Arts, Faculty of
Anthropology, Department of
DSpace
UBCV
Merchant, Peter
Doctor of Philosophy - PhD
University of British Columbia
The shíshálh of the southwest coast of Canada, for two hundred and twenty-five years, have faced the intense pressure of British, then Canadian colonial and state expansion. In the face of this continued onslaught they have neither ceded nor abandoned tems swiya (our world [shíshálh territory]). The length, intensity and ongoing nature of the colonial conflict on the west coast of Canada provides numerous examples of the role of structure in shaping the responses of colonized peoples to the colonial conflict. Specifically, an examination of how the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya conditioned the shíshálh response to the colonial conflict and in turn was itself transformed is critical to understanding the internal tensions within contemporary shíshálh society and their relationship with the non-shíshálh who reside within tems swiya. Exploring this question can be conducted through the analysis of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions), archaeological, ethnographic, and historical records. These sources of data indicate that although the current condition of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship has distinctly altered from that of the pre-contact era, it is no less legitimate; rather it represents the “indigenization of modernity,” ensuring shíshálh survival through the twenty-first century.
As Far as the Eye Can See: The shíshálh in Their Territory, 1791-1920 by PETER MERCHANT B.A., Simon Fraser University M.A. University of British Columbia A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Anthropology) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) May 2020 © Peter S. Merchant, 2020 ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the dissertation entitled: As Far as the Eye Can See: The shíshálh in Their Territory, 1791-1920 submitted by Peter M erchant in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Anthropology Examining Committee: Michael Blake, Anthropology Supervisor Bruce Miller, Anthropology Supervisory Committee Member Andrew Martindale, Anthropology University Examiner Susan Rowley, Anthropology University Examiner Douglas Harris, Peter A. Allard School of Law University Examiner iii Abstract The shíshálh of the southwest coast of Canada, for two hundred and twenty-five years, have faced the intense pressure of British, then Canadian colonial and state expansion. In the face of this continued onslaught they have neither ceded nor abandoned tems swiya (our world [shíshálh territory]). The length, intensity and ongoing nature of the colonial conflict on the west coast of Canada provides numerous examples of the role of structure in shaping the responses of colonized peoples to the colonial conflict. Specifically, an examination of how the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya conditioned the shíshálh response to the colonial conflict and in turn was itself transformed is critical to understanding the internal tensions within contemporary shíshálh society and their relationship with the non-shíshálh who reside within tems swiya. Exploring this question can be conducted through the analysis of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions), archaeological, ethnographic, and historical records. These sources of data indicate that although the current condition of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship has distinctly altered from that of the pre-contact era, it is no less legitimate; rather it represents the “indigenization of modernity,” ensuring shíshálh survival through the twenty-first century. iv Preface This dissertation is original, unpublished, and an independent work by the author. Portions of Chapters 4, 5 and 6 appeared in my unpublished M.A. thesis (Merchant 2012). v Table of Contents Abstract ........................................................................................................................................ iii Preface .......................................................................................................................................... iv Table of Contents ......................................................................................................................... v List of Figures ............................................................................................................................ viii Acknowledgements ..................................................................................................................... xi Dedication ................................................................................................................................... xii CHAPTER 1: Introduction .........................................................................................................1 Political Realities, Contemporary Expressions and Strategic Implications ....................................8 Theoretical Frameworks ............................................................................................................... 11 Methodology ................................................................................................................................. 24 Archaeological Data ...................................................................................................................... 28 Historical Data .............................................................................................................................. 31 Ethnographic Data ........................................................................................................................ 32 The skwákwiyám (oral traditions) ................................................................................................. 34 Structure ........................................................................................................................................ 37 Part I Tems Swiya: our world .................................................................................................... 42 CHAPTER 2: Coast Salish Territories: from general to specific ........................................... 43 Introduction ................................................................................................................................... 43 Watersheds: Marian Smith, James Douglas and John Work ........................................................ 45 Wayne Suttles, William Elmendorf and Sally Snyder: Evolution of the Orthodoxy ................... 45 Shíshálh Territory and the Early Period of Ethnography (1887-1954) ......................................... 47 The Operationalisation of Suttles and Elmendorff ....................................................................... 55 First Nations Models ..................................................................................................................... 58 Summary ....................................................................................................................................... 62 vi CHAPTER 3: Tems Swiya: Our World .................................................................................... 66 Introduction ................................................................................................................................... 66 Tems Swiya (our world) ................................................................................................................ 67 Kinship: the social territory .......................................................................................................... 68 Site Catchment Analysis ............................................................................................................... 70 Seven Village Sites ....................................................................................................................... 72 Site Descriptions ........................................................................................................................... 75 The Archaeological Record .......................................................................................................... 78 The Physical tems swiya ............................................................................................................... 79 Food Resources ............................................................................................................................. 80 Discussion ..................................................................................................................................... 89 Non-Food Resources ..................................................................................................................... 90 Inter-Assemblage Comparison...................................................................................................... 94 Discussion ..................................................................................................................................... 96 Taphonomy ................................................................................................................................... 98 Internal and External Social Relations .........................................................................................101 Contemporary Relationships ........................................................................................................102 The skwákwiyám ..........................................................................................................................103 Discussion: the contemporary relationship ..................................................................................116 Conclusions ..................................................................................................................................117 Part II: Contact and Accommodation......................................................................................121 CHAPTER 4: The Phoney War: smallpox and face-to-face contact ....................................122 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................122 Events ...........................................................................................................................................125 The First Event: Smallpox–Silent Contact ..................................................................................128 Archaeology–the Pre-Contact Residential Pattern .......................................................................135 European Observations ................................................................................................................142 The Skwákwiyám–Understanding the Strategic Plan ...................................................................148 Spélem-úlh: The Primordial Myth ...............................................................................................150 Tribal and Clan Legends: The Great Events ................................................................................156 vii Family Histories: the shíshálh response ......................................................................................159 Summary ......................................................................................................................................166 CHAPTER 5: The Arrival of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate ...........................................170 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................170 The Oblates of Mary Immaculate ................................................................................................171 The Smallpox of 1862 ..................................................................................................................185 The Return to Equilibrium: baptism and marriage ......................................................................190 The Move .....................................................................................................................................196 Discussion ....................................................................................................................................202 Summary ......................................................................................................................................203 CHAPTER 6: A Great Injustice: Land and Resource Alienation—1869 to Present ..........210 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................210 Indigenous ....................................................................................................................................214 Context: a necessary change in strategy ......................................................................................218 The Data: petitions, letters, and census ........................................................................................222 The Foundation of Fear: stimulus for a new strategy ..................................................................227 Two Events: the resettlement of tems swiya and the arrival of loggers .......................................236 The shíshálh Response: Schelle Takes Action ............................................................................248 Convergence: Participation in the lumber industry .....................................................................254 Discussion: Effects on the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship ......................................................263 CHAPTER 7: Self Government: Completing the Transformation .......................................268 Chapters 1 through 6 ....................................................................................................................269 Changing Relationships ...............................................................................................................278 Alternate Views and Internal Tensions ........................................................................................281 Future Directions .........................................................................................................................282 BIBLIOGRAPHY ......................................................................................................................284 viii List of Figures Chapter 1 Figure 1-1. Map of tems swiya indicating shíshálh Band Lands ................................................................................ 2 Chapter 2 Figure 2-1. Boas’ map showing the distribution of Salish territories at the end of the eighteenth century .............. 48 Table 2-2. List of ethnographic sources, period covered and described settlement pattern. ...................................... 49 .................................................................................................................................................................................. Figure 2-3. Barnett’s 1955 map of Coast Salish territories, including the shíshálh, indicating summer residential locations and consolidated winter villages. .............................................................................................. 52 Figure 2-4. Watershed based map of Skwxú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) territory presented in Matthews 1955 based on knowledge provided by August Jack Khatsahlano........................................................ 60 Chapter 3 Figure 3-1. Tems swiya indicating the location of the seven sites discussed in this chapter ...................................... 74 Figure 3-2. Percent and total abundance of mammals and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits .................................................. 84 Figure 3-3. Percent and total abundance of birds and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits ............................................................. 85 Figure 3-4. Percent and total abundance of fish and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits ............................................................. 86 Figure 3-5. Percent abundance of invertebrates and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits ............................................................. 87 Figure 3-6. Presence-absence of lithics (debitage and tools) by raw material type from ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits ............................................................. 88 Figure 3-7. Five sites throughout the Salish Sea region from which samples of slate were subject to XRF analyses and the two quarry locations ............................................................................................................... 92 Figure 3-8. Map indicating the location of identified fish traps in relation to sites discussed ................................... 99 Figure 3-9. List of spélem-úlh by location ................................................................................................................ 107 Figure 3-10. Map of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) indicating the location of seventeen place names and a spélem-úlh, within a ten-kilometre (shaded zone) distance from ch’atelich ............................................................. 112 Figure 3-11. Map of tems swiya indicating the location of named landscapes described above .............................. 115 Figure 3-12. Place names associated with the seven residential sites discussed in this chapter, their meaning in she shashíshálhem (the Sechelt language) and their English meanings as described in Beaumont 2011 ..................................................................................................................................................... 117 ix Chapter 4 Figure 4-1. Documented location of late 1770s smallpox outbreaks as described by Boyd (1990), and approximate extent of 1782 smallpox epidemic as described by Harris (1994), with tems swiya indicated in red ......................................................................................................................................................... 134 Figure 4-2. Map of tems swiya indicating clusters of archaeological sites (yellow), shishalh band lands (red polygons), and currently known date range of site occupation (based on 2 σ calibration, radiocarbon dates presented as cal BP)......................................................................................................................................... 137 Figure 4-3. Sketch map of kwétl'lích (Trail Bay), indicating the location of two fortified sites located at the western and southern extent of bay ................................................................................................................. 138 Figure 4-4. Radiocarbon dates for sites presented in Figure 4-2. Ordered by site and descending order of age ............................................................................................................................................................... 141 Figure 4-5. Map of tems swiya indicating the routes of Narvaez (1791), and Vancouver (1792), and the archaeological sites which they passed ..................................................................................................................... 144 Figure 4-6. View of convergence of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel), and ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) looking north from Egmont Channel. tchah-náyt-chun (Egmont Point) is located at far right. It is at this general location that the shíshálh and British made contact on June 17, 1792 ............................................................................................................................................................ 145 Figure 4-7. Map of tems swiya illustrating ǝnǝkᵂači Leap from slhílhem (Brittain River) to kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) (thick red arrow), the movement of ǝnǝkᵂači and his sons down kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) (small red arrow), and their construction of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek) and arrival at lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (dashed line) ................................................................................................. 153 Figure 4-8. View of the mouth of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek), with lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) in background. Stone remains of fish trap are visible at centre of photograph ......................................................... 154 Figure 4-9. Basil Joe next to the spélem-úlh of lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (Photograph provided by Robert Joe) ........................................................................................................................................................... 155 Figure 4-10. Photograph of swíwelát (Princess Louisa Inlet) (background), from which the waters of the Great Flood flowed into lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) and covered the entire world ............................................. 157 Figure 4-11. Vancouver’s map showing Jarvis Canal (Jervis Inlet). Neither the entrance to Pender Harbour (1), or the entrance to Sechelt Inlet (2) are identified ................................................................................. 160 Figure 4-12. Radiocarbon dates for slahlt (DjRw-1). Ordered in descending order of age (based on 2 σ calibration, radiocarbon dates presented as cal BP) ................................................................................................. 161 Figure 4-13. View west towards Angus Bay from waterfront of slahlt (DjRw-1 and Sechelt Band Land No. 5). District of Sechelt Museum and Archives .................................................................................................... 162 Figure 4-14. Radiocarbon dates for sálálus (DjSa-48). Ordered in descending order of age. All dates presented as 2-sigman calibrated .............................................................................................................................. 163 Figure 4-15. Map of the consolidated village of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), located on the north shore of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). The seven houses located at centre represents the main village, with the house of t’kaiyu indicated in red, while the “commoners villages” of e:lahan (at left) and tsa:qulus (at right) .................................................................................................................................................................... 165 x Chapter 5 Figure 5-1. Map of tems swiya indicating the major consolidated villages known to have existed at contact, and the OMI chapels ............................................................................................................................... 184 Figure 5-2. Baptisms of shíshálh by year, number, and age range, from 1862 through 1879 .................................. 193 Figure 5-3. Graph showing baptisms and marriages of shíshálh by year, number, and gender. Numbers vary slightly from those presented in Figure 5-2 ...................................................................................................... 194 Figure 5-4. View of ch’atelích (Sechelt) lin 1915 looking west. Cemetery is in foreground, mission church is located at centre right, and kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) at left ........................................................................... 198 Figure 5-5. shíshálh place names located within five kilometers of Sechelt Mission .............................................. 199 Figure 5-6. The “Sechelt image,” recovered from the Knights of Columbus Boys camp in 1921, and returned to the shíshálh Nation in 2010 .................................................................................................................... 201 Chapter 6 Figure 6-1. List of shíshálh petitions submitted to the Royal Commission on Indian Affairs (British Columbia 1913-1916), and specific issues addressed.................................................................................. 226 Figure 6-2. Locations at which Blenkinsop (1876) and Royal Commission on Indian Affairs (British Columbia 1915) recorded shíshálh population in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries ................. 227 Figure 6-3. View south from Irvine’s Landing to Sekalton 21 (right) and Sekalton 21a (left). Picture shows the houses that existed in 1930 ...................................................................................................................... 243 Figure 6-4. Preliminary list of sháshishálem words that relate directly to logging .................................................. 