, 2017).   33 controlled entity to Indigenous scholars and communities (re)claiming research space in water governance and developing water governance strategies.  Situating Indigenous Water Governance Research on Indigenous water governance takes places across academic disciplines and Indigenous communities. Indigenous water governance definitions can be broadly differentiated between Indigenous and non-Indigenous understandings of water governance. Indigenous governance often denotes a broad range of definitions across varying contexts and disciplines. As Von der Porten and Loë (2013) articulate, Indigenous water governance is “a broad term describing a field of scholarship which, generally speaking, examines subjects of indigeneity, self-determination, Indigenous knowledge, Indigenous values, colonialism, marginalization, and race as they relate to Indigenous people and decision-making” (p. 150). In contrast, Wilson (2014) and Bakker (2003) define non-Indigenous water governance as a range of “political, organizational and administrative processes through which communities articulate their interests, their input is absorbed, decisions are made and implemented, and decision makers are held accountable in the development and management of water resources and delivery of water services” (p. 1). Definitions and practices of non-Indigenous water governance is largely based on governmental processes including policy, procedures and decision making, whereas Indigenous conceptualizations of water governance are often place and people specific. Further, Anishinabek scholar Deborah McGregor (2014) states that there is a mismatch of definitions and practices between Indigenous perspectives and rights to water compared to governmental policies. McGregor (2014) writes,   34 Water governance is a complex issue in Canada, as both federal and provincial governments have responsibilities towards water. Aboriginal rights with respect to water in turn represent a multifaceted issue. Aboriginal peoples’ involvement in water-related concerns throughout North America has often, though not exclusively, been couched in the Aboriginal and treaty rights discourse, as well as in discussions of social, environmental and social justice issues … First Nations peoples regard current Western water management approaches as limited, and science and technology as being unable by themselves to address the challenges faced by global, regional, and local communities in relation to water. From a First Nations point of view, alternative perspectives are required in an effort to address such challenges. (p. 499)  Additionally, non-Indigenous water governance focuses on Western ideations of water as a resource that is tied into policy, governmental processes and control over water (Simms et al., 2016; Yates et al., 2017). Some scholars have argued that there are two distinct understandings of water that separate categorizations and ontological understandings of water as, water-as-resource and water-as-relational (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018).  Diné scholar Melanie K. Yazzie and Hupa, Yurok, and Kuruk scholar Cutcha Risling Baldy (2018) further explain this distinction of water-as-resource and water-as-relational, stating:  Water is not seen as a resource to be weaponized for the interests of capital by corporations that harness, obstruct, pollute, and discipline water through  35 infrastructure projects like dams and pipelines to boost the capitalist economies of settler-state nations. (p. 3)  As Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) state, Indigenous water governance encompasses a broader view of water and includes identity, relationality to water, care for water, the centrality of water to Indigenous livelihoods, and how colonial capitalism impacts and impedes on Indigenous water responsibilities and values connected to water. The various meanings and definitions of Indigenous water governance are relational and place-specific to Indigenous peoples and communities. The definitions offered by von der Porten & Loë (2013), Castleden et al. (2017), Yates et al. (2017), Simms et al., (2016), and Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) are examples of how Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars define and describe Indigenous water governance.  The motives of activating and researching Indigenous water governance is complex and the literature reflects the tensions around how Indigenous water governance is framed and who and what communities are researched and written about. In some articles and books, it is not clear whether the literature is written to benefit Indigenous people or written in the hopes of furthering one’s career.35 When situating Indigenous water governance, it is vital to capture the tensions currently occupying Indigenous water governance literature. Indigenous water governance is a broad term that encompasses Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholarship, community initiatives, and theories of how people envision water governance.  Indigenous water governance literature predominantly began with non-Indigenous scholars theorizing and conceptualizing what Indigenous water governance is, what it looks like  35 This statement is not intended to disregard the work of others on Indigenous water governance rather I intend to draw attention to research and water work that does not improve or empower Indigenous water governance or Indigenous peoples or communities.   36 in Indigenous communities, and how Indigenous relationships are (re)imagined with the Canadian state (Harris, 2016; Norman, 2015; Simms, Harris, Joe, & Bakker, 2016; Wilson, 2014; Wilson, 2019; Wilson & Inkster, 2018; Wilson, Mutter, Inkster, & Satterfield, 2018). The scholars are predominantly white scholars who conduct research in Indigenous communities on water policy, ontologies of water, and co-governance of water (Diver, Ahrens, Arbit, & Bakker, 2019; von der Porten & de Loë, 2013; Wilson & Inkster, 2018). While this scholarship has contributed important insights on the evolving dynamics between Indigenous people and the Canadian government as they relate to water governance, as well as on Indigenous ontologies of water, it does not reflect the realities and complexities of Indigenous lived and embodied experiences. Indigenous water governance scholarship that examines Indigenous water policies and politics in relation to the Canadian government misses capturing the intimate spaces and interactions Indigenous people have with water and the ways Indigenous people practice and approach taking care of water within their homes and communities.  Indigenous Ontologies of Water Numerous articles have articulated Indigenous ontologies of water as a component of Indigenous water governance (Wilson & Inkster, 2018; Wilson et al., 2019, Yates, Harris, & Wilson, 2017). Ontologies defined by Nêhiyaw and Saulteaux scholar Margaret Kovach (2009), is the nature of being and reality. Kovach (2009) makes a distinction between Indigenous and Western ontologies, however, this is not to create binaries between ontological approaches to knowledge. Rather, Kovach’s (2009) definition is intended to stress how “Indigenous approaches to seeking knowledge are not of a Western worldview, a matter that colonialism (and its supporters) has long worked to confuse” (p. 21). Hunt (2013) further explains that Western ontologies are limited in the ways they incorporate Indigenous worldviews. Western ontological  37 approaches do not consider the wealth of place-specific practices and knowledge produced by Indigenous scholars, Elders, community leaders, activists, and community members (Hunt, 2014). Indigenous scholars Hunt (2013), Todd (2016), and Kovach (2009) are skeptical of the adoption of Indigenous ontological theorizations by non-Indigenous (predominantly white) scholars in a time when Indigenous ontologies are finally becoming legitimized within academia and within Western theorizations of ontology. Indigenous ontologies become topics that are appropriated from Indigenous knowledge producers and Indigenous cultures and are used by white European scholars without acknowledging or crediting Indigenous people, lands, and knowledge (Todd, 2016). Metís scholar Zoe Todd questions “what are the political-legal implications for Indigenous peoples when our stories, our laws, our philosophies are used by European scholars without explicit credit to the political, legal, social and cultural (and colonial!) contexts these stories are formulated and shared within?” (p. 17).  Within the context of Indigenous water governance, ontological tensions arise between Indigenous and settler views of water (Wilson & Inkster, 2018). Wilson and Inkster (2018) and Yates, Harris, and Wilson (2017) indicate that water conflicts are rooted in ontological differences between Indigenous worldviews and settlers thinking they can own and exploit water. For example, Yates, Harris, and Wilson’s (2017) article on the multiple ontologies of water approaches Indigenous water governance from a lens that sheds light on the ways multiple ontologies of water impact governance (of water) and the politics of water (Yates, Harris, & Wilson, 2017). They challenge us to think of the multiplicity of water-related worlds (Yates, Harris, & Wilson, 2017). From these proposed water ontologies there is a distinction made between water-as-a-resource and water-as-lifeblood (Yates, Harris, & Wilson, 2017). Although Indigenous ontologies of water is a highly sought-after topic by non-Indigenous scholars, there  38 remains a question, whose responsibility it is to advance or improve upon Indigenous community water conditions and governance?  Scholarship on Indigenous water ontologies focuses on theoretical questions of what is water, what are the differing settler and Indigenous perspectives and Indigenous and settler (Western) ontological understandings of water (Wilson & Inkster, 2018). Wilson and Inkster (2018) and Yates, Harris, and Wilson (2017) address the critiques of the universality of Indigenous ontologies in geography and environmental studies. They argue that these fields homogenize Indigenous ontologies without “acknowledging the associated Indigenous thought, practice, and legal/governance approaches” (p. 519). Wilson and Inkster (2018) and Yates, Harris, and Wilson (2017) discuss tensions and critiques of Indigenous ontologies of water and the fact that most studies do not focus on lived realities, struggles, and triumphs of Indigenous communities enacting water governance that are specific to a language, people, or communities. Further, the growing body of scholarship on Indigenous water ontologies often depoliticizes questions of colonial power relations and land and water dispossession by averting attention away from these realities and instead focusing on defining, describing and understanding Indigenous ontologies.  As Métis anthropologist and Indigenous studies scholar Zoe Todd argues, scholarship on ontology remains embedded in a “post-colonial fantasy” (Todd, 2016). Todd (2016) reminds us of the genocides that have happened throughout Canadian history and that (some) European scholars are drawing upon postcolonial theory to validate their use of ontology. These scholars, Todd (2016) states, “start cherry-picking parts of Indigenous thought that appeal to [non-Indigenous people] without engaging directly in (or unambiguously acknowledging) the political situation, agency, local orders, and relationality of both Indigenous people and scholars” (p. 18).   39 Castleden et al. (2017) exposes that Western science, research and technology mobilize Indigenous ontologies in order to fix the environment and to figure out how people can be better stewards of water and land. As Western science fails, scholars begin looking towards Indigenous water and land stewardship and governance practices for solutions, ultimately appropriating knowledge and practices that Indigenous people and communities have practiced for millennia (Castleden et al., 2017). In attempts to include Indigenous ontologies as a part of settler water governance and environmental resource management further violence to Indigenous bodies and land are enacted.  The literature surrounding Indigenous water ontologies inspired an act of Secwépemc grounded normativity. Instead of engaging with water ontology literature, I would like to acknowledge and empower our Secwépemc understanding of water and move beyond the Western term, ontology. Secwépemc understandings of water do not need to be legitimized by theories of ontologies that are often produced within academia and that do not encompass Secwépemc water relationality. Researching Indigenous water ontologies does not change the structural realities Indigenous people face to access clean water. Studying Indigenous ontologies of water does not teach Secwépemc people how to uphold responsibilities to water within the present context of blatant anti-Indigenous racism and white supremacist violence to our bodies and water.  Co-Governance and Co-Collaborative Water Governance Within the field of Indigenous water governance, another theme is Indigenous co-governance and co-collaboration with Canadian governments. In the past two decades there has been a surge of scholarship written on collaboration or co-governance in Indigenous water  40 governance (Memon & Kirk, 2012; Moller et al., 2004; Simms et al., 2016; Tipa & Welch, 2006; Wilson, 2014). These articles and reports have mainly surfaced from non-Indigenous scholars and identify collaborative approaches and understandings of Indigenous water governance from a policy perspective (Simms, Harris, Joe & Bakker, 2016). The articles on Indigenous water co-governance are interested in locating the intersections and relationality of water governance between Indigenous people and non-Indigenous people and/or organizations (Arsenault et al., 2018; Simms et al., 2016; Wilson, 2020). Additionally, some articles focus on how water management, water policy, and governance can be reformed to suit the needs of Indigenous communities and nations (Simms, Harris, Joe, & Bakker, 2016).  Co-management and co-governance water initiatives have negotiated power sharing arrangements and agreements between Indigenous nations/communities and local/provincial/federal governments (Goetze, 2005). A co-management regime is viewed as resource centered and human-centered and is “about improving the management of resources, and also about negotiating and redefining relationships between people with varying interests in, and varying degrees of authority over, the resource(s)” (Goetze, 2005, p. 247). The terminology used with co-management water arrangements implies a relationship where humans have authority and control over resources (Goetze, 2005). In a New Zealand Maori co-management context, Tipa and Welch (2006) state that there are three common conceptions of co-management: cooperative management, collaboration in management, and management by community. Tipa and Welch (2006) question the suitability of co-management models for Indigenous communities because they often undermine Indigenous governance efforts and can further marginalize Indigenous people (Tipa & Welch, 2006). Indigenous communities are expected to conform to governmental policies and understandings of water as a resource and  41 commodity (Cohen et al., forthcoming; McGregor, 2012; McGregor, 2014; Tipa & Welch, 2006). Co-management is a term still used today but within the Indigenous water governance literature, scholars and communities are beginning to shift away from co-management terminology in order to (re)claim decision-making power over waterways.  Co-governance is a step above co-management in terms of power-sharing and decision-making power, however, it still relies on government funding and institutions that uphold government ownership of water policies and issues on Indigenous land (Simms, Harris, Joe, & Bakker, 2016; Yates, Harris, & Wilson, 2017). Co-governance requires and assumes equal sharing of decision-making power and an equal partnership between non-Indigenous entities with Indigenous communities and nations (Overduin & Simms, 2017). Although co-governance arrangements imply equal sharing of power, it is rarely operationalized as such in Indigenous communities (Cohen et al., forthcoming; Tipa & Welch, 2006). Co-governance is a term that is rarely used today by Indigenous people and communities because Indigenous people are ditching the “co” in “co-governance” and creating their own systems of governance that are distinct and separate from governmental systems of environmental governance.   After the decline in co-governance and co-management models, the literature transformed from framing Indigenous water governance as predominantly government-controlled to sharing some decision-making with Indigenous people and nations. This type of Indigenous water governance is labelled collaborative water governance. Within collaborative Indigenous water governance Indigenous nations and communities are sometimes involved with water planning and management and labelled as ‘stakeholders’ (Cohen et al., forthcoming). Collaborative approaches to Indigenous water governance require further scrutiny as to whether  42 these systems of governance advance or hinder Indigenous movements or absorb Indigenous water rights and movements into a larger political agenda.  “Water is Life” I was in high school the first time I saw news reports in newspapers and on TV of the poor water quality and contamination of water across Canadian reserves. I could not fathom how the Canadian government had continued to fail Indigenous communities. I realized later that I am subjected to the same governmental injustices and oppressive colonial violence. On my reserve it became normalized that some households received weekly water deliveries of jugs of bottled water from Adams Lake Indian Band. My family’s water treatment system had become contaminated and repairs were not done in a timely manner, with some taking years to be completed. Around 2012, during the Idle No More movement, I began to see posts on social media and news reports on TV depicting Indigenous people proclaiming “Water is Life” on a broad scale at protests, rallies, and other events across Canada and the United States.  The slogan “Water is Life” surged from frontline protectors of land/water, community-led Indigenous organizing and the accompanying growth of Indigenous water governance literature (Estes, 2019; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). “Water is Life” provides a platform to advocate and demand Indigenous water rights, justice, and Indigenous self-determination (Craft, 2017; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Contrary to the previous literature discussed on co-governance, collaborative governance and Indigenous ontologies, the literature on “Water is Life” is a rallying cry from Indigenous people themselves demanding the protection of water so that the next generations will have access to clean drinking water.   43 “Water is Life” marks an important juncture in Indigenous communities because it is a water rights movement created by Indigenous people for Indigenous people. Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) observe that the “now popular discourse “Water Is Life” has become almost ubiquitous across multiple decolonization struggles in North America and the Pacific over the past five years. Its rise in popularity reflects how Indigenous people are (re)activating water as an agent of decolonization, as well as the very terrain of struggle over which the meaning and configuration of power is determined” (p. 1). “Water is Life” is an important expression because without water we do not have health, food, nor our livelihoods. “Water is Life” proclaims that access to clean drinking water is not negotiable that every being on earth depends on water for survival. (McGregor, 2013). McGregor (2013) writes,  People must relate to water in order to live. This is true no matter where you reside, whether in cities, on-reserve, or in rural communities; what you do (your occupation or livelihood); your age; the nature of your relationship to water (good, bad, indifferent); or what your beliefs are about water (whether you view it primarily as a resource, a commodity, a human right, a life giving substance, or a sentient being). (p. 71)  Therefore, statements like “Water is Life” relate to the urgency felt by Indigenous people to stand up against people/corporations/industries actively destroying and contaminating water at an accelerated rate. McGregor (2014) positions “Water is Life” as a part of an “ethic of responsibility.” The ethic of responsibility is largely absent from Indigenous water discussions but McGregor (2014) claims it is pertinent to the ethical and moral systems that are needed to uphold humans’ duties to support life on earth.   44 Nick Estes (2019), a Sioux scholar who is a citizen of the Lower Brule Sioux Tribe speaks of the history and experiences of the #NoDAPL36 movement and the rallying cry of “Water is Life” as “affirmation that water is alive” (p. 15). Through Estes (2019) depiction of “Water is Life” during the #NoDAPL movement that the struggle for water rights is entangled Indigenous resistance against settler states, and resource extractive industries. That ultimately each struggle is rooted in being a good relative to water, land, animals, and plants.  Contrasting the idea of “Water is Life” is settler colonial and capitalist ideology that water is to be exploited, misused, and stolen from Indigenous lands (Estes, 2019; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Estes (2019) writes “water is settler-colonialism’s lifeblood - blood that has to be continually excised from Indigenous peoples” (p. 149). “Water is Life” publicly plays out the power struggles Indigenous people face resisting state control and resource industry control over water on Indigenous lands. The now popular discourse of “Water is Life” propels Indigenous water struggles to receive mass recognition globally (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). The “Water is Life” movement (re)positions and (re)focuses Indigenous water struggles as life-giving. It centers relationality, to each other, to our relatives, and to the earth. “Water is Life” generates and fosters “relational politics of life, [where] the web of radical relationality will only grow until it blankets the world in stunning beauty and restores the balance that our stories and prophecies have always foretold” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 10).   36 The #NoDAPL movement is a resistance and response to the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL), a $3.8 billion, 1,172-mile pipeline that transports half a million barrels of oil a day across four states (Estes & Dhillion, 2019). The #NoDAPL emerged as a Indigenous and women-led movement that ignited people across the world and was a continuation of a long standing tradition of Indigenous resistance deeply rooted in place and history (Estes & Dhillion, 2019). Estes & Dhillion (2019) state #NoDAPL movement and political resistance at Standing Rock acted as an “anticolonial, Indigenous-led struggle for liberation from pervasive, ongoing colonial violence, which includes the reclamation of Indigenous land/life/authority, and in its ability to transcend the borders of U.S. empire and speak to transnational movements for decolonization” (p. 6).   45 Aside from large scale protests and movements “Water is Life” is also happening in Indigenous communities and families.37 “Water is Life” takes on many iterations and provides a vital component to decolonization movements that happen globally. From family and community scales to mass rallies and protests, Sarah Hunt and Cindy Holmes (2015) remind us “rallies, protests and blockades” exist because of “the daily actions undertaken by individual Indigenous people, families, and communities (who) often go unacknowledged but are no less vital to decolonial processes” (157-158).  Although the “Water is Life” movement globally is gaining traction but the Indigenous water governance space in academia is still predominantly driven and shaped by non-Indigenous scholars. Nevertheless, Indigenous scholars are making space for research and literature on Indigenous water governance, in particular they are being used to advance our understanding of Indigenous water governance.  Water Governance and Indigenous Feminism  In the past decade Indigenous water governance in Canada has shifted from a reliance on governmental support to Indigenous communities resurging water governance on their own terms within their communities (Barker, 2019; Estes, 2019; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). When I first heard rallying cries across Canada and the United States proclaiming “Water is Life” I was a teenager, and now, as an adult, I have had opportunities to engage with Indigenous feminists and Indigenous feminism scholarship to further my journey as a Secwépemc  37 In Chapter Three, I will further examine how my k’wseltktnéws chose not discuss “Water is Life” discourses when talking about Secwépemc water governance because they primarily focus on the more intimate spaces of individual, family, and community mobilization and water practices.    46 researcher. Some of the Indigenous feminist literature within Indigenous water governance interested me on an individual and family level because they centered all voices including, women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people and take approaches that do not reproduce gender binaries (Harjo, 2019; L. Simpson, 2017). Inclusiveness and interconnectedness are necessary values within Indigenous governance in order to (re)claim and represent Indigenous knowledges, experiences, and practices. This value as presented within Indigenous feminist scholarship supports my grounded normativity, specifically the Secwépemc value of k’wseltktnéws, a belief that is inclusive of all genders, and that is centered on relationality and taking care of Secwepemcul'ecw.  There is a long history of Indigenous women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people and scholarship and community work that has been erased and excluded within broader Indigenous rights movements, governance, politics and policies (A. Simpson, 2016; L. Simpson, 2017; Million, 2013). The erasure of Indigenous women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people within Indigenous governance systems is a result of colonial ruptures and impositions on Indigenous communities. One of the colonizer’s strategies to steal Indigenous lands was to disrupt relationships within communities and to land (L. Simpson, 2017).  Indigenous women, as well as queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people, have long been excluded from scholarship and political leadership (A. Simpson, 2016; L. Simpson, 2017; Million, 2013). The erasure of Indigenous women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people within Indigenous governance systems has been the result of on-going heteropatriarchal settler-colonial practices (L. Simpson, 2017). Gender violence was used as a tool to subordinate women to conform to a patriarchal colonial society (L. Simpson, 2017). One of the colonizer’s strategies to steal Indigenous lands was to disrupt relationships within communities and to land, including the  47 relationships between genders (L. Simpson, 2017). Hunt’s (2014) ‘colonialscapes’ describes a process of violence manifested across all areas of Indigenous life in order for the colonizers to establish dominance over land they now call Canada. The taking of Indigenous lands was facilitated through processes of dehumanizing the ‘Indian’ and gendered acts of violence, including enforcing heteropatriarchal models of governance rendering women as inferior and unequal and erasing queer, Two-Spirit, and trans people entirely from governance (L. Simpson, 2017).  An example of these colonial acts of violence can be seen in the shift away from traditional Secwépemc articulations of governance to an elected band council system. Traditional leadership in Secwépemc communities consisted of multiple chiefs who led in key areas such as hunting or fishing based on their skills and gifts (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Colonial systems introduced heteropatriarchal governance based on authority, control, and power (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Whereas traditionally, qualities sought in a Secwépemc chief were related to what was needed to strengthen the community to ensure survival, and were not unilaterally gender based. The traditional style of Secwépemc governance was reflective of an Indigenous feminist approach to governance where everyone has a role in community with no established hierarchies between families, genders, or ages. Now, Secwépemc governance is based on colonial heteropatriarchal leadership and governance where mostly men are chiefs and hold leadership positions further perpetuating violence to our k’wseltktnéws and Secwepemcul'ecw.  Mohawk scholar Audra Simpson (2016) describes the imposition of settler governance overtop of pre-existing Indigenous governance systems as gendered and heteropatriarchal. A. Simpson (2016) proclaims that Canadian settler governance is predicated on two arguments:   48  First: Canada requires the death and so called “disappearance” of Indigenous women in order to secure its sovereignty. Two: that this sovereign death drive then requires that we think about the ways in which we imagine not only nations and states but what counts as governance itself. (p.1)  Therefore, although Secwépemc people’s traditional governance structures were in line with feminist conceptions of governance that upheld the embodiment of k’wseltktnéws, colonial structures reproduced gendered hierarchies within Secwépemc governance through the mechanisms of colonial law, education and capitalist economic relations.  Settler forms of governance are a direct attack on Indigenous women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit bodies (A. Simpson, 2016). A. Simpson (2016) and L. Simpson (2017) call for the recognition that settler governance is not innocent in the on-going dispossession of Indigenous lands in that settlers require the killing of Indigenous women to advance land and body dispossession. A. Simpson (2016) writes “it is the killing that allows me to also qualify the [settler] governance project as gendered and murderous” (p. 2). The logic of settler governance described by Msvkoke scholar Laura Harjo (2019),   Shapes how both nation-state and [Indigenous] governance function; it changes how we imagine the ways in which our families and romantic relationships operate and should be structured. Settler colonialism shapes our way of knowing, managing land, and exchanging land. Settler colonial structuring of land and laws renders Indigenous girls and women subhuman and rapeable with impunity, as exemplified by the ongoing issue of missing and murdered Indigenous women and jurisdictional land issues related to prosecuting  49 perpetrators. Its institutions, laws, and practices work to slowly and insidiously eliminate Indigenous people and other groups that are not white and heteronormative. (p. 25) To move away from heteropatriarchal violence and the devaluation of Indigenous women, queer, Two-Spirit and trans people within governance, we need to look beyond colonialscapes to build inclusive models of governance. Indigenous feminist theories, such as those articulated by Lenape scholar Joanne Barker (2019), provide crucial insights on how environmental injustice(s), police violence, militarism and capitalist relations inflict violence on Indigenous bodies, particularly gendered bodies (Barker, 2019). Barker (2019) further states that through water we remember our relationality to each other, to water, to other-than-human beings, to the earth and to other-worlds. They express that water “emphasizes, not romanticizes … connections and interactions as the principles on which the terms and conditions of our sociocultural, ethical responsibilities are based” (Barker, 2019, p. 6). Water becomes a vital component in (re)visioning Indigenous governance because it re-embeds relationality within our interactions and water as an analytic, through the values of “story, humility, care, generosity and reciprocity” (Barker, 2019, p. 6).  Relational and reciprocal processes are at the core of Indigenous feminist scholarship and enable conversations about decolonization and how decolonization happens in the intimate scales of the home and families to larger scale movements such as Idle No More, #NoDAPL, and “Water is Life” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Indigenous women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people have a longstanding history of organizing and relationship-building across multiple scales and places, and water struggles and governance are beginning to be explicitly included within Indigenous feminist scholarship (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018; Barker 2019).   50 Recent Indigenous scholarship by Indigenous women has centered the importance of Indigenous feminism within water governance contexts (Barker, 2019; Daigle, 2018; Deborah McGregor 2012; 2013; Whetung, 2019; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Indigenous feminism was most notably centered in a special issue carefully crafted by Melanie Yazzie and Cutcha Risling Baldy (2018) on Indigenous Peoples and the Politics of Water. As a collection of papers predominantly written by Indigenous scholars, the special issue spans across time and space to raise consciousness about water relations challenging us to consider how decolonization happens across different interrelated struggles. The special issue cites Linda Tuhiwai Smith that decolonization is imagined and theorized throughout Indigenous struggles and is a “dynamic struggle that is worked out and contested between a cacophony of living beings, structures, forces, and dreams. In other words, decolonization is a thoroughly historical and material struggle” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 2). Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) offer a robust summary of the centrality of water to Indigenous decolonization, water resistance, and struggles across North America. Additionally, they examine how Indigenous feminism shapes our knowledge and kinship to water, as people, and as nations. They state, Indigenous feminists theorize across “multiple institutional, grassroots, organizational, and governmental spaces, [have] perhaps produced the most comprehensive understanding of radical relationality and its many dimensions” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 7). Within the context of Indigenous water governance, Indigenous feminism cautions that Indigenous people’s misuse of culture, tradition, and sacredness of water might reproduce “liberalism, settler colonialism, and heteropatriarchy rather than dismantle and transcend the violence of these structures of power” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 7). Indigenous feminism opens up space to actively critique the ways Indigenous people and non-Indigenous people work within the heteropatriarchal colonial capitalist  51 frameworks to undermine Indigenous people’s efforts to protect and take care of water across Indigenous lands and waterways.  As some Indigenous feminists articulate, water is a meaningful analytic that exposes both colonial violence and the manifestations of it within Indigenous governance and land dispossession (Barker, 2019; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Barker’s (2019) thoughtful consideration to include water as an analytic within Indigenous feminist politics resonated with me as I attempted to piece together what a Secwépemc conceptualization and enactment of water governance looks like in the context of k’wseltktnéws and Secwépemc grounded normativity. Barker (2019) urges us to look beyond Indigenous women’s water roles and cultural motifs and acknowledge the complexity of,  Indigenous feminist politics, defined as it is in this historical moment by the refutation of sexual violence, extractive capitalism, and the empire’s apologia; respect of original teachings and cultural practices and the elders who care for them; and the futurisms of science fiction, and eco- and poly-eroticism --- requires that I at least try to offer something other than the usual … And so I turn to water. Not a water romanticized in a nostalgia for a past authentic Indigeneity always already feminist (as if it has always been this way). Not a water subjected to recuperation or recovery efforts (implying if not demanding the apparatus of a state’s recognition and conservation) (p. 1).  Barker (2019) brings into view the assortment of conceptualizations of water and Indigenous feminism. Barker (2019) analyzes the romanticized notions of gender and water, and extends Indigenous feminism and water into a realm that does not idealize gendered relationships and responsibilities between women and water (Barker, 2019; Whetung, 2019). Nishnaabeg scholar  52 Madeline Whetung (2019) adds to the discourse on the romanticization of Indigeneity being inherently feminist saying “the gendered responsibility held by women toward water has sometimes led to the gendering of water; however, I think of water as a spiritual being who exists outside of human gendered paradigms, especially the gendered paradigms of femininity and masculinity that dominate within a settler colonial context” (p. 18). Rather than investigating the relationships between gendered paradigms associated with women and water, Barker (2019) and Whetung (2019) focus on anti-imperialism and anti-colonialism as core features of radical Indigenous feminism. Barker (2019), Whetung (2019), and Yazzie & Risling Baldy (2018) make visible the collective struggle Indigenous people and communities face to decolonize and they center the intersections of race, gender, class, and sexuality.  Indigenous feminist scholarship provides key insights to assist in conceptualizing Secwépemc water governance. Indigenous feminist theoretical and practical approaches to water governance open up space to challenge colonial power and create transformative praxis to foster radical relationality and “free all living beings from the violence of colonialism and capitalism” (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 10). Bringing Indigenous feminism into conversation with Indigenous water governance fosters expressions of love, relationality, political and legal agency of Indigenous people, and environmental justice (McGregor, 2013). Indigenous feminist presence within academia and beyond the borders of academia empowers radical relationality, the voices of all genders, and the dialogue and praxis of living within grounded normativity. In many respects, these concepts resonate within the Secwépemc value of k'wseltktnéws. In the next chapter, these key insights from Indigenous feminist scholarship are made evident in the way I center Secwépemc grounded normativity in of k'wseltktnéws and in Chapter Three through my analysis of the research data.   53 Overview of Thesis  Indigenous water governance is enacted within intimate everyday spaces within household, community and nation-wide scales. In the past two decades, the uptake of Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholarship on water has led to increased funding opportunities for Indigenous water infrastructures, the emergence of water advocacy and resistance movements, and re-negotiation of water governance terminology from co-management to governance (Armstrong & Sam, 2013; Askew et al., 2017; Government of Canada, 2019; Jollymore, McFarlane, & Harris, 2017; McGregor, 2008; McGregor, 2013; Million, 2013; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Relationships between Indigenous people and communities with the Canadian government have changed from being predominantly viewed as co-management, co-collaborative, and/or co-governance arrangements towards a radical reorganization where Indigenous communities (re)claim and assert water care-taking roles based upon their conceptualizations of grounded normativity and radical relationality. An exciting shift in Indigenous water governance literature is the emergence of Indigenous feminism with feminists shaping water governance through decolonial relationality and kinship praxis.  In this introductory chapter, I have shared my upbringing as a Secwépemc person growing up on my maternal grandparents ancestral lands, Cstélen. I then provided a brief history of the changing political and social landscapes of Secwepemcul’ecw perpetuated by settler- colonialism. The societal and cultural changes to Secwepemcul’ecw shape the path of my research in the Secwépemc nation as I consciously frame, highlight, and uphold Secwépemc knowledge and worldviews which have knowledge about Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwepemctsin and stsptekwle at its foundation. As I previously stated, this thesis aims to center and (re)claim  54 Secwépemc scholarship by writing, speaking, and sharing experiences and ideas about Secwépemc water governance with Secwépemc community members.  In Chapter Two, Navigating Secwépemc Ethics and Research, I build on these commitments by examining the processes of doing research and learning alongside my k'wseltktnéws including approaching my research as a so-called Secwépemc researcher, and my story of navigating through institutional research consent and ethical processes within the context of Secwépemc relationality.  In Chapter Three, Understanding Secwépemc Water Governance, I examine and discuss what my k'wseltktnéws value in embodying water relations, and how they understand and conceptualize Secwépemc water practices and governance terminology. Additionally, I examine  the multi-layered conceptualizations of Secwépemc water governance that include individual and collective governance and how Secwépemc people hold various responsibilities and roles in the  care of water.  In Chapter Four, Secwépemc Water Governance Challenges, I grapple with the structural ideologies and materialities of colonial and neoliberal capitalist systems that continue to shape  Secwépemc people and communities. I discuss the tensions that exist within Secwépemc communities in upholding their responsibilities and relationality to water and Secwepemcul’ecw.  Chapter Five, Re-Envisioning Secwépemc Water Governance, utilizes theories of Indigenous futurity, radical resurgence, and consciousness raising to influence and inspire Secwépemc reclamation and relationality towards water governance. As an example of Secwépemc people relationalities and futurity, I draw upon my interviews with relatives, friends, and staff at Chief Atahm School to envision a future for water in Secwepemcul’ecw.   55 I end by providing reflections on how my research journey contributes understandings to Secwépemc water governance, specifically what this means within the context of the value of  k’wseltktnéws and how we continue to resist colonial capitalist occupation in Secwepemcul’ecw and through (re)imagining our relationality to each other, to water, and to Secwepemcul’ecw.     56 Chapter 2: Navigating Secwépemc Ethics and Research  Learning alongside K'wseltktnéws It took some time for me to formulate my research plan and to approach doing research with my k'wseltktnéws. My research process involved numerous conversations with my mom on how to initiate conversations on Secwépemc water governance with family members, Secwépemc Elders, and youth. I spent many hours thinking about Secwépemc knowledge sharing, and began to worry about whether I would be able to successfully navigate through the complexities of Secwépemc water governance research. I had to envision how I would begin to start asking Elders, my friends, and my family about Secwépemc water knowledge and about our nation. It was vital that this research on Secwépemc water governance be rooted in Secwépemc knowledge, Secwepemcul’ecw, and Secwépemc community. Therefore, I had the challenge of bridging the academic world with my life, community, and family. Throughout the research process I realized I wanted to embody relationality and reciprocity as I engaged with Secwépemc people across Secwepemcul’ecw. I was to discover that Secwépemc water governance research was a process involving constant and continuous learning alongside my k'wseltktnéws as we co-created Secwépemc knowledge.  Secwépemc Relationality This research relies on my Secwépemc k'wseltktnéws to inform and to shape the direction of Secwépemc water governance. This research is based upon my relationality to my k'wseltktnéws. Mvskoke scholar Laura Harjo (2019) describes relationality as “relationality with all entities” (p. 92), and through recognizing our relationalities to one another we understand the “places and spaces we inhabit - as well as the legacies of settler impact upon these relationships”  57 (p. 53). Situating my research within the value of k'wseltktnéws enables my k'wseltktnéws to see themselves reflected in the research that, in turn, can inspire reciprocity, love, felt knowledge, and energy in ways that will empower and instill responsibility to Secwépemc water governance (Harjo, 2019; Million, 2013). Harjo (2019) builds upon Million’s (2013) felt theory and proposes felt knowledge is just as valid as positivist models of knowledge production. Harjo states that felt knowledge “can be collectively tapped to generate informal and formal actions that shape community” (p. 124). Dian Million’s (2009) brilliant work draws upon the histories of Indigenous people, particularly Indigenous women’s testimonies and truth-telling practices that create “a context for more complex ‘telling’” (p. 54). Felt theory upholds and honours knowledge that we carry and feel (Harjo, 2019, Million, 2013). Felt theory and knowledge are a part of our relationality and focuses on how knowledge pushes communities and people to create futures that embody their past and present ancestors’ wishes. Likewise, our relationality as k'wseltktnéws forms a network of kinship, love, respect, responsibility, and accountability that is formed from how “we feel our histories as well as think them” (Million, 2009, p. 54). Secwépemc relationality through k'wseltktnéws is communicated in this thesis through Secwépemc Elders, community members, and youth speaking their truths about Secwépemc political, cultural, and social water experiences.   I position kinship and our value of k'wseltktnéws as shaping relationality, and this is the foundation from which I conceptualize relationality in this research. By centering Secwépemc relationality, I am building on the work and histories of my k'wseltktnéws. Through acknowledging my kinship relations with k'wseltktnéws and our shared histories, I am adding to Secwépemc scholarship and resurgence practices. Part of our relationality lies within our relationships with non-human and non-living entities such as land, animals, water, and plants  58 (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). George Manuel, a prominent Secwépemc leader and Indigenous rights advocate, related our relationality to land saying,  So long as there is a single thread that links us to the ways of our [Kyé7e’s]38, our lives are strong. However thin and delicate that thread may be, it will support the weight of a stronger cord that will tie us securely to the land. (Manuel & Posluns, 2019, p. 47)  Manuel and Posluns (2019) attribute Secwépemc relationality to our connections and relationship with land. Manuel and Posluns’ (2019; 1974) book The Fourth World, originally published in 1974, argues for the advancement of Indigenous self-determination and Indigenous rights. Manuel’s (1974) statement relays relationality in the Secwépemc value of k’wseltktnéws because inherent in kinship ties is the relationship we have to our land, Secwepemcul’ecw.  Since The Fourth World was originally published in 1974, Indigenous feminist and queer scholarship and grassroots organizing has led to a noticeable shift in some approaches to Indigenous politics to include the voices of Indigenous women, trans, queer and Two-Spirit people (McNeil-Seymour, 2017; Million, 2013). Therefore, I want to build off of Manuel’s conception of relationality to include a more robust conceptualization of radical relationality as put forward by Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018). Melanie Yazzie and Cutcha Risling Baldy (2018) call for a radical relationality within discussions of Indigenous politics of water. Adding the ‘radical’ to relationality encompasses an ethos of living well that involves a radical decolonizing shift to create alternatives to political and social relationships between Indigenous  38 Changed from grandfather’s to Kyé7e’s (grandmothers) because I believe our knowledge, strength, and kinship begins with our Kyé7e’s.  59 people and the Canadian state that are not based on colonial capitalist power (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) bring into view what radical relationality looks like within the context of the politics of water:   Radical relationality of water, however, is not invoked within the terrain of struggle simply as an act of cultural reclamation, Indigenous knowledge-making, or individual healing. Although these scales of decolonial investment are important aspects of struggle that scholars and activists certainly espouse as part of our practice of protecting our water relatives, we argue that radical relationality requires interconnecting these variously scaled decolonial practices to build the kind of mass movements that are necessary for staging a serious counterhegemonic challenge to the status quo of death that currently structures our existence. (p. 3)  Embodying and approaching Secwépemc water governance within a framework of relationality (Harjo, 2019; Manuel & Posluns, 1974) and of radical relationality (Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018) places Secwépemc water governance within the context of community, within Secwépemc grounded normativity, and within an alternative form of governance that rejects heteropatriarchal and capitalist modes of production. I am writing this thesis during a time in which I feel as though relationality and radical relationality must be centered in Secwépemc water governance in order to imagine alternative realities that I am currently experiencing and witnessing as a Secwépemc person.  60 Secwépemc Researcher My role as a Secwépemc researcher working with Secwépemc people who live in the community has created ongoing internal tensions and conflicts. It was intimidating to approach k'wseltktnéws to participate in my research and ask if they wanted to give an interview to share their knowledge and experiences on Secwépemc water governance. I felt awkward in being perceived in a new role, as a researcher, and not as their child, grandchild, friend, or community member. Linda Tuhiwai Smith, a distinguished Maori scholar who wrote the instrumental book Decolonizing Methodologies (2012), articulates that negotiating entry into Indigenous communities as an Indigenous researcher can be a daunting experience. L. Smith (2012) describes Indigenous researchers approaching community members, especially Elders, as daunting because “the dynamics of relationships are by nature hugely complicated. For researchers the skills and reflexivities required to mediate and work with these dynamics are quite sophisticated” (p. 34). I certainly agree that dealing with the dynamics of relationships was complicated. It was hard to assume the role of researcher in front of family and community members. The formality of UBC ethics processes added another layer of complication. In many respects, these processes are not suited for, or fit within, Secwépemc values and identity. Formal research in the Geography discipline follows and satisfies the UBC ethics and consent procedures that are entrenched in colonial institutional biases that shape normative views of who is a knowledge producer, and who is not. It seemed as though the ethics process privileges  outsider researchers going into Indigenous communities as opposed to strengthening Indigenous knowledge producers who work with community. Consequently, I struggled with fulfilling the UBC ethics and consent processes while juggling the relationships I have with my relatives, friends, and community members. Due to the mismatch of values and objectives between UBC  61 and my goals of conducting research with my k'wseltktnéws, I found the task of working and weaving a k'wseltktnéws and relationality ethics and consent process within an institutional frame of research ethics and consent challenging.  Most of my family, friends, and community members who I interviewed come from academic backgrounds, or have previously participated in academic research. Yet I was still hesitant to initiate requests for interviews and to present them with a consent form. Histories of researchers exploiting Indigenous people, knowledge, and communities has created a need for consent processes and consent forms (L. Smith, 2012; Whetung & Wakefield, 2018). Albeit, it was important for my interview participants to be informed about my research objectives, and what will happen with their interview after it is given, I still felt that the process was detached and artificial. Specifically, it felt unusual to ask for consent through a signature on a consent form. I ultimately chose a paper consent form to convey the seriousness of my research, and made it clear to participants that they could discontinue the research process at any point if they felt uncomfortable about the process. The consent form seemed to signify a separation of relationships between myself as a researcher with my pre-established relationships of being a daughter, granddaughter, friend, and community member.  