247 Figure 6-5. List of spélem-úlh associated with the production of technology associated in whole or in part with wood ...................................................................................................................................................... 260 xi Acknowledgements First and foremost, I would like to thank those members of the shíshálh Nation who generously supported me in this project. Without their help this research would never have been completed. They include: Robert Joe, Keith Julius, Jessica Silvey, Tyrone Joe-Mayes, Jerry Johnson, Jamie Dixon, Violet Jackson, Gilbert Joe, Margaret Joe-Dixon, Anne Quinn, Samantha Joe and Audrey Santiago. I also want to thank my committee, Michael Blake (supervisor), Bruce Miller (committee member) and Andrew Martindale (committee member). Beyond providing academic guidance, all three provided me with personal insights and support that made the research process an enjoyable journey. I also want to thank Patricia Omerod for her support, patient conversation and all too frequently lending me money whenever I lost my wallet. In addition, I want to thank the entire Anthropology Department for their support, encouragement and patience. I also want to thank my external examiners, Neal Ferris, Douglas Harris and Susan Rowley for their thoughtful suggestions and generous feedback that have helped me to greatly improve this dissertation. Throughout my career I have had the opportunity to learn from numerous archaeologists, anthropologists, historians, and lawyers. All have provided me with knowledge, experience and piqued my interest in numerous and diverse topics. They include: Mike Rousseau who introduced me to archaeology, Dave Crellin, Diana Alexandre, Kelly Bush, Bob Muir, Gyles Iannonie, Yumks (Rudy Reimer), Sue Woods, Adrian Sanders, Monty Mitchell, Chris Arnett, Daniel Boxberger, and John Pritchard. Throughout my career I have been assisted by numerous non-human persons (my dogs). Not only have my four-legged friends been a source of protection, they have carried equipment and samples, and provided hours of conversation and laughter in some of the most isolated locations. Without Paco (Spot), Myles, Ben, Eddie, Max and Llew this work would have been far more difficult and certainly less enjoyable. I also want to thank my entire family, this includes my parents who made the brilliant decision to bring our family to Canada, my brother Chris and BFF Michelle, my inlaws Elizabeth and Denise who surived their own personal and indescribable hell of the Second World War but have love and patience for all. Lastly, I want to thank Heidi and Sam. Both have sacrificed an enormous amount and provided incredible support throughout this and other projects. To both of you I dedicate this dissertation. xii This work is dedicated to Heidi and Sam 1 CHAPTER 1: Introduction When we were travelling in the canoe we could see our entire territory, everything was Ours, as far as the eye could see, from the mountain tops to the water… –Jamie Dixon (Merchant 2008) Located along the southwest coast of what is currently British Columbia, the territory of the shíshálh includes all the lands and waters draining into ?álhtúlích1 (Sechelt Inlet), lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet) and skúpa (Salmon Inlet) (Merchant 2012). Shíshálh Elders describe the territorial boundary as being as “far as the eye can see” (Merchant 2008), literally following the mountain tops from xwésám (Roberts Creek) in the southeast, north to the height of land above xénichen (head of Jervis Inlet), proceeding southwest to kwékwenis (Lang Bay), crossing tsaín-ko (Georgia Strait) and terminating at spílksen (Texada Island) in the south, encompassing approximately half a million hectares. Today the shíshálh are limited to thirty-three Band Lands (reserves), totaling 929.81 hectares a mere 0.15% of their territory (Figure 1-1). On water or land, through experience and observation, the traveller quickly recognizes that this territory is easily identified. Composed of land and water, towering mountains and narrow fjords, it defines itself–capturing the individual within a world that extends from the mountain tops to the ocean floor–“as far as the eye can see.” One need not be shíshálh to observe this reality; only experience on a regular basis is required. Whether moving across its waters, within its forests, or along mountain ridges, the traveller comes to accept that there are ways of dwelling in this world, living as an equal participant with its non-human inhabitants (spiritual or terrestrial) rather than in opposition, permitting one to recognize rapids, glaciers and mountain 1 Multiple orthographies have been used by the various researchers who have worked with the shíshálh. Throughout this work I employ the orthography used in the shíshálh Traditional Use Study (Peacock 1998). 2 ridges not as obstacles, rather as resources, agents of creation, or routes of travel. An appreciation that allows one to thrive rather than toil. Figure 1-1. Map of tems swiya indicating shíshálh Band Lands. Map by H. E. Brown. 3 “As far as the eye can see” is contextual, it alters as the individual moves along the land and water. It is not an arbitrary construct imposed on a landscape as contemporary territorial boundaries have been described. Rather, it is a relationship between a material and immaterial world that has developed over millennia through intense and daily interaction between the shíshálh and all non-human persons, and the cosmological beings that dwell within its boundaries. Territory is a western concept that prioritises the colonial frameworks of space and time, as such it does not adequately capture the shíshálh notion of the world within which they live. Throughout this work I downgrade the influence of these settler frameworks to secondary considerations, choosing to replace the word territory with the shíshálh term tems swiya (our world) while simultaneously privileging the notion of kinship. Tems swiya, translated literally means “our world” (Beaumont 2011). This term includes the material and the immaterial, the terrestrial and the cosmological, it is a holistic perspective that envelopes all that the shíshálh interact with daily from the mountain tops to the ocean floor, and beyond into the cosmological and the immaterial. Tems swiya is an understanding that is not based upon prescribed notions of watersheds or economic relations, rather, it is an Indigenous understanding that is developed through a long, constant and intense interaction with the material and immaterial world within which a people dwell. It can therefore be revealed through the seemingly disparate lines of data that are the material of archaeology, history and ethnography and the immaterial of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions). What is it that fundamentally defines tems swiya? It is not one thing, as we will observe. It is many: it is geographical, it is economic, it is social, and it is cosmological. To define it as 4 one of the above does not adequately capture its complexity or do justice to the depth of the bond between tems swiya and the shíshálh. For fourteen years, between 1998 and 2012, I worked first as an independent then as a contract researcher, conducting archaeological and ethnographic research in support of the shíshálh Nation’s proposed comprehensive title case. During this period, I estimate that I interviewed informally and formally more than two-hundred shíshálh people ranging from youth to Elders. The focus of the ethnographic research was land-use and occupancy, however, two themes not directly associated with the interview process arose, the spatial perception of tems swiya and people’s relationship to it. Virtually every Elder interviewed described the spatial extent of tems swiya as being “as far as the eye can see,” while socially the “we are the land” was used to describe the relationship between themselves and tems swiya. In the post-contact era, specifically the mid-nineteenth century to mid-twentieth century, shíshálh history and the experience of the colonial conflict has been recounted by a broad cross-section of shíshálh Elders, who have consistently articulated a common geographic perception of tems swiya. However often shíshálh or Coast Salish Elders have articulated a vision of discrete bounded territories their vision has often been described by outsiders as illegitimate or a construct of a colonial order (Thom 2009). This practice ignores millennia of history and experience, and acts to subvert and disenfranchise people from their history, their home and tems swiya their most valuable kin relation. For recent arrivals, such as myself, who have spent decades travelling on foot or by boat, an appreciation for what “as far as the eye can see” represents develops quickly. For the shíshálh who have occupied tems swiya from time immemorial, the collective knowledge generated through millennia of observation and experience, transferred from generation to generation 5 through oral traditions and transcribed within a complex cosmological system is infinitely more intense, and the knowledge that has been generated during this time has permitted them to thrive. These experiences have forged an unbreakable–although changing–bond between the shíshálh and tems swiya, one that continues to mediate the relationship between themselves, the non-humans who dwell within it and more recent human arrivals. The relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya is a social one, whereby individuals and extended families “related through descent from common ancestors” (Thom 2009:185) trace their origin and proprietary access to land, water and resources from a common first ancestor, known in she shashisháhem (the shíshálh language) as spélem-úlh. Ethnographic and historic sources (Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952) are currently inconclusive as to the precise number of spélem-úlh that inhabit shíshálh cosmology. shíshálh Elder Basil Joe described between eleven and twelve to ethnographer Wayne Suttles during the latter’s field research in 1952 (Suttles 1952), with numerical variations appearing in subsequent works (Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990).2 Understanding the role of the spélem-úlh within shíshálh culture is critical to the analysis of the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship and the changing nature of this relationship. Spélem-úlh descended to earth at various locations throughout tems swiya, bringing with them the knowledge of technology that was critical for people to survive and thrive within this world. By tracing descent to individual spélem-úlh, shíshálh families claimed proprietary access to specific technology, and attachment to place, thereby claiming ownership of land, water and resources. In many instances spélem-úlh were transformed into large boulders which are now visible on the 2 At no time during the research for this dissertation were ethnographic interviews or observations conducted that required Ethics Approval. All materials drawn upon for my research are in the public domain, including oral narratives. Those materials not in the public domain were provided by the shíshálh Nation. 6 landscape. To all those who pass them, these transformed spélem-úlh are reminders of whose world they were entering. In becoming part of the land, the transformed spélem-úlh form a crucial link connecting shíshálh–spélem-úlh–tems swiya in a tripartite kin-based relationship, herein referred to as the spélem-úlh system. This system represented a totally integrated socio-economic scheme, maintained through the constant encounter with the material and immaterial world. The spélem-úlh system is the localized shíshálh expression of the broader concept of indigeneity. Throughout this work I consider Indigenous not as an ethnicity, rather I consider it to be an epistemological or ontological perspective that is informed by the daily and intense interaction with the physical and immaterial world. I attempt to show that the new strategies that the shíshálh began to employ in order to deal with tumultuous events during the latter stages of the nineteenth century and through into the twentieth century would eventually to move away from Indigenous ontologies that characterized their ancestors’ responses to major and/or distrupive events in earlier times. Eventually the shíshálh would draw on references to and experiences within the “new economy.” The consequence is that as the shíshálh habitus has changed, from initial physical contact with Europeans through to the present, each succeeding generation has approached the events of the colonial conflict by drawing on their own experience within the “new economy,” and the old perspectives have turned from “practice” into “history.” As we will observe, change was rapid–and it had to be: the shíshálh couldn’t wait to be changed, they had to do it themselves. In the Coast Salish world during times of stress, kin were expected to support, nourish and protect their relations. Throughout history tems swiya has done just that, providing refuge and acting as inspiration, enabling the shíshálh to negotiate the severest vagaries of this most 7 recent stress. The events of the colonial conflict have been approached by the shíshálh from strategic and pragmatic perspectives, informed by the pre-conditioned cultural categories (Sahlins 1981:11) of the spélem-úlh system. In turn these practices have affected this system, initiating its transformation. The consequence of the articulation of power dynamics within the colonial conflict, whereby relations are between local (shíshálh) and trans-local participants (Britain then Canada) has accentuated this change. The degree to which the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya has altered is dramatic. In recent generations the tensions of the colonial conflict have increasingly transformed the kin-based ties of the pre-contact era, giving rise to a more functional relationship. Internally, the differing degree to which individual shíshálh view this ancient relationship creates tension, giving rise to conflicts between those who are considered “traditional” and those who are not. As we will witness, changes to this relationship and its contemporary manifestation are observable through the analysis of five discernable events, drawn out over two hundred and twenty-five years–or roughly eleven generations: (1) the late eighteenth century devastation of smallpox, (2) contact with the British in 1792, and subsequent early encounters (Merchant 2012; Vancouver 1801), (3) the influence of the Oblates (OMI) following their arrival in 1852 (Meyer 1985), (4) the initiation of resource alienation in the form of timber interests in 1868, and finally (5) the arrival of settlers in the 1870s and the ensuing land-alienation. The consequences of these events converge in the contemporary era, where we see the shíshálh negotiating economic partnerships with hydro-electric projects, forest licensees and other commercial interests. Transformations are not solely the result of external forces, they are also the result of associated internal pressures, expressed through often intense and confrontational community dialogue, which straddles traditional kin-based networks and recently introduced Euro-Canadian 8 political structures. Nowhere perhaps, are these transformations more obvious than in the economic agreements negotiated between the shíshálh, Federal, Provincial and local governments, and local and international developers. These agreements are expressions of the transformations that have occurred within the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. The emergence of new cultural expressions, though distinctly different from those of the pre-contact or colonial eras are no less legitimate; rather, they represent a constant pattern of change and continuity, whereby the shíshálh impose on tems swiya contemporary socio-economic practices replacing those of the ancient past, ensuring shíshálh survival through the twenty-first century. In the following chapters, I will expore how the shíshálh arrived at this point. To answer this question requires an examination of the major events of the colonial conflict. It is within these events that we can observe shíshálh fears, strategies, responses and outcomes, all of which become manifest in the contemporary shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. Political Realities, Contemporary Expressions and Strategic Implications The contemporary cartographic representation of tems swiya is an expression of the social, economic and geographic forces represented in the ethnographic and archaeological records, and the skwákwiyám. It has been generated as a necessary outcome of three processes: 1) the negotiation of the Sechelt Indian Band Self-Governance Act (Canada 1986), 2) treaty negotiation (British Columbia 1999), and 3) potential litigation in support of a comprehensive title case. These three processes have occupied the shíshálh for more than thirty-years and represent the latest phase of their two hundred and twenty-five-year relationship, first with the British and then with the Canadian State. These processes are also representative of the changing nature of the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. Beginning in the 1980s, the shíshálh sought 9 legislation to obtain greater control over reserve lands and reduce control of the federal government in their daily lives. On October 9, 1986, Canada enacted the Sechelt Indian Band Self Government Act (Canada 1986). The purpose of the act was to enable the Sechelt Indian Band to exercise and maintain self-government on Sechelt Lands, and to obtain control over the administration of the resources and services available to its members. The Act transferred the 33 Indian reserves formerly under the Indian Act to the shíshálh who now owned them as fee simple lands (shíshálh Nation 2007:13). In practice, these lands could now be sold following a band referendum (Canada 1986).3 The Act also contained provision for the establishment of the Sechelt Indian Government District. On July 23, 1987 Canada passed the Sechelt Indian Government District Enabling Act (Canada 1986), thereby establishing the Sechelt Indian Government District Council as the administrative arm of the Nation responsible for Band Land management. In 1994, the shíshálh submitted their statement of intent to the tripartite British Columbia Treaty Commission. In 1999 the Sechelt Agreement in Principle (AIP) was signed (British Columbia 1999); the penultimate stage in the tripartite negotiation between the shíshálh–Canada–British Columbia. The AIP called for the shíshálh to cede virtually the entirety of tems swiya. They would remain in control of 933 hectares of rural and urban land, a mere 0.15% of tems swiya. In addition, they could acquire or option up to a maximum of 3,055 hectares of land within twenty-four years of signing of the treaty (British Columbia 1999:23). These two agreements represent the culmination of a two hundred and twenty-five-year process, which has seen the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya transform. They also represent one side of an internal conflict, a conflict driven by alternate perceptions of what 3 No shíshálh Band Lands have currently been sold. 10 tems swiya is. Not only did these agreements essentially transform the shíshálh into a municipality, but those parts of the tems swiya they control (the 33 band lands) became a commodity that could be sold; in addition, the council was willing to essentially sell virtually the entirety of tems swiya for forty-two million dollars (British Columbia 1999:75-76). However, prior to final ratification of the treaty, opposition to the agreement by band members resulted in its rejection. These two agreements lie in sharp contrast to the political stance of shíshálh leaders during the intense and often violent environment of the nineteenth century. Faced with the potential loss of land, water and resources, shíshálh leaders initiated military conflict to retain access to resources, occupied village sites in the face of often violent eviction and petitioned for the return of ancestral lands. The intervention and defeat of the AIP was consistent with the practices of the nineteenth century shíshálh and was the latest action in a long struggle to maintain control of tems swiya. On a general level, the treaty was an extremely poor agreement. For those who opposed the treaty, it was simple, they were not prepared to cede tems swiya, and their actions were consistent with those of nineteenth century leaders. The alternative was unimaginable, the complete alienation of tems swiya and the final severing of a relationship that had existed since the beginning of time. A direct outcome of the defeat of the treaty was the initiation of research in contemplation of a comprehensive title case, with the primary objective to obtain title to one hundred percent of tems swiya. This research initiated in 2000, largely by Robert Joe, one of those that had opposed the AIP, and who would eventually establish and direct the shíshálh Nation Rights and Title Department, was consistent with nineteenth century shíshálh political objectives. The project resulted in the collection of over 10,000 pages of testimony from band 11 members, the collection of thousands of historical documents, an extensive archaeological research program and the public assertion of shíshálh territorial integrity. One of the primary objectives of this research program, which I participated in for nearly fourteen years as both archaeologist and ethnographer, was to fully identify the parameters of tems swiya. It must be stressed, however, that in no way should the above analysis be considered judgement of shíshálh leaders. As with colonized peoples around the world who have faced the intense pressure of European colonial and subsequent settler state expansion, shíshálh leaders have come to this process–the ongoing fight for tems swiya–with their own values and principles, conditioned by their individual histories and personal objectives, that have coalesced in their strategic responses. What these events do reveal, is a fundamental schism within shíshálh society, between those who are willing or able to enter negotiations whereby portions of tems swiya can be negotiated away to satisfy political and or economic objectives, and those who refuse to cede any portion, regardless of the cost. Put in base terms it is the struggle of functional/economic vs. social/kinship values and priorties. Although this dichotomy is a simplification of a significant and fundamental internal tension, its consequences for shíshálh society are enormous because it risks dividing the community. Theoretical Frameworks Scholars of the colonial conflict have increasingly turned their attention to the ways of knowing of the colonized, and how colonial practices have conditioned Indigenous peoples’ responses to European incursions (Henley 2004; Sahlins 1978, 1981, 1989). One area of focus is the nature of the relationship between colonized peoples and non-human beings. Specifically, how do the 12 multi-faceted relationships between people and their ancestral territories condition their response to this conflict? The people-territory relationship is as Keith Basso states: “… as old as people and places themselves, as old as human attachments to portions of the earth” (Basso 1996:xiii). The antiquity of this relationship and the investment by people in these places, both personally and collectively, has shaped this relationship in many complex forms, ranging from the utilitarian/functional to the social and spiritual (Cruikshank 1998). Therefore, universalist interpretations of this relationship prove ineffectual, while enquiries that focus on local variants may prove more informative when conducting analysis of people-culture-territory interactions. World scholarship, particularly in the field of archaeology, has addressed the people-territory relationship for well over a century, beginning in the 1870s with Sir Arthur Evans’ inquiry into the archaeology of natural places during fieldwork in Ukonsaari, Finland (Bradley 2000:4-5). Subsequently, the topic has been approached through multiple theoretical frameworks; cultural-ecology (Basso 1996, 1984; Cosgrove 1989), processualist (Ingold 1993; Meinig 1979), structural (Sahlins 2013) and most recently Indigenous theory (Atleo 2005; Castro 2004). The cultural-ecological approach is perhaps best expressed through the work of Keith Basso (1996, 1984) and to a lesser degree geographer Denis Cosgrove (1989). For both, landscape is a teacher providing knowledge integral to the navigation of daily life. In a series of works that combine landscape and language, conducted among the Western Apache of Arizona, Basso examines how Apache conceptions of wisdom, manners and morals and their own history are intertwined with place and the process