Additionally, I faced issues on how I would conduct myself as a Secwépemc researcher while maintaining my relationships with my community outside of my research. I faced similar tensions as Clint Carroll (2015), a Cherokee scholar specializing in Cherokee environmental governance and ethnobotany community research. As Carroll states, “writing about one’s own community (and its politics) ... can be daunting, and doing an ethnography as a Native researcher [can be daunting]” (Carroll, 2015, p. 3). Carroll (2015) centers these questions surrounding writing and doing research within one’s Indigenous community as issues of accountability.  62 Working through issues of how to remain accountable and responsible to Indigenous people and knowledge, they “agree that healthy dialogue that engages with tough issues of Indigenous governance in a productive way is essential to the well-being of Indigenous nations” (Carroll, 2015, p. 6). I navigated these uncertain feelings by being as open and honest about the ethics and consent processes with my k'wseltktnéws as best as I could. It was a new experience to approach my k'wseltktnéws as a researcher but they were all welcoming to me and willingly shared their water knowledge with me.  Conducting one-on-one interviews with Secwépemc community members brought up many questions about how to do research in ways that make sense to Secwépemc communities and that inspire relationality and reciprocity. Being Secwépemc and a community member of Cstélen, the thought that my research would reach beyond community into academia was of some concern to me. I felt the responsibility of having to represent my k'weseltktnéws honourably. After all, when my thesis was done, my k'wseltktnéws and community would be still be there supporting me. Although this unconditional support is wonderful, the thought of letting them down in some way was an added stress. I contemplated how I would frame my questions as I considered the ways this research could be perceived by Secwépemc people. I thought about how questions could help create constructive conversations and dialogue on Secwépemc water governance.   Ethical considerations and questions I posed included:  1. How do I do research in an ethical and reciprocal way where my community benefits?  2. How do I conduct myself and represent my research in an ethical and reciprocal way, where I am not seeking knowledge and information solely for personal gain?   63 3. How will this research impact my community and nation after it is published? Carroll’s (2015) approach to research assisted me in understanding Indigenous community research as they address the complexities of conducting research in their community. They asked “how do you make sense of being an actor in the processes you claim to be studying?” and “how do you enter into a dialogue about nature and form of tribal government without appearing overly critical?” (p. 20). In addition to these questions, I was concerned with how I would write about my community and other communities in the Secwépemc nation so that they are proud to be a part of my research? How do I write about Secwépemc water governance so that it is useful for tellqelmucw, the people to come? I carried these questions with me throughout the research process as I navigated Secwépemc ethics and research processes.  Moving Past Damage-Centered Research This research on Secwépemc water governance explores the underlying experiences and histories of why our water governance has changed over time. I wanted to ask questions in a way that would not reproduce or perpetuate damage-centered research, trauma narratives and the victimization of Indigenous/Secwépemc people and communities. In Suspending Damage: A letter to communities Eve Tuck (2009), an Aleut scholar, reflects on the trend of research on Indigenous and disenfranchised communities that focuses on the impacts of oppression and colonization which casts Indigenous people and communities as “thinking of ourselves as broken” (p. 409). Tuck (2009) describes damage-centered research activities as,  Document[ing] pain or loss in an individual, community, or tribe. Though connected to deficit models - frameworks that emphasize what a particular student, family, or community is lacking to explain underachievement or  64 failure - damage-centered research is distinct in being more socially and historically situated. It looks to historical exploitation, domination, and colonization to explain contemporary brokenness, such as poverty, poor health and low literacy. (p. 413) To avoid contributing to the over representation of Indigenous damage-centered research, I frame my interview questions around how Secwépemc people experience and witness Secwépemc water governance, how they strategize and see water governance happening across different scales, and what water governance means to them. Overall, I do not include questions on residential school (or other traumatic events and situations the Secwépemc people and nation have been subjected to), water or land contamination in the Secwepemcul’ecw, negative leadership and political practices, or the Secwépemc nation’s relationship with the provincial or federal governments. If these issues were brought up by participants themselves in the interviews, I analyzed these experience through a grounded normativity framework. In other words, even if colonial power and violence were contributing factors, I would balance these experiences with stories of Secwépemc resilience. For example, if names, specific events, or negative leadership or political practices were brought up in the interviews, I did not expose the details, or delve deeper into discussions surrounding the event or experience. I employ this technique to center Secwépemc knowledge and the strength we hold within our Secwépemc grounded normativity. Structuring the questions in this way allows for participants to focus solely on what is Secwépemc water governance, who is doing water governance, and how Secwépemc water governance has changed conceptually and materially over time without asking them to recount and share the violent histories and events perpetuated by settler-colonialism and capitalism.   65 This interview approach enabled me to write and share our understanding and (re)envisioning of Secwépemc water governance from a place of strength and grounded normativity. Approaching research from a strengths-based approach, rather than framing our existence as damaged or as victims of the Canadian state opens up opportunities to “write ourselves, represent ourselves, and enact ourselves as revolutionaries fighting … against colonialism, white supremacy, heteropatriarchy, and capitalism through everyday acts of resistance and resurgence” (L. Simpson, 2017, p. 238). Although I build my research from Secwépemc strength and resilience, the university still required me to prove I would not create or perpetuate harm to my community and nation through the Behavioural Research Ethics Board.  Navigating University Ethics and the Band Council The first hurdle I encountered before setting out to do my interviews and engaging in ethical protocols with my Secwépemc interviewees was seeking approval from the University of British Columbia’s Behavioural Research Ethics Board (BREB) to start my interviews. The BREB process was unsettling and brought up questions on knowledge production, access to knowledge, confidentiality, data collection and protection, what ethics means within institutions, colonial ideology of property, intellectual property, and institutional power (Whetung & Wakefield, 2018). Madeline Whetung, a Nishnaabeg geography student and scholar, and Sarah Wakefield a settler geography scholar (2018), write on the Tri-Council Policy Statement on Research Ethics: Ethical Conduct for Research Involving Humans (Version 2) (TCPS2) which guides the university research ethics boards (REBs). Whetung and Wakefield (2018) question how effective and ethical the research ethics process is, considering “the policy itself upholds the idea that settler people do research and Indigenous people are researched” (p. 149). As Madeline Whetung states,   66 I remember feeling unsure about my place as a person in the ethics review process; for me it was anxiety inducing. As an Indigenous student-scholar, when reading the TCPS2, it became clear to me that the protocol on research with Aboriginal peoples is presented as though there is not Indigenous people conducting research. One is either a researcher, or a community member, never both. Of course this is simply not true, Indigenous scholars have been conducting research within the university for some time now. (Whetung & Wakefield, 2018, p. 147-148) Whetung and Wakefield’s (2018) conversation is pivotal in understanding the tensions and inconsistencies arising from the BREB ethical process. The process does not account for Indigenous people conducting research within their own community, “instead of considering the long-term consequences of research, the TCPS2 deals only in the present, and in the university as a place” (Whetung & Wakefield, 2018, p. 151). From beginning to end, the ethical process did not assist or guide me through ethical engagement with my community and nation. Rather, it became a process of checking boxes and finding the ‘right’ words to appease the Research Ethics Board.  Whetung and Wakefield’s (2018) conversation turns our attention to thinking about ethics not as an event or process bound by the university, but as a process developed,  On the place we come from, the land that we live on as individuals, and as participants in institutions and communities, and the position that each of us holds, both in relationship to the land and to the community we are entering (or a part of). (p. 156)  67 Although the BREB section on Indigenous engagement adds a layer of protection for communities, I felt it was biased towards colonial systems of band governance and therefore conflicted with my Secwépemc values of k’wseltktnéws  .  It was difficult to navigate the level of engagement I should have with the Secwépemc nation and the communities (bands) because there are no formal Secwépemc research consent processes. After the lengthy UBC ethics process, I questioned whether I should seek consent at a community and nation level. Specifically, I struggled with understanding whether I required consent from a band or nation level of government because each interviewee would be consenting and sharing knowledge and experiences as an individual. Dian Million (2013) writes about the complexity of community versus individual voice. They state: We have recognized the need to identify our own Indigenous positions as an ethical act. This means I acknowledge the space of telling I undertake from my position as an Indigenous academic writer to be no less complex than one in the community; both are bound up by a necessary politic of speech we have established. I cannot claim mine as a community voice, while I acknowledge that I have a responsibility to more than my own interest. (p. 25)  Million (2013) demonstrates the complexity of Indigenous voices and how it is important to address the political, cultural, and moral challenges to engage with Indigenous people and research protocols.  Navigating the interwoven and multi-layered levels of colonial and Indigenous forms of governance (family, band, nation, and federal), I had to consider how my family, friends, and community members would share insights and experiences of Secwépemc water governance and  68 if those experiences would be explicitly linked to band/nation/federal governments. Would the knowledge they share be traced or attributed to their band? First and foremost, my family, friends, and community members chose to identify as Secwépemc, therefore I chose not to engage in formalized band or nation research protocols. Identifying as a Secwépemc person within our understanding of k'wseltktnéws and kinship networks operates outside of colonial political systems such as the band council systems. Rather, our networks of kinship determine who “shares rights of access to land and resources and [who] has to help another out and support one another” (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, p. 321). Our knowledge about Secwepemcul’ecw belongs to those who identify as Secwépemc and who are a part of our k'wseltktnéws (opposed to being considered a guest, sexlítemc39). Band council systems and membership become arbitrary when considering relationalities through k'wseltktnéws.  While filling out the BREB forms I was caught between trying to meet the institution’s expectations and trying to explore ways to extend care, respect, and love for my k'wseltktnéws throughout this research journey. How do I navigate an institutional process that views band council systems as the primary mode of governance for Indigenous people? Thinking about the Secwépemc values I grew up learning, I also struggled with how, and if, I should seek approval from the band council(s) because I would be interviewing people who live or have grown up in the Sexqeltqín, Neskonlith, Tk’emlúps, Cstélen, and Simpcw communities. Identity, band membership, and where someone resides does not determine who can speak for them. Furthermore, I perceived seeking approval from the band council to conduct research with Secwépemc band members as reinforcing and re-inscribing institutional power and colonialism  39 Ron and Marianne Ignance (2017) say in the Secwépemc culture, a sexlítemc (guest) is distinguished from all people who are our kwseltkten (relatives). Sexlítemc are strangers without resource rights who come into our country (Secwepemcul’ecw).   69 that overshadows individual freedom of voice and autonomy. Providing power and privilege to the band council gives the impression that the band council has the power to intervene and stop someone from sharing their opinions and views as a Secwépemc, instead of the individual deciding for themselves to participate or not. I had a similar response as Madeline Whetung about the TCPS2 and BREB processes, university ethics are written as though every person doing research with, on, or for Indigenous communities are non-Indigenous. However, considering the history of researchers exploiting, stealing and appropriating Indigenous knowledge, I understand why there are additions to the TCPS2 to include sections on Indigenous community engagement, consultation, and consent (L. Smith, 2012; Whetung & Wakefield, 2018).  However, in this research, I embody Secwépemc relationality, including how we take care of each other and respect each other as a means to de-center and complicate the BREB process of seeking approval for research from the band council(s). Each person who participated in an interview chose to be there as a Secwépemc individual, with their own thoughts and ideas. The individual power and autonomy from my family, friends, and community members would effectively be taken away had I given the band council decision-making power to approve or deny my research. My interview participants did not come to do their interview as representatives of the band council(s), therefore, I did not seek pre-approval from band council or engage in a public community ethics process to proceed with interviewing community members from Cstélen, Sexqeltqín, Neskonlith, Simpcw, and Tk’emlúps.  70 Locating Myself as a Researcher Locating myself and calling myself a researcher was difficult in my community because research does not always happen within the confines of institutions and institutional processes. Secwépemc research happens through lived experiences, place-based knowledge and pre-existing relationships with Secwepemcul’ecw and k'wseltktnéws. Research also happens across different venues and formats such as community events, at family gatherings, in car rides, and other spaces that the university might label as ‘out of place’ (Harjo, 2019). Harjo (2019) affirms that community work and research operates in less formal settings such as houses, churches, and even Walmart! Learning from Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017) and their wisdom on Nishnaabeg brilliance and intelligence, I realized that my role as a researcher is to embody and embrace k'wseltktnéws knowledge and how they want to share (or not share) their knowledge and experiences through this research. L. Simpson (2017) describes Indigenous brilliance and intellect as (re)creating our reciprocal relationships with all beings, protecting and resurging our traditions and navigating our bodies and practices in a loving way despite living in a colonial society. The best way I attempted to understand a Secwépemc ethics and consent process was to ask my parents and my Kyé7e’s and Slé7e’s what consent means to them. I asked them how we envision Secwépemc ethics processes and how we conceptualize ethics and consent as Secwépemc people. In other words, how are we choosing to engage (or not engage) with research?   I soon found out that engaging in research ethics and consent processes is easier said than done. Everyone lives busy lives and much of my research ethical engagement did not go as planned. I pushed ahead with scheduling and planning interviews and hoped to have these important conversations about ethics and consent during the interviews. Before the interview(s),  71 I read out and explained the consent form. The participants were not interested in learning about the UBC BREB consent form, they just wanted to know where to sign to give consent. My anticipated discussion on Secwépemc ethics and consent with Secwépemc Elders and community members did not materialize. This became a research learning experience as I realized the reason they seemingly did not care about the consent form was because I already had pre-existing relationships with the interview participants. They had trust in me that was built over numerous years, a trust that I would not exploit, mishandle, or commodify their knowledge for personal gain. To participants, it was not the ethics form or my research description that got them to agree to an interview. Rather, it was consent based on trust, built from years of relationship-building that created many shared memories.  Weeks before conducting my first interview I had an eye-opening conversation with Elders and colleagues at Chief Atahm School, on how knowledge is used in research once consent is given. This conversation demonstrated the complexities of consent and the dangers of misuse and exploitation of Secwépemc knowledge in research.40 The conversation started when an Elder who works at the school worried about a previous interview they did for a university research project and they wondered what would happen to the knowledge they shared. They were scared of the prospect of their knowledge being misconstrued, misinterpreted, and did not know who would be accessing and consuming this knowledge. It was alarming to hear this Elder’s experience, specifically that researchers were not honouring consent processes. I carried this conversation with me while I prepared to conduct interviews with family and community members.   40 This was not the first time I have heard stories of Secwépemc knowledge being misused, exploited, and/or appropriated within institutional research projects.   72 Mohawk scholar Audra Simpson’s (2014) conceptualization and practice of refusal and ethnographic refusal was demonstrated in this Elder’s interview experience. The Elder learned that for future interviews and research projects they would have to be cautious with the Secwépemc knowledge they share. A. Simpson (2014) explains ethnographic refusal as the “calculus of what you need to know and what I refuse to write” (p. 105).  I hoped to honour and protect information shared with me and to build upon the trust I have with my interview participants. For example, although I would guide the interviewee to share underlying reasons as to why Secwépemc people lack leadership to mobilize our Secwépemc water governance, I would filter out and not include community member’s names or specific internal politics within my research analysis. I generalize the stories and experiences of community member’s community politics to not replicate negative narratives of poor community leadership. As an Indigenous researcher, A. Simpson (2014) writes about the ongoing negotiations of community research, “can I do this and still come home; what am I revealing here and why? Where will this get us? Who benefits from this and why?” (p. 111). Throughout this thesis I only include the statements, opinions, and knowledge shared with me that will generate and promote Secwépemc water governance and Secwépemc grounded normativity that my interview participants have consented and agreed to have included in the thesis.  Secwépemc Consent Secwépemc consent processes were another part of my learning alongside my k'wseltktnéws. Through the research process with my k'wseltktnéws, I reflected on what consent means to Secwépemc people across different scales of the individual, the community, and the nation. Sarah Hunt (2016) reminds us that consent processes occur across individual interactions, institutions, and with non-living entities. Understanding settler-colonial processes of consent  73 “requires a radical reorientation of the ways we think about consent” (Hunt, 2016, p. 8). Fostering our value of k’wseltktnéws and relationality embeds notions and processes of consent. For instance, building trust, reciprocity, and relationality works to mend,  Relationships between body and spirit, land and body, body and our non-human kin, and between ourselves and our relations. Mending these relationships begins first and foremost within ourselves, reconnecting with our own wants and needs, our desires, our languages, our ways of relating with our own bodies so that we can give consent from a place of connection - a connection that settler colonialism has tried to steal from us. (Hunt, 2016, p. 11)  Keeping in mind that consent happens across different scales and time periods, I realized throughout my research that consent and ethics unfold in a non-linear order. At some points of the research process, I felt uncomfortable because I felt like an outsider due to living away from my community for several years to attend university. However, at the same time, the knowledge and wisdom I received as a child carried me to the place I am at today and nurtured my Secwépemc identity and connection to Secwepemcul’ecw. Therefore, I ultimately recognized my role as an insider, because I have been privileged to learn from my Kyé7e’s and Slé7e’s on a daily basis, learn from Secwepemcul’ecw, and alongside my k'wseltktnéws through living and working in my community.  My experience of feeling like an insider and outsider researcher is elucidated by Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2012). L. Smith (2012) states, “at a general level insider researchers have to have ways of thinking critically about their processes, their relationships, and the quality and  74 richness of their data and analysis. So do outsiders, but the major difference is that insiders have to live with the consequences of their processes on a day-to-day basis for ever more, and so do their families and communities” (p. 38). Although I grew up learning and speaking Secwepemctsin in Secwepemcul’ecw and spent days learning alongside my Kyé7es and Slé7es, I had to think long and hard about our Secwépemc ethics of care. Is there protocol I have to follow? How do I approach people in a respectful way to engage in the work I am doing? How am I going to be held accountable by my k’wseltktnéws? Is my work going to harm anyone or cause hurt feelings or violence? How do I model and convey ideas of consent within my everyday life and within my research?  These questions remain largely unanswered, with much to be explored, because consent is a topic and process that is carried out across personal, community, and nation scales. Although these questions remain unanswered, they make space for future conversations on Secwépemc consent and ethical protocols and procedures. The questions are left with no concrete solution because Secwépemc consent and ethic processes are non-linear and on-going, creating processes always in motion and fluid. Igniting the conversation on Secwépemc consent is a first step to respecting people’s boundaries and bodies and understanding how people want to participate (or not) in research. Hunt (2016) expresses that consent over body and land are interconnected and Indigenous self-determination is lived, felt and contingent on anti-violence work and consent.  The best way to describe how my consent process unfolded was that it started with me questioning what consent means to myself, and then embodying these processes with the work I do with my family, friends, and community members. In practice, I have pre-existing relationships with my interview participants because they are my k'wseltktnéws. The overall process of Secwépemc consent is gradual and built up over many years of relationship building.  75 Secwépemc ethics and consent is an on-going process taking place inside and outside of research.  Research Methods I utilize qualitative research methods to gather and gain insights into Secwépemc water practices, experiences and governance. Specifically, I conducted six semi-structured interviews throughout September and October of 2019. Semi-structured one-on-one interviews were selected to examine Secwépemc water governance in a thorough and in-depth manner. Interviewing in a semi-structured format allowed discussions to flow along the lines of stories, experiences, and shared knowledge about Secwépemc people, water, and land. The six one-on-one interviews comprised of: two Elders, three educators and community members, and one Secwépemc youth. I wanted to include another Secwépemc youth perspective, but because of the political dynamics within Secwépemc communities, the youth I approached did not feel comfortable or willing to participate.  Throughout the thesis I maintain the anonymity of my k’wseltktnéws and refer to them as Secwépemc Elder, educator or youth to describe their roles as knowledge producers in their community and across the Secwépemc nation. The only exception is my father who had agreed to be a known participant.41 My k’wseltktnéws hold numerous roles in their communities and are continuously generating Secwépemc knowledge. The roles of Elder, educator or youth are used to differentiate between age groups and positions within their community. The two Elders interviewed are both fluent in Secwepemctsin and are valuable sources in transmitting Secwépemc knowledge. The two Elders were both selected based on our close relationships and  41 I do not include my interview participant’s names including my father.   