through which moral guidance is obtained from the landscape that surround them (Basso 1996:xv). For Basso and the Apache, the ecology is fully 13 cultural (Basso 1996, 1984; Ingold 1993). To fully comprehend this relationship, he suggests that anthropology should enquire into both the semiotic and the material dimensions of people’s relations with their surroundings, by bringing into focus the layers of significance with which human beings blanket the environment (Basso 1984:49; Ingold 1993). Similarly, Cosgrove challenges the affinity in human geography to consider the landscape in “utilitarian and functional terms” (Cosgrove 1989; Ingold 1993), as an impersonal expression of demographic and economic forces (Cosgrove 1989), thereby dismissing the layers of symbolic meaning or cultural representation that are deposited upon it (Cosgrove 1989; Ingold 1993). For Cosgrove the task of decoding the “many-layered meanings of symbolic landscapes” requires an approach that is not only human but humanistic (Cosgrove 1989:120-127). Tim Ingold expresses “sympathy” (Ingold 1993:171) with the approach of both Basso and Cosgrove, shying away, however, from what he believes are the use of “metaphors of cultural construction” (Ingold 1993:171). Ingold suggests that blanketing metaphors employed by Basso and Cosgrove are deleterious in the study of people-land relations, serving to create and perpetuate an intellectual space in which human ecology or human geography can flourish, “untroubled by any concerns about what the world means to the people who live in it” (Ingold 1993:171). Ingold approaches the topic from a processual perspective (Ingold 1993:156), adopting a bipartite approach, a “temporality of the landscape” (Ingold 1993:152), that considers time and landscape as essential components, that if focused on in unison would enable anthropology to “move beyond the sterile opposition between the naturalistic view of the landscape as a neutral, external backdrop to human activities and the culturalist view that every landscape is a particular cognitive or symbolic ordering of space” (Ingold 1993:152). By abandoning these terms and replacing them with a single “dwelling perspective,” Ingold focuses 14 on the processes that create the landscape as a text, what he describes as an enduring “record of–and testimony to–the lives and works of past generations who have dwelt within it, and in so doing, have left there something of themselves” (Ingold 1993:152). Marshall Sahlins’ structural approach (2013) emphasizes the social, providing a theoretical bridge between Indigenous theory and the mainstream models advanced by Basso, Cosgrove and Ingold. Approaching the topic from the perspective of kinship, Sahlins considers non-human entities including land to be social relations, sharing an interdependent relationship with people–a relationship that he describes as “mutuality of being” (Sahlins 2013:20). Sahlins’ culturally deterministic model, illustrates how non-human agents, including land, acquire kinship ties, thereby providing a framework through which we can understand First Nation attachments to territory. Indigenous theory proceeds beyond Sahlins’ invocation of kinship, erasing the dichotomy between the human and natural world, synthesizing all of creation into one unified whole (Atleo 2005; Castro 2004). From this perspective, non-human entities, plants, animals, rocks and land are perceived as people, “as kinds of humans” (Castro 2004:465), taking on social relations with the humans they encounter (Atleo 2005; Castro 2004:466). Critically, the movement away from a people-territory relationship that is purely utilitarian/functional to one that is social and familial alters the constraints within which people operate. No longer can people solely base their actions on material considerations–rather their strategies and response to events, such as the colonial conflict, must be conditioned by their social relationship with the territory within which they dwell. In a kin-based system, where people-territory are related and dependent upon each other, people, like the territory, are not free to abandon one another in times of stress. Rather, they must remain united. 15 The Coast Salish world offers a unique environment within which the people-territory relationship may be examined. Straddling the international boundary between Canada and the USA, the Coast Salish are required to negotiate claims to territory and access to resources in a multitude of jurisdictions. Claims to territory, established through descent from first ancestors are continuously scrutinized and frequently misinterpreted by the non-First Nations residents, incuding bureaucrats and administrators. In Washington State three important works (Ebert 2005; Malone 2013; Roberts 1975) examine culture change during the colonial conflict. Natalie Roberts’ doctoral thesis A History of the Swinomish Tribal Community (1975) was one of the first scholarly works to examine the Salish-territory relationship and changes brought to it by the colonial conflict. Drawing on Barth’s analysis of ethnic boundaries and a framework of structural theory Roberts (1975:5-6) examined the ethnic identity of the Skagit Valley Salish from the pre-contact period through to the early twentieth century. Simultaneously she focused on changes in the Skagit relationship with their land brought about by stresses imposed by the colonial conflict, including; disease, warfare, rise of local strong men, white settlement, land-alienation, the loss of political autonomy and the establishment of a common identity focused on the reserve community (Roberts 1975). Mark Ebert’s doctoral thesis To A Different Canoe: A Study of Cultural Pragmatics and Continuity (2005) explores an alternative view of cultural dynamics and practices. Through a relational approach Ebert considers nature and culture to be merged and not separate, an exploration that is assisted through the employ of cultural pragmatics. Specifically, Ebert examines change, continuity and tradition within the context of the colonial conflict. He determines that the “supposed adoption and assimilation of Euro-American goods and practices” 16 is recontextualized as “the practical synthesis of these introductions” within continuing Puget Salish culture and practices (Ebert 2005). Molly Malone, in a more recent examination of Skagit peoples, approaches the people-territory relationship from a neo-Marxist/phenomenological perspective (Malone 2013:7), examining how “relationships between place and cultural memory tend to follow suit” (Malone 2013:7). Malone expands the field of enquiry to include water, examining how the Upper Skagit people “interact with and experience the aquatic environment of their territory, and how their experiences with colonization and their cultural practices weave together to form a historical consciousness that orients them to their lands and waters and the wider world?” (Malone 2013:ii). Malone concludes that the way in which the Upper Skagit people interact with the “waterscape” constitutes one of the major features that distinguish them as a group (Malone 2013:ii). By weaving together, the themes of colonialism, ethnicity, water and land, Malone completes a holistic work that not only expands on Roberts’ earlier accomplishment, but simultaneously draws on themes inherent in Indigenous theory. Nowhere perhaps has the people-territory relationship been examined more closely than on the Canadian side of the border within the Province of British Columbia. Spurred on by the persistent conditions of the colonial conflict, First Nations, scholars and the courts have increasingly focused on the ties that bind First Nations to their territory and the internal tensions that result from the political process (Cruikshank 1998). This research is increasingly being conducted by First Nations whose research departments have been described by historian Keith Carlson as “hotbeds of academic research” (Carlson 2001:xv). He points out that they are, in fact, significant producers of innovative, decolonizing literature. Stó:lō researchers, for example, have been particularly productive, generating numerous works that challenge established norms. 17 A Stó:lō-Coast Salish Historical Atlas (Carlson 2001) published by the Stó:lō Nation synthesizes Western and Indigenous ways of knowing, creating a culturally rich tapestry of Stó:lō land use and occupancy from the pre-contact past through to the contemporary era. Not only does this work succinctly illustrate the multitude of ways that the colonial conflict has restructured both the physical and cultural relationship between the Stó:lō peoples and their territory, it examines the changing nature of the Stó:lō-territory relationship brought about by the often intense relationship between the Stó:lō people and their non-Stó:lō neighbors. Continuing with the Stó:lō, Crisca Bierwert’s Brushed by Cedar, Living by the River: Coast Salish Figures of Power (1999) is an ethnography that focuses on how the Coast Salish have retained their distinctive ways of thinking and knowing while surviving within the often violent and repressive colonial environment. Drawing on interviews with Coast Salish living in Seattle and the Fraser Valley, Bierwert illuminates important cotemporary issues, including the Stó:lō sense of place, the conflicting versions and interpretations of origin stories, and of relevance to the present work, the conflict between traditional cultural practice and participation in the new economy. Coll Thrush (2011) in his article titiled “Vancouver the Cannibal: Cuisine, Encounter, and the Dilemma of Difference on the Northwest Coast, 1774-1808,” explores some of the specific mechanisms, material and rhetorical, by which colonialism dispossessed First Nations peoples of their lands. Employing a theoretical approach that incorporates structural history and cultural-ecology, he examines historical documentation and oral narratives collected from contact through to the present, focusing on the role that food and the discourse surrounding it played in establishing continuity within European discourse and practice extending from initial encounters through to the present (Thrush 2011:26-27). Thrush successfully illustrates how one 18 of the primary colonial forces that dispossessed First Nations from their land was the European inability to recognize Indigenous forms of food production during the contact period, thereby facilitating the implementation of European agricultural practices. Thrush’s work is important in that he exposes the distinct world views of the conflict’s participants and how the orthodox narrative made First Nations-territory relations invisible. Rudy Reimer in his 2011 doctoral thesis The Mountains and Rocks are Forever: Lithics and Landscapes of Skwxwú7mesh Uxwumixw explores Indigenous theory, and its place in contemporary archaeology and by extension the social position of land and lithic raw material sources (Reimer 2011:4). Set within the territory of the Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) Nation of which the author is a member, Reimer examines the regional archaeological sequence, focusing on Skwxwú7mesh stone tool sources and their use over the last 10,000 years (Reimer 2011:38). Reimer determines that raw materials have varying spatial and temporal distributions that relate to predominant themes in Skwxwú7mesh oral traditions, specifically, the concepts of transformation and mythical beings (Reimer 2011:63-87,88-89). He then discusses the results of his findings within a spectrum of theoretical frameworks, building from the foundational culture history, through the processual and post-processual and humanist perspectives, culminating at an Indigenous perspective of lithic and flaked stone distribution. He concludes that lithics, rather than having an importance that is confined to the utilitarian/functional categories of “economic value, density or modes and stages of reduction or technological organization” (Reimer 2011:4), also have a cultural importance that is linked to mythological beings and transformation, and as such when used in certain cultural contexts facilitate the maintenance of social ties to land and people throughout the Coast Salish world (Reimer 2011:4, 14, 16, 49). Reimer’s work successfully illustrates how Western scientific traditions and Indigenous theory, when merged 19 can illuminate aspects of culture that are all but invisible to standard theoretical frameworks. The present work attempts to expand on Reimer’s thesis, taking the next logical step, suggesting a model that encompasses not only lithics but the entirety of the people-territory relationship, whereby people and territory are considered kin. The multitude of theoretical approaches invoked to explain the First Nations-territory relationship and the changes brought about by the colonial conflict speak not only to the complexity of the relationship and the difficulties in understanding it, but to the dramatic changes brought to First Nations culture through the colonial conflict. Malone, Roberts and Reimer, illustrate that multiple and innovative theoretical frameworks are required if we hope to proceed beyond superficial examinations of this ongoing event. This study takes a post-colonial perspective, recognizing that there is a need to move beyond theoretical frameworks that privilege utilitarian/functional models of the First Nations-European conflict–frameworks that continue to limit the understanding of this ongoing event, concealing First Nations motivations while disconnecting past events from contemporary conditions. Appreciating the motives and actions of First Nations participants both in the past and present requires multiple theoretical frameworks that capture not only utilitarian/functional inspired responses but cultural constraints, including social relations between people and territory and other non-human entities. Through an amorphous body of scholarship broadly defined as post-colonialism, the effects of colonialism on mostly colonized societies (Liebmann and Rizvi 2008:1) can be examined, directly challenging the traditional narrative of the colonial conflict, questioning both the knowledge (Foucault 1969) and the representation of the event as produced in the colonial contexts. Central to post-colonialism is its attempt to address the effects of contact, colonization, colonialism and decolonization on cultural structures with the 20 acknowledgement that long periods of forced dependency and hegemony have deep and enduring effects on both the colonized and colonizer (Liebmann and Rizvi 2008:2). It is the goal, therefore, of post-colonial discourse to develop alternate understandings of the experiences and effects of the colonial conflict upon First Nations, emphasize the agency of these peoples within the conflict and come to an understanding of their responses to the conflict, the cultures that develop, and to recognize and explore power asymmetries (Liebmann and Rizvi 2008). It has been argued by archaeologists and anthropologists alike that since anthropological archaeology aided Western colonialism and imperialism (Trigger 2008), the post-colonial critique should be well suited to address issues that are significant to archaeology today (Liebmann and Rizvi 2008:1), namely the interpretation of the post-contact archaeological record – a record that has largely been formed in British Columbia over the last two centuries through the numerous strategic responses of First Nation peoples to European incursion. Recognizing the need to account for key concepts of “Other” and locality in academic discourse and that these concepts can and should be addressed utilizing various and more recognized theoretical perspectives, has resulted in post-colonialism adopting varied theoretical frameworks ranging from Marxism to post-structuralism to Indigenous theory. In addition, the focus on locality has directed scholars away from broad interpretations of the colonial conflict to an increased focus on individual encounters and the role of social structures in conditioning the the responses of colonized peoples. Perhaps this is nowhere more evident than in the Pacific, where the relationship between Europeans and the colonized Indigenous population has received considerable attention (Henley 2004; Sahlins 1978, 1981, 1989, 1999, 2000; TePunga Somerville 2012). Providing fresh insights into the conflict, these alternative interpretations have refashioned our understanding of this encounter, transforming it from a vertical conflict whereby 21 supposedly technologically and culturally superior Europeans imposed themselves on an inferior colonized population, to a horizontal relationship, whereby the colonized participated in the conflict through the pragmatic response to events and the resultant transformation of their cultures (Sahlins 1989). With the above in mind, this study draws on the dual frameworks of structural history and Indigenous theory. Structural history, although a Western-based theory does not exclude Indigenous perspectives, rather, it recognizes the role of cultural categories in informing everyday actions (Sahlins 1981), and the relationship between cosmological structures and terrestrial events (Sahlins 1989; Atleo 2005), both key principles of Indigenous theory (Atleo 2005). Critical to structural history and the understanding of First Nations responses is the relationship between human agency and the processes that produce or constrain human action (Ortner 2009:2). The relationship between practices/social actors and structures/systems as a dialectical rather than oppositional relationship (Ortner 2009:2-3), has been the subject of debate, Bourdieu (1972), Giddens (1979), Sahlins (1978, 1981, 1989), and Ortner (2009) have all considered the nature of this relationship, privileging either people or structure in varying degrees based upon their informed perspectives. Similarly, through a case study situated among the Tshidi-Barolong, a South African Tswana people, Comaroff and Comaroff (1987) have explored the nature of historical consciousness and its relation to culture within the context of the colonial encounter. The fundamental principle of these approaches is that received cultural categories (Sahlins 1981), as well as relationships between people, things, places, ideas and actions influence people as particular kinds of social actors, who through their living, on-the-ground, 22 pragmatic responses, reproduce and transform the culture that made them (Giddens 1979; Ortner 2009; Sahlins 1989). In the Pacific, anthropologists (Henley 2004; Sahlins 1989) have increasingly attempted to explain the colonial conflict through the lens of structural-history. The principal proponent of this approach is Marshall Sahlins, who through a case study situated in the late eighteenth century encounter between Europeans and Hawaiians, illustrates the various processes through which practice and structure interact to affect the course of history (Sahlins 1981:7). The first is that people act according to their own cultural conceptions (Sahlins 1981:11) of received cultural categories; in turn, these practices can return to the category and effect change through revision or transformation or sustain the categories for long periods (Sahlins 1981:24). Second, historical change occurs because of the articulation of power dynamics between parties. When relations are between local and trans-local participants change is accentuated, as witnessed in the Hawaiian-English encounter. Lastly, acts and objects have different meanings in the “collective symbolic scheme” (Sahlins 1981:69), and in the “differential interest to various subjects according to its place in their specific life schemes” (Sahlins 1981:69). On a theoretical level, Sahlins successfully synthesises structure (cultural expectations) and human practice (agency) into a singular cohesive concept: “structure of the conjuncture” (Sahlins 1981:68), the place where history is created. On an operational level, he manages to explain the process through which Hawaiian peoples subjugated themselves to foreign influences (English control) through the pragmatic response to events and the resultant transformation of their cultural categories, thereby facilitating their own colonization. In doing so, Sahlins provides a valuable model for interpreting European-Coast Salish contact and eventual colonization. 23 Exploring the connection between shíshálh cosmology and terrestrial events is a vital component of the present work. It is the contextualization of terrestrial events within the context of a cosmic scheme (Sahlins 1989:380) that illustrates how behind everyday actions there is a complex logic, that connects “celestial” and “terrestrial” (Sahlins 1989:379) events. This tendency of human beings, Sahlins argues, to appropriate experiences according to an already existing cosmological pattern that supposedly resides inside collective consciousness of a specific group, is the theory of “mythopraxis” or literally the practice of myths with regards to the mythic origin of things and their representing of present events. Thus, mythopraxis claims that events are hardly specific, but are historical; in this case, mythic themes are recurring and regenerative (Carlson 2007a; Sahlins 1989). In developing such a model, Sahlins provides a method by which individual events can not only be interpreted, but also provides a means through which the motivation for individual and collective actions can be identified, and the process of structural change (individual and collective agency) can be accounted. Central to understanding the cosmological structure and its relationship with terrestrial events is the need to interpret the oral traditions of the shíshálh. Indigenous theory teaches us that the physical and the metaphysical compose one unified reality (Atleo 2005:xi), a notion that stems from assumptions found in “origin stories that predate the conscious historical notion of civilization and scientific progress” (Atleo 2005:xi). This notion provides an alternative to Western positivist science, challenging the “nature of existence suggested by evolutionary based theories” (Atleo 2005:xi). It is the origin stories that are the foundation of knowledge about the state of existence and are a guide for its interpretation (Atleo 2005:xi). Within such a framework, the physical world is considered a reflection of the Spiritual Creator, described as a “pale shadow” (Armstrong 2005:2) or an “insubstantial shadow” (Atleo 2005:xvi) of the actual, a 24 worldview in which the spiritual/immaterial rather than the material/terrestrial is the highest form of consciousness (Armstrong 2005:2; Atleo 2005:xvii). It is from the spiritual realm that knowledge is gathered through Indigenous methods of scientific enquiry, including the “vision quest” (Atleo 2005:72-73), and it is this knowledge that is employed in the “effective management” (Atleo 2005:72) and interpretation of reality, or as a method designed to “help us cope with the problematic human predicament” (Armstrong 2005:2). Methodology This work is largely informed through a nearly fifteen year-long working relationship with the shíshálh Nation and continuing personal and professional relationships with individual shíshálh. My position with the shíshálh Nation was that of archaeologist, ethnographer and researcher, primarily tasked with gathering archaeological and ethnographic data in support of aboriginal rights and title, and in support of a potential comprehensive title case. As such, I was able to travel throughout tems swiya, primarily on foot, but also by canoe, boat, plane and helicopter. The experiences and observations garnered during this period transformed my personal perspective of tems swiya and my place within it. For example, Euro-Canadian place names that had expropriated the Indigenous landscape gradually faded from my geographic conciousness, as I increasingly began to interpret and describe the land and water in accordance with my experiences and observations, applying names to the landscape that were in concordance with the names previously applied by shíshálh Elders. At the same time, I began to observe how the shíshálh, through the changing nature of their relationship to tems swiya had begun to transform the meaning of place names, away from those developed through experience and observation to Anglicization that was more typical of non-Indigenous practice. 25 This experience was gradual but intense, and it eventually transformed my relationship with tems swiya from the functional to the social, creating an emotional attachment, one I frequently interpreted and described as a feeling of kinship. This perspective, ironically, and all too frequently placed me in conflict with elements of shíshálh political leadership, some of whom I considered to approach tems swiya from an ever-increasing functional/utilitarian perspective. This observation should not be considered a value judgment; rather, it clarified my personal understanding of the changing nature of shíshálh society, one that had for nearly two hundred and twenty-five years changed from an Indigenous society, to one that increasingly mirrored–and whose objectives converged with–Provincial and Federal governments, industry and institutions with which it had traditionally been in confrontation. To fully understand the changes to shíshálh culture during the past two and a half centuries requires the lens of the long durée, and this necessitates the analysis of multiple fields of data. Therefore, this work incorporates four main fields of enquiry: archaeological, historical, ethnographic and oral traditions. Although the reconstruction of shíshálh responses in the pre-contact era is best accomplished through the review of the archaeological record, the post-contact period from 1792 to present, is much harder to understand using an archaeological framework (because few archaeological sites have been identified within tems swiya that can positively be assigned to this period). Limitations imposed by the paucity of available archaeological data similarly extend to the ethnographic and historical records (Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998). These limitations, a consequence of the dependency of ethnographers on a narrow selection of advisors, has led previous studies to create mere temporal snapshots of shíshálh culture, and stimulated little debate of uniquely shíshálh topics or questions (Peacock 1998). The difficulties imposed by the limitations of individual data sets are overcome using multiple data sets, and 26 foregrounding oral narratives (Martindale 2006, 2009; Martindale and Marsden 2003). This approach illuminates specific aspects of shíshálh history and creates a broader temporal understanding of changes in aspects of shíshálh culture. This work combines archaeological, ethnographic and historical data and shíshálh oral traditions to compare pre-and post-contact patterns of shíshálh-tems swiya use and occupancy. Archaeological data were collected from the academic and grey literature and from my own personal library. This data set is critical for establishing shíshálh-tems swiya use and occupancy patterns in the pre-contact era. Secondly, ethnographic data (Barnett 1955; Boas 1888, 1966, 1969; Galois 1994; Hill-Tout 1978; Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998; Suttles 1952; Teit 1912), and archaeological data pertaining to the post-contact period allow for a reconstruction of post-contact shíshálh responses to the European encounter, identify the relationship between shíshálh social structures and shíshálh responses and shíshálh-European perceptions to these responses from contact through to the present (Angelbeck 2009; Bishop 1974; Carlson 2007b; Merchant 2012). Historical data primarily composed of early European accounts (Puget 1795; Vancouver 1801; Wagner 1933), correspondence between First Nations and the Crown and census data, along with missionary records (baptism and marital records) and literature produced by the shíshálh was collected from archives including those of the shíshálh. This set of data allowed for the reconstruction of post-contact shíshálh-tems swiya use and occupancy. Finally, oral traditions were collected. The primary sources for these important data were ethnographic interviews conducted by previous researchers with shíshálh Elders (Barnett 1935, 1955, 1975; Hill-Tout 1978; Suttles 1952). The final phase of data analysis consisted of a review of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral narratives). This data set was critical in the reconstruction of shíshálh responses to significant 27 events (such as “the great snow” and “the great landslide”) in the time before contact with Europeans, and contextualized contact and post-contact era responses. Previous researchers have warned that although oral narratives are valuable in the interpretation of the archaeological record their use can be problematic, a condition brought about by the “history and context of their preservation through the colonial era” (Martindale 2006:160). The clear majority of shíshálh oral narratives were recorded by ethnographers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Barnett 1955; Boas 1926, 1966, 1888; Hill-Tout 1978; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952). With few exceptions (Hill-Tout 1978) these works have drawn on the second-hand accounts of pre-contact shíshálh cultural patterns provided by shíshálh advisors who had no direct experience of this pre-contact way of life. When using them, I was aware that the “mining of these texts for historical facts” (Martindale 2006:162) by the original ethnographers may have altered their nature through the “imposition of a Western-scientific epistemology” (Martindale 2006:162). An additional inherent limitation of oral traditions is that some of the specific events described (creation stories, the great flood, and so forth) occurred in the far distant past, and their accuracy cannot be assured (Martindale 2006:162). Despite these limitations, shíshálh oral historiography is demonstrably reliable over millennia (Carlson 2007a, 2007b; Marsden 2002; Martindale 2009; Martindale and Marsden 2003; Miller 2011). Embedded within a cultural practice of sacred knowledge (Suttles 1987) and ritual, oral texts are legal documents that define what to Western observers constitutes secular knowledge: rights, titles, history and case law. However, they do so in a manner sufficiently distinct from Western cultural experience that they are frequently interpreted as solely spiritual (Oliver 2010) or as metaphorical meditations on cultural meaning (Cruikshank 1994). This is not inaccurate, but as a focal point, it draws our gaze away from the historical, legal, and geopolitical implications. 28 Thus, oral texts can be used to define history in Western terms but doing so requires attention to the non-Western cultural logic of its historiography (Cruikshank 2005; Miller 2011). When used in this work oral narratives primarily explain the shíshálh–tems swiya social relationship and situate the identified changes in land-use and occupation and the people–tems swiya relationship within the broader framework of shíshálh history, only occasionally are they used to develop a chronology of change. This allows for the contextualization of population restructuring in the post-contact period, not as an isolated response to the effects of contact, but more accurately as the latest in a long line of shíshálh responses to changing circumstances throughout their history. Archaeological Data Archaeological research throughout the southern Salish Sea has been extensive. Until the last decade this has not held true for the northern portion of the region particularly within tems swiya; where until recently only moderate amounts of archaeological research have been conducted. Except for the work of Francis J. Barrow and Harlan I. Smith, archaeological research has until the last fifteen years been limited to cultural resource management (CRM) studies; however, only a minority of these are relevant to this work. Though few, these works are critical because they have identified most of the archaeological sites and generated many radiocarbon dates for the region, forming the basis for the reconstruction of pre-contact shíshálh population distribution. Greg Monks’ 1971 excavation of archaeological site DkSb-2 at Saltery Bay Provincial Campsite (Monk 1971) was the first systematic archaeological investigation conducted in tems swiya. The objective of the project was to confirm whether DkSb-2 was a summer camp, obtain data on a reported shíshálh summer habitation, and explore the chronological aspects of the “cultures” that had existed at the site (Monk 1971:2). Perhaps the most important of the initial 29 studies was initiated in the 1970s when Steven Acheson and Sid Riley conducted a systematic site survey of the Powell River and Sunshine Coast Regional Districts for the Archaeological Sites Advisory Board of B.C. (Acheson and Riley 1976). The study area, roughly 214 square miles in size, was located between Desolation Sound in the north and Howe Sound in the south and was limited to two areas; (1) the coast of Malaspina Peninsula south of Grief Point including Copeland, Hernando, Savary and Harwood Islands, and (2) Pender Harbour and the lower end of Agamemnon Channel (Acheson and Riley 1976:214). In 1977 Acheson and Riley conducted a second survey focusing on lower Jervis Inlet. Their two inventories recorded 347 previously unidentified archaeological sites (Acheson and Riley 1976, 1977). The frequency of CRM research continued at a slow pace throughout the 1990s. The McIntyres (McIntyre and McIntyre 1995) conducted an archaeological impact assessment of DjRx-10 located at the head of Oyster Bay in kálpilín (Pender Harbour) and were the first to synthesize shishalh ethnographic and archaeological data. In the 1990s, with the increased involvement of the shíshálh in the management of the archaeological process the nature of research shifted. Two consequences of this shift were (1) a dramatic increase in the number of CRM studies, and (2) a focus on gathering of data directly related to the research objectives of the shíshálh–objectives that required the gathering of archaeological data to support the successful conclusion of an aboriginal title case as opposed to the facilitation of the needs of industry (Merchant 2011). The decolonization of the archaeological process continued in 2002 when the shíshálh brought about control of the CRM process, the research agenda and access to the archaeological record, ensuring that their community benefited directly (financially, intellectually and through employment) from the archaeological process (Merchant 2011). This increased involvement was 30 directly expressed through the initiation of a dual phase, multi-year, archaeological research program (Merchant 2002) which included preliminary excavation at three residential sites (shell middens); DjRw-1, DiRw-27 and DiRw-28, all located on or adjacent to the Sechelt isthmus. The objective of the above study was to identify, map and determine when abandonment of these sites occurred. Phase two of the research program consisted of the survey of high elevation areas within the alpine and sub-alpine zones of the various mountain ranges located throughout tems swiya. These surveys identified sixteen sites between 152 m and 1600 m above sea level, ranging from isolated lithics, to small hunting camps with lithic assemblages composed of bifaces, scraping tools and imported (exotic) raw material types. Five years later Golder Associates (Pegg 2007) conducted the systematic excavation of site DkSb-30 located at Saltery Bay near the entrance to lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet). Radiocarbon samples submitted for AMS dating returned five dates ranging from 7620 to 520 cal BP (at 2σ) (Pegg 2007:ii), indicating the site had been occupied almost continually for more than 7,000 years (Pegg 2007:44). In 2007 the shíshálh Archaeological Project was initiated, when Gary Coupland of the University of Toronto was selected from a series of candidates to initiate a five-year research project between 2008 and 2011. Coupland and his team of colleagues and students, primarily from the University of Toronto, conducted a SSHRC-funded research program in collaboration with the shíshálh Nation, which would eventually expand to include archaeologists from the Canadian Museum of History. The objective of this research was to “…investigate and elucidate the organization of complexity among the hunter-gathers of the region” (Coupland 2008:2), through comparing the results of research from other regions of the coast (Coupland et al. 2012, 2016; Bilton 2014; Johannesen 2010; Letham 2011). Propelling shíshálh archaeology beyond the 31 realm of CRM studies, the University of Toronto project employed marine-based survey and the excavation of large residential sites and complex human interments dating to 4000 BP, making it one of the most significant research projects yet to be conducted within tems swiya (Merchant 2012). Coupland’s project would eventually be taken over by Terence Clark from the University of Saskatchewan, continuing today as the shíshálh Archaeological Research Project (SARP). The SARP along with CRM projects ensures that important questions about the shíshálh past continue to be investigated (Merchant 2012). Historical Data The first European account of tems swiya is provided by Spanish Captain José Narváez, who on or about July 1, 1791 (Wagner 1933:38-39) anchored south of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) between kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) and Chapman Creek. Although this is the first recorded visit of Europeans, no contact appears to have occurred with the shíshálh (Wagner 1933). Less than a year later, in June 1792, British Captain George Vancouver entered tems swiya. Anchoring his ship, the Discovery and the accompanying armed tender Chatham in Birch Bay off present day Washington State, Vancouver preceded to survey by launch and cutter the coastline north into present day Canada, arriving in southeastern tems swiya on June 16, 1792 (Vancouver 1801:199). Over the next five days Vancouver and his crew travelled along the coast of the Sechelt Peninsula arriving at xénichen, at the head of Jervis Inlet on June 18, 1792 (Vancouver 1801:202-204). Upon his arrival, Vancouver and his crew observed “…two Huts and some Indians curing Fish, some of which they procured for small Trinkets” (Menzies 1923:61). Limited contact between the shíshálh and Europeans occurred over the next half century and 32 very few historic documents relating to shíshálh–European interactions from this period exist. However, beginning in the late 1800s, government agents, surveyors and missionaries started producing a wide range of administrative records providing important data regarding shíshálh population size and distribution (Blenkinsop 1876). Most useful for historical research is Blenkinsop’s Census of Indian Tribes winter 1876 and 1877 (Blenkinsop 1876), the Royal Commission on Indian Reserves (British Columbia 1915), the numerous petitions, and correspondences between the shíshálh and the Crown and the records of the missionary Order the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI). Blenkinsop’s records provide important details of the number and distribution of shíshálh residences and population totals in the late nineteenth century, describing the continued occupation of the periphery of tems swiya. Similarly, the Royal Commission on Indian Reserves 1913-1916 provides data on early twentieth century residential patterns–descriptions that are supported by additional OMI records. My final source of historical data is literature produced by the shíshálh themselves. These texts composed of official correspondence, manuals and policy guides, protocol agreements and publications were analyzed from the perspective of an archaeological assemblage. It is hoped that through this review shíshálh self-perceptions of their relationship to tems swiya during the last century can be gleaned, providing unique insight into how they view this changing relationship. Ethnographic Data The arrival of Franz Boas with the Jessup Expedition on the Northwest Coast marked the commencement of professional ethnographic research among the shíshálh (Boas 1888, 1969). Although Boas did not travel to tems swiya, he did conduct limited interviews with community 33 members (Boas 1888; Curtis 1913). Despite this early ethnographic work, there was minimal interaction between ethnographers and the shíshálh during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and in typical Boasian style, the research that did take place focused on language (Boas 1888, 1926), territory (Curtis 1913; Jenness 1935; Hill-Tout 1904; Merchant 2012; Smith 1935) and artwork (Smith 1935). Charles Hill-Tout (Hill-Tout 1904) and Homer G. Barnett (1955) are considered by many scholars to have been the principal ethnographers of the shíshálh during this period. In 1904 Hill-Tout was the first to provide a detailed (if limited) account of shíshálh culture in his Report on the Ethnology of the Siciatl of British Columbia, a Coast Division of Salish Stock (Maud 1978). This report, largely based on interviews with shíshálh adviser Charles Robert, provides the first detailed account of shíshálh culture. The account describes the old divisions of the Siciatl (Sechelt) tribe: Qunetchin located at the head of Queen’s Reach; Tsonai located at Deserted Bay the junction of Queen’s Reach and Princess Royal Reach; Tuwaneko located at the head of Narrow’s Arm; Sqaiaqoa, with many settlements throughout the inlets (Maud 1978:95). Over two field seasons between 1935 and 1936 Homer G. Barnett conducted fieldwork among twelve Coast Salish groups, including the shíshálh (Barnett 1955). On the direction of Dr. S. Klimek, his supervisor, Barnett focused on describing Coast Salish material culture, within which he identified two lines of cleavage (Barnett 1955): the first between the northern and southern groups with a second between the mainland and island groups (Barnett 1955). Although his descriptions were generalized, they do provide a starting point for understanding the distinctive differences among Coast Salish peoples. Barnett’s focus was primarily on material culture, including residential patterns, village structure, ownership and use of specific lands and patterns of seasonal movement. 34 The last of the early ethnographers was Wayne Suttles, the pre-eminent ethnographer of the Coast Salish. In a series of interviews conducted in 1952 (unpublished field notes) primarily with shíshálh advisor Basil Joe, Suttles gathered important data relating to shíshálh land-use and occupancy in the northern portion of tems swiya. These data are critical as they describe how shíshálh leaders activated kinship ties throughout the nineteenth century to maintain access to and control of land and resources. Generally, contemporary ethnographers have typically relied on Barnett (1955) and Hill-Tout (Maud 1978) for information, choosing to summarize and re-evaluate previous work rather than conduct independent fieldwork (Merchant 2012; Beaumont 2011; Kennedy and Bouchard 1990; Peacock 1998). Gaps in these ethnographies have been partially filled through research conducted over the last ten years by ethnographers. For example, through a collaborative partnership I have interviewed over two hundred shíshálh individuals, documenting territorial use and occupancy patterns from the late nineteenth century through to the contemporary era.4 The skwákwiyám (oral traditions) The final phase of data analysis consisted of the review of the skwákwiyám–shíshálh oral narratives. The most important of these narratives are the origin stories that feature the spélem-úlh. Bilateral kinship has been recognized as one of the defining aspects of Coast Salish culture (Suttles 1987). Based on kinship, Suttles (1987) recognized the “non-discrete, non-localized, property-holding kin group” or its head as holding rights to the “most productive natural resource” (Suttles 1963; Thom 2009). Typically, these groups of extended families traced their origin and collective proprietary access to land and resources from a spélem-úlh. 4All interviews were conducted prior to the authors enrollment in 2010 at the University of British Columbia. 35 If we are to trace shíshálh group descent from spélem-úlh then it is possible that at one time the shíshálh consisted of between eleven and sixteen divisions. Regardless of the maximum number of divisions that may have existed in shíshálh society, it is clear that these narratives illustrate how, prior to and following face-to-face contact with the British, shíshálh society was in flux, changing in response to the pressures of the opening stages of the colonial conflict. Among the shíshálh there a few individuals today who trace their descent to spélem-úlh, however, many trace their family’s descent to physical locations, typically to one of the ancient village sites. As primordial beings the spélem-úlh represent the beginning of shíshálh lineages, they are also cosmological, literally descending from the skies. Critically, for this work, they are a symbol and agent of shíshálh unity, drawing the people together through the sharing of knowledge across all families, and through marriage to other spélem-úlh they illustrate and represent, at the cosmological level, the process through which group consolidation occurs. The spélem-úlh narratives occur at all levels of the social sphere; they are primordial myths representing the beginning of lineages, devolving to clan legends that describe the movement of villages following calamities, to family histories explaining the rationale behind individual actions, until they appear as the names of individual shíshálh moving these narratives forward into the present. It is through the spélem-úlh that we can reconcile the discrepancies in the pre-and post-contact shíshálh residential patterns, and sense can be made of the seemingly disparate lines of archaeological, historical and ethnographic data. The second set of oral traditions that I examine speak to significant events in the collective history of the shíshálh, these include: the great flood, the great snow and the great landslide. The account of the great snow provided by shíshálh Elder Joe Le Dally to 36 ethnographers Charles Hill-Tout (Maud 1978:117-118) and Homer Barnett (1955), the story of the great flood, and the arrival of the Stranger Chief from Douglas (Suttles 1952) are just three examples of the form these narratives take. I then expand my analysis to include the place names and cosmological beings that are contained within these stories. In doing so I attempt to reconcile the material and immaterial components of tems swiya, thereby creating a model that is holistic and true to an Indigenous sense of understanding. In addition, I synthesise the archaeological record and the skwákwiyám into one discussion to contextualize the changing condition of each within the contemporary world and the implications for the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. On a literal level these narratives recount responses to environmental and social catastrophes; they also illustrate the spectrum of responses that we identify within the various historical sources. On a general level, the central theme of these narratives is the constant pattern of change and continuity. Change is exhibited in the consolidation and redistribution of the population following calamitous events, along with the changing nature of the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. Alternately, continuity is exhibited in the stability of the occupation of tems swiya, expressed in the continual use of the same tracts of land and bodies of water, with however, alternate economic practices. Finally, these ancient narratives provide a catalogue of successful strategic responses that have proven useful throughout their history and could be applied throughout the course of the colonial conflict. 