76 their involvement in my upbringing as a Secwépemc child and young adult. The three educators I interviewed transmit Secwépemc knowledge by teaching Secwépemc children, youth, and young adults. I approached three educators to continue learning from the ones who inspire and reinforce my Secwépemc grounded normativity. The youth I interviewed provided a young adult’s perspective and knowledge on Secwépemc people, water, and environmental concerns. I only selected interview participants that I had pre-existing relationships with in various capacities (family, teachers, and friends). In accordance with the value of k’wseltktnéws, I sought representation of all genders in my study. To underscore Secwépemc beliefs on equality, I also chose not to analyze the interviews based on gender nor to identify participants by gendered pronouns. I purposefully designed the one-on-one interviews to nurture kinship ties to my k’wseltktnéws and to spark conversations on Secwépemc water governance that will hopefully extend beyond the interviews.  To formulate an understanding of Secwépemc water governance I draw upon Indigenous critical theory, Indigenous feminist theory, and Indigenous human geography theory to establish connections between empirical research with community knowledge, culture and experiences. Most notably, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson’s (2017) understanding of grounded normativity and radical resurgence, Yazzie and Risling Baldy (2018) theorization of radical relationality, Laura Harjo’s (2019) approach and understanding of Indigenous futurities, Andrew Curley’s (2019) use of moral economies to explain and understand resource extraction on Indigenous lands, and Sarah Hunt’s (2014) theorizations of colonialscapes are all bodies of scholarship that influence my thinking and theorizations of Secwépemc water governance.  To begin conceptualizing Secwépemc water governance and to get direction for my research I connected with Indigenous knowledge producers outside of Secwepemcul’ecw.  77 Specifically, I drew upon Indigenous scholarship across North America and New Zealand to ground my research within Secwépemc grounded normatively. My research and scholarship does not happen exclusively within the Secwépemc nation, rather, it has evolved through learning, listening, and witnessing other Indigenous knowledge producers. A major component to (re)envisioning Secwépemc water governance is reliant on our relationships to other humans, to our waterways, and land. By engaging with Indigenous scholars and knowledge producers (primarily Indigenous feminists) it re-affirms my grounded normativity as a Secwépemc person and knowledge producer. From birth, my parents and k’wseltktnéws have fostered my Secwépemc identity, therefore, my grounded normativity as a Secwépemc has always been present. Indigenous scholars and knowledge producers provide me with new language and concepts, such as grounded normativity, radical relationality, and futurities that help me make sense of my experiences, and help me affirm my beliefs that as a Secwépemc person immersed in Secwépemctsin and Secwépemc ceremonial practices that I have a responsibility to take care of water and Secwepemcul’ecw.  At various points in the thesis, I engage with Indigenous feminist theory and praxis to continue the conversations on the role water has within community, how Secwépemc take care of water, and how Secwépemc people and communities activate their grounded normativity to live free in Secwepemcul’ecw. In many respects, learning from Indigenous feminist scholars such as Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, Sarah Hunt, Laura Harjo, Melanie Yazzie, Cutcha Risling Baldy and Dian Million has helped me to connect my Secwépemc upbringing and Secwépemc values within feminist frameworks. When bridging my upbringing with my current relationships with Secwépemc people and to Secwepemcul’ecw, I begin to see k’wseltktnéws as an embodiment of Indigenous feminism. Seeing k’weseltktnews as feminism enables me to  78 (re)envision Secwépemc people’s protection and care-taking responsibilities happening outside of the constraints of colonial gender binaries and heteropatriarchal governance hierarchies. K’weseltktnews is the foundation to how Secwépemc people relate to qelmucwuw'i, mesmescen', tmicw, and sewllkwe. This forms the basis of our kinship and the expansiveness and interrelatedness of being connected through culture, identity, and language as k’wseltktnéws . Within the value of k’wseltktnéws, there are no imposed gender binaries or a hierarchy of genders. Secwépemc people believe that everyone has a gift and strength (R. Ignace & M. Ignace, 2017; K. Michel, 2012). K. Michel (2012) states that Secwépemc social status is based on “individual strengths as related to group productivity and well-being. Everyone’s skills were utilized to improve the chances for the [community’s] survival” (p. 46). The concept of k’wseltktnéws  weaves Secwépemc values of kinship with values of respecting individual strengths and gifts. This way of thinking about oneself through the lens of a collective, enables Secwépemc people to go through life honing their strengths and gifts in order to give back to community. K. Michel (2012) describes the process of etsxe as training to “find their personal power and place in society” (p. 84). K. Michel (2012) describes the degradation of the Secwépemc value of k’wseltktnéws through colonization and that “it is only within the last few decades that there has been a growing realization of the effects that colonizing processes have had the Secwepemc language, culture, and sense of community” (p. 84). Therefore, this thesis is an act of resurging and fostering the relationality we have towards each other and towards all beings that live within Secwepemcul’ecw.  This research purposely takes a methodological approach that aims to foster Secwépemc values and beliefs, and creates a structure for community participation and co-operation that is strength-based. To align with my grounded normativity of growing up land earning from fluent  79 Secwépemctsin teachers, I use the pronouns they/them to refer to my k’wseltktnéws   and scholars cited. In the Secwepemc language there are no gendered pronouns in speech or text because Secwépemctsin pronouns are “organized differently from the meaning of English pronouns … Secwepemctsin does not distinguish gender (male or female) in the third person” (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, p. 137). The act of referring to everyone in this thesis as they/them also serves as an act of disrupting colonial binaries and (re)centering Secwépemc relationality as being inclusive of all beings and all genders. In other words, I chose not to reproduce settler heteropatriarchal gender binaries by using the gendered pronouns ‘he’ and ‘she.’ Colonial heteropatriarchal gender binaries perpetuate colonial land and body dispossession and violence to Indigenous bodies (L. Simpson, 2017). Therefore, by not gendering my k’wseltktnéws   and scholars I engage with, I am honouring the ways my Kyé7es and Slé7es and ancestors spoke, told stories, and transmitted Secwépemc knowledge.  Ultimately, I hope to contribute to Secwépemc scholarship by encouraging healthy and positive dialogue on consent and ethical protocols, and to contribute to scholarship that upholds and respects relationality towards each other and to Secwepemcul’ecw. The use of qualitative research methods throughout my interviews and literature analysis evoked a wide range of responses including different conceptualizations and practices of Secwépemc water governance, the challenges Secwépemc people and communities face to uphold Secwépemc responsibilities and roles as care-takers of Secwepemcul’ecw, and how Secwépemc people are (re)imagining our relationships and responsibilities to take care of water.     80 Chapter 3: Understanding Secwépemc Water Governance “We were natural and we were governance” (Secwépemc Elder) Introduction The main questions underlying this research on Secwépemc water governance were, “How do Secwépemc people conceptualize water governance in our territory?”42; “How did our care-taking responsibilities to water change over time?”, as well as, “What does water governance mean to Secwépemc people and communities?” This chapter aims to draw upon Secwépemc grounded normativity, Secwépemc knowledge production, radical relationality, and traditional and contemporary understandings of Secwépemc water governance. Furthermore, I examine how Secwépemc people conceptualize individual and collective embodiments of water governance, and the changing political and social agendas in the Secwépemc nation. Additionally, I attend to the underlying political and social influences that shape Secwépemc people’s ability to protect and take care of water.  Understanding how Secwépemc people practice(d) water governance and take care of each other is vital in understanding how we will take care of water and protect our waterways for future generations. Drawing on the interviews, I examine how Secwépemc people think about water, and whether governance is indeed an appropriate term to use to explain our relationships and responsibilities to water. The interviews explore how ideas (and ideals) of freedom are produced as they are related to water in Secwepemcul’ecw. My k'wseltktnéws guide the process of formulating and theorizing Secwépemc water governance. Centering the voices of  42 Territory is thought of as the entirety of Secwepemcul’ecw.  81 k'wseltktnéws across five Secwépemc communities opens up space to piece together what Secwépemc water governance is, what it means to us, and, how it has changed. The k'wseltktnéws interviewed provide insightful knowledge on what constitutes Secwépemc water governance, what Secwépemc beliefs and responsibilities are to water and Secwepemcul’ecw. My k'wseltktnéws are vital knowledge producers in conceptualizing and understanding what Secwépemc water governance looks and feels like within our communities.  Water is a Way of Life There is no denying Secwépemc people value water and everything that it provides for  our people, and the animals and plants in Secwepemcul’ecw. I was profoundly moved by the ways in which Elders, community members, and my family answered the question, “how did Secwépemc people govern or take care of water traditionally?” When beginning discussions with relatives and community members, the conversations began with a baseline understanding that water is everything to Secwépemc people. This was a pre-established understanding based on my pre-existing relationships to my k'wseltktnéws. In other words, my k’wseltktnéws did not start telling traditional or sacred knowledge about Secwépemc water because it was assumed I had pre-existing cultural knowledge and understood how water is fundamental to our existence as  Secwépemc people. Family and community members expressed and emphasized that water is a way of life for Secwépemc people, that there is no hierarchy over water, and that we all43 must hold the utmost respect for water. Water as a way of life was a common theme that underscored how Secwépemc think about water and take care of water in their day to day lives.   43 All is denoting everyone whether you are Secwépemc or a non-Secwépemc person.  82 When sitting down and talking with my family, friends, and community members there was some hesitancy to speak about Secwépemc traditional water practices. In some of the interviews they assumed they had to be a ‘traditional knowledge expert’44 to discuss water. After re-phrasing the question to instead ask that they share “how they imagined Secwépemc people took care of water in the old days,” participants began to share stories, experiences, and practices they knew, or had heard that people did, and what they learned as a child. Rephrasing the question to say, “how do you imagine, or how have you witnessed your parents/grandparents/ancestors taking care of water,” seemed an accessible starting point for my participants as they felt more comfortable recounting memories of their lives.  After this question was asked, it became clear that, regardless of the participant’s age, or whether they were speaking of the past or present, the underlying message was the same: water is vital to Secwépemc people. A community member stated, “water was really respected and [we] always cared for it and it was just a way of life [to take care of water]” (Secwépemc educator). This community member spoke about a time when everyone had a connection to water through working the land through gardening or agriculture. Each household in the community had a garden and people in the community helped each other out to prepare their garden beds and to harvest. This community member still has a garden and monitors rainfall45 and the seasonal changes to weather but they observe that not many people in the community continue to tend to a garden or monitor the weather (Secwépemc educator). As this community  44 Identifying oneself as a ‘Traditional Knowledge Expert’ is growing in the Secwépemc nation but traditionally Secwépemc people did not create divisions or limited what you can learn or speak about based upon someone being ‘trained’ or learning something to be labelled as an ‘expert.’   45 Monitoring rainfall and the seasonal changes is a practice used to monitor how much water will be available to grow food and how successful the harvest year will be.   83 member expressed, throughout time, our day-to-day water caretaking practices have started to fade.  In my father’s interview, they reminisce about growing up in Chu Chua (Simpcw) and their grandfather teaching them to not waste water and to think about water being precious at all times so that the water sources stay clean (Secwépemc educator). This relationship demonstrates generational relationships and knowledge transfer as a key component to the caretaking of water.  When my father was a child their family and community did not have the infrastructure for running water so they had a direct connection between the water source and their house(s). They would pack water from a well to their house multiple times a day to cook and bathe with. My father said, We actually had to carry our water from about a quarter of a mile away, whether it was summer or winter. Because it was so hard to get, you didn't want to waste it. You had to carry it and put it in cream cans, save it, look after it. So, the actual view was that if you wasted or lost it, you had to just carry more. It was actually incredibly hard work. The practice of having to get it from so far away, made you appreciate it. One was how much hard work it was, but how important it was for your family to have a lot of water. (My father) In this lifestyle, Secwépemc people had a direct relationship and responsibility to water. Each household monitored their well water and had a direct relationship with their water source and they collectively held accountability for their water source(s). Consequently, after my father’s reserve shifted to running water, they lost their connection to their water source. They  84 said, around 1968, the government put in a water system and a power line on the reserve. Prior to that, the government supplied power to the surrounding non-Indigenous towns except to the Chu Chua reserve. After power lines and water systems were put in place, my father observed: [In] one way [it] is very convenient not to have to pack [water]. I can say I enjoyed not having to pack it, but one of the things I realized is I never went to the well anymore, meaning I didn’t go look at the source of the water. (My father) The youth interview participant observed that Secwépemc people viewed water as another being, and not as something Secwépemc people simply took from. Rather, we had a reciprocal relationship with water, “we respected water, used it to cleanse ourselves” (Secwépemc youth). Each interview participant identified that Secwépemc water teachings they received as children centered on appreciating, respecting, and valuing water because water is fundamental for Secwépemc survival. Each participant felt strongly about protecting water and held the belief that water is a way of life for Secwépemc people but they also acknowledged we are not living like we used to. We are not enacting water teachings and practices.  The interviews brought forth a complex and vast array of relationships, values and conceptualizations that Secwépemc people hold about water. Secwépemc values and relationships to water are based on mutual respect and on an understanding of our reciprocal relationships with water; a belief that if we respect and take care of water, water will take care of us. Taking care of water is embedded in our identity and our livelihoods as Secwépemc people. Across Secwépemc communities, we hold similar beliefs that water is important, water is precious, and water is to be respected.   85 Secwépemc as Caretakers A prominent concept conveyed throughout the interviews was care-taking. Taking up and fulfilling our responsibilities as Secwépemc people involves taking care of ourselves, taking care of our k’wseltktnéws, and taking care of Secwepemcul’ecw. R. Ignace and M. Ignace (2017) relate the act of care-taking to Secwépemc people having intimate knowledge of all parts of our homeland and that we have fine-tuned and developed ways of communication with the living landscapes “to keep alive the memory of past things that happened in the landscape of Secwepemcul’ecw” (p. 234).  Care-taking of water became a focal concept in the interviews because my k’wseltktnéws said there is an urgent need to (re)establish and bring back traditional approaches to taking care of water and to hold each other accountable for our actions so that we do not continue to degrade and contaminate Secwépemc waterways. Throughout history, Secwépemc people developed ways to “harvest, manage, and enhance the resources of their diverse environment, adapting to changing ecologies and fine-tuning the ways that plants, animals, and fish could be sustainably harvested” (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, p. 145). Therefore, Secwépemc people have ancient strategies to adapt to changes to our water and environment (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Secwépemc responsibilities to take care of water extends beyond individual and family responsibilities, but family and social interactions are what inform our political structures. Taking care of water and living our Secwépemc grounded normativity formulates a bold statement that we have not surrendered Secwepemcul’ecw, we are actively taking care of our k'wseltktnéws, thereby we are also taking care of our sewllkwe and tmicw.   86 Some of the participants discussed that one of the biggest changes and challenges to Secwépemc stewardship of water is that these values and practices are not embedded within our everyday lives anymore. Before technological advances such as sewage systems and running water in households, a family would bathe in the lake or river, fetch water from a nearby well for their households, and monitor the rain and seasons to ensure there would be enough water to grow plants/roots to harvest in the springtime. The care-taking of water moved from individual and household spaces to be taken over by formalized governance systems. Individuals and families became alienated from water sources and technology when Westernized ideals of modernization took over.  Oftentimes, in conversations with Secwépemc relatives and community members they attribute changes to social and political matters to Westernization and modernization. L. Smith (2012) expresses that Indigenous people re-telling and sharing the changes of our communities and societies is based upon colonial experiences and injustices trapping Indigenous people and communities in the project of modernity. L. Smith (2012) goes on to say “transforming our colonized views of our own history (as written by the West), however, requires us to revisit, site by site, our history under Western eyes … telling our stories of the past, reclaiming the past, giving testimony to the injustices of the past are all strategies which are commonly employed by Indigenous peoples struggling for justice” (p. 81). Our current situation is that our relationships, connections, and responsibilities as care-takers of Secwepemcul’ecw are severely impacted and eroded through land dispossession, histories of violence and trauma to our bodies/land, and systematic removal from leadership and decision-making positions and processes.   87 Individual and Collective Governance One of the first questions of my interviews asks about traditional Secwépemc water caretaking. I ask “How did Secwépemc people govern water traditionally? Can you think of any water practices your parents and/or grandparents took part in or did? If you do not know discuss how you think Secwépemc people took care of water traditionally?” For this question, I anticipated that youth, educators, and Elders were going to discuss common ideas about water, such as “Water is Life” or other common slogans of water. Although “Water is Life” is an important component to igniting support for Indigenous water governance, it is not specific to Secwépemc understandings of water governance. Instead of relating Secwépemc water practices and care of water to popular slogans or movements, my k'wseltktnéws addressed the logistics of water and how Secwépemc people traditionally took care of water on an individual and community scale.  Individual agency, power and governance came to the forefront when discussing components of Secwépemc water governance. The Elders I interviewed emphasized individual governance as a starting point to understand and achieve Secwépemc water protection and collective governance. They spoke about individual governance and the power we have as Secwépemc people to be our own political and social orders. The Elders did not explicitly engage with a gendered analysis of Secwépemc people or governance because Secwépemc people believe that everyone has roles, gifts, and responsibilities regardless of gender identity. This belief, that you think of yourself as Secwepemc first before associating yourself with a gender, was taught to me at a young age. Many Secwépemc people still teach their children these beliefs on not forcing gender binaries. Being raised in Secwepemctsin, I listened to many stories and teachings of my Elders. I cannot recall feeling or hearing about gender hierarchies, if  88 anything, our stories seemed to highlight the wrongdoings and silly antics of the character, Sek’lep. The two Elders I interviewed expressed that (re)constructing Secwépemc water governance is dependent on the development of individual agency and strengthening of inner power, of each and every Secwépemc regardless of gender. Individual strengthening through education, development of a good work ethic and skill development takes precedence over the development of collective strategies for governance of water. The development of individual agency and power within all members of a community was negatively impacted through colonial violence, including heteropatriarchal gender binaries that systemically targeted Indigenous women, queer, Two-Spirit and trans people. Subsequently, the diminished powers of Secwépemc people threatened self-determination and weakened Secwépemc each person’s ability to take up their responsibilities as caretakers of Secwepemcul’ecw.  When interviewing the two Elders they expressed how Secwépemc people in the past viewed themselves as political and social orders through the concept of knucwestsut.s.  Secwépemc people are their own social and political orders and they have agency over themselves and their actions, but settler colonial processes have discouraged us from thinking of our bodies and spirits as such. A foundational Secwépemc belief is knucwestsut.s (K. Michel, 2012). Knucwestsut.s described by Secwépemc (Cstélnec) scholar Kathryn Michel (2012), is strengthening self and “challenging yourself to be the best that you can be in order to support the collective” (p. 123). One Elder said that, as an individual you have a responsibility to take care of yourself first and foremost. If you are taking care of yourself, then you are able to take care of your family and be responsible for your family (Secwépemc Elder). Knucwetsut.s is a building block to achieving collective water governance. The same Elder said,   89 Thinking back, we didn’t need governance, we had a water boss46 that is the only governance I knew, otherwise, we were natural and we were governance. Each individual was already [their own governance], we were the boss of our households and our society, each individual lived a certain way [to take care of water and their community]. (Secwépemc Elder) Teaching the next generation of children to live and learn Secwépemc values such as knucwestsut.s was important to some of the interview participants. Ultimately, they expressed building a strong foundation of Secwépemc knowledge and skills based on knucwestsut.s to transmit the importance of protecting Secwepemcul’ecw. The conversations pivoted from Secwépemc values to the Elders and community members becoming uncertain about our Secwépemc community leadership’s capabilities to take care of water and to advocate for our water rights and responsibilities. The Elders became concerned about the future of Secwépemc individual and collective assertions of governance because Secwépemc people are not raising their children and youth with the power and strength of knucwestsut.s.   The concept of governance was new to many of my interview participants. In response to the question, “how did Secwépemc traditionally take care of water?,” I kept returning to one Elder’s response from Cstélen. They answered the question saying,   That’s a big question. We did, period! I don't know how our people just knew water was the most important, I guess, because any knowledgeable person knows you can’t live without water, you can't live without water! (Elder  46 A “Water Boss” was a role someone in the community was trained to do. The Water Boss was responsible to monitor household water usage in the community mainly for grazing, farming, and gardening.   90 emphasized) And people were so respectful in every way [to water].  (Secwépemc Elder) This Elder could not comprehend how Secwépemc people have lost a connection with water, because, in the past, Secwépemc people did not have formally structured systems of care for water because people all worked together to take care of water. The Elder proclaimed, “when Secwépemc people had a system of working together and sharing the responsibility of taking care of the land then there was no need to have a formal system of land and water management because the water does not get contaminated in the first place” (Secwépemc Elder). The two Elders both shared insights into building inner strength through Secwépemc values such as knucwestsut.s to live a life where Secwépemc people have the knowledge and strength to take care of themselves and to contribute to community in a relational and reciprocal way.  