37 Structure The Coast Salish peoples of the North American west coast, for two hundred and twenty-five years, have faced the intense pressure of British, then Canadian colonial and state expansion. In the face of this continued onslaught they have neither ceded nor abandoned their territories. A comprehensive analysis of these pressures and the nature of the Coast Salish response require not just an interpretation of the Euro-Canadian impact through the examination of the traditional historical and ethnographic sources; rather, it also requires detailed case studies that privilege Coast Salish accounts and recognize the distinct Indigenous logic that formulated their responses (Liebmann and Rizvi 2008:2; Sahlins 1999:402). We must recognize how this logic connects these terrestrial on-the-ground events (Sahlins 1989:379) to a “cosmic scheme” (Sahlins 1989:380) described in oral traditions and myth-like stories (e.g., “the great flood,” “great snow” and “the great land-slide” [Maud 1978]) that record and describe past Coast Salish responses to environmental and political stresses. Sahlins (1989) has argued that the tendency of human beings to respond to events, based upon an already existing cosmological pattern, historically contextualizes events such as contact, disease, missionization and colonization and conditions responses not as specific or unprecedented events (Carlson 2007b), but as historical, recurring and regenerative themes. For a century, anthropologists have examined, on a regional level, the response of the Coast Salish to the colonial conflict (Bishop 1974; Carlson 2007a, 2007b; Duff 1964, Fisher 1990; Hawthorne et al. 1958; Miller 1989, 2007; Miller and Boxberger 1994; Peniket 2006). However, there have been few case studies that have examined this topic through the local lens. The following work presents a detailed case study, that focuses on one Coast Salish community–the shíshálh. I compare archaeological data, ethnographic accounts, oral records and 38 historical texts, to study the shíshálh response to the colonial conflict and the role of structure in shaping these responses, specifically, examining how these structures have shaped the formulation of shíshálh responses from contact to the present and how this relationship has in turn been reshaped. Through this process I advance an already established body of scholarship that has emphasized the resilience of Coast Salish peoples and their determination to maintain a relationship with their territories in the face of ever-increasing pressures to abandon them and assimilate into the Canadian fabric (Carlson 2007a, 2007b; Miller 2007, 2011; Miller and Boxberger 1994; Roberts 1975). Following on the work of previous researchers (Angelbeck 2009; Carlson 2007a, 2007b; Reimer 2011), I employ a theoretical framework that draws together frequently irreconcilable lines of data (oral traditions, archaeological data and historical texts) through an approach that considers the role of structure/agency and cosmology (Bourdieu 1972; Giddens 1979; Sahlins 1989, 2000) in the shíshálh response to the stresses of the colonial conflict (e.g., Comaroff and Comaroff 1987; Gordillo 2002; Sahlins 1963). Through the application of these approaches I provide a shíshálh perspective, as well as a standard scholarly interpretation, that considers the role of structure, history and experience (Carlson 2007b; Sahlins 1963) in the formulation of First Nation practice (Bourdieu 1972; Giddens 1979; Sahlins 1963). By focusing my research on the shíshálh, I draw on a well-documented archaeological record, the existing oral narratives, historical documents and ethnographic literature and my own long-standing working relationship with members of this community. With the above in mind, the thesis of this study is that shíshálh responses to the colonial conflict were governed by complex structural patterns that are visible in their cosmology and oral traditions. An underlying premise of my research is that the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya 39 conditioned their response, ensuring that the shíshálh maintained a constant relationship with the entirety of tems swiya through to the mid-twentieth century. Two key issues that I will examine in detail are: (1) the degree to which changes in these structures in the mid-twentieth century, have been brought about through the ongoing tensions of the colonial conflict, and (2) whether these tensions in recent generations have dramatically altered the shíshálh-tems swiya social relationship. Although the current condition of this relationship has distinctly altered from that of the pre-contact era, it is no less legitimate; rather it represents the “indigenization of modernity” (Sahlins 1999:410), ensuring shíshálh survival through the twenty-first century. Ultimately, this work is about change and continuity as expressed in the relationship between a people and their closest kin relation: tems swiya, the territory within which they dwell. As such it is critical to define tems swiya as expressed by the shíshálh. Such a definition, although difficult, is critical to setting the stage for following chapters. In Chapter 2, I explore the various reconstructions of Coast Salish territory in the context of how they relate to tems swiya. I will not attempt to debunk the various models constructed by previous scholars; rather, I put forth an argument that is consistent with post-colonial theory, which argues for a localized approach that can be incorporated within a larger understanding of Coast Salish territoriality, thereby inverting the typical practice, where a broad framework is transposed onto local peoples. Addressing these questions is critical to understanding Chapters 3 through 6, this will be accomplished through a review of the watershed-based model of Marian Smith (1940), which in part drew on the observations of James Douglas and John Work (Elliot 1912), both employed by the Hudson Bay Company, and keen observers of First Nation culture. This will be followed by a review of the work of Wayne Suttles (1960, 1962, 1987) and William Elmendorf, whose work I 40 describe as the orthodox view of this subject. I will then focus on specific examples from the Early Period of Ethnography (1887 and 1954) that relate to tems swiya, this will include a review of Franz Boas (1888, 1926), Charles Hill-Tout (1904) and Homer Barnett (1935, 1955), and their influence on contemporary ethnographers of the shíshálh and their territorial reconstructions. This will be followed by a review of five models from beyond tems swiya produced by: Jay Miller (1999), Brian Thom (2009), Keith Carlson (2001, 2009, 2010) and Molly Malone (2014) each of whom are largely influenced by Suttles but to some degree synthesize his work with that of their own and others, and which were operationalized by the authors at a regional level. Before concluding the chapter, I will compare the models with a selection of past and present First Nation understandings of territory, focusing on the shíshálh. Chapter 3 presents an alternative model of territory, one that focuses on a specific territory–that of the shíshálh, and draws on multiple data sets; archaeology, ethnography and oral traditions, while considering the role of the material and immaterial in the shíshálh understanding of territory. In doing so I create a territorial reconstruction that is neither socially, economically, or geographically based, but a composite, which recognizes territories as an expression of a totally integrated socio-economic scheme–herein described as the spélem-úlh system. This approach remains consistent with a post-colonial theory that focuses on the local as opposed to the general, while privileging an Indigenous anthropology that recognizes the social relationship between people, plants, animals and cosmological beings that inhabit these territories. Chapters 4, 5 and 6 examine five events: the smallpox epidemic of the late eighteenth century, physical contact with the British in 1792, the arrival of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate and the establishment of the mission to the shíshál in 1868. In Chapter 6 I will conclude with an 41 analysis of the effects of land alienation and resource extraction. It is these events, and the strategies that were employed by the shíshálh, that in part would eventually transform the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya, thereby setting the stage for the contemporary manifestation of this relationship. Chapter 7 concludes the dissertation with a summary of the events described in Chapters 2 through 6 and identifies the major changes that have occurred within the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. I show how these changes, although largely brought about by the stresses of the colonial conflict, have in part been directed by the shíshálh themselves, and are the contemporary expression of a two-hundred and twenty-five-year strategy that has culminated in a relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya that is roughly divided along the lines of “traditional and non-traditional.” For the shíshálh, the consequence of this division is an internal tension, one that pits individual against individual, family against family, generation against generation. Simultaneously, the general non-shíshálh public largely misunderstands this tension, interpreting it in ways that are clouded by their own history. In short, this misunderstanding has and continues to lead to fear and mistrust, characteristics that in part continue to define the First Nation–Canada relationship. Finally, this work is in no way a value judgement, it is merely the culmination of fifteen years of observation, conversation and interpretation. 42 PART I Tems Swiya: our world 43 CHAPTER 2: Coast Salish Territories: from general to specific The term “Coast Salish” usually designates a large group of tribes occupying most of the area around Georgia Strait, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Puget Sound, and extending to the Pacific between the Olympic Peninsula and Willapa Bay. Linguistically speaking, the Bella Coola and the Tillamook could also be called “Coast Salish,” though they are culturally more distinct. Even among the contiguous group of tribes, however, cultural differences are great enough that broad generalizations about “the Coast Salish” are probably dangerous (Suttles 1987:29). Introduction The territories of the Coast Salish occupy the lands and waters that are adjacent to and comprise the waters of the Salish Sea (Strait of Georgia), Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Not only is the geography and environment of this region greatly varied, so too are the territories of the Coast Salish who occupy it. For over a century, scholars have pondered the nature of the relationship between Coast Salish peoples and their territories. A myriad of reconstructions has been offered, developed through an examination of virtually every aspect of this subject, from the foundations of group identity, the function of intercommunity ties, the political and economic power of the extended family, governance, the permeability of boundaries and the nature of unity or lack thereof.5 In this chapter I explore the various reconstructions of Coast Salish territory in the context of how they relate to tems swiya. I will not attempt to debunk the various models constructed by previous scholars; rather, I put forth an argument that is consistent with post-colonial theory, emphasizing a localized approach that can be incorporated within a larger 5Examinations of group identity can be found in Carlson (2010), Douglas (1838), Lepofsky (2007), Malone (2013), and Work (1824). The function of intercommunity ties, and the political paramountcy of the extended family can be found in Suttles (1987), Elmendorf (1971), and Thom (2009). Miller and Boxberger (1994) provide detailed comparisons between pre-and post-contact systems of Coast Salish governance, as does Tollefson (1987, 1989). Brian Thom (2009) provides a description of the permeability of Coast Salish territorial boundaries. For in depth discussion of the nature of political unity or lack thereof within the Coast Salish World the reader is referred to Angelbeck and Grier (2012), Angelbeck and McLay (2011), and Smith (1940). 44 understanding of Coast Salish territoriality, thereby inverting the typical practice where a broad framework is transposed onto local peoples. I will start with a review of the watershed-based model of Marian Smith, which in part drew on the observations of James Douglas and John Work, both employed by the Hudson Bay Company, and keen observers of First Nation culture. This will be followed by a review of the work of Wayne Suttles and William Elmendorf, whose work I describe as the orthodox view of this subject. I will then focus on specific examples from the Early Period of Ethnography (1887 and 1954) that relate to tems swiya, this will include a review of Franz Boas, Charles Hill-Tout and Homer Barnett, and their influence on contemporary ethnographers of the shíshálh and their territorial reconstructions. Next comes a review of four models from beyond tems swiya produced by: Jay Miller, Brian Thom, Keith Carlson and Molly Malone, each of whom are largely influenced by Suttles but to some degree synthesize his work with that of their own and others, and which were operationalized by the authors at a regional level. Before concluding the chapter, I will compare the presented models with a selection of past and present First Nation understandings of territory, focusing on the shíshálh. My argument is that typical reconstructions of individual Coast Salish territories have prioritised colonial frameworks of space and time, and with few exceptions are primarily informed by data drawn from a single discipline–usually either ethnography, ethnohistory, archaeology or history–thereby creating models that are confined in scope but broad in application, and as a consequence, sometimes obfuscating the particular aspects of local variation. 45 Watersheds: Marian Smith, James Douglas and John Work Marian Smith (1940) was the first scholar to examine the nature of Coast Salish territories, completing one of the most insightful, if underappreciated inquiries into the subject. Drawing primarily on quantified data, gathered during interviews with one hundred and seventy-eight advisors, Smith established a spatial model of social unity and identity, maintaining that the Puget Sound Salish were “supremely conscious of the nature of the country in which they lived” (Smith 1940:2), drawing their concept of social unity and territorial perception from the watershed within which they dwelled (Smith 1940:2). Smith’s observations echoed those of Hudson Bay Chief Factor James Douglas (Douglas 1838) and John Work (Elliot 1912), the former of whom, during his time in the Puget Sound region in 1838 stated that the Puget Sound Salish derive their identity “from their place of residence.” Smith’s “watershed-based identity thesis” (Carlson 2010:40) has received nominal acceptance among scholars of the Coast Salish world and, with few exceptions, as historian Keith Carlson pointed out, has not been adequately explored within the Fraser River context (Carlson 2010:40)–an observation that can be extended to the northern Coast Salish, including the shíshálh. Wayne Suttles, William Elmendorf and Sally Snyder: Evolution of the Orthodoxy In contrast to Smith’s watershed-based model, Wayne Suttles and to a lesser degree William Elmendorf, both developed a more general anthropological approach understanding of Coast Salish society. Their models are largely representative of the western land tenure system, downplaying the presence of geographically discrete territories, while envisaging the primary 46 unit of Coast Salish identity as the localized winter village, or village cluster (Barnett 1955; 18-19; Gunther 1927; 1918, Elmendorf 1960:257-258, Smith 1940:1; Suttles 1987). Villages, typically composed of multiple family groups, aggregated during the winter and dispersed during the warmer months of the year, allowing for the efficient harvesting and use of seasonally available plants and animals. Critically, Suttles theorized that these villages were neither socially nor economically self-sufficient (Suttles 1960, 1962). By establishing economic relations between communities through regular interactions between affines, these inter-community relationships served to smooth-out regional ecological and geographical variations for individual households and communities (Suttles 1987; Elmendorf 1971). Suttles model is broadly accepted as the orthodox view of Coast Salish territories and associated group identity. Despite his limited fieldwork among the shíshálh, which primarily consisted of one short field season conducting ethnographic interviews in 1952, his model of territory has been applied to the shíshálh as it has to other territories across the Coast Salish world. His description of shíshálh territory was limited and broad in nature, drawing primarily on the recollections of Basil Joe, the grandson of Joe Le Dally who was the primary advisor to Homer Barnett during his 1935 fieldwork. From information shared by Basil Joe, Suttles provided a description of shíshálh territory that extended south from Powell River on the mainland shore to xwésám (Roberts Creek) and the inside (eastern half) of spílksen (Texada Island). Suttles did not discuss specific structures of shíshálh society, including kinship, nor did he touch on the social/kinship relationship between the people and tems swiya. Though these topics were confined to his larger theoretical reflections, they were however discussed by the 47 three principal early ethnographers of the shíshálh: Franz Boas, Charles Hill-Tout, and Homer Barnett. A contemporary of Suttles and Elmendorf was anthropologist Sally Snyder, who during three field seasons between 1952-1954 conducted ethnographic fieldwork among the Skagit of northwest Washington State over an area that included the watershed of the Skagit River and its tributaries, and three islands in Puget Sound; Camano, Whidbey and Fidalgo. Snyder produced a model that resembled that produced by Suttles and Elmendorf, recognizing the largest socio-political unit among the Skagit as the tribe, each of which was led by a superior headman, and in turn was divided into bands, districts, or village clusters, the origins of which were traced to a founding migrant family or families or to certain intertribal marriages (Snyder 1964:63). Shíshálh Territory and the Early Period of Ethnography (1887-1954) Boas, Hill-Tout, and Barnett Unlike their Coast Salish neighbours to the south, the shíshálh were, until the latter stages of the twentieth century, the subject of little ethnographic research. The arrival of Franz Boas with the Jesup North Pacific Expedition (1897–1902) on the Northwest Coast marked the commencement of professional ethnographic research among the shíshálh. Although Boas did not travel to tems swiya, he did conduct limited interviews with community members (Boas 1888; Curtis 1913). However, it was his description of tems swiya in the form of his 1887 map that is most critical (Boas 1887). This watershed-based map, which purports to show the distribution of Coast Salish territories at the end of the eighteenth century, presents an outline of tems swiya that roughly corresponds with shíshálh contemporary expression, except for his more extensive interpretation of northern and southern boundaries (Figure 2-1). 48 Figure 2-1. Boas’ map showing the distribution of Salish territories at the end of the eighteenth century. Taken from Boas and Haeberlin 1927. Apart from Boas’ work, there was minimal interaction between ethnographers and the shíshálh during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and in similar fashion to Boas’ research style, that which did take place focused on language (Boas 1888, 1926), territory (Curtis 1913; Jenness 1935; Maud 1978; Smith 1935) and artwork (Smith 1923, 1935) (Figure 2-2). Charles Hill-Tout (Maud 1978) and Homer G. Barnett (1955) are considered by many scholars to have been the principal ethnographers of the shíshálh during this period. Although not specifically focused on territory, Hill-Tout’s 1904 Report on the Ethnology of the Siciatl of British Columbia, a Coast Division of Salish Stock (Maud 1978) is significant and is presented here as it is the first detailed (if superficial) account of shíshálh culture and provides a description of the internal structure of shíshálh territory, describing the old divisions of the Siciatl (Sechelt) tribe: Qunetchin located at the head of Queen’s Reach in Jervis Inlet; Tsonai in 49 Deserted Bay located at the southeast end of Queen’s Reach; Tuwaneko located at the head of Narrow’s Arm; and Sqaiaqoa, with many settlements throughout the inlets (Maud 1978:95). Although Hill-Tout did not specifically describe the extent of tems swiya, he did identify four residential groups that occupied geographically disparate locations, listing their primary village sites, all of which were located at the heads of inlets or within large sheltered bays. Hill-Tout’s description of village sites roughly resembles that of Barnett, who was the last of the ethnographers to conduct research during the early period. Conducting fieldwork over two field seasons between 1935 and 1936, Barnett—under the direction of Stanisław Klimek his supervisor at U.C. Berkeley—focused on material culture, while providing a cursory analysis of territory, residential patterns, village structure, and the ownership and use of lands and resources. Figure 2-2. List of ethnographic sources, period covered and described settlement pattern (Merchant 2012). Source Source Date Years of Research Period Settlement Pattern Barnett 1955 1930-1950 1800-1940 Consolidated and dispersed Barnett 1935-1936 1930-1950 1800-1940 Consolidated and dispersed Beaumont 2011 1970-2011 1800-2011 Consolidated Blenkinsop 1877 1876-1877 1876-1877 Dispersed Blenkinsop 1876 1876 1876 Dispersed Boas 1966 1926 1800-1926 Consolidated and dispersed Boas 1926 1926 1800-1926 Consolidated and dispersed Boas 1888 1926 1800-1926 Consolidated and dispersed Boas 1886 1926 1800-1926 Consolidated and dispersed British Columbia 1915 1913-1916 1910-1916 Consolidated and dispersed Curtis 1913 1913 ? Consolidated Dawe 1990 1960-1990 1860-1980 Consolidated Durieu 1873-1874 1873 1873 Dispersed Fouquet 1868 1868 1868 Consolidated Grekoff 1965-1967 1960-1970 1960-1970 Consolidated Hill-Tout 1978 1890-1910 1800-1900 Consolidated and dispersed Kennedy and Bouchard 1990 1960-1990 1800-1890 Consolidated Kennedy and Bouchard 1986 1960-1990 1800-1890 Consolidated and dispersed Lemert 1954 1950-1960 1860-1920 Consolidated Menzies 1923 1791 1791 Consolidated Merchant 2008 1998-2012 1900-2012 Consolidated and dispersed Merchant 2008 1998-2012 1900-2012 Consolidated and dispersed Narváez 1933 1790 1790 Consolidated Peacock 1998 1990-2000 1880-2000 Consolidated Peterson 1990 1950-1980 1800-1960 Consolidated and dispersed Puget 1795 1791 1791 Consolidated Thomas 1898 1898 1890-1900 Dispersed Vancouver 1801 1791 1791 Consolidated 50 Barnett primarily relied on two advisors: Joe Le Dally and Charlie Roberts. Roberts’ contributions were considered substantially inferior by both Barnett and Hill-Tout, due to what they considered to be his penchant for “guessing” the answers to questions, the subject of which he was unfamiliar (Barnett 1955:9). When interviewed by Barnett in 1935, Le Dally was estimated to have been between 80-85 years of age (Barnett 1955:9). He was born in an era when many shíshálh were still very much engaged in a pre-contact lifestyle–before the arrival of missionaries in 1858 (Meyer 1985) and the beginning of more permanent European settlements in the 1870s. His knowledge was described as “remarkable” and he was often able to “draw unprompted distinctions between the Sechelt and neighboring groups” (Barnett 1955:9). He could also trace his descent directly back to ancestors who had direct experience with the initial arrival of the British in the 1790s. Barnett produced a map of Coast Salish territories, including tems swiya, with what he described as “vaguely defined” (Barnett 1955:18) boundaries and territories. These territories resembled a series of bicycle wheels with radiating spokes that represented “… summer localizations of family units radiating from winter convergence points” (Barnett 1955:25-26). He described the winter homes of the shíshálh being in kálpilín (Pender Harbour), and at séxw? ámin (Garden Bay), on present-day Sechelt Band Land Suahbin No. 19 (Barnett 1955). It is from this “winter convergence point” (Barnett 1955:30) that the shíshálh “scattered for their summer activities” (Barnett 1955:30) that took place at eight different summer villages (Barnett 1955) (Figure 2-2). Barnett’s reconstruction was heavily influenced by Le Dally, and as such it is problematic, not due to the accuracy of the knowledge Le Dally provided, rather, by what Le 51 Dally may have omitted. Le Dally was a traditional shíshálh man, steeped in his history and educated in the protocols of his people. His homes were at sxwélap (Thormanby Island), t’sunay (Deserted Bay), and he spent considerable time at skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay), at his primary family residence at séxw? ámin (Garden Bay) (Robert Joe, personal communication 2015). Other areas of tems swiya, such as tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay) and ch'atelích (Sechelt) were of far less importance to him and therefore, from his perspective, it is likely that he thought that to claim knowledge of them and speak about them in detail would infringe on the traditional protocols that guided him (Robert Joe, personal communication 2015). This may be the cause of Le Dally’s reticence to describe these areas in detail to Barnett, resulting in the omission of these important settlements from the latter’s fieldnotes. 52 Figure 2-3. Barnett’s (1955) map of Coast Salish territories, including the shíshálh, indicating summer residential locations and consolidated winter villages. 53 Historical sources record that during the nineteenth century, in the era described by Le Dally, there were many shíshálh residential sites occupied throughout the year (Downie 1859; Fouquet 1868; George et al. 1913). In a detailed account from 1868, Father Léon Fouquet OMI described his visit to the shíshálh village located at tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay) near the head of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) (Foquet 1868a) We continued our journey the next morning and the following days without incidents. On New Year’s day we crossed an isthmus which separated us from a small bay, a little further stood the village of the Sechelt. Two canoes were waiting for us at the entrance of the bay. The young men who came to meet us began to sing the hymn of the canoe keeping time with the rowing. In the same document, he describes his passage to a second shíshálh village, located at what appears to be séxw? ámin (Garden Bay), likely the same one described to Barnett by Le Dally (Barnett 1935, 1955; Reverend Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father 1868). In a letter written to Governor James Douglas, William Downie described his stay during the winter of 1858 at the “Indian village” located at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) (Downie 1859:1). In a third account, hiwus George along with three other shíshálh hiwus wrote in 1913 to the Royal Commission on Indian Reserves protesting the trespass and occupation of their lands at Skookumchuk by a “half-breed” (George et al. 1913). In this letter, the hiwus clearly describe five residential locations, the importance of these sites, and their antiquity: We Indians at Sechelt are assembled here and want to expose to you a case that touches us very closely. We have been living at Skookum Chook for long years. Our forefathers had the land there for centuries. About forty years ago we were obliged to move from one place to another and we have cleared that last place from bush. There are 23 (twenty three) houses built there, gardens are made and apple-trees planted. We always believed that this place was ours, till we hear lately that a half-breed, by the name of Alfred Jeffrey has taken up that land. We cannot understand this, and we ask for our rights. How is it possible that other people can take this land from us? How is it possible that we can be deprived of our living? We cannot all make our living at Sechelt, since we only go there for our spiritual nourishment, as the church and priest is there. We are five camps, Sechelt, Jervis Inlet, Pender Harbour, Deserted Bay and Skookum Chook. Sechelt is our Centre, because our church is there, but we always had our land at other places. Skookum Chook is absolutely necessary for us, because it is there we fish the most and if the old reserve were taken from us we would not know where to stay there and to make our living. 54 Contemporary reconstructions The descriptions provided by Boas, Hill-Tout and Barnett closely resemble, with minor variations, the geographic extent of tems swiya described by later ethnographers and historians, including amateur historian Lester Peterson (1990), and ethnographers Dorothy Kennedy and Randy Bouchard (Kennedy and Bouchard 1986), the latter describing the northwestern boundary as being in the vicinity of Stillwater-Lang Bay on the Malaspina Peninsula, while the Sliammon people assert that the territorial boundary is located slightly east of Lang Bay at a location known to both peoples as kwékwnis, and later to be established as Sechelt Reserve No. 23, Coqueneets. This was traditionally a Sliammon village but became shíshálh through the process of intermarriage in the mid-1800s (Kennedy and Bouchard 1983,1986). Similarly, there are some minor discrepancies between ethnographers regarding the southern boundary of tems swiya. Both Boas and Bouchard include the southern half of spílksen (Texada Island) within the territory, while Basil Joe, one of Wayne Suttles’ shíshálh advisors, includes only the eastern half of Texada Island (Suttles 1952:1; Kennedy and Bouchard 1986). This same advisor extended the territory’s western boundary to Powell River—although Kennedy and Bouchard (1986) state that this could not be substantiated. Homer Barnett (1975:29) was also unclear about the boundary between Sliammon and shíshálh, first situating it at yélkín (Thunder Bay) then suggesting that it was located six kilometers west at Stillwater Bay (Barnett 1975:31; Kennedy and Bouchard 1986). The southeast territorial boundary has also been the subject of some debate, however, the previously mentioned Boas map (1887), and Suttles (1952) all situate that boundary around xwésám (Roberts Creek). When we consider the territory models that have been presented, it is important to keep in mind that all three of the primary researchers who are largely responsible for them—Boas 55 (1887), Hill-Tout (1904), and Barnett (1955)—spent very little time among the shíshálh. Boas never visited the territory and Barnett focused on the material record rather than the non-material aspects of shíshálh culture. Although Hill-Tout and Barnett identified shíshálh villages (Barnett 1955; Hill-Tout 1904) within inlets and watersheds of tems swiya, they did not describe tems swiya in terms of a watershed, they did not recognize the social relationship between the people and the territory they occupy, nor did they describe discrete territorial boundaries that separate and delineate the people of these territories—the latter being especially unfortunate, since such boundaries were characteristic definitions of territory described by both shíshálh and Skwxú7mesh (Squamish) experts during this early period. The Operationalisation of Suttles and Elmendorf Brian Thom In 2009 anthropologist Brian Thom proposed a pan-Coast Salish model of territories that essentially operationalized the work of both Suttles and Barnett. His model which is neither watershed-based, nor proposes discrete territorial boundaries, recommends an approach that takes into “account the totality of territorial relations” (Thom 2009:180) of Coast Salish peoples, particularly the deep personal, social and spiritual relationship that Coast Salish people have with the land (Thom 2009). While privileging “the bilateral descent group as a primary constituent of Coast Salish territoriality” Thom’s approach is consistent with that of Suttles and accurately reflects Coast Salish sensibilities (Thom 2009:199). Drawing heavily on the traditions of Ingold (2000), Bird-David (1999), Suttles (1951, 1955, 1998) and Homer Barnett (1955), particularly the latter’s image of Coast Salish territories as a “network of resource harvesting sites” (Thom 2009:180), he proposes a model that recognizes a Coast Salish world in which a complex network of social groups enmeshed in 56 locally rich property relations reflect a relational epistemology of kin, travel, descent and sharing (Thom 2009:197). Territorial boundaries are attributed less to “state-endorsed political structures (such as Indian bands, tribal groups, or treaty offices)” (Thom 2009:197) and more to “Indigenous idioms of kin, ancestor, sharing and residence affiliation” (Thom 2009:197). In the words of Thom, cartographically this would appear “similar to an airline route map showing the hubs and destinations of its scheduled flights, the total area of which reflects the ‘territory’ of that airline” (Thom 2009:197). Thom’s melding of the models of Suttles and Barnett, and his emphasis on the social relationship between people and place, represents a slight divergence from the orthodoxy of Suttles and Elmendorf. However, like Suttles before him, his approach is broad and, downplays the role of “tribal or village groups” (Thom 2009:199)—read here as watershed-based groups. An approach that obfuscates contemporary shíshálh perceptions of territory, and those expressed by past shíshálh and Skwxú7mesh (Squamish) experts (Joe 1965), all of which emphasize the watershed group over the “kin based-descent groups.” Jay Miller Rudy Reimer (2011) argues that ecologically-based models, such as Suttles and Elmendorf are limited, as they focus on material economic factors (Reimer 2011) at the expense of the social and immaterial. To move beyond the material aspects of the people–territory relationship, and consider the social, Reimer suggests we turn to Jay Miller’s (1999) concept of anchored radiance. Jay Miller (1999) synthesises spiritual, economic and political forces into a holistic understanding of territory that emphasizes the relationship between people, places and power. His concept of anchored radiance is important because he considers both the spiritual bonds that a person has to a household or village and how the strength of these bonds determines a person’s 57 radius of influence and how far they travel. It is ties through marriage, ritual rites and trade that enable an individual to travel beyond one’s “anchored radiance” to household or village and extend their network to more distant villages. Keith Carlson In The Power of Place, The Problem of Time (2010), historian Keith Carlson advances a model whereby identity and connection to territory are largely a function of economics. Through a case study that focuses on the Lower Fraser River watershed of southwestern British Columbia, he synthesises the work of Smith, Suttles, Elmendorf and others, advancing a model of Stó:lō collective identity that connects the people of “no less than twenty-four sub-watersheds” (Carlson 2010:40) in a social network of relations that is facilitated by easy transportation along the Fraser River (Carlson 2001:24). Carlson expanded on the importance of social relations proposed by Suttles and Elmendorf, offering a model of regional social interaction and collective identity that was primarily based on resource availability while also considering the regional variations in the technology for salmon processing (Carlson 2009:42). Within this framework, “resource procurement and processing are explored in terms of four distinct geographical/ biological and ‘food processing’ niches” (Carlson 2001, 2009:42). To ensure access to the “special resources” (Carlson 2009:42) that each niche contained, people living in one niche would be forced to establish and maintain ties with those living in another (Carlson 2009:42). Thus, the reciprocal nature of resource sharing (access), and ownership, solidified through intermarriage, was directly linked to “collective leadership, and by extension collective identities” (Carlson 2009:48). 58 Molly Malone Anthropologist Molly Malone’s ethnography of the Upper Skagit people of Washington State focuses on the forces of colonialism. Malone employs a combination of neo-Marxist and phenomenological theory to produce a model of territory that she describes as “waterscape”—a comprehensive term that puts the “aquatic and terrestrial elements of the physical environment on an equal level with one another while examining the boundary between them” (Malone 2014:55-56). Her model focuses on the interactions between human and non-human entities within the space they both occupy. She argues that it is this interaction that establishes the parameters of the waterscape itself, thereby forming a perception of territory that is created through experience. Malone’s model draws attention to the ongoing colonial conflict that she considers to be the primary force conditioning the relationship between the Skagit and their waterscape, giving her model great relevance for the remainder of this work. First Nations Models Watershed-based models like those described by Smith and Carlson have been recognized by First Nations in literature for nearly eighty-years. In 1938 August Jack Khatsahlano of the Skwxú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) described to Major J.S. Matthews, archivist for the City of Vancouver, a watershed-based model of Skwxú7mesh territory, complete with a description of a firm territorial boundary between the shíshálh and Skwxú7mesh (Figure 2-3). Sc junk, that's Gibson's Landing; Stawk-ki-yah, that's Robert's Creek; that beyond Squamish must not go; beyond Stawk-ki-yah is Sechelt (Matthews 1955:90). Khahtsahlano’s description of the territorial boundary at Robert’s Creek lies in stark contrast to the “vaguely defined” (Barnett 1955:18) boundaries described by Barnett. 59 A quarter century later, in an account provided to CBC journalist Imbert Orchard in 1965, shíshálh Elder Clarence Joe, the great grandson of Le Dally, described tems swiya in detail, providing an account that also included a description of how in 1868 Oblate missionaries were transported from one shíshálh village to another by war canoe (Joe 1965:1). Yeah, it’s from Howe Sound right to Stillwater–that’s the Sechelt Nation and including the inlets, including the inlets. Howe Sound, that was the Squamish into Howe Sound and Burrard, that’s the Squamish Nation (Joe 1965; 5). The accounts of Khatsahlano, and to a lesser degree Joe, do not contradict Le Dally, rather, they expand on what Le Dally provided. When the accounts of Khatsahlano, Joe and Le Dally are considered collectively they not only contradict Barnett’s reconstruction of shíshálh territorial occupation and seasonal mobility patterns, and Suttles’ focus on the bilateral descent group, but they also provide a dramatic alternative to that which has been seized upon by many more recent scholars and has served as one of the foundations for territorial reconstructions throughout the Coast Salish world. Of concern is that Khatsahlano was interviewed in 1938, and his account would have been available to Barnett, while the recollections of both Khatsahlano and Joe have been available to subsequent researchers since 1965. Why Khatsahlano and Joe have been ignored is difficult to determine—perhaps it was a result of several factors, including their recollections being presented in non-scholarly works, or because they contradicted the views of established scholars that by this time had come to be an entrenched orthodoxy. What is revealed in the accounts provided by Khatsahlano, Le Dally and Joe is that shíshálh and Skwxú7mesh understandings of territory, at least in the models presented, included an definition of territory that closely resembles the watershed-based model of Marian Smith, wherein territories as discretely bounded units occupying vast watersheds, with clearly delineated boundaries that could only be infringed upon with caution. These accounts also suggest that the shíshálh had a strong connection to place forming one of the most important of 60 all shíshálh social relationships—the bond that existed between themselves and tems swiya—the basis of which will be examined in Chapter 3. Figure 2-4. Watershed based map of Skwxú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) territory presented in Matthews 1955 based on knowledge provided by August Jack Khatsahlano (Taken from Matthews 1955). The watershed-based model of territory described above was publicly displayed in 1999 when the shíshálh became the first Nation to reach Stage 5 of the British Columbia Treaty process (British Columbia 1999). This process required them to provide an expression of territory that was exclusive and clearly delineated (DePaoli 1999; Merchant 2011; Thom 2009). 61 Through the synthesis of a wide range of data, notably oral traditions, place names, the works of early ethnographers (Barnett 1955; Hill-Tout 1904; Teit 1912), historical documents and archaeological evidence, the shíshálh produced a discrete territorial expression, with a firm territorial boundary that captured entire watersheds, inlets, islands and fjords. This territorial claim has been both criticized as illegitimate and unfaithful to true Indigenous practice or as a creation of “state-endorsed political structures (such as Indian bands, tribal groups, or treaty offices)” (Thom 2009:197). Delineating their territory was not difficult for the shíshálh since they always have been well aware of its boundaries: Joe Le Dally, Basil Joe and Khahtsahlano had already described it to various researchers. These initial descriptions were not influenced by treaty or litigation, having been provided well prior to the initiation of the first aboriginal title case in British Columbia, and the establishment of the British Columbia Treaty Commission. The division between the Skwxú7mesh and shíshálh was further emphasised by Khatsahlano’s assertion that the Skwxú7mesh “could not understand the language of the Sechelts, but could make themselves understood, but not converse properly” (Matthews 1955:5). Khatsahlano’s description is consistent with that provided by shíshálh Elder Phil Joe (Joe n.d.), and both echo the model proposed decades earlier by Marian Smith (1940). In Phil Joe’s words: He said, “get the hell out of here. This is private property” he says. “What the hell?” I said. “I’m on the water” you know. Everybody owns the water. Now I went and told this to Walky. Walky just laughs and he says “don’t listen to him, son.” He says “we own all this area here” he says. “As far as your eye could see that way, that way, that way, that way, it’s all ours” he says. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Don’t let them bother you (Phil Joe n.d.).” 62 Summary For the shíshálh the orthodox view of territory as developed by Suttles (1987) and Elmendorf (1960:257-258) has all too often, although inadvertently, obscured differences between them and their neighbours, simultaneously undermining their legitimate claims to territory, while destabilizing contemporary perceptions of individual and group identity. Ironically, as the quote at the beginning of this chapter indicates, Suttles as far back as 1962, warned against invoking generalities when describing the cultural structures of Coast Salish peoples (Suttles 1987:29). We have observed throughout this chapter that Suttles’ warning has largely been ignored and models of Coast Salish territories have continued to be developed that are broad and ignore the intricacies of local variation that have been expressed by First Nations experts. What does become clear, is that there is a distinct fault line surrounding the nature of the various Coast Salish territorial models. On one side, many scholars’ advance models that recognize human kin relationships as the primary relationship, thereby downplaying discrete territories and firm boundaries (Carlson 2009; Elmendorf 1971; Suttles 1987; Thom 2009). Alternately, a minority of scholars (Boas 1887; Matthews 1955; Smith 1940) including First Nation experts (Joe n.d.; Joe 1965; Matthews 1955) advance models of territory that include discretely bounded units, firmly delineated from their neighbours. Although scholars may be uncertain as to the nature of tems swiya, there is no uncertainty among the shíshálh, and there is no consideration that their territory is a construct of the treaty process, litigation, or some creation of state-endorsed political structures (such as Indian bands, tribal groups, or treaty offices). Rather, it is the contemporary expression of an ancient relationship, a relationship that has remained remarkably consistent from generation to generation. 63 Perhaps the cause of such discrepancy lies in the theoretical frameworks that have been employed, the methods of research used and the applications of these findings. Models that rely on ethnographic data (Carlson 2009; Elmendorf 1971; Suttles 1987; Thom 2009) collected from a specific people, such as the Hul’qumi’num Treaty Group (Thom 2009), or the Stó:lō of the Fraser Valley (Carlson 2009) may to some degree accurately reflect the relationship between the people and territory identified in each case study. Applying them as broad models across the entirety of the Coast Salish world is, however, problematic. For example, Thom’s “airline route map” (Thom 2009; 197), which relies heavily on Barnett’s post-contact reconstruction of seasonal mobility patterns, and ethnographic data gathered from the Hul’qumi’num peoples, may accurately reflect the Hul’qumi’num sensibilities, however, it is significantly at odds with that described by Smith, Douglas, Work, Khatsahlano, Joe and to a lesser degree Boas. Alternately, relying solely or predominantly on one, or even two sets of data, be it oral traditions, ethnographic, historical or archaeological, may fail to elucidate the nuances of regional variation. For example, Barnett relied on ethnographic data provided by Joe Le Dally— data that may have been limited by cultural protocols. If Barnett had included archaeological and historical data in his analysis, he would have enriched Le Dally’s evidence, likely resulting in a distinctly different model of shíshálh territory. Taking this last point further, would Barnett have described the shíshálh territorial boundary as “vaguely defined” (Barnett 1955:18) if he had incorporated Khatsahlano’s description of the firm boundary at Roberts Creek (Matthews 1955:90)? It should not be surprising that there is significant variation throughout the Coast Salish world, variation brought about by vast differences in geography, ecology, experience, history and developed cultural logic, including the impacts of the colonial conflict. As such, throughout the 64 Coast Salish world, peoples have different territorial orientations. Some have watershed-based models while others may focus on the winter village or village clusters, and some give greater emphasis to social and spiritual relationships between people and land, or perhaps networks of resource harvesting sites, resource availability and connections between people and place. Furthermore, as Keith Carlson (2010) has illustrated, over time, people’s perception of their territory may change. Recognizing local variation is consistent both with Suttles earlier warning and with post-colonial theory. Critical for this work, and the broader field of Coast Salish studies, is the idea that local differences must be recognized and understood in their own context. Circumventing the limitations of the generalized models described above, and more precisely capturing local variation, requires us to develop models that use all available lines of data. Lastly, the theoretical frameworks that have led to the models discussed here typically privilege the material/functional, and to a lesser degree the spiritual/immaterial, thereby creating models that are neither holistic nor consistent with Indigenous perspectives. Coast Salish ontological and epistemological understandings teach us to erase the dichotomy between the material and immaterial worlds, synthesizing all of creation into one unified whole. From this perspective, non-human entities, plants, animals, rocks and land are perceived as people, “as kinds of humans” (Castro 2004:465), taking on social relations with the humans they encounter (Castro 2004:466). The movement away from a people-land relationship that is purely utilitarian/functional to one that emphasizes the social and familial connections, alters our understanding of the constraints within which people operate. No longer can people solely base their actions upon material considerations—rather their connections to the territories within 65 which they reside must also be examined in the context of people’s social relationships with the land and water they occupy. With Suttles’ warning in mind, and through a focus on the territorial perception of one community–the shíshálh–the following chapter will use Indigenous theory and site catchment analysis in an attempt to move this discussion along the path outlined in the preceding parapgraph. This will be accomplished through a local approach—one that synthesises ethnographic and archaeological data, along with historical documents and oral traditions, thereby creating a composite and locally specific model of territory. 