Do we want to call it water governance? What should we call it? While preparing questions I was hesitant to use the term ‘water governance’ because it felt too formal and academic to be asking my k'wseltktnéws. The way I perceive the term governance implies control, command, power, and formality. In academic literature, Indigenous water governance is the standard umbrella term used for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people examining how Indigenous people take care of water, assert water rights and jurisdiction over water and land, collaborate with community/governments/NGOs, monitor and track water contamination, and for everyday expressions of caring for and protecting waterways (Arsenault et al., 2018; Cohen et al., forthcoming; Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018). However, while asking my k’wseltktnéws about their thoughts on Secwépemc water governance I realized they might not relate or resonate with using Indigenous/Secwépemc water governance terminology.   91 Carroll (2015) faced similar questions when conducting community research on environmental governance in the Cherokee nation. Environmental governance is multi-faceted and within a North American context, “environmental governance operates within a continuum of resource-based and relationship- based practices” (Carroll, 2015, p. 18). Indigenous water governance oscillates between resource and relationship-based understandings of governance with varying degrees of understanding in between the two categories of governance. There is a spectrum of participation surrounding water governance and other components of water governance that could include citizen science, community-based monitoring, co-management, local participation, and co-governance (Chandler et al., 2016; Conrad & Hilchey, 2011; Danielsen et al., 2009; Memon & Kirk, 2012; Moller et al., 2004; Simms et al., 2016; Wilson, 2014). Differentiating between the spectrum of participation and decision-making provides a compartmentalized view of how water governance is done and how people decide to practice and embody water care-taking responsibilities, and how people and communities mobilize to protect water. Within the varying degrees and definitions encompassed by Indigenous water governance terminology, I realized my k'wseltktnéws do not engage or identify with Indigenous water governance terminology in explaining how they relate to or take care of water.  It became complicated for me to walk into my interviews and even utter the words ‘water governance’ to my family, friends, and Secwépemc community members. I struggled with using water governance terminology because I knew in my heart that would not be the word Secwépemc people would want to use to discuss Secwépemc relationships with water. Ultimately, it is not a word that encapsulates and conveys what water means to us as Secwépemc people. Although I choose to use the term ‘water governance,’ I am also considering the power this word holds over our interactions and relationships with water and to Secwepemcul’ecw. For  92 all intents and purposes, in this thesis, I use the term water governance for lack of a better term, but I am using it with caution knowing that the term may be perceived differently by Secwépemc people and Indigenous peoples. During my interviews, I acknowledged that my research is framed around ‘governance’ terminology and that I use some parts of the conventional definition of Indigenous water governance. This speaks to the complexities of the term governance Secwépemc people experience living within a colonial society. K. Michel (2012) describes Secwépemc epistemology and ontology as a “sense of connectedness between all things in the natural world” (p. 45). The changing of terminology to include terms such as ‘governance,’ ‘law,’ and ‘management’ asserts that settler social and economic ontological understandings of land and water are superior to Secwépemc ontological understandings of k'wseltktnéws and knucwestsut.s. K. Michel (2012) writes that land and the spiritual world are “foundational to Secwépemc ontology, [and] the destruction of those beliefs effectively [disrupted] the intergenerational transfer of Secwépemc knowledge” (p. 202). This helped me understand that my reluctance to use ‘governance’ terminology was connected to my upbringing as I was immersed in Secwepemctsin and a Secwépemc worldview.  When I asked questions, I decided to phrase the questions by asking how Secwépemc people take care of water instead of saying ‘Secwépemc water governance.’ All of my k'wseltktnéws decided to not use water governance terminology. Rather, they framed Secwépemc water governance as a care for water, respect for water, and environmental stewardship. Some interviews lingered on the use of term governance. As one participant shared: I guess we really didn’t have governance. Governance is not really the word because we weren’t really a formal structural government as we know government today. It was more like, care of the water. (Secwépemc educator)  93 This response demonstrates the mismatch between Secwepemc ontological understandings of water compared to a Westernized understanding that water must be governed and controlled as a resource. A Secwépemc educator relates Secwépemc water governance to the Secwépemc belief that as a people we are responsible in taking care of water and care-taking is embedded in a Secwépemc way of life. The youth participant reflected that water governance is a very colonial term stating,  Yeah, I definitely think water governance is a very colonial term to describe water and how we view the water. I think the terminology definitely needs to be changed because that's kind of a big starting point, too. And just having more respect for water in changing the terminology is definitely a big thing. And not even just with the name of it, but with how we do describe water, that is a big concern as well. (Secwépemc youth) This Secwépemc youth associated governance terminology with colonial occupation and the ways settler-colonialism has infiltrated our communities, and has influenced water governance narratives and terminology. The conversation with this Secwépemc youth relates back to resisting governance terminology because Secwépemc understandings of water are based on responsibilities instead of colonial iterations where terms like resource management are used to describe water governance. Engagement and dialogue on governance terminology was productive and my k'wseltktnéws felt encouraged to think about what water governance means, and what it implies within our communities and as a nation. It challenged us to think about the roots of our shared colonial past and present, and how people engage with water governance and water practices. Additionally, an explicit discussion on terminology furthered dialogue on how  94 Secwépemc people choose to identify and call practices of individually and collectively taking care of water in the face of settler-colonialism and capitalism.   In some interviews I pushed the conversation to ask what participants think about Secwépemc people deploying the language of water governance, and what they would call taking care of water in a more formal setting (if they did not want to use the term governance). Examples of formal settings included public events and meetings, such as chief and council meetings and general band meetings, water initiatives run by communities or the nation, community-based monitoring, or agreements communities have with local, provincial and federal governments. Some interview participants agreed that we need a word for taking care of water to be used in a formal setting because it is not just Secwépemc people who depend on water. Rather, as one of my k'wseltktnéws indicated there are competing interests from settlers and all of the industries that require and use water (Secwépemc educator). I asked one of the interview participants whether outsiders or non-Secwépemc people would take our Secwépemc water governance seriously if we call what we are doing (taking care of water) anything other than water governance? They said,  I honestly don't think people will take it seriously either way because there's so much underlying racism in Canada. Either way, at the end of the day, like, what's going to make us feel better? Not really looking at the outside, because no matter what we call it, there's just so much racism in Canada, like it's not going to matter to them. And I think just making sure that it's ethical to us and it makes sense to us as a people is more important than how people view us. (Secwépemc youth)   95 This statement was powerful as it (re)focused Secwépemc water governance along the lines of how we should navigate living as a people and nation within the colonial context of Canada. By turning inwards to live and think about Secwépemc governance and what it looks like to Secwépemc people, we can generate refusal of state recognition47 and state terminology of Indigenous water governance (Coulthard, 2014; L. Simpson, 2017). L. Simpson (2017) offers insights to generative refusal stating that Indigenous scholarship is going through a period of offering crucial interventions on: How we account, frame, and tell truths of the political and cultural lives of Indigenous peoples that move away from a constriction of our intelligence within the confines of Western thought and the dumbing down of the issues for the non-Indigenous outside to a meticulous, critical, robust, and layered approach that accurately contextualizes and reflects the lives and thinking of Indigenous people on our own terms, with the clear purpose of dismantling colonial domination. (p. 175) The conversations on Secwépemc water governance terminology demonstrate the ways Secwépemc people are (re)framing and approaching water governance from terminology from within Secwépemc knowledge systems and ways of living.   47 Coulthard’s (2014) analysis of contemporary colonial power relations in Canada offers crucial insight into this system of settler-colonialism. His genealogy of the “politics of recognition” in Canada finds that through the activism and leadership of Indigenous people, there has been “an unprecedented degree of recognition for Aboriginal ‘cultural’ rights within the legal and political framework of the Canadian state” (Coulthard, 2014). However, the state’s recognition of these specific rights serves the dual purpose of reinforcing the status quo operation of colonial forms of power and undermining Indigenous nations’ prior and ongoing relations to land and territory (Cohen et al., forthcoming; Coulthard, 2014).   96 We Had Freedom When I Was A Kid  Within the interviews of Secwépemc Elders, educators, and youth they began to reminisce and reflect upon the water changes they have witnessed throughout their lifetimes. Some stories and memories of the past involved packing water kilometers to and from a water well, cleansing themselves with water with their mother and grandmother, swimming at lakes and rivers across Secwepemcul’ecw, participating in sweats, visiting waterways with Elders, teaching children about water safety, taking students on field trips to bodies of water in Secwepemcul’ecw, and gardening/farming with their family. Underlying all of these activities, the main theme was that everyone had a sense of freedom as a child. A sense of freedom to explore Secwepemcul’ecw, freedom to look after our waterways, and freedom to look after themselves and be accountable to themselves and Secwepemcul’ecw. An Elder from Cstélen said,   We had freedom when I was a kid, we could swim, we could drink that water one hundred percent… I wish the white people remembered that you didn’t need money to drink clean water… but no, they started doing all these fancy things [to water] and next thing everything is bad. (Secwépemc Elder) Another relative reflected saying,  I feel like in the past that they were living. They were living and really dependent on the water … dependent on it for a lot of things. You know, for our fish, for animals, for beings that live in water. We have stories that are connected to our water that is an integral part of their life. Right now, I feel like there’s a disconnect maybe with the newer generations where, you know,  97 we just turn on the tap and we’re not really realizing where that water comes from. We are trusting somebody else to make those decisions. We don’t have a water boss anymore or our water boss is some big government or it’s some other organizations coming in to make those decisions. (Secwépemc educator)  Framing our water in terms of freedom allows us to position our lives and experiences away from colonialism, capitalism and other oppressive structures. Secwépemc freedom is maintained through Indigenous relationships with the land and the right to live free in Secwepemcul’ecw. Underlying this research on Secwépemc water governance is the right of Secwépemc peoples to live free based on their grounded normativity. Currently, Secwépemc understandings of water governance are centered around political and social gaps and shortcomings in education, resource development, and land and water protection and do not locate freedom as an essential element to protecting and taking-care of Secwepemcul’ecw.  This chapter uncovers how Secwépemc people view water, our roles and responsibilities as care-takers of Secwepemcul’ecw, and how ideals of freedom (re)center relationality and how we strive to live. In the next chapter, I will explore the various ways Secwépemc people experience structural barriers such as settler-colonialism and neoliberal capitalism that restricts and influences Secwépemc people’s perspectives and freedom to enact water governance.     98 Chapter 4: Secwépemc Water Governance Challenges  Within my own lifetime I have seen my people, the [Secwépemc] nation, fall from a proud state of independence - when we looked to no man’s generosity outside our own bounds but only to our own strength and skill and the raw materials with which we had been blessed for our survival - to a condition of degeneration, servitude, and dependence as shameful as any people have ever known. I have also seen my people make the beginning of the long, hard struggle back to the plateau that is our proper place in the world. (George Manuel & Posluns, 2019, p. 3) Introduction Establishing an understanding of Secwépemc water governance exposed the challenges Secwépemc people and communities endure to achieve water protection, water rights, and to live free in Secwepemcul’ecw. Through new and old strategies and structures of settler colonial capitalism, the Secwépemc nation and Secwepemcul’ecw experience land dispossession, changing power and control through various governance regimes, and intensified resource extraction and infrastructure development. The discussions on water in the interviews illustrate how my k'wseltktnéws' lives have changed through a loss of connection to water and land, the confinements of living on a reserve, and how intergenerational transmission of knowledge is interrupted through settler colonial capitalism. This chapter parses out some of the challenges Secwépemc people face to uphold and practice our responsibilities to water. The interviews identify structural barriers to Secwépemc people living free, the differences between governance and government terminology, the making of reserve spaces and property, community consciousness and perceived water governance complacency, and the influences and increased uptake of capitalist and neoliberalist practices that shape Secwépemc water governance today. The processes of identifying Secwépemc challenges and systematic barriers to protecting water and Secwepemcul’ecw opens up space to discuss the current state of the Secwépemc nation, and  99 to improve upon our relationality to each other and to water so that our tellqelmucw, the people to come, are supported and able to live free within Secwepemcul’ecw.  “Whatever you come into, that's your life” While sitting in the dining room of an Elder’s home overlooking Little Shuswap Lake, they began to recount their upbringing in Cstélen and their life living in the Sexqeltqín community. The Elder spoke about the changing physical, social, and political agendas and landscapes of Secwepemcul’ecw they have experienced in their lifetime. They saw vast changes from the past to today in terms of relationality, of how Secwépemc youth experience and learn from Elders, grandparents, and parents. Secwépemc people in the past relied on kinship networks through our understanding of k'wseltktnéws to ensure transmission of knowledge between generations. Today, common practices such as etsxe,48 grandparents claiming grandchildren,49 and our understandings and embodiment of k’wseltktnéws are rarely taught or practiced. The Elder was worried about the upbringing and transmission of knowledge in families today and how this has resulted in people not taking care of water or not knowing how to take care of water. I asked them, “why do you not see parents or grandparents teaching their children Secwépemc beliefs or ideas about water?”  They said,  Because you just live your life, you know, like we did when we didn’t have running water. We were happy. I mean, I had a happy childhood, for goodness sakes. I didn’t sit there every night wishing we had [a] big bathtub so I could  48 Etsxe explained by Dr. Kathryn Michel (2012) is a Secwépemc person’s “vision quest,” a solo wilderness journey of a child transitioning to adulthood.  49 A traditional practice of Secwépemc kinship was for “grandparents or great-grandparents to adopt grandchildren by “claiming” them and then giving them a destiny to be raised by an Elder, with the Elder passing on knowledge, stories, and practices to the chosen grandchild” (Ignace & Ignace, 2017, p. 338).   100 have a bath. Never even knew that … whatever you come into, that’s your life. Now it’s taps and running water and all that. That’s what the children come into. We’re not really talking about what if they said, why can’t we swim? That would give you a chance to talk about long ago. (Secwépemc Elder)  This conversation with this Elder demonstrates some of the complexities and changes that have occurred over their lifetime and how they perceive Secwépemc people not being interested or actively engaging in discussions about the changes to Secwépemc water systems and waterways. This conversation illuminated that we are born Secwépemc and we are also born into a colonial dominated society. This Elder made the most of what they were born into, such as embracing and treasuring their culture, family, societal norms, and education. The conversation moved on to recount the changes to society the Elder experienced after coming back to their community from residential school. They shared that after residential school their day-to-day life changed and their community was different. An example they provided was that some houses on the reserve now had running household water and indoor bathrooms. Their statement about changes to their community and their household water subtly demonstrates the complicated entanglements of anti-Indigenous racism, dispossession, and assimilation. The Elder is speaking their truth on how they feel about the changing physical, social, and political landscapes of reserve life and how colonial governance is forced upon Indigenous communities.  It is understood that settler-colonialism is an underlying process that shapes the way Secwépemc people comprehend the changes to Secwepemcul’ecw, however, the statement, “whatever you come into, that’s your life” uncovers another layer to analyze Secwépemc water governance. This statement unravels the impacts of white settlers in Secwepemcúl'ecw that Secwépemc people did consent to the physical and societal changes to their living conditions,  101 livelihoods, and education systems. White settlers through the Indian Act and colonial governance changed Secwépemc water systems and introduced modern sewage systems and running household water, many times without consent of the people living in the houses. Secwépemc people and communities had to adapt and eventually accept that this was the new way of life. This forced transition to adopt colonial water systems made communities believe new constructions of our households improved Secwépemc lives and livelihoods. The Elder contradicts this notion that the new colonial systems improved Secwépemc ways of living. Speaking with the Elder in their dining room and discussing the changes they have experienced throughout their life living in different communities in Secwepemcul’ecw, they wanted to (re)assert that they did not consent to these colonial societal changes that were imposed on themselves and their family. They dreamed of their life before colonists came. It is important to shatter the notion that Secwépemc people who live on reserves yearn to live amongst white settlers or copy the lifestyle of white settlers; we must acknowledge that the life many Secwépemc people desire may be very different than what can be found in Euro-Canadian society.  This statement is important in the context of Secwépemc water governance because it gives us an opportunity to (re)evaluate our lives as Secwépemc people. Additionally, it gives us an opportunity to (re)frame our existence, in that many of us that are born as Secwépemc people have physical, emotional, and spiritual relationships from birth with Secwepemcul’ecw. Secwépemc knowledge is still vibrant and alive and is carrying us through these turbulent and violent settler colonial interactions. Listening to Elders stories of the past, I hear a (re)assertion that Secwépemc people do not desire colonial capitalist structures nor the settler-colonial ideals of modernity that have been thrust upon us. Secwépemc children and the tellqelmucw, the people  102 to come, are born into a life of colonialism and capitalism, but they are also born into our networks of k’wseltktnéws. Our networks of k'wseltktnéws have the strength, resilience, and knowledge to carry forth our community and nation’s desires and to (re)envision how we are going to take care of water, and protect our water from contamination (current contamination and in the future). It is not too late for Secwépemc to (re)learn, (re)teach, and (re)inscribe our water teachings within our communities, for the Secwépemc people living now and in the future.  Government versus Governance As I stated in Chapter Three, when I used the term governance, the interviewees associated governance with government. Governance terminology was problematic because Secwépemc people’s interactions and experiences with local, provincial, and federal government systems have not been formed through trust, relationality, or accountability. Government relationships with Indigenous people and communities can sometimes bring up emotions and feelings of authority, surveillance, and power over Indigenous people (Hunt, 2014; Pasternak, 2017l Simpson, 2017). The term Secwépemc water governance situated water in the context of Secwépemc band-run governments. When I asked questions like, “how do you see Secwépemc people governing or taking care of water now?,” most of my interview participants expressed doubts and a reluctance to trust our band council governments to protect and make decisions on our water in Secwepemcul’ecw. A Secwépemc youth expressed this by saying, “I feel like, just with the way that our government50 is structured, that we are not able to take care of [water] the way most Secwépemc people would like to.” This Secwépemc youth attributed Secwépemc water governance as a band council responsibility. A Secwépemc community member  50 They are referring to their band council government.   103 acknowledged that water governance is important but viewed reserves and our band council government structures as constraints to taking care of water. They stated,  We are really not doing as much as we should taking up our responsibilities [to land and water]. I guess because we are confined to our Indian Reserves and we don’t really right now have a say in what goes on with water around us. And water isn’t just on our reserve, water bodies are all interconnected. So, whatever happens off-reserve affects us. So, yeah, we aren’t really doing water governance right now but I know that is something we do have to do. (Secwépemc educator) This community member discussed how water is important to Secwépemc people on and off reserves but that living on a reserve confines their ability to take care of water on and off reserves. They remarked that band-level politics are tied into federal policies (e.g. Indian Act) and reserves pose barriers to water access on reserves and in Secwepemcul’ecw, thereby advocating for Secwépemc water rights that extend beyond reserves. Hunt (2014) states that through the processes of reserve making “new geopolitical spaces - those of firmly demarcated reserves, towns, and spaces of resource extraction and production - were superimposed onto former territories of Indigenous peoples, and their boundaries closely monitored and policed” (p. 62). Hunt (2014) further states that in the shift from imagining Canada as terra nullius to settler society, “‘Indians’ went from being constructed as heathens in an empty lawless land to subjects of federal law in a settler society which relegated ‘Indians’ to Indian reserves” (p. 70).  Within the conversation with this community member we can sense their frustrations of living on reserve and feeling confined to the control and power the federal government has over  104 the community’s decision-making power over water. This community member said Secwépemc communities and people are not activating any type of water governance but it is our responsibility to take care of water in Secwepemcul'ecw. Although it is a shared responsibility between each and every community member, Secwépemc water governance is tied into reserve band-council government and governance. The community member is stating that the prevalent reality is that reserve spaces have been purposely created to strip community members of decision-making power that further diminish and eradicate Secwépemc relationalities that expand beyond the confines of reserve spaces.   “You flip the page and everything has changed” “You flip the page and everything has changed,” the Elder proclaimed as they spoke about the changes they saw in their community throughout their lifetime. Changing social, physical and political landscapes to community, households, and to Secwepemcul’ecw were common threads throughout the interviews. Underlying these changes are colonial power structures and perceived authorities and jurisdictions over Indigenous lands and water (Hunt, 2014; Pasternak, 2017). What caused the change from freedom and mobility in our nation to feelings of confinement? Who flipped the page and ushered Secwépemc people into a new way of living? Using the metaphor of flipping a page, the Elder said it seemed like Secwépemc society and Secwepemcul'ecw changed without anyone noticing or putting up a fight. Each interview conveyed and expressed that there were shifts in power, specifically power struggles with settlers over resources. The page was flipped and Secwépemc communities were left with small inadequate reserve lands, loss of water rights and access, and jurisdiction and control over their  105 bodies, water, and land (Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2009). Establishing reserve lands and allocating Secwépemc communities small parcels of land advanced settler colonial goals of land acquisition and reproduced Indigenous-state relations founded on property, ownership, and jurisdiction (Blomley, 2004; Hunt, 2014; Ignace & Ignace, 2017; Matsui, 2009; Pasternak, 2017). Labelling land property defines spaces as private that an individual can then own (Blomley, 2003). Blomley (2003) states, “to have a property in land is to have a right to some use or benefit of land. Such a right is necessarily relational, being held against others” (p. 121). Settler-colonial land and water dispossession puts the power in colonizer’s control to construct Canada for white settlers and reserves is land set aside specifically for Indigenous people. The power structures and spatiality of settler-colonialism forge disconnections between Secwépemc people and water by removing Secwépemc people from their care-taking roles and responsibilities to water via white settler exclusive control over lands and waters throughout Canada. Even on reserves, settler governments assert control over decision making processes by imposing band council systems, deciding where reserve boundaries are, and imposing policies that shape other aspects of life on reserves.  Sarah Hunt (2014) understands this form of settler-colonial violence, viewing the naturalization of reserves within the colonial imagination as one aspect of what they call  ‘colonialscapes.’ Colonialscapes are a “way of seeing that naturalizes the relations of domination and dehumanization inherent in colonial relations” (Hunt, 2014, p. 7).  Hunt (2014) theorizes colonialscapes as,  Representations of the space now called ‘Canada,’ which perpetuate and manifest particular (colonial) expressions of power. Such representations take not only visual forms (such as maps, paintings or photographs of ‘Indians’) but  106 also textual (legal) forms within which western ontologies of space, race, gender, and power are embedded. Just as landscapes appear to create a complete view of a particular space, colonialscapes create the appearance that a colonial spatio-legal perspective of ‘Canada’ is somehow ‘true.’ (p. 72) When the Elder refers to flipping the page and everything in Secwepemcul’ecw changes, they are referring to how a colonialscape naturalized and overrode Secwépemc water governance and grounded normativity. Colonial perceptions of power took over from Secwépemc land and body autonomy and the perception and representation of settler (Canadian) governance became the norm and natural (Daigle, 2018; Hunt, 2014).  Settler property ownership facilitated colonial jurisdiction in Canada. Spatially constructed reserves rendered Indigenous people as meaningless or not human at all, as they were pushed to the bottom of society's hierarchy (Hunt, 2014). Consequently, Secwépemc people were without power, jurisdiction, property and land/water rights and were unable to create safe spaces to uphold daily practice, including ceremonial and collective care-taking practices. How were we going to continue living the way our ancestors did before settlers came into Secwepemcul’ecw? The page was flipped for us without our consent and the Secwépemc nation and communities entered into an era of colonial capitalism, anti-Indigenous racism, and violence against each other and to our water and land. The imposition of colonial geo-spatial and geo-legal processes that overrode Secwepemc governance in their homeland can help explain the loss of agency and rights over water the Elders in this study expressed. Macro and micro acts of colonial violence in all areas of their lives altered Secwépemc people’s relationships and responsibilities to water.   107 “We got the most water in the world, but we don't care”  Michelle Daigle, (2018) Mushkegowuk scholar, builds off of Hunt’s (2014) colonialscapes, explaining that Mushkegowuk water governance and waterways became re-territorialized when Treaty 951 was formed. Processes of re-territorialization dismantle kinship (the value of k'wseltktnéws) and “spatial and social segregation from settler society and from each other” (Daigle, 2018, p. 165). As such, re-territorialization of Secwepemcul’ecw divided and undermined Secwépemc people’s care-taking responsibilities to water. Daigle (2018) proposes that processes of re-territorialization rupture Indigenous mobility as Indigenous reserves and communities become “contained within colonial jurisdictional boundaries and as they bec[o]me increasingly integrated into the setter colonial economy” (p. 165). Erasure of Secwépemc political, legal, and economic landscapes through the naturalization of settler colonial geographies of domination subsequently disrupted Secwépemc water relationality and care-taking roles and responsibilities to water (Daigle, 2018). Through the analytical lenses of colonialscapes and processes of re-territorialization, Secwépemc people struggle to have access to water/land and to maintain care-taking roles and responsibilities. Several Elders in this study reported feeling disengaged with decision-making in water issues and felt remorse at the level of apathy communities display towards water. When asking participants what they thought about our waters now and how the quality of water has changed in their lifetime, community members from Sexqeltqín, Tk’emlúps and Simpcw said, “now we are no better than any other person in Canada” in terms of taking care of water (Secwépemc educators and youth). It was disheartening to hear my k'wseltktnéws compare our  51 Treaty 9 (also known as the James Bay treaty) is one of the 11 post-confederation numbered treaties negotiated with Indigenous peoples in Canada between 1871-1921.   108 communities and nation’s care for water to the overall apathy of most Canadians in regards to water in Canada. Many participants were aware of water quality issues and issues of potential water shortage however, as some of my k'wseltktnéws reported, Secwépemc people being complacent and having a lack of care or attention to water contamination and water struggles. In Canada, although we are third in the world for fresh water supply, there is an illusion of an abundance of fresh water even though many areas of the country are in danger of losing their fresh water supply (Sprague, 2007; Shrubsole & Draper, 2007).  Often water issues and struggles are occurring in their houses, their backyards, their lakes and rivers, in their communities and across Secwepemcul’ecw. One interview participant observed that we cannot be telling the government how they should be protecting water and land when we are not setting an example as a nation ourselves (Secwépemc youth). Within Secwépemc water governance it is easy to point the fingers at each other without taking into account histories of oppression through settler colonial dispossession, capitalism, and white supremacy. Therefore, by not collectively creating Secwépemc policy that aligns with Secwépemc grounded normativity, Secwépemc people and communities end up being disengaging and becoming apathetic towards local, provincial and federal governmental policies related to water. An Elder felt sad over this lack of care or apathy towards our poor quality of water on reserve and in Secwepemcul’ecw, stating:   We are no better, no different than [non-Indigenous people/non-Secwépemc people]... the society in general has to take their responsibility and fix what they have caused. I feel like crying when I say that because I lived where everybody lived the same. Even the séme7s (white people) were living like us and everything was, I could say, one hundred percent, our water was a hundred  109 percent. And now what is it? That's the difference. I guess, when we change we have to know how to look after it, how to look after [our water] when [we] change. (Secwépemc Elder) This Elder’s statement demonstrates Secwépemc people’s emotional and historical attachment to land and to water and the historical changes witnessed over their lifetime. However, the imposition of colonialscapes and the re-territorialization of land as settler land impacted Secwépemc people’s ability to maintain jurisdiction over Secwépemc water governance. Everything is Changing for Money "I hope I'm not gagged by money, by people who are making money, who are using us, who are killing us." (Secwépemc Elder)  Secwépemc water governance is influenced and is a part of broader systems of settler-colonialism and capitalism that commodify, (mis)use, and exploit water. Band council governance is influenced by settler-colonialism, capitalism and neoliberal practices. Band council governance is dictated by the Indian Act (via jurisdiction of the federal government) which consequently trickles down to nation and band politics and influences Chief and Council (band) decision-making processes. Thus far, I have shared how my k'wseltktnéws thought about water governance terminology and how the societal and political changes of Secwepemcul’ecw over time were accelerated by settler-colonialism and processes of de-territorialization. Added to these Secwépemc colonial processes of re-territorialization are the effects of capitalism, neoliberalism, and economic changes have shaped the ways Secwépemc people take care of water.   110 When settlers introduced money and wage labour as currency, Secwépemc people adapted in order to fit into a wage labour economy (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Subsequently, settler economies introduced the capitalist need to accumulate wealth and capital (Roth, 2019). Roth (2019) contends that Indigenous peoples played a crucial role in the nation’s resource and wage economies, through resource industries, fur trade, forestry and mining. In turn, Indigenous peoples’ active participation in capitalist markets, and, their subsequent marginalization from this economy, has had an impact on traditional economic systems and related social structures. Often, in response to land shortages, property regimes and high levels of poverty on reserves, Indigenous people seek work within capitalist economies out of necessity to survive in Canada (Pasternak, 2015). In the Secwepemcul'ecw, from the 1920s onward, due to a lack of access to resources and land shortages, many Secwépemc people had to seek employment off reserve, and often the only choices available were in resource industries (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). Settler-colonialism and systems of capitalism pushed Indigenous nations and communities into adopting neoliberal ideology and practices in their band council governance (Million, 2013; Pasternak, 2015; Simpson, 2017). Pasternak (2015) defines neoliberalism as “particular practices and knowledge production that emphasize the market and the responsibilities of enterprising subjects” (p. 180). L. Simpson (2017) adds to the conversation by stating that neoliberalism is the by-product of settler-colonialism offered by the Canadian state to remedy and fix the social ills plaguing Indigenous communities. Neoliberalism is offered as a solution by the Canadian government to get Indigenous communities out of poverty in order to ‘prosper’ in Canadian society (L. Simpson, 2017). Neoliberalism gives the illusion of structural change without addressing land and body dispossession perpetuated by settler-colonialism (L. Simpson, 2017). It is through neoliberal political agendas where resource extraction and (mis)use  111 of water is legitimized. Million (2013) reminds us of the bottom-line relationship “between Canada and Canadian Aboriginal peoples is and shall always be land” (p. 133). Ultimately, by entering into a wage economy, Secwépemc people were further distanced from the land and long-standing socio-cultural practices. My interviews demonstrated that capitalism and neoliberal ideology and politics in the Secwépemc nation is a serious detriment to the health of the water, and our relationships to each other and to Secwepemcul’ecw. Towards the end of the interviews I asked my relatives, “what strategies do you see being employed by the Secwépemc nation to govern or take care of water on a family, community, band and/or nation scale? Talk about any scale you feel comfortable discussing.” Asking this question prompted responses about the lack of care or focus that Secwépemc communities have towards taking care of water through formal avenues, such as community initiatives, programs, or organizations. Rather, my k'wseltktnéws said Secwépemc communities focus on resource development, band businesses and economic development, as well as forming resource management agreements with local/provincial/federal governments and corporations. This question got to the root of the moral and ethical dilemmas Secwépemc people in leadership positions face in making decisions about extractive industries and Secwepemcul’ecw. In Clint Carroll’s (2015) work on Cherokee environmental governance similar tensions arise with Indigenous government decisions and decision-making processes. Carroll (2015) states,  I am as disillusioned as anyone about the decisions that some of our tribal governments make, particularly those that are heavily influenced by capitalist ideology, settler-state hegemony, racism and structures of heteropatriarchy. However, I don’t think the answer is to dismantle our governments but rather to give them direction … It should be clear, then, that my critique is not aimed  112 at the state form but more precisely the corporate form of governance and how it poorly accounts for the degree and quality of representation required by Cherokee governance values. (p. 15)  In agreement with Carroll (2015), I argue that band council governments need re-structuring via the incorporation of Secwépemc governance values in order to re-focus our energies on taking care of water while rejecting colonial capitalist and heteropatriarchal modes of governance. Carroll (2015) questions the resource-land dilemma that Indigenous people often face by, asking, “is [land] a home for humans and their nonhuman relatives that must be responsibly stewarded, or is it solely a space that holds resources to be exploited?” (p. 15).  Currently, many resources are sought after in Secwepemcul’ecw such as water, trees, minerals, and oil/gas (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). The fur trade and gold rush eras introduced resource extractive economies in Secwepemcul’ecw as part of the imposition of capitalist systems and values (Coffey et al., 1990). In the present day, Secwépemc band councils regularly enter into agreement with resource extractive industries and projects in order to provide revenue and employment opportunities for band members. I hear Secwépemc people participating in resource extractive industries and rationalizing it by saying, “these resources are going to be extracted one way or another, so we might as well make money from it.” Colonial and capitalist practices have weakened the transmittance of traditional values and knowledge which alters the way we embody and think about knucwestsut.s and k'wseltktnéws. Knucwestsut.s and k'wseltktnéws are values that enable Secwépemc people to take care of themselves, their families and communities. These values are embedded within our responsibilities to take care of Secwepemcul’ecw (K. Michel, 2012). K. Michel (2012) discusses the changing interpretation of  113 knucwestsut.s as the Secwépemc nation is influenced by neoliberal capitalist practices and values: With the reproduction and reinforcement of the ‘Colonial Story’ positioning Euro-Canadian ideologies as superior, we begin to see new interpretations for knucwestsut.s arise. Whereas, before contact, the value was strongly tied to supporting k'wseltktnéws, or family, now we are seeing a more literal translation of the word, as in, “help yourself to more money, food, cars etc..” The shift away from a Secwépemc epistemological understanding of the universe as interconnected, towards a Western model promoting the individual accumulation of wealth, has greatly contributed to the erosion of the relationship between self and community, land, and community. (p. 82) Our Secwépemc grounded normativity guided by k'wseltktnéws and knucwestsut.s has been overridden by selling, buying, and creating partnerships with extractive industries. Although Secwépemc water governance is the focus of this thesis, my interview participants discussed colonization and capitalism, and how everything, including our relationship to water,  is changing in Secwépemc communities and across the nation due to capitalist desires. I found within the interviews, evidence of tension between Secwépemc values and capitalistic goals. Participants made reference to Secwépemc people and communities’ participation in resource extraction through jobs and agreements with resource industries. Despite this being a recurrent theme, there is limited literature documenting Secwépemc involvement with resource extraction industries. From my observations, Secwépemc band members are often either directly recruited to work in extractive industries or hear about the  114 opportunities in band newsletters or through employment centres.52 Some communities have official and unofficial partnerships with resource extraction corporations that recruit employees through offering employment that at times may come with added incentives. My father who grew up in Simpcw (Chu Chua), a forestry industry driven town, addressed the job-money-resource extraction nexus, saying, “society wants jobs and money and to use the resources to make money, but at the same time, water is the one that is the casualty.” They then emphasized that, “within every industry, water is used to process the resources,” yet water is the resource that is being threatened. My father spoke about the way in which water is involved in each industry and questioned how our Secwépemc values fit with this use of water in processes of resource extraction. They said,  It's a hard choice. When we have to choose, do you want jobs or clean water? Right now, the pendulum seems to be swinging that we want jobs, so ok, let’s log, let’s pollute rivers, let’s mine and pollute the lakes and rivers. Let's exploit the resources. Whether it's a pulp mill or whatever, they all need water. What's the casualty? It's water. So, where do we fit? I don't know, because  [Secwépemc] still believe we should look after the natural world and water is the one that gives us life. (My father) Clearly, the desire for employment and money are contributing factors in the increasing numbers of Secwépemc people involved in resource extractive industries. Diné scholar Andrew Curley discusses another layer of complications through their theorization of moral economies of  52 Information, news, and advertisements for band/community opportunities are given out in the form of a band newsletter. Some bands deliver newsletters to community member’s homes and/or the newsletters are posted on band websites and/or social media platforms.   115 resource industries. Curley (2019) examines the development of Navajo (Diné) coal mining, and argues that Indigenous people’s participation in resource extraction is not solely motivated by employment, revenue, modernization, dependency or underdevelopment. Rather, Curley (2019) unpacks how the Navajo coal miner moral economy is “a collectively held ideological claim about what is the proper order and distribution of resources often expressed in moments of political and economic crisis” (p. 72). My father identified tensions and challenges Secwépemc people and communities face when upholding their responsibilities as Secwépemc people when taking employment in industries that actively contaminate, dispossess, and perpetuate violence towards water.  Every community is a little different, they all are a result of their own social influences of their particular community. If they're in a logging community, then what do you do if the First Nations are loggers? Now they're in a dilemma. Do you drive your skidder through the water or creek to get the logs? And make money for your family and home [but] at the same time you are still ruining the creek? If you're working in a mine. And the mine has settling ponds with water. What do you do? It's a choice. It's a hard choice.  We're all different. If you're in a city. That the city draws water for everything, for the subdivisions, for the industry, for pulp mills, for whatever. Now, we're also part of that. We're also working in all those industries that take in the fresh water and pump out the polluted water. If you go to Kamloops, you look south of the pulp mill, you'll see settling ponds that are dark brown. Every day, seven days a week, an entire year, year after year, decade after decade, where does that brown water go? Goes into Kamloops Lake, then it goes down  116 to affect everybody south of Kamloops. So, each community seems to have its own dilemma. How do you participate in the economy, have a job, and look after your family? How do you also look after the water? So these are hard choices. (My father)   This powerful statement illustrates the way in which moral economies arise out of heteropatriarchal nuclear family values and the pressures that are applied within Indigenous communities to buy-into neoliberal capitalist concepts of success. Secwépemc communities are then faced with dilemmas and pressure to sign agreements with industry in order to acquire revenue and provide job opportunities. Due to the processes of re-territorialization and being confined to reserves, many of these choices are the only solutions available to under resourced and impoverished communities. Nevertheless, tensions related to choosing to work or not to work within extractive industries creates divisions within family, communities, and amongst bands. My father’s discussion on the moral economies Secwépemc people and communities face based on their geographic locations demonstrates how Indigenous people work through colonial structures of survival and get caught up in what Curley (2019) calls colonial entanglements. Curley (2019) explains that extractive industries create colonial entanglements where “processes of messy and often legalistic engagements among tribal actors, their governments, and outside colonial interests… make it more difficult for tribes to exert control over their lands, resources, and development priorities'' (p. 76). Secwépemc people’s participation in resource extractive industries and economies has transitioned from being a matter of survival within newly built colonial structures, to supporting and working within extractive industries because it is viewed as a noble and honourable career path in deepened colonial entanglements.   117 When conceptualizing Secwépemc water governance and the lack of mobilization Secwépemc people have to create programs and initiatives to protect and take care of Secwepemcul’ecw it is easy to point fingers and blame industry for offering jobs to community members and perpetuating violence to water and Indigenous bodies. However, moral economies are reproduced within the narratives of colonialscapes, suggesting that Indigenous people’s attitudes and willingness to participate in resource extractive economies may not be a simple matter of personal choice.  The availability of employment opportunities and easy money is a terrifying reality in Secwepemcul’ecw because water is contaminated and exploited for monetary gain at the expense of Secwépemc peoples’ cultural and ancestral responsibilities to Secwepemcul’ecw. When examining the structural barriers and challenges for Secwépemc people to enact and (re)establish water care-taking practices, we must consider the colonial capitalist realities of anti-Indigenous racism, dispossession, and assimilation that shape Secwépemc communities participation in industries that pollute and degrade our waterways. Despite the many everyday challenges Secwépemc people face to living free in Secwepemcul’ecw, Secwépemc people are resisting colonial capitalism and (re)imagining alternatives based on Secwépemc grounded normativity and relationality to water.  In this chapter, I moved from Chapter Three's survey of what water means to Secwépemc people, to review the ideological and material challenges resulting from settler-colonial capitalism and neoliberal practices Secwépemc have faced. In the next chapter, I turn towards how Secwépemc people (re)vision, (re)imagine and (re)evaluate water governance and how we are revitalizing and resurging Secwépemc water practices as individuals and as communities across the Secwépemc nation.   118 Chapter 5: Re-Envisioning Secwépemc Water Governance So how are we going to exist? We're existing now with the way the water is now. But we also have the question, is this the water we want today in 2019? (Secwépemc Elder) Introduction This chapter showcases the voices of my k'wseltktnéws and how they experience and view Secwépemc water governance in their communities. This journey started with my personal desire to discover what Secwépemc water governance meant to myself, my family, and community members. This research may stray from water at moments, but water is intentionally and unintentionally a part of community relationality, reinstating and empowering the strength of k'wseltktnéws and sharing our voices across age groups, regions, and communities of Secwepemcul’ecw. This chapter is made of components that contribute to governing or taking care and protecting Secwepemcul’ecw right now and for the future.  Tracing the impacts of re-territorialization and capitalist values in the context of Secwépemc water governance provides a starting point to formulate, plan, embody, and enact the future of Secwépemc water governance. Secwépemc futurity and grounded normativity are central to this chapter and are used to envision Secwépemc relationality and how we are revitalizing and resurging water practices, taking care of Secwepemcul’ecw, and conceptualizing the future of Secwépemc water governance. When starting this research, I had not seen or heard much about Secwépemc people and water governance. As I delved further into my research, I found evidence of emerging community and relational networks. I witnessed Secwépemc people and communities speaking out, supporting and engaging with Secwépemc water issues (some using governance terminology). To reiterate, Secwepemcul’ecw has never been sold, bought or  119 surrendered and Secwépemc people have continuously embodied and nurtured relationships with our k'wseltktnéws and Secwepemcul’ecw for millennia. (Ignace & Ignace, 2017). In addition to Secwépemc people’s relationality to other humans and animals, our cultural understanding is that water has its own agency and power that helps guide Secwépemc people and Secwepemcul’ecw. Viewing water as having its own agency and power de-centers Secwépemc people and other humans, challenging the idea that we have control over water and treat it as a resource that can be exploited or mistreated. Despite enduring violence and colonial capitalist experiences Secwépemc people are still living in Secwepemcul’ecw, imagining our futures and upholding our responsibilities to Secwepemcul’ecw to this day.  