66 CHAPTER 3: Tems Swiya: Our World Since time immemorial the shíshálh Nation has occupied and utilized its entire territory from the oceanside to the mountain tops utilizing and managing its vast and varied natural resources through the development of complex social institutions, technological innovation and development. Our territory is located in the southwest corner of what is now referred to as British Columbia, it extends from xwésám (Roberts Creek) in the southeast to the height of land located north of xénichen (head of Queen’s Reach) in the north, kwékwenis (Lang Bay) to the west and spílksen (Texada Island) to the south (shíshálh Nation 2007). Introduction In the previous chapter I discussed how reconstructions of Coast Salish territories that present generalist accounts and rely on a single data set could be undermined through an approach that recognizes local diversity constructed from multiple data sets. In this chapter I present an alternative model of territory, one that focuses on a specific territory–that of the shíshálh, and draws on multiple data sets; archaeology, ethnography and oral traditions, while considering the role of the material and immaterial in the shíshálh understanding of territory. In doing so I create a territorial reconstruction that is neither socially, economically, nor geographically based, but a composite which recognizes territory as an expression of a totally integrated socio-economic scheme–herein described as the spélem-úlh system. This approach remains consistent with a post-colonial theory that focuses on the local as opposed to the general, while privileging an Indigenous anthropology that recognizes the social relationship between people, plants, animals and the cosmological beings that inhabit these territories. I begin the chapter with the shíshálh description of territory which is contained within the term tems swiya (our world). I proceed to a brief review of recent local anthropological models that view Coast Salish territories from the social perspective, drawing heavily on Marshall Sahlins’ notion of kinship and the concept of “intersubjectivity” (Sahlins 2013:21). I then discuss site catchment analysis, specifically the work of Lepofsky, Trost and Morin (2007), and their 67 analysis of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation of Burrard Inlet, applying the same model to the archaeology of tems swiya, but within the context of intersubjectivity. I then expand my analysis to include the immaterial by introducing the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions), including the stories, place names and cosmological beings that it contains. In doing so I attempt to reconcile the material and immaterial components of tems swiya, thereby creating a model that is holistic and true to an Indigenous sense of understanding. Following the discussion of the archaeological record and the skwákwiyám I contextualize the changing condition of each within the contemporary world and the implications for the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. I conclude the chapter with a summary and a discussion of the possible implications of my analysis for the remainder of this work. Tems swiya: our world One of the difficulties in defining territory or a cause of discrepancies in the various models presented in Chapter 2 arise from the use of the word territory. Territory is a western concept that prioritizes the colonial frameworks of space and time and in this chapter I downgrade the influence of these frameworks to secondary considerations, choosing to replace the word territory with the shíshálh term tems swiya (our world) while simultaneously privileging the notion of kinship. Tems swiya, translated literally means “our world” (Beaumont 2011; shíshálh Nation 2013:20). This definition includes the material and immaterial, the terrestrial and the cosmological, it is a holistic perspective that envelopes all that the shíshálh interact with daily from the mountain tops to the ocean floor, beyond into the cosmological and the immaterial. 68 Tems swiya is an understanding that is not based upon prescribed notions of watersheds, kinship ties between people, or economic relations, rather it is an Indigenous understanding that is developed through a long, constant and intense interaction with the material and immaterial world within which a people dwell. It can therefore be revealed through the seemingly disparate lines of data that are the material of archaeology and the immaterial of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions). Kinship: the social territory In a series of recent works (Malone 2014; Reimer 2011), scholars of the Coast Salish world have seriously begun to examine the social relationship between Coast Salish peoples and territory, invoking an Indigenous theoretical framework that moves beyond the utilitarian/functional, to the social and spiritual (Cruikshank 1998). Both Molly Malone (2013) and Rudy Reimer (2011) have in recent examinations of the Skagit peoples and Skwxwú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) respectively, begun to explore the interaction between these Coast Salish peoples and their territories in both the pre-and post-contact eras. Reimer (2011:4) makes the point that lithic raw materials, rather than having an importance that is confined to the utilitarian/functional categories of “…economic value, density or modes and stages of reduction or technological organization” also have a cultural importance that is linked to mythological beings and transformation, as such when used in certain cultural contexts facilitate the maintenance of social ties to land and people throughout the Coast Salish world (Reimer 2011:4, 14, 16, 49). It is a logical next step to expand Reimer’s thesis to a model that encompasses not only lithics but also all material things—all of which within an Indigenous world view have a spiritual dimension, existing in a kin relationship with each other. Typically, kinship has been viewed as 69 either a “theoretical notion” with no “discernible cultural referent” or as a fact of “biological reproduction” or a combination of both (Sahlins 2013:16). Drawing on a broad range of scholars, including Aristotle, Lévy-Bruhl, Émile Durkheim and David Schneider, and communities from the Maori, English and Korowai of New Guinea, Marshall Sahlins provides a definition of kinship, one that limits the role of biology, while emphasizing the dominance of culture. Sahlins defines a “kinship system” (Sahlins 2013:20) as a “manifold of intersubjective participants, which is also to say, a network of mutualities of being” (Sahlins 2013:20). Of critical importance to his idea is the concept of “intersubjectivity” (Sahlins 2013:21), whereby kinsmen are persons who “belong to one another, who are parts of one another, who are co-present in each other, whose lives are joined and interdependent” (Sahlins 2013:21). It is these social relationships not biology as expressed in genealogy that are the invisible motors that drive the process of kinship, they are the means by which kinship may be constituted, either natally or postnatally, from biology or by performance or by a combination of both (Sahlins 2013:28). Kinfolk are persons who are parts of one another to the extent that what happens to one is felt by the other. In providing a culturally deterministic model, Sahlins illustrates how non-human agents (cosmology, land, animals, plants, rocks) play a role in determining kinship relations, thereby providing a valuable framework through which we can understand shíshálh attachments to tems swiya. It is through the archaeological record and the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions) that we can observe how Sahlins’ theory is operationalized. Appreciating how Sahlins’ notion of kinship is manifest archaeologically is critical, therefore I provide the following example. While walking near my house along the shore of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) in 2015 I stumbled upon what turned out to be a burial mound. Eventually over two hundred mounds were identified, 70 representing one of the largest burial mound complexes identified in the Coast Salish world.6 Growing through the centre of the mound was texémay (a cedar tree), one of the most important relations of the shíshálh. The human buried within the mound would throughout their life consume the plants and animals that dwell within tems swiya, following their death they were returned to the ground, were they in turn were consumed by tems swiya, a process that is visible in texémay (cedar tree) growing through the mound, itself being nourished by the body buried within. Both the human and texémay (cedar tree) are part of one another, they belong to one another, they are co-present in each other, and their lives are joined and interdependent—they are kin (Sahlins 2013:21). Site Catchment Analysis The archaeological record and archaeology’s capacity to identify and quantify patterns of consumption while adding time depth to this analysis makes it a powerful tool in the investigation of kinship and by extension the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship. Locational models including site catchment analysis have, since the 1970s, been employed by archaeologists in the examination of the spatial distribution of cultural phenomenon (Roper 1979:119). This approach has proved extremely useful in the analysis of Coast Salish territories as it considers regional and local variation in the availability, abundance, spacing, and seasonality of plant, animal, and mineral resources to be critical in determining site location (Roper 1979:120). Such an approach remains consistent with Suttles’ warning of the influence of local geographic and resource variation on Coast Salish culture. Site catchment analysis is particularly useful as it focuses on the availability of resources within a demarcated or geographically delineated area, 6 The top of the mound only became visible within the dense forest and heavy underbrush when my attention was drawn to my canine assistant Edward B. Brown who was ambling upon it. 71 therefore, it is ideally suited for the study of watershed-based territories like that of the shíshálh. In this chapter I expand my analysis to include the non-material aspects of shíshálh culture, incorporating the cosmological beings, place names and stories that are described within the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions). Lepofsky et al. (2007:194) used site catchment analysis to explore the “past social and economic relations” among the Tsleil-Waututh Coast Salish people of the Burrard Inlet locality and beyond. Examining the faunal, floral and lithic remains collected during archaeological investigations at three sites, Lepofsky et al. (2007:194-195) showed “that an overwhelming majority of resources recovered from Late Phase (~1200-250 BP) deposits” were collected from within Burrard Inlet leading them to conclude that the archaeological data mirrored the ethnographic data, “suggesting a strong social network” among the people of the Inlet. Further, they determined that few resources may have been harvested from territories just beyond Burrard Inlet, and even fewer resources likely originated from more distant sources, the latter likely having been acquired through long-distance trade through kin or non-kin-based networks, thereby connecting the Tsleil-Waututh people of Burrard Inlet with a broader socio-economic sphere. They concluded that the “striking paucity of distant resources” highlights the importance of the “inlet-focus of the socio-economy during the Late Phase,” supporting the notion that in “both the past and the present the people of the Inlet Locality formed another regional social network within the broad Coast Salish social continuum” (Lepofsky et al. 2007:195). In the following section I examine the archaeological record from seven excavated archaeological sites from within tems swiya, I then expand my analysis to the immaterial. Recognizing and considering both within the context of Ingold’s notion that territories are places that people “inhabit” (Ingold 2006; 14), or Sahlins’ notion of kinship (2013), we can begin to 72 appreciate territories from a truly holistic Indigenous perspective, like that described by Atleo (2005) and Reimer (2011). Seven Village Sites In the following section I describe seven residential sites located throughout tems swiya: ch’atelích (DiRw-28), slahlt (DjRw-1), Bible Camp (DjRw-14), salalus (DjSa-48), skelhp (DkSb-30), ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) (Figure 3-1). These sites have been selected as they are the only sites in tems swiya that have been systematically excavated, and therefore, are the only sites that can provide sufficient archaeological data for a detailed analysis and discussion. Below I provide a brief overview of the general excavation and analytical techniques employed at each site and summarize the findings and interpretations. Recovery and Analytical Methods Recovery and analytical techniques at ch’atelích (DiRw-28), slahlt (DjRw-1), Bible Camp (DjRw-14) and salalus (DjSa-48) were consistent (Coupland et al. 2012). All excavated materials were dry-screened in the field through 3.2 mm screen from which all cultural materials (faunal, floral and lithic) were collected. Bulk matrix samples measuring two litres in volume, were collected from the walls of excavation units (Bilton 2014:124). These samples were then analysed in the lab, where they were sifted through four nested screens (8 mm, 4 mm, 2 mm and 1 mm mesh), from which identified archaeological material was recovered (Bilton 2014). Recovery techniques from ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) were similar, however, excavated materials were dry-screened in the field through 3 mm screen. Alternately, one litre column samples (where possible depending on thickness of the matrix) were taken from the 73 walls of both EU-1 and Profile 1, these samples were then analysed in the lab where they were subject to floatation analysis. Recovery and analytical techniques at skelhp (DkSb-30) differed considerably from those at the other six sites. For a detailed description of the methodology employed the reader is referred to Pegg (2007). 74 Figure 3-1. Tems swiya indicating the location of the seven sites discussed in this chapter. Map by H. E. Brown. 75 Site Descriptions Ch’atelích (DiRw-28) Ch’atelích (DiRw-28) is part of a vast archaeological complex composed of at least ten recorded archaeological sites located on or adjacent to the Sechelt isthmus, an approximately 700-meter-long stretch of land that connects sínku (Georgia Strait) in the south with tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay) to the north. Located on the south side of the isthmus within Sechelt Band Land No. 2 (SBL-2), DiRw-28 extends for at least one kilometer along the north shore of kwétl'lích (Trail Bay), and inland for at least one hundred meters. To the west and north the site is bordered by archaeological sites DiRw-25 and DiRw-26. Both of which were likely contiguous with DiRw-28, however, development within SBL-2, the adjacent town of Sechelt and the construction of Highway 101 which bisects the site, has resulted in severe damage to archaeological sites throughout the isthmus. Slahlt (DjRw-1) Slahlt (DjRw-1) is part of the vast archaeological complex that extends virtually unbroken around the shores of tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay), representing the remains of an enormous residential complex of which portions continue to be occupied at present. Located primarily within Sechelt Band Land-5, DjRw-1 extends for at least eight-hundred meters along the east shore of tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay), and at least seventy-five meters inland. Unrecorded archaeological deposits extend to the north, south and east of the site; however, development within SBL-5, the adjacent Provincial Park and the subdivision to the south has resulted in severe damage to the site. 76 Bible Camp (DjRw-14) The “Bible Camp,” located on the south side of skwupa (Salmon Inlet), near its junction with ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet), draws its current name from the presence of structures associated with the former children’s summer camp operated until approximately 1980 by the Christian organization “Glad Tidings.” Although many shíshálh have for considerable time recognized the site for its historic importance, it is only since it’s re-identification in 2000 by Keith Julius and Peter Merchant, and its subsequent excavation by the University of Toronto (Bilton 2014; Coupland 2012) that its significance as a cemetery has again come to light. Salalus (DjSa-48) Kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) is a complex series of inlets, tidal flats and estuaries located in the southwest portion of tems swiya. In the pre-contact era it was a vast residential complex composed of numerous villages, with associated spiritual sites and resource harvesting locations, including; fish weirs, fish traps, clam farms, as well as a myriad of terrestrial resource locations (Peacock 1998, 1998a). Archaeological and ethnographic evidence indicates that locations throughout kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour), including salalus (DjSa-48) were occupied year-round by significant shíshálh populations, who obtained extensive resources from the immediate area (Barnett 1955). In the post-contact era the amalgamated village of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), located on the north shore of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) was one of several important shíshálh residential sites (Barnett 1955; Orchard 1965; Merchant 2012). In the post-contact era, the Tla’ A min (Sliammon First Nation) were also known to have occupied the harbour, maintaining a large fishing camp at Bargain Narrows near the harbour’s southern entrance (Voigt 1860). 77 Skelhp (DkSb-30) Skelhp (Saltery Bay) is located on the north side of the west entrance to lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), adjacent to the Saltery Bay ferry terminal, at the mouth of Bishop Creek. The site is first mentioned in the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions) as the location at which a spélem-úlh (First Ancestor) descended bringing knowledge of paddle-making (Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952). Within skelhp (Saltery Bay) there are three recorded archaeological sites; DkSb-3, DkSb-14 and DkSb-30, all of which contain dense shell midden deposits. Excavations conducted in 2002 (Pegg 2007) suggest that DkSb-30 is currently the “oldest known site on the BC coast between Glenrose Cannery and Namu” (Pegg 2007:44). Skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) Located approximately one-third of the way up lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), on its east side is skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay). This deep and well protected bay measures 1200 m (N-S) x 2000 m (E-W) and is surrounded (except to the west) by steep mountains. From their sources in the mountains to the east Vancouver River and High Creek flow west discharging into the bay. The mouth of the Vancouver River forms a broad tidal plain that encompasses the southern half of the bay, in the bay’s northeast corner High Creek flows rapidly through medium- to large-sized boulders, cobbles and gravels before discharging. The entire bay, both above and below the high-tide line has been severely impacted by industrial logging that has occurred throughout the twentieth century. Ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) Fifty kilometers north of the entrance to lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) on the inlet’s east side is ts’ύnay (Deserted Bay). Recognized by the shíshálh for its importance as a location for salmon and 78 herring harvesting (Peacock 1998, 1998a), it is also the head of an extensive trail network connecting the shíshálh to the Skwxú7mesh (Squamish) to the east (Peacock 1998). Ts’ύnay is first mentioned in the skwákwiyám (oral traditions) as the location at which three spélem-úlh (First Ancestors) brothers descended bringing knowledge of the manufacture and use of weapons. The skwákwiyám makes numerous references to ts’ύnay, attesting to its socio-economic significance. The first written account comes from the journal of Captain George Vancouver, who on the morning of June 17, 1792 proceeded north passing ts’ύnay. Neither Vancouver nor any member of his crew recorded populations or structures at the site. Extending for five kilometers from its northern point south to the mouth of the Stakawus Creek, the bay is the site of an extensive archaeological complex composed of an array of archaeological remains representing residential, spiritual and economic practices. Located near the bay’s southern extent is the lithic source at tlóh-klohm (Stakawus Creek slate quarry) (Reimer and Merchant 2015). The Archaeological Record In this section I compare the archaeological assemblages from each site, and the distances to the identified resources from the residential base. Based upon my understanding of the past physical nature of tems swiya I deduce where people harvested the resources and the distance and time travelled to complete these tasks. These data are then used as a proxy for determining the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya, the degree of interaction among the various divisions of the shíshálh and between the shíshálh and other Coast and Interior Salish peoples, thereby understanding how these practices were informed by shíshálh socio-economic structures (Lepofsky et al. 2007). 79 Identification of Resource Procurement Locations A critical component of my analysis is to identify the procurement locations of the resources identified at each-site. For both faunal and floral resources this task was facilitated by a series of studies conducted over the last twenty-years (Peacock 1998, 1998a), which documented the location at which the shíshálh harvested such resources, and the seasons in which these activities occurred. Only recently, however, has the same level of research been applied to the study of lithic source materials, and quarry locations. Consequently, knowledge of quarry locations come from my own direct observations and from x-ray fluorescence (XRF) analysis of slate conducted with Dr. Rudy Reimer. The Physical tems-swiya The geographic extent of tems swiya was described in Chapter 2. Here I describe its terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems. Faunal, floral and lithic resources like many regions of the south-coast appear consistently throughout tems swiya (Peacock 1998, 1998a). There are no large salmon bearing rivers within tems swiya, however, there are numerous small to medium-sized rivers and streams that flow through or near to the residential sites discussed. These include Hunaechin, Vancouver, Tzoonie and Brittain rivers, along with Sakinaw, Sechelt and Anderson creeks (Peacock 1998, 1998a). In addition, the protected bays and beaches of the southern portion of tems swiya contained vast shellfish resources, particularly south of Dacres Point. 80 Food Resources Marine Resources Perhaps the most important marine resource available to the shíshálh was siyánxw (dog salmon or chum), and to a lesser extent the other four salmon species: hénun (pink salmon), yúmach (chinook), stsékay (sockeye) and kwemmáyits’a (coho) (Peacock 1998). Although trolling and gill nets were “occasionally used to catch chinook and Coho, most salmon were caught at the entrances to spawning streams or on the streams themselves” (Kennedy and Bouchard 1990:444), while woven basket traps and weirs were used on congested streams and gaff hooks and harpoons elsewhere. Barnett also recognized the prominence among the shíshálh of tidal impounds of latticework fencing used to trap fish as tides receded (Barnett 1938a:121-126; Barnett 1955:83). Slháwat’ (herring) was of equal or of more importance to the shíshálh than salmon (Merchant 1998), something that has long been expressed by shíshálh Elders and recently appreciated by scholars. A broad range of shellfish were also harvested, including stl’élum (cockles), sk’áyi (butter clams), skw’élh’áy (littleneck clams) and smét’áy (horse clams) (Peacock 1998, 1998a). Of lesser dietary significance were chitons, skw’éts’kw’íts’ (sea urchins), sea cucumbers and xéyék (crab) (Kennedy and Bouchard 1990:445; Peacock 1998). Sea mammals also formed a vital component of the shíshálh economy, particularly kwé-xnis (sea lion), ?asxw (harbour seal) and kw’únut’ (harbour porpoise) (Barnett 1938a:122). Terrestrial Resources Land mammals were similar sea mammals their ranking as resources. Of these húpit (deer) was by far the most important, while other sought-after species included sxwítl’ay (mountain goat), 81 kw’élap (mountain sheep), k’éyich (elk), schétxwen (black bear) and máyúk (grizzly bear) (Peacock 1998). Bears were also hunted for food, however, wálaksya (bobcat), skw’ék’kw’ak’ám (cougar), wéwekw’-nách-em (wolf) and coyote were typically hunted for their skins, whiskers, claws and teeth, which were used in the manufacture of ceremonial regalia, or they were killed in the defense of human settlements (Peacock 1998). Sch’énu (domesticated dog) was used in hunting and was a key source of “fiber for weaving and trade” (Peacock 1998:15). Not only were the large land mammals vital for the shíshálh economy, so too were the smaller species, including; sk’emtl’ (beaver), sk’é?atl’ (otter), kayx (mink), sp’ílus (marten), weasel, súspit (rabbit), mél-álus (raccoon) and skíayamx (porcupine). Along with waterfowl, land birds were harvested from throughout tems swiya, providing a source of food, and material essential for the adornment of clothing and regalia (Peacock 1998). Some of these birds included; húmhum (grouse), stíxwim (willow grouse), xa (geese) and tenks (ducks) which were harvested for food, their feathers for mattresses and pillows, headdresses and fans. The feather and claws of xwúkin (swans), sxíxenik’ (owls) and k’áykw (eagles) were all considered sacred and were used in ritual and the manufacture of associated regalia (Peacock 1997). Similarly, plant resources were harvested with great frequency, some of these included; berries, seeds, greens, roots, bulbs and tubers (Peacock 1997:15). Resource Availability Following on the work of Lepofsky et al. (2007) and my knowledge of pre-contact resource availability, and shíshálh socio-economic relations, I have organized the availability of resource locations into local, regional, and long-distance catchment zones. Local resources are those that 82 are closest to the settlements (less than ten kilometers away) and could be harvested in a single day's excursion. Regional resources are those that are located between 10 to 100 kilometres away from the main residential site and require an overnight excursion of one or more days (Blake 2010; Lepofsky 2007), which would have taken the traveller nearly the full extent of tems swiya along a north-south axis. These resources would have been accessed directly or indirectly via “trade, gifting, or pot-latching” (Lepofsky et al. 2007:201), or through “regional kin-networks and trading relationships” (Lepofsky et al. 2007:201). Long-distance resources were accessed from greater than 100 kilometres away (Carlson 1996; Lepofsky et al. 2007), acquired through various means, including trade with kin or non-kin, and from throughout and beyond the Coast Salish world (Carlson 2010; Lepofsky et al. 2007; Suttles 1990). Travel times for distances are largely based upon research conducted by Ames (2002), and Blake (2010). Under average sea conditions Ames (2002:35) estimates a boat trip of 4 to 6 km would take one to two hours, and a trip of 20 to 30 km would take four to ten hours (Ames 2002:35), with a harvesting radius of a residential settlement depending on water conditions being as much as 30 km (Ames 2002; Blake 2010). Ames also suggests that canoes, under favourable winds and tides could reach a speed of between 4.4 and 6.5 km per hour (Ames 2002:30-31). Applying an estimate of terrestrial travel at a rate of between 10 to 20 km per day (with an average of 12 km), Blake accurately concludes that “one or two days of canoe travel combined with one day of terrestrial travel puts any member of any outer coast Sechelt [shíshálh] village high up in the mountains on the boundary of Sechelt territory” (Blake 2010:12). When the speed and travel times presented by Ames and Blake are compared to the archaeological record, it becomes strikingly apparent, that all the recovered taxa could have been 83 obtained locally, within 10 km of a main residential site, requiring no more than a single day’s return trip (Figures 3-2 through 3-6). 