Chapter Three provided a glimpse into what water means to Secwépemc people, and the changes and experiences Secwépemc have faced through generations of societal and political changes in Secwepemcul’ecw. Chapter Four examined ideological and material challenges resulting from settler-colonial capitalism and neoliberal practices and ideology. In this chapter, I turn towards how Secwépemc people (re)vision, (re)imagine and (re)evaluate water governance and how we are revitalizing and resurging Secwépemc water practices as individuals and as communities across the Secwépemc nation. Secwépemc Futurity To assist us with imagining a future for Secwépemc water governance we can look to Indigenous futurity as an analytical tool to assist us in thinking through issues of water governance. Laura Harjo (2019), a Mvskoke scholar, says “the notion of futurity challenges a conventional reckoning of time and the future, and pushes us to create right now in the present moment that which our ancestors, we, and future relatives desire'' (p. 5). Harjo’s (2019)  120 extensive work on Indigenous futurities relates to Aleut scholar Eve Tuck’s work on desire-based research frameworks, as both scholars empower Indigenous people to imagine their futures. Harjo reminds us that these imaginings need to be situated in the present. Tuck (2009) positions desire as an alternative to damage-centered research, saying, “desire-based research frameworks are concerned with understanding complexity, contradiction, and self-determination of lived lives” (p. 416). Using futurity and desire-based research frameworks enable us to spatially visualize our relationships to each other, the imaginary of our energy, kinship, community knowledge and our collective power, so we can mobilize our community according to our collective understandings of Secwépemc care and desire-based futures (Harjo, 2019). Secwépemc futurity protects water and land for the tellqelmucw, the people to come, by bridging the past, present, and future to work through the impacts of colonial violence in the Secwepemcul’ecw and create anti-colonial, anti-capitalist, and anti-heteropatriarchal alternatives to the colonial capitalist present currently framing Secwépemc existence.  This research journey reinforces and celebrates Secwépemc knowledge through exploring how we create our future as Secwépemc people. My k'wseltktnéws, living now, in the past, and the k'wseltktnéws to come, our tellqelmucw, are continuously generating and regenerating knowledge and putting our desires and plans in motion. As Nick Estes (2019) says, “Indigenous notions of time consider the present to be structured entirely by our past and by our ancestors. There is no separation between past and present, meaning that an alternative future is also determined by our understanding of the past. Our history is the future” (p. 14-15). The k'wseltktnéws who participated in this research provide a glimpse into the vast and expansive knowledge Secwépemc people hold about water, our communities, and how we would like to live amongst each other in Secwepemcul’ecw. Part of mobilizing our care and desires about  121 Secwépemc water governance is providing space for Secwépemc people to share their stories and knowledge, and to have the opportunity to dream and (re)envision how we would like to better our interpersonal relationships, our relationships with our waterways in Secwepemcul’ecw, and enact our ancestors and future k’wseltktnews’ wishes and desires for our water, land, and people.  Circling back to my Slé7e While I was envisioning this chapter, memories of my childhood came to me. Some memories of my childhood include: driving on the weekends with my dad to find the best swimming spots, working in the yard with my Slé7e, having family dinners with my grandparents, and winter celebrations at Chief Atahm School. This act of remembering my upbringing and memories with family is an act of futurity. Harjo’s (2019) articulation of futurity opens up possibilities to discover new possibilities through engaging the past, present and future,  With ways of knowing, performing, celebrating who we are, valorizing, and creating new ways and theories constructed with community knowledge, and creating explicit paths or maps to get us to the place we want to be, so that we choose our future and our future does not choose us. (p. 65) Harjo’s (2019) work inspired me to think back to my childhood and upbringing in Cstélen and Sexqeltqín. I reminisced about a time when I was around 14 years old doing a summer job of scanning papers, scribbles, and documents written by my late Slé7e Joseph (Cicwelst) Michel. The papers I scanned had my Slé7e’s Secwepemctsin notes on them, and although it’s been over a decade since his passing, we still use their notes and teachings. Their work continues to inform and influence my families’ and communities’ decisions and memories to keep our language  122 revitalization (Secwepemctsin) vision moving forward. K. Michel (2012) archived over 20 boxes of their father’s notes on Secwépemc language, history, and philosophy (p. 146). K. Michel’s (2012) use of their father’s ‘notes’ demonstrates enacting Secwépemc futurity by gaining inspiration and knowledge to develop a ‘restorying coyote framework’53 guided by Secwépemc stsptekwle. I share this memory because learning, sharing, and reminiscing is a part of envisioning the futurity of Secwépemc water governance. Futurity of water governance can be built from Secwépemc knowledge to help mobilize existing community knowledge. Although my Slé7e has passed away, we are still using and learning from their notes on Secwépemc place-names, their stsptekwle, and their vast knowledge of Secwepemctsin and Secwepemcul’ecw every day.  Futurity is not exclusively about our future, rather it is about continuity: we learn from our ancestors’ experiences and knowledge, we enact changes based on this knowledge, and we document this knowledge for the tellqelmucw, the people to come. This example emphasizes how my Slé7e’s knowledge is multi-generational, in terms of how we have interpreted and embodied their knowledge, and how it has provided insight for their k'wseltktnéws, community, and Secwepemcul’ecw. Secwépemc knowledge is cyclical. My Slé7e studied, respected, and honoured our stsptekwle throughout their life and left it for their family and community to study, teach and carry down to the next generations. This memory of my Slé7e's notes demonstrates that our knowledge and wisdom is cyclical and intergenerational. An element to futurity is that continuity requires that we honour our ancestor's knowledge through using this knowledge to  53 The restorying coyote framework created by Kathryn Michel (2012) is a Secwépemc theoretical framework that includes 1) “Restorying” the self to the Great Coyote Story through knucwetsut.s 2) “Restorying” responsibility to community through k’wseltktnéws 3) “Restorying” the relationship between knucwetsut.s and k’wseltktnéws through Secwépemc immersion education (p. 80).   123 (re)envision how we want to protect and take care of water. Although we do not currently have formal systems in place to educate and engage Secwépemc community members in water governance, we can fulfill our responsibilities through (re)envisioning a future for water governance. Envisioning Happens Across Scales My family, friends, and community members who participated in this research provided insights into the direction our communities are heading and how they are engaging (or refusing to engage) in Secwépemc water governance. I see an increase in community members’ interest and willingness to learn more about water, language (Secwepemctsin), traditional food gathering, Secwépemc education, and place-names across the Secwépemc nation. When (re)imagining Secwépemc water governance I am reminded that water practices, Secwepemctsin revitalization, and land-based knowledge happen across different scales. (Re)imagining is not concentrated or centralized within band council systems or only when it is a community or nation sanctioned event or organization. Currently, there are numerous community and nation-wide hosted events that bring Secwépemc people together to learn Secwépemc teachings such as the winter and summer Secwépemc Gatherings54 funded and hosted by the Shuswap Nation Tribal Council (SNTC). Learning and participating in Secwépemc events and community mobilization does not solely take place in these big gatherings, however, as we enact water governance on an everyday basis through social media, community/family gatherings, and at Chief Atahm School, to name just a few examples. In these locations, whether virtual or in-person, I have witnessed Secwépemc individuals, families, and groups planning, organizing, and practicing their  54 Secwépemc Gatherings are hosted in different Secwépemc communities and traditional hunting/fishing camping spots. There are usually one to two Secwépemc Gatherings every year.   124 Secwépemc grounded normativity to protect Secwepemcul’ecw. A family member said it best “we have to be knowledgeable of our waters. What [water] means to us, what our beliefs are, how it ties us to the past, how it is today and what is going to be in the future” (Secwépemc educator).  Through this research and thesis, I hope to inspire an awakening and provide an opportunity for my k'wseltktnéws to think about, practice, (re)claim, (re)activate and resurge our relationships to each other and Secwepemcul’ecw. As Secwépemc people, we hold the knowledge, agency, and motivation to respect each other and uphold our responsibilities to our k'wseltktnéws and our tmicw and sewllkwe. As Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017) said, “resurgent organizing must create a future generation that never has to ask how to live free because they’ve never known anything else - a generation that does not know shame, because they are embedded in each other’s light” (p. 189). My contribution to Secwépemc water governance is to inspire and instill Secwépemc values and beliefs across Secwepemcul’ecw and to assist in envisioning what taking care of Secwepemcul’ecw looks and feels like during an era of struggle and resistance against colonial capitalist oppression.  Secwépemc Water Governance Mobilization and Transformation  (Re)envisioning Secwépemc water governance requires a different approach than what is currently utilized and taken up in the Secwépemc nation. It is imperative that current and future Secwépemc water governance builds upon “resurging against settler colonial and capitalist regimes by regenerating … water relations, and how water itself cultivates a form of resurgence that regenerates Indigenous kinship relations and governance practices” (Daigle, 2018, as cited in Yazzie & Risling Baldy, 2018, p. 14). McNeil-Seymour (2017) proclaims that Secwépemc and  125 Indigenous resurgence and decolonization is a process that is “truth-speaking, heart-centred and does not look like Indigenized heteropatriarchy” (p. 56). They remind us that transformational work, resistance, and action transcend the labels and forced barriers between “families, between reserve communities who belong to the same nation, between neighbouring nations, between urban-Indigenous and rural/reserve, Indigenous/settler/newcomer/lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer (LGBTQ), and between Indigenous women, men and two-spirit relatives” (McNeil-Seymour, 2017, p. 53). To imagine and transcend across labels and barriers I draw on the work of three Indigenous scholars, Graham Hingangaroa Smith, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, and Laura Harjo who have been influential in (re)imagining how community mobilization and decolonization can create anti-colonial, anti-capitalist, and Indigenous feminist visions of water governance.  Graham Hingangaroa Smith (2003) is pivotal in strategizing and planning transformative praxis and consciousness raising within Indigenous nations and communities. They resist decolonization theory and engage in processes of conscientization and consciousness-raising. Influenced by Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony and the work of Brazilian theorist and educator Paulo Freire, G. Smith (2003) provides six critical interventions to transform Indigenous communities and for the people to transform themselves. The six interventions are self-determination, legitimizing and validating cultural aspirations and Indigenous ways of knowing and doing, fostering cultural pedagogy, socio-economic mediation, acknowledging relationships and kinship, having a collective vision to work towards, and building and nurturing relationships with each other (G. Smith, 1990). I draw here on Graham Hingangaroa Smith’s (2003) work in an effort to discuss how visions for Secwépemc water governance can be put into  126 actions that Secwépemc people can participate in, to move from a position of helplessness to one of empowerment.   As seen in my interviews about Secwépemc water governance, our communities are often stuck in a position where we defer and answer to Canadian law(s) and allow the colonizers (B.C. and federal governments) to shape the direction and type of water management and monitoring implemented in our communities. Although G. Smith’s (2003) vision of transformation is in the context of Maori education, envisioning Indigenous water governance entails much of the same principles that G. Smith articulates. For example, G. Smith (2003) outlines the cycle of transformative action as Conscientisation, Resistance, and Transformative action. They state that “all of the above components; all need to be held simultaneously; all stand in equal relation to each other” (emphasis in original text) (G. Smith, 2003, p. 12). G. Smith (2003) further explains how individuals and groups may enter the cycle at any point, and some people might get caught up in transformative praxis unintentionally. For instance, applying these concepts to transforming water governance, Secwépemc people and communities might involve participating in community gardening initiatives, families participating in cultural activities with their child(ren), supporting resistance actions against resource extraction, or through proactive initiatives in their communities. From this perspective, everyone is somewhere on the Conscientisation, Resistance, and Transformative action cycle of Secwépemc water governance. Everyone “is in the struggle whether they like it or not, whether they know it or not” (G. Smith, 2003, p. 13). In this way, G. Smith’s (2003) framework helps to visualize how multi-scalar Secwépemc water governance initiatives can be, or how they are being enacted across Secwépemc communities (whether we know it or not).   127 Leanne Betasamosake Simpson’s articulation of radical resurgence and grounded normativity gives us perspective on how transformative action happens across Secwépemc communities. L. Simpson (2017) emphasizes the politics of radical resurgent organizing and Indigenous refusal. Specifically, they look towards alternatives that prioritize place-based knowledge, education and strengthening networks of Indigenous bodies and intelligence (L. Simpson, 2017). Radical resurgence encompasses a re-organization of life and communities that presents and mobilizes Indigenous systemic alternatives, that is, “the mechanism through which freedom can be achieved” (L. Simpson, 2017, p. 49). L. Simpson’s (2017) articulation of radical resurgence brings into view the refusal to replicate and accept violence against children, women, queer, trans, and Two-Spirit people as a necessary act for achieving freedom (L. Simpson, 2017). L. Simpson (2017) and G. Smith (2003) demonstrate that everyone is a part of water governance whether they realize it or not. Additionally, the resurgence of Secwépemc water governance comes from us freeing ourselves from the colonized Western view and control of water and imagining and enacting Secwépemc water governance from Secwépemc intelligence and brilliance (Simpson, 2017; Smith, 2003). L. Simpson (2017) and G. Smith (2003) provide frameworks and theorizations that indicate Secwépemc water governance is mobilized around Secwépemc people and communities building capacity and envisioning water governance from within Secwépemc worldviews and intellectual practices and knowledge. Transformative praxis theory and radical resurgence are foundational in visualizing how we create a shift in our complacency and colonial control within our water system(s). Mobilization within an Indigenous feminist radical resurgence framework, that centers children, women, queer, and Two-Spirit people, and within a transformative praxis framework, opens up possibilities for freedom and liberation from oppressive forces currently shaping Secwépemc existence. G. Smith and L.  128 Simpson offer theory and praxis to visualize freedom in Secwepemcul’ecw that have no constraints or barriers to take care of our waterways the way Secwépemc people desire. To ensure futurity, transformative action must move us from positions of powerlessness and apathy towards agency.  Taking a geographical approach to (re)envisioning Secwépemc water governance, Laura Harjo (2019) offers a robust theory of emergence geographies. Laura Harjo (2019) conducted a survey of Mvskoke people to uncover what “matters most to the people, what they value - be it aspects of tribal government, their community, or Mvskoke lifeways” (p. 15). Reading about Harjo’s community survey inspired me to ask my Secwépemc relatives and community members how they view water governance and what water governance means to them. Harjo (2019) labels Indigenous people and transmittance of knowledge and kinship as emergence geographies. This resonates with me as Secwépemc people and communities are searching for meaning on what Secwépemc water governance is and how we are going to enact water practices. Harjo (2019) describes emergence geography through four main categories: concrete, ephemeral, metaphysical, and virtual. Concrete geographies “relate to material places, such as towns, communities and the built environment” (Harjo, 2019, p. 26) while ephemeral geographies are events that happen sporadically, intermittently, or seasonally and are not “tied to a particular place and can remain in movement” (Harjo, 2019, p. 155). An example of Secwépemc concrete geographies are the re-establishment of traditional place names, while examples of ephemeral geographies are the seasonal Secwépemc gatherings put on by SNTC, Chief Atahm School’s Winter Gathering, and pit cooking gatherings with family. Metaphysical geographies are the places and spaces that connect us to the spiritual world (Harjo, 2019). In a Secwépemc context, metaphysical geographies is our connection to our k'wseltktnéws living now, in the past, and our  129 unborn relatives, as well as the life long journey and practice of an etsxe. Virtual geographies are not fixed upon place. Rather, they account for virtual spaces and how Indigenous people use and develop virtual spaces on the Internet and on social media (Harjo, 2019). For example, social media platforms such as Facebook are sites used to share information and advertise Secwepemctsin programs, land-based activities, Secwépemc events, and ceremonies. Across these four categories, emergence geographies open up space to view, feel, participate, and enact Secwépemc water governance across multiple scales and spaces. Harjo (2019) states emergence geographies have the potential to operate unintentionally or intentionally so that “communities might see how they are already doing work that they might not have been aware of and also draw upon purposeful methods for strengthening their communities” (p. 46).  Emergence geographies demonstrate the diverse ways communities are already mobilizing and actively creating alternative responses to the violent realities of colonial capitalism and neoliberal resource practices. Utilizing the different dimensions of emergence geographies, G. Smith’s (2003) theorizations of transformative praxis and L. Simpson’s (2017) conceptualization of radical resurgence and grounded normativity, I will begin to trace the Secwépemc water governance present and future, and how my k'wseltktnéws are (re)envisioning our water and land relationships and governance.  Dreaming Secwépemc Water Governance Towards the end of the interviews, I asked my k'wseltktnéws to imagine their ideal scenario for Secwépemc water governance and to think about programs and initiatives they would like to see in their community. More broadly, I asked each interview participant how they envision Secwépemc water governance and to discuss the ways Secwépemc people already take  130 care of water, and how we can improve on our responsibility and relationships to water. I approached this question to elicit responses based on knowledge sharing, radical relationality, and how they would want to engage in Secwépemc water governance now and in the future. This question enabled the k’wseltkten I interviewed to dream, wish, and envision our ideal relationships with each other and Secwepemcul’ecw. Comparable to Harjo’s (2019) survey on Mvskoke social relations, I sought to delve into community members' relationship to band/nation government, to the community, and their participation in Secwépemc cultural practices. Some of the interview participants were taken aback by the possibilities of this question. It was difficult for some of my interview participants to fathom the opportunity to envision what Secwépemc water governance looks like without any constraints or parameters. Allowing space and time for my k'wseltktnéws to dream and envision was an act of strengthening Secwépemc grounded normativity and (re)claiming care for water as a Secwépemc responsibility. Million (2011) theorizes dreaming “as an effort to make sense of relations in the worlds we live, dreaming and empathizing intensely our relations with past and present and the future without the boundaries of linear time. Dreaming is a communicative sacred activity” (p. 315). The possibilities of dreaming Secwépemc water governance are endless, spanning from participant’s imaginations of Secwépemc water governance, education as a primary source of water governance, intergenerational transmission of water knowledge, problem-solving approaches and strategies, and leadership (governance) capacity building. The (re)envisioning transcended age, gender, and geographical restrictions that are often placed in Indigenous resurgence and organizing efforts. Instead, their envisioning of water governance is established from our relationality to each other as k'wseltktnéws. This relationality is upheld by our resilience, determination, responsibility and  131 love that we have for our water and it is embodied through Secwépemc water governance practices. Our Kids Know the Water  Working and learning at Chief Atahm School has expanded my Secwépemc knowledge and I am grateful to be a part of the school’s values and teachings. Chief Atahm School is one of many sites for language revitalization in the Secwépemc nation. Chief Atahm School fosters growth and Secwépemc intelligence in our community and provides space for Secwépemc children and youth to unashamedly practice and embody Secwépemc grounded normativity at school and within the broader community. The family I interviewed have all been a part of the creation story of Chief Atahm School. Chief Atahm School can be used as an example of emergent geographies at work (Harjo, 2019). We can examine Secwépemc water governance at one of the only places in the Secwépemc nation where children and youth can learn from fluent/semi-fluent Secwepemctsin speaking Elders and teachers. Chief Atahm School started as a language nest in 1987 and developed into a full immersion school in 1991 (K. Michel, 2012). K. Michel (2012), a founder of the school writes,  Chief Atahm School has demonstrated the viability of a Secwépemc model of education. Many of the graduates of the program have successfully learned to negotiate through a world dominated by western-based knowledge while maintaining a relationship to Secwépemc knowledge and language. (p. 22)   Chief Atahm School has become a prominent site of producing Secwépemc knowledge, carrying forth Secwépemc teachings, and facilitating and motivating community involvement in language, land, and (re)envisioning our relationships to each other and Secwepemcul’ecw. As a former  132 student and employee who works in the language nest and immersion programs, I knew that many of the previous and current teachers at Chief Atahm School would have knowledge to share about water, raising and teaching Secwépemc children, and how Chief Atahm School embodies and practices Secwépemc knowledge transmission. Therefore, I chose to interview some Chief Atahm School staff because they are a group of Secwépemc people who work to support and teach children about water. For example, they bring the students to the lake/river to fish and visit traditional Secwépemc villages and on trips up the mountains to dig roots and pick plants and berries.  In the interviews, Chief Atahm School staff reminisced about camping trips, swimming, hiking trips and other land-based activities they did with their students. A staff member who has worked at Chief Atahm School for many years, shared their experience teaching Secwépemc students about water,  If I think of my role as being a teacher at an immersion school with Secwépemc students, I feel that my job at the school level is educating our children more about the waters. Right now, I do place names, but, you know, as I think about it, that maybe I am neglecting the water, too, so that we have to make sure that we talk about our waters. Also, I think education is a big thing for our community. Just educating people to say we have ownership to this. We have ownership or stewardship. We have a responsibility. But responsibility to what if people don't know what they have a responsibility to? (Secwépemc educator)   133 Responsibility, ownership, stewardship, and education are key terms in this statement. Central to Secwépemc water governance is our responsibility to ourselves, our k'wseltktnéws, and our communities to take care of our waterways. One of the interview participants shared that we must have a sense of ownership over our water, but then they changed their wording to say stewardship. Secwépemc society was largely egalitarian, with no one having hierarchy over another, nor to any plant or animal, nor over water. I believe this could explain the participant's change of phrasing from ownership to stewardship. What this k'wseltkten is implying is that we do not have the power, control, or ownership of water, but we do have a responsibility to care for it and to teach our children and youth about water.  Secwépemc people are constrained by artificial boundaries between what water is deemed public or private, and where Secwépemc people fit when our responsibilities lie within the entirety of Secwepemcul’ecw. They go on to say “I believe we are lake people. I know … in my generation, the past, our kids know the water” (Secwépemc educator). Our responsibility to water extends beyond the current generation, by maintaining and instilling water knowledge and relationships for the next generation, and making sure our kids know the waters in the territory.  Chief Atahm School provides an intervention into the colonial agenda of demarcating, separating, and creating boundaries around land and water. At Chief Atahm School, the students and teachers generate Secwépemc knowledge, intelligence, and teachings based upon cyclical intergenerational relationships, and land-based and community centered modes of learning. In the context of Nishnaabeg intelligence, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017) speaks of a radical transformation of teaching and education as,  134 We cannot carry out the kind of decolonization our Ancestors set in motion if we don’t create a generation of land-based, community based intellectuals and cultural producers who are accountable to our nations and whose life work is concerned with the regeneration of these systems rather than meeting the overwhelming needs of the Western academic industrial complex or attempting to “Indigenize the academy” by bringing Indigenous Knowledge into the academy on the terms of the academy itself. Our ancestors’ primary concern in “educating” our young people was to nurture a new generation of elders - of land-based intellectuals - philosophers, theorists, medicine people, and historians who embodied Nishnaabeg intelligence in whatever time they were living in because they had lived their lives through Nishnaabeg intelligence. They embodied Nishnaabeg intelligence because they were practitioners of Nishnaabeg intelligence. (p. 159)   My father shared a story about their time teaching intermediate students at Chief Atahm School. In doing so, they conveyed the importance of intergenerational knowledge transmission and nurturing new generations of Secwépemc children who know the waters. In this way, my father is highlighting Simpson’s (2017) articulation of the next generation of Secwépemc people raised as land-based and community-based intellectuals. I asked my father “can you share any stories or experiences of your past students and water?” They shared a story with interlayered teachings and experiences of students at Chief Atahm School participating in cutting salmon from the South Thompson River every year, hosting and participating in salmon ceremonies near the lake to thank the salmon for providing us food for another year. Also, they discussed one of their favourite places in Secwepemcul’ecw called Tk’eqíqe,   135 When we want to go up to Tk’eqíqe, it’s one of my favourite places. There's a creek. The séme7s call it Bush Creek. It's crystal clear it comes from behind Tk’eqíqe which is an etsxe [place]. It's a very special place and that's where the water comes from. One of the best memories I have is going to Tk’eqíqe with my late father-in-law Joe Michel and their brother [name withheld], we had many plans for the day. They insisted on going down to the beach where the creek runs into the lake. There's a log there and they just said bring the coffee. Now in other words we are not going anywhere. We're going to sit right here and they both sat and I have pictures of this. Joe and [name withheld] started talking about the creek, the lake, the whole area. Cstélen is the whole lake and Cstélnec is the watershed. We sat there the whole afternoon talking about what we could see from sitting on a log there. From the four water monster story, to Squam Bay, to Stsemetuse. All of these incredible places. At the time I didn't understand what they were, but where the creek runs into the lake, you could see all of these places. It's taken me 25 years to figure out the significance. But I always remember going there and listening to these two Elders without realizing they themselves were reliving a whole lifetime of stories of the same place. (My father)   While reminiscing about the many trips they took with my two Slé7e’s, they continued the story talking about how they wanted to share this knowledge and experience with students at Chief Atahm School. They said if Secwépemc people believe our identity comes from the land and language, then we have to visit the land. My father recounted a story about bringing intermediate students from CAS to share stories about their favourite spot, Tk’eqíqe.   136 I try to bring that [knowledge] back to students, teenage students, and it's hard because they don't have the background. But anyway, we went [to Tk’eqíqe the students and I]. I said, let's park and walk all the way to the point of the same log. I thought, well, maybe I could do the same thing [sit and discuss the significance of Tk’eqíqe], well [the students] had energy they didn’t want to go and they just said, no. I said, that’s okay, I'll sit with Slé7e [name withheld]. So we sat there and talked and [the students] ran off into the forest, up the creek, and I thought it’s a wasted day. I wanted to teach them this and [that], and [name withheld] should teach them [about the area]. And they were just gone. I said, well, it's okay. So we had our coffee and talked and we went slowly back. We went back to the truck after a few hours and they still weren’t there. But I could hear them way upstream in the forest. And I thought well, they're just running around whatever and went over there and called them as it was time to go back to the school. I was sort of thinking, wow, maybe a wasted day because we had so much to do and they just ran off up the creek. And then we got back to the school. I was completely surprised, and I didn't want to let on, then the students said “that was the best field trip ever.” And I'm thinking we didn't do anything. They said “No we went up the creek. We followed the creek all the way up to the mountain and we crossed over on logs.” We did this and that and everything went back to the hours they spent [on the land]. There were only seven or eight of them all just playing and going up and really just loving that creek. I'm thinking, oh, okay I thought, yes, it was a good day. But at the same time I thought it was a wasted day. When you  137 think of special times I don't know why it made it special to them, but they all said that. Yeah, that was the best day they ever had. So it's hard to predict. But unless you go out there, if we [just] stayed in class, showed them videos and maps and all of that. It would have never been the same. So, if people want to make memories, I think that's the key is to take a chance to go out to some of the places. Maybe new places or your favorite places and you never can tell what will actually happen. So that day I didn't know what would happen. What turned out to be one of the best days. (My father) This experience my father shared relates back to G. Smith’s theorizations of transformative praxis. Without being aware, the students were learning about Secwépemc water and places that forged a relationship between themselves, the water, and the land. Visiting places in Secwepemcul’ecw deepens and reinforces our responsibilities to take care of water and brings us into relation with the watersheds that we have to protect from resource extractive industries. Moreover, the children and youth get an opportunity to gain an understanding that this watershed (Cstélen) is a part of Secwepemcul’ecw and that this place is an important place where Secwépemc people used to live, pray, and go for their etsxe.  To develop the next generation of Secwépemc people it is vital that children and youth visit the waterways in Secwepemcul’ecw. Establishing relationships to water and land enables knowledge transmission between generations and creates a path to Secwépemc people becoming involved with Secwépemc water governance. Being out on the land, travelling our waterways, fishing, and seeing and touching the water/land transmits place-based knowledge and restores our responsibilities to take care of our waterways. Secwépemc water governance is about building connections and memories to concrete and metaphysical places. Generations of children  138 who attend(ed) Chief Atahm School and who visit(ed) Tk’eqíqe (and other places in Secwepemcul’ecw) each year, create and learn about place-based relationships and knowledge that supports how Secwépemc people think about and protect our waterways.  “As a Secwépemc you use the best tools that you have to solve your problems” My k'wseltktnéws of the five communities (Cstélen/Sexqeltqín, Neskonlith, Tk’emlúps, and Simpcw) all had strategies and ideas on how Secwépemc people and communities would ideally enact water governance and what water governance would look like in their communities. During the interviews, my relatives and community members envisioned how Secwépemc communities could engage, educate, and begin to transmit and communicate water issues with community members. Our conversations moved from the memories of teaching and being on the land with Chief Atahm School students to how we transmit and translate our knowledge about Secwépemc water to the broader community. My k'wseltktnéws speculated about the best ways to engage with, educate, and involve Secwépemc communities in mobilizing water governance. Carroll (2015) calls fostering relationships with the land a relationship-based approach and calls subsistence activities such as berry picking, root digging, and other seasonal activities, cultural reproduction. From this standpoint, how do we facilitate the cultural reproduction of water knowledge within the confines of our reserves and beyond? One relative in their interview said “as a Secwépemc you use the best tools that you have to solve your problems” regardless if it involves scientific based-knowledge, requires collaborating with settlers, or is based upon Secwépemc belief systems and values. When asked what they propose as solutions to improve our water governance, they responded by discussing the importance of combining traditional conceptions of governance with our current leadership (band council systems), forming water committees amongst Secwépemc communities and settler communities, and strategies on how  139 we are going to engage with our communities and the nation to take care and protect the water. The solutions suggested were creative and provided a glimpse into transformative, future-oriented approaches to Secwépemc water governance.  One Elder spoke about how they attended meetings in the past about water and environmental issues but the meetings were not held at a convenient time or location. They said very few people in the community knew about the meetings. Therefore, the Elder could not make every meeting because they were working during the day, or they did not have a ride because it was on a different Adams Lake reserve.55 They suggested Secwépemc communities work with the local municipalities and create water committees. This Elder attributes our water issues and lack of care for water to our leadership and lack of education and communication regarding our water system. Their vision is outlined below: We work with the municipalities and [have] committees. All the reserves and all the municipalities [have] committees and people who know [about water] in the committees, people who would know and really ask questions and really write down some definite things and give it out, really broadcast it, like I said, shout at the top of the mountain to save our water. I think it would help. Not overnight. You know how people are who are making money. They got [all the] money. They learned to shut you out or find ways when our people talk, I think they just turn away because they think we're stupid. (Secwépemc Elder)   55 There are two main Adam’s Lake reserves. Sexqeltqín is near Chase, B.C. The other Sxwetsmèllp is near Salmon Arm, B.C.   140 This Elder spoke of knowledge of our water being kept with the people who hold decision-making power over local water infrastructure. They recommended we dismantle the false feelings of superiority that band politics and other colonial authorities hold over water. As a result of concentrated power in the hands of Chief and Council and local municipalities, community members feel squeezed out of decision-making processes concerning water infrastructure and planning. This conversation highlights some of the gaps with our current water governance (or lack of governance). Interview participants remarked that effective communication systems and leadership are two aspects of water governance that our Secwépemc communities need to engage with to improve Secwépemc capabilities and capacity to take care of water. Alternatively, other community members are refusing to engage with band council(s) entirely and are creating their own collectives and community groups to advocate for water rights outside of the authority and jurisdiction of the band council(s).  Another community member discussed the need for leadership to be decentralized from band council governance. They spoke about asserting our jurisdiction over Secwepemcul’ecw and reminding people of our collective responsibility to take care of the land and water that make up our traditional territory.  I think we could have different, not governing, but you know, those different councils, like the water, there’d be one on the water and there’d be one on the different areas and they’d all work together especially, well, the reserve land is important but especially the traditional territory. We own it as a collective, so really the people should be the one in charge of making decisions, not just a select group of people like the [band] council. (Secwépemc educator)   141 Our current practices of water education, knowledge dissemination, and sharing our opinions are less than ideal. One interview participant discussed how Secwépemc governance goes from a top-down approach instead of fostering community knowledge and self-sufficiency before rolling out nation-wide programs and initiatives:  It's definitely a nation scale right now, it's going backwards from a hierarchy, like it's starting from like the top and trying to go down. But I think you start from the bottom and go up. But yeah, definitely those organizations are trying to take on too much all at once rather than just trying to go community to community and gain insights before starting whatever they might be doing. (Secwépemc youth) My k'wseltktnéws are distrustful of decision-making bodies and the current way information about reserve land, water, and other environmental concerns are communicated to them (most of the time not communicated).  There is growing restlessness within community members and citizens of the Secwépemc nation as they are beginning to demand accountability and a sense of ownership and control over decision-making. A community member said we need to assert our jurisdiction over our entire territory on and off the reserve. In the past, this community member had engaged in resistance to resource industries and infrastructures in Secwepemcul’ecw. Resisting colonial expansion and capitalist industry provides an avenue and opportunity to speak for our water. This community member expressed that organizing campaigns opposing extractive industries such as oil/gas pipelines, fish farming, mining, and tourism requires effort from different approaches to gain support from Secwépemc and non-Secwépemc people (other Indigenous nations and settlers).  142 This section highlights proposed strategies from my family, community members, and friends. Some solutions are based on Secwépemc values and belief systems, while others suggest re-thinking and restructuring leadership in the form of water committees.   We start sharing our knowledge and we start working together When envisioning what our Secwépemc water governance ideally looks like it comes back to fostering our growth as a people and working together. Secwépemc water governance is reliant on sharing knowledge and working together as k'wseltktnéws. One relative said,   [It] goes back to my grandfather saying you need to know your waters. I think maybe whether it be our leaders, I guess our families should be taking responsibility so that we should be more on the land and more with our waters and more gratitude for our water and what our water gives us and presents to us, that it's more than what we use it for right now. I think also that we don't have the feeling that we're the stewards, stewards of the waters. That we have a responsibility … We feel like oh well somebody else is taking care of it. Like, I don't have the power to take care of it. And maybe it is the Chief and Council, that we have that system now that one Chief is going to take care of it, where I think before we had the chief of the water or the chief of hunting. (Secwépemc educator)  Their grandfather’s assertion that we need to know our waters demonstrates that our future ability to assert water governance is dependent on the time we spend on the land and with our waters today. They are also reminding us that the power should not solely rely on the Chief and Council to solve our water issues and to be accountable for our water. Rather every Secwépemc  143 person has the responsibility and power as an individual to take care of water. Visiting our waters and land is crucial in deepening our understanding that we have jurisdiction over Secwepemcul’ecw and the power to resist and refuse settler colonial capitalist expansion and resource extractive industries.  The Secwépemc youth who I interviewed spoke about how we have to start as individuals and as families to (re)connect to the land. Spending time on the land is how teachings and knowledge can be transmitted in order to build a connection, and sense of belonging and responsibility to water. They said,  Yeah, I guess a big thing too is just even, like as a family, just bringing your children out and having sweats with them and teaching them about water and the importance of water and just sharing knowledge from not only like you, but like your aunts and uncles, your great aunts and uncles will know about water ceremonies. They were passed down from their parents and their grandparents. I think a big thing today is that we're not doing that as families. I think that could really help youth understand the importance of water and where and how we're all connected to it. (Secwépemc youth)  This youth brings back into focus that our relationships and teachings are built upon our relationality as kin. Revitalizing our ceremonial practices such as sweats allows us to connect with our k'wseltktnéws while also allowing knowledge to be passed down to the next generations. They remind us that our kinship reaches across the nation and we all have something to learn from each other and contribute to teaching each other about Secwépemc water practices and knowledge.   144 Sharing knowledge was also emphasized in a community member’s response about the way Secwépemc people value of helping each other in times of need. They said,  The value of helping each other I saw when I was growing up. All the people would go work on one hay field and they grew their hay for their own horses. They didn’t just sell it, they grew it because they had horses. So they would go to one farm, they would cut the hay and stack it and they’d go to the next and they’d all help each other, but now, you know we lost it or don’t do that anymore. (Secwépemc educator) Throughout the interviews it became apparent that at the center of Secwépemc water governance is accountable relationality to each other and transmittance of knowledge to the next generations. The resurgence of Secwépemc values and practices of helping your k'wseltktnéws also lies at the heart of Secwépemc water governance. The conversations shared from the interviews represent a small part of Secwépemc people’s experiences but they demonstrate powerful articulations of Secwépemc water governance. My k'wseltktnéws share that Secwépemc knowledge is cyclical and continuous and that it is our collective responsibility to resurge, dream, and (re)imagine how we will bring forth and assert our Secwépemc care for water. I am proud of my k'wseltktnéws for (re)envisioning Secwépemc water governance against the oppression of colonial capitalist systems we endure on a daily basis and working to collectively transform our ancestor’s desires into the present day actions in order to prepare for the people to come. We all have something to contribute to taking care of Secwepemcul’ecw and it is important to provide space and time to (re)envision what Secwépemc water governance looks like and identify how we are already expressing governance principles within our homes, communities and nation as a whole.   145 Chapter 6: Conclusion: As Secwépemc people we all have a role to contribute [Secwépemc] stories generally end with a theme of Sek’lep our trickster, who's creating these things through their adventures with a theme of I'm giving you these things to look after forever you can enjoy them now, but you also have the responsibility of looking after them forever. (Secwépemc educator) This research started flowing from the waters of Cstélnetkwe and blossomed into conversations with k’wseltktnéws across Secwepemcul’ecw. Engaging in discussions surrounding water, our identity as Secwépemc people, and protecting Secwepemcul’ecw is central to our survival as a people. We are still here, living out our Secwépemc grounded normativity every day and doing our best to protect our waterways despite living through violent colonial encounters and surviving in communities and cities built over top Secwepemcul’ecw.  Through this research journey I learned more about Secwépemc water governance and how our identities, political and social interactions, settler colonial experiences and our Secwépemc knowledge inform how Secwépemc enact and conceptualize water governance. I also explored Secwépemc mobilization and consciousness on relationality, water and land responsibilities and roles, and the complexities of Secwépemc participation in resource extractive industries. In the past twenty years, Indigenous water governance scholarship has transformed from predominantly white scholars writing, theorizing, and researching Indigenous water governance on topics such as co-management, co-governance, and collaborative governance, and ontologies of water. Presently space is being (re)established by Indigenous scholars who are unapologetically centering Indigenous feminist theorizations of Indigenous water governance. Indigenous geographers and scholars such as Melanie Yazzie, Cutcha Risling Baldy, Sarah Hunt, Andrew Curley, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, Eve Tuck, Audra Simpson, Linda Tuhiwai  146 Smith, Graham Hingangaroa Smith, Dian Million, Michelle Daigle, and Laura Harjo have paved the way to create Indigenous-led research and scholarship that is strength-based and offers anti-colonial, anti-racist, and feminist theories and frameworks that shape how Indigenous relationships with land and water are conceptualized. I think of Indigenous research as embodying the value of k'wseltktnéws in which community-work, radical relationalities, organizing, and mobilization are all at work in creating a network of Indigenous scholarship that is shaped by our families, communities and nations. In turn, our scholarship never exists in isolation, rather, is always in motion. This co-creation of knowledge is what continuously inspires and shapes my own research.  From the inspiration of Indigenous geographers, scholars and my k'wseltktnéws, I embody and uphold the value of k'wseltktnéws as methodology and theoretical approach to uncovering what Secwépemc water governance means to Secwépemc people across five Secwépemc communities, asking how Secwépemc people are (re)envisioning and dreaming the future of water governance. The interviews guided the Secwépemc water governance analysis and began with discussing Secwépemc cultural beliefs about water, and the freedom Secwépemc people had in the past to travel, swim, and use water in Secwepemcul’ecw. The interviews also gave insight into the challenges Secwépemc people and communities face in taking care of water while living in the colonial capitalist present. My k'wseltktnéws spoke about the changing landscapes that Secwépemc people have adapted to, such as living on reserves, working in  colonial imposed governance structures such as band council systems, and navigating neoliberal capitalist economies that are contingent on Indigenous land and water as well as their labour in resource extractive industries. Despite the on-going challenges of enacting Secwépemc water governance, my k'wseltktnéws (re)envisioned our water relations. Secwépemc futurity and  147 resurgence framed the visions for how Secwépemc people can build leadership capacity across different scales. This thesis is a starting place to discuss water governance in the Secwépemc nation and my k'wseltktnéws acknowledged that as individuals, families, or communities we have the strength and knowledge to work together for collective futures of liberation and freedom.  Following and learning from Sek’lep, this research unfolded in a non-linear fashion where I thought, wrote, and conversed with relatives across Secwepemcul’ecw and beyond. Most notably, I presented parts of this research to Maori relatives in Aotearoa who share similar colonial stories and histories which have transformed their water governance. The opportunities and support throughout this Secwépemc water governance research journey have been immense. The support received from k'wseltktnéws and Indigenous scholars from across Canada and internationally re-affirms the ethic and power of Indigenous relationality and self-determination, and the power of sharing my voice as a Secwépemc person. The work of educating, protecting, and advocating for Secwépemc water governance is far from over. As Secwépemc people, it is our responsibility to take care of our water for the current and future generations. The desires and visions of our ancestors continue to influence the way we think about and activate water governance in the present. Dialogue building, long-term planning, and resurging Secwépemc water practices will not happen overnight, but this research provides a timely intervention into the current Indigenous water governance narrative. Furthermore, I hope this research inspires my k'wseltktnéws to continue pushing forward their visions of water governance. Everyone has a role and responsibility to protect Secwepemcul’ecw, no matter their age, gender, or what Secwépemc community they are from,  148 and everyone has a right to live free in Secwepemcul’ecw. As a Secwépemc, we all have a role to contribute.  Secwepemcul’ecw wel me7 yews, wel me7 yews       149 References   Adams Lake Indian Band. (2019). About Us. Retrieved from Akrigg, H. (1964). History and economic development of the shuswap area [Unpublished Master’s thesis]. The University of British Columbia.  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