84 Figure 3-2. Percent and total abundance of mammals and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits.7 Taxon %NISP (NISP) Distance2 ch'átelích (DiRw-28) slahlt DjRw-1 Bible Camp (DjRw-14)1 salalus (DjSa-48) skelhp (DkSb-30) ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) ch'atelích slahlt Bible Camp salalus skelhp ts’ύnay (s)kwákwiyám Ungulates (Artiodactyla) 0 (0) 1.02 (3) 0 (0) 1.64 (1) 3.57 (1) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - L L - - Deer (Cervidae ) 0 (0) 76.95 (227) 0 (0) 73.77 (43) 44.81 (13) 0 (0) 70.00 (7) - L - L L - L Dogs (Canidae) 0 (0) 13.90 (41) 0 (0) 4.92 (3) 6.82 (2) 0 (0) 30.00 (3) - L - L L - L Sea lions (Ottariinae) 0 (0) 1.69 (5) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Harbour seal (Phoca vitulina) 0 (0) 4.07 (12) 0 (0) 0 (0) 10.39 (3) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - R L - - Porpoises (Phocoenidae) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 34.42 (10) 0 (0) 0 (0) - - - R L - - Totals= 0 (0) 97.63 (288) (0) (47) (29) (0) (10) 1No data collected from the late period. 2Distance: L=local (<10 km); R=regional (10-100 km); D=long-distance (>100 km). 7 NISP refers to the Number of Identıfıed Specımens or Number of Identıfıes Specıes ıdentıfıed at a site. 85 Figure 3-3. Percent and total abundance of birds and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits. Taxon %NISP (NISP) Distance2 ch'átelích (DiRw-28) slahlt (DjRw-1) Bible Camp (DjRw-14)1 salalus (DjSa-48) skelhp (DkSb-30) ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) ch'atelích slahlt Bible Camp salalus skelhp ts’ύnay skwákwiyám Birds of prey (Accipitridae) 0 (0) 4.00 (1) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Ducks (Anatidae) 0 (0) 48.00 (12) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Geese (Ansini) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 100.00 (1) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - L - - Loon (Gavia) 0 (0) 12.00 (3) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Sandhill Crane (Grus Canadensis) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Gulls (Laridae) 0 (0) 12.00 (3) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Perching Birds (Passeriformes) 0 (0) 8.00 (2) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Grebes (Podicipedidae) 0 (0) 16.00 (4) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - - - - - Unidentified bird bone 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 100.00 (4) - - - - - - - Totals= 0 (0) 100 (2) 0 (0) 0 (0) 100 (1) 0 (0) 100 (4) 1No data collected from the late period. 2Distance: L=local (<10 km); R=regional (10-100 km); D=long-distance (>100 km). 86 Figure 3-4. Percent and total abundance of fish and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits. Taxon %NISP (NISP) Distance2 ch'átelích (DiRw-28) slahlt (DjRw-1) Bible Camp (DjRw-14)1 salalus (DjSa-48) skelhp (DkSb-30) ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) ch'atelích slahlt Bible Camp salalus skelhp ts’ύnay skwákwiyám Toadfishes (Batracoididae) 0 (0) 1.63 (176) 0 (0) 2.05 (154) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - L - - - Ratfishes (Chimaeridae) 0 (0) 0.02 (3) 0 (0) 0.13 (10) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - L - L - - - Herring (Clupeidae) 64.99 (711) 72.39 (7828) 0 (0) 67.61 (5068) 35.98 (23) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Sculpins (Cottidae) 0.27 (3) 1.27 (137) 0 (0) 0.69 (52) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L - - - Perches (Embiotocidae) 2.37 (26) 5.50 (595) 0 (0) 9.57 (718) 4.70 (3) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Anchovies (Engraulidae) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 1.46 (110) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) - - - L - - - Cods (Gadidae) 2.10 (23) 2.13 (230) 0 (0) 0.10 (8) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L - - - Greenlings (Hexagrammidae) 2.46 (27) 0.25 (28) 0 (0) 1.04 (78) 7.78 (5) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Flatfishes (Pleuronectidae) 13.16 (144) 5.64 (610) 0 (0) 2.02 (152) 3.08 (2) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Salmon (Salmonidae) 13.34 (146) 5.40 (585) 0 (0) 0.38 (29) 20.26 (13) 100.00 (8) 100.00 (4) L L - L L L L Rockfishes (Sebastidae) 0.63 (7) 0.78 (85) 0 (0) 13.31 (998) 18.80 (12) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Smelts 0 (0) 0.01 (1) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L - - - Dogfishes (Squalidae) 0.63 (7) 4.97 (537) 0 (0) 1.57 (118) 9.40 (6) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Totals= 99.95 (1094) 99.99 (10,815) 0 (0) 99.93 (7495) 100.00 (64) 100.00 (8) 100.00 (4) 1No data collected from the late period. 2Distance: L=local (<10 km); R=regional (10-100 km); D=long-distance (>100 km). 87 Figure 3-5. Percent abundance of invertebrates and distance to harvesting areas in ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits. Taxon %NISP (NISP) Distance2 ch'átelích (DiRw-28) slahlt DjRw-1 Bible Camp (DjRw-14)1 salalus (DjSa-48) skelhp (DkSb-30) ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) ch'atelích slahlt Bible Camp salalus skelhp ts’ύnay skwákwiyám Cockle Clinocardium nuttallii) 6.90 19.62 0 (0) 8.60 79.57 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Clam 7.02 15.10 0 (0) 22.40 16.86 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Mussel (Mytilus edulis) 72.55 40.60 0 (0) 32.40 2.83 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Barnacles, misc. 7.33 5.77 0 (0) 3.20 0.74 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L L - - Littleneck 4.66 18.91 0 (0) 33.40 0 (0) 0 (0) 0 (0) L L - L - - - 1No data collected from the late period. 2Distance: L=local (<10 km); R=regional (10-100 km); D=long-distance (>100 km). 88 Figure 3-6. Presence–absence of lithics (debitage and tools) by raw material type from ch'atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám Late Phase deposits. Taxon %RAW MATERIAL TYPE (n=RAW MATERIAL TYPE) Distance2 ch'átelích (DiRw-28) slahlt (DjRw-1) Bible Camp (DjRw-14)1 salalus (DjSa-48) skelhp (DkSb-30) ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) ch'atelích slahlt Bible Camp salalus skelhp ts’ύnay skwákwiyám Slate Y Y Y Y Y Y Y R R R R R L R Chert - - - - Y Y Y - - - - R R R Nephrite Y Y - - Y Y Y R R - R - D D Ochre - - - - Y Y Y - - - - R R R Quartz crystal Y Y Y - Y Y Y L L L - R R R undetermined - - - - Y Y Y - - - - - - - Andesite - - - - Y Y Y - - - - R R R Quartzite - - - - Y Y Y - - - - R R R Granite - - - - Y Y Y - - - - R R R Petrified wood - - - - Y Y Y - - - - D D D Soapstone - - - - Y Y Y - - - - D D D Basalt Y Y Y Y Y Y Y R R R R R R R Shale/mudstone Y Y - Y - - - R R - R - - - Obsidian Y Y - - - - - R R - - - - - Sandstone Y Y Y - - - - R R R - - - - 1No data collected from the late period. 2Distance: L=local (<10 km); R=regional (10-100 km); D=long-distance (>100 km). 89 Discussion Previously collected data, representing approximately thirty-six (n=19,861) vertebrate specimens comprised of fish, mammals and bird remains, along with at least 1.669 kg of invertebrates from Late Phase deposits were reviewed.8 Regardless of sample type, fish remains comprise most of the vertebrate sample (n=19,480/98.08% NSP), indicating of a marine-oriented diet. In spite of the dominance of marine fauna, a broad range of ecosystems and geographical locations, representing virtually the entirety of tems swiya, appear in the faunal assemblage. Collectively, thirty-six taxa were identified, herring dominate, comprising over sixty-eight percent (n=13,630/68.52% NSP) of the total faunal assemblage. This is not surprising considering the importance placed on this species by the shíshálh (Merchant 1998; Peacock 1997, 1998). Herring is most prevalent at site DjRw-1 (slahlt) located in tsúlích (Porpoise Bay), and at DjSa-48 (salalus) in kálpilín (Pender Harbour). Both locations were renowned for their former large herring runs, and the presence of wooden fish traps that may have been used in their harvest (Merchant 1998; Peacock 1997, 1998). Herring are known to have occupied the inlets and bays of tems swiya in great abundance until their near extermination by the commercial fishery in the early 1950s (Merchant 1998). It is difficult to make any assumptions regarding a preference for any specific species of salmon, as DNA analysis has not yet been conducted on any of the recovered salmon remains. Lepofsky et al. (2007) have suggested that Chum may have been the preferred species among the Tsleil-Waututh of Burrard Inlet “because of their large size (they are at least two to three times larger) and lower fat content, which makes them easier to smoke with less heat (“cold smoked”) 8 Only invertebrate samples from slahlt (DjRw-1), ch'átelích (DiRw-28), and salalus (DjSa-48) are included in this total. No invertebrates were identified at ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9), and only proportions were presented for DkSb-30. No invertebrates were identified within the Late Period deposits at Bible Camp (DjRw-14). 90 (Lepofsky et al. 2007:201). Such a preference is consistent with accounts described in shíshálh ethnographic data (Peacock 1997). Virtually all the taxa recovered from the seven sites would have been–and many still are–available in the immediate environs surrounding each of the sites, therefore they are considered local, and many could have easily been harvested year-round. Salmon and herring could all have been caught locally and in great abundance. For ch'átelích (DiRw-28), slahlt (DjRw-1), salalus (DjSa-48), skelhp (DkSb-30), ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9), salmon could have been caught in rivers that flow through these sites or from close by. Few of the resources identified at the sites appear to have been harvested from beyond the local environment of the villages discussed. The marine assemblage from the five southern sites; ch'átelích (DiRw-28), slahlt (DjRw-1), Bible Camp (DjRw-14), salalus (DjSa-48) and skelhp (DkSb-30) was quite diverse, with most identified species having a small NISP (Figures 3-2, 3-4 and 3-5). In contrast, salmon was the only species identified at the two northern sites (ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám), with a correspondingly high NISP (Figure 3-4). Fish traps manufactured from wood, stone or a composite of both have been identified archaeologically, or ethnographically at or within proximity to all seven sites (Figure 3-8). Non-Food Resources Lithics The sourcing of lithic raw material types for the shíshálh is in its infancy, however, two distinct raw material types, slate and obsidian provide an interesting exception to the pattern of resource proximity. These two resource types do indicate that although the shíshálh economy was 91 primarily locally focused, long distance trade consisting of the export and import of lithic materials was occurring. Slate Slate and the shíshálh have a long and intimate relationship—it’s use as a material in the manufacture of weapons is described in the skwákwiyám. It occurs in extremely high frequencies in excavated assemblages at skelhp (DkSb-30), ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9), while it is common at ch'átelích (DiRw-28) and has been found in low frequencies at salalus (DjSa-48), and the Bible Camp (DjRw-14). XRF analysis conducted on slate from five sites throughout the Salish Sea region; skelhp (DkSb-30), c̓əsnaʔəm (Marpole) (DhRs-1-1), sta’mis (DkRs-6), Mannion Creek (DiRu-10) and the sta’mis Creek rock shelter (ARCAS 1999; Burley 1980; Pegg 2007; Reimer 2012), were sourced to two quarries, Kw’ech’tenm, or “fish cutting place” located at McNabb Creek in Howe Sound, and from tlóh-klohm (Stakawus Creek slate quarry) located in lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet). The results of this analysis suggest that for nearly six thousand years the inhabitants of skelhp (DkSb-30) chose to obtain slate from the quarry located at McNabb Creek, approximately one 110 km to the east, rather than obtain it from the quarry located at tlóh-klohm (Stakawus Creek slate quarry), a mere 60 km to the north (Reimer and Merchant 2015) (Figure 3-7). 92 Figure 3-7. Five sites throughout the Salish Sea region from which samples of slate were subject to XRF analyses and the two known quarry locations. Map produced by H. E. Brown. 93 There are many potential reasons why distance might not have been important in the decision to obtain slate from McNabb Creek. Enormous deep-sea canoes with the ability to transport large amounts of slate as ballast on return trips through Skwxú7mesh (Squamish Territory) could account for the dominance of non-local slate, as could the existence of long-distance trade networks throughout the Coast Salish world. The McNabb Creek slate may have been of a higher quality for manufacturing stone tools, thereby making it more desirable than slate from tlóh-klohm, the (Stakawus Creek) quarry. Preferential access to the resource at tlóh-klohm (Stakawus Creek slate quarry) which would be obtained through descent from spélem-úlh (First Ancestor) may also have accounted for the absence of slate at skelhp (Saltery Bay) (DkSb-30), a practice that would be consistent with family control of resource areas documented by Harlan I. Smith (1935) during his field research among the shíshálh. During Smith’s visit in shíshálh territory he interviewed Tel-ee-ol-wer an old shíshálh woman living at kálpilín (Pender Harbour), during which she provided a glimpse into the shíshálh system of resource control and proprietary access. In reply to the question as to what these markings represented or meant:–The reply was–“that the main object sought to place in conspicuous places and open to full view to those passing such marks that were sure to attract attention to show a family monopolistic claim. These markings were painted on the face of the rock with paint composed of an early substance found in the ground, which was burnt and mixed with ground clamshells and certain fish oil, which was known for its strong and lasting quality. Each family of note, she said, had its own totem or family mark and had its own meaning for that family–these totems were always marked within well defined districts, which were regarded as preserves for the families of that totem. These preserves were regarded as sources of food supplies to the families, who were known to have hunting and fishing right therein, and anyone caught trespassing was dealt with according to the chief’s wishes. Trouble was usually avoided by announcing that such and such of another family had a wish to hunt within the limits of certain totem marks and all being well, special privileges were granted by appointing certain sub-chiefs to accompany the privileged individuals, who always laid aside a certain portion for the chiefs and his subordinates in acknowledgement of the privileges granted (Smith 1935:1-2) 94 Not only does the above passage provide a glimpse into the system of shíshálh land and resource tenure, it simultaneously describes how resources were shared among the shíshálh through a system of rigorous protocol. Obsidian Obsidian unlike slate occurs in low frequencies archaeologically throughout tems swiya. Some of the largest identified nodules have been recovered through non-archaeological techniques and are housed in private collections. In 2002 I observed a large “soccer ball” sized amber coloured obsidian boulder that displayed numerous negative flake scars and cortex. The nodule was reportedly recovered from within a “root system” of a cedar tree on the southern Sechelt Peninsula just south of Trout Lake. A second large cobble, measuring 50 cm x 40 cm and 20 cm thick, that displayed bifacial flaking was recovered from private property near the entrance to stl'íkwu (Skookumchuk Rapids) on the north side of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet). Visual analysis suggests that this cobble may have originated at a source located on British Columbia’s central coast (Rudy Reimer pers comm. 2012). Currently, no sources of obsidian have been identified in tems swiya and the closest known source is in the adjacent territory of the Skwxú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) within the Garibaldi volcanic belt (Mount Garibaldi) (Reimer 2012). Inter-Assemblage Comparison A comparison of the assemblages from the seven sites discussed provides a glimpse into shíshálh residential patterns, access to resources and for our understanding of shíshálh social relations, both internally and externally. Additional depth can be added to the analysis of the 95 archaeological remains through a comparison with the ethnographic and historic records; however, this must be done with caution as the ethnographic observations of seasonal occupation may not be representative of the more distant past. There is a distinct difference in the composition between the two northern assemblages: ts’ύnay (Deserted Bay) and skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay), and the five from the south. Identified fish remains at ts’ύnay (Deserted Bay) and skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay) were limited to salmon, a bias that may be a consequence of collection and analytical methods. Regardless, the dominance of salmon should not be surprising, as both sets of excavated deposits are located adjacent to salmon bearing streams identified as important fishing locations (Peacock 1997, 1998). In contrast to the southern assemblages of fish remains, those from sites in tems swiya are highly varied, much the same as those described at the Say-Umiton site located in Burrard Inlet (Lepofsky et al. 2007). Although the number of identified fish species is moderate, there is a wide range of variation in NISP, ranging from low to high. Not surprisingly, herring dominates the assemblages at four of the southern sites, all of which are in proximity to known fish traps (Figure 3-4). In general, the southern assemblages have a striking similarity in their composition, sharing virtually identical identified taxa. The mammal assemblages are much more limited in comparison to the previously described fish remains. Mammals were identified at four of the sites, and all were available locally. No more than five individual taxa were identified at any of them. slahlt (DjRw-1) and skelp (DkSb-30) produced the most variety with a maximum of five (n=5) individual taxa identified, while NISP across all sites was similarly small (Figure 3-2). As expected, deer was the most common species in all four of the assemblages in which they occurred. Although the 96 frequency of NISP in the mammal assemblage is low, virtually all ecosystems occurring within tems swiya are represented, from the ocean floor to the mountain tops. Discussion Analysis of the assemblages from ch’atelích (DiRw-28), slahlt (DjRw-1), Bible Camp (DjRw-14), salalus (DjSa-48), skelhp (DkSb-30), ts’ύnay (EaRw-3) and skwákwiyám (DlRx-9) strongly suggests that the socio-economic system of the shíshálh was intensely local in focus. Virtually all resources, except for obsidian, could be obtained from the immediate vicinity of all seven sites, requiring no more than one day’s travel by canoe in the case of marine resources, or one day of travel on foot for terrestrial resources. Many of the most important resources, including herring, and all five species of salmon could be harvested from creeks, rivers and ocean waters immediately adjacent to these villages. Although the two major types of lithics–slate and basalt–could easily be obtained, basalt is found in large quantities on beaches, while slate can be obtained in vast quantities from the quarry located at ts’ύnay. Ethnographic data, primarily interviews conducted by Suttles (1952), and Kennedy and Bouchard (2010) (the latter with Lil’wat advisors) and letters from nineteenth century colonial administrators and surveyors (Downie 1858; Forster 1859) indicate extensive overland trade routes connected the shíshálh to the interior. Although Charlie Mack of the Lil’wat (Kennedy and Bouchard 2010) describes trade as moving primarily from the saltwater inland, the presence of foreign slate and obsidian within tems swiya indicates that there were also extensive marine trade networks which would have facilitated the quick and efficient transportation of large amounts of goods. 97 Making the inferential leap from “resource abundance and source locations” (Lepofsky et al. 2007:213) to estimating the degree of social interaction among the shíshálh and beyond, is problematical. However, Blake (2004), and Lepofsky et al. (2007) have argued the archaeological record does “reflect local versus non-local resource use” and can be considered a proxy for social interaction (Lepofsky et al. 2007: 213). However, when considering archaeological remains as social proxy we need to be aware of inconsistencies in sample size brought about by taphonomic processes, the bulk transport of items such as slate, facilitated by large and fast freight canoes, and the economics of wealth display and the prestige economy, a part of which can be identified by the importation of prestige items from distant regions. Locally available marine resources, including slháwat’ (herring), siyánxw (dog salmon or chum), hénun (pink salmon), yúmach (chinook), stsékay (sockeye) and kwemmáyits’a (coho), along with locally available terrestrial resources can, to some extent, be considered proxy for shíshálh social relations. Earlier in this chapter I described how the shíshálh through the spélem-úlh received and shared knowledge and technology across family lines. Similarly, it has been suggested (Lepofsky et al. 2007), that the proximity of traps to large permanent settlements might be indicative of ownership of that trap by “a kin group from that settlement” (Lepofsky et al. 2007). The proximity of traps adjacent to villages containing multiple large kin groups, like the fish trap at salalus (DjSa-48), could also suggest the sharing of these structures, and an associated high level of group cooperation and solidarity—practices clearly described by Barnett. Rock enclosures for tidal compounding exist near Pender Harbor today–these made by wulsetum (some sort of legendary 1st man who founded tskwunu (Barnett 1935:2). Sechelt people congregated to get herring and salmon in the low places where they used the close lattice work levered trap, raised by line which pulls the submerging rocks off (Barnett 1935:2). Numerous large fish traps, composed of both stone and wood at which the shíshálh may have congregated are located near salalus (DjSa-48), these include the remains of a large stone 98 trap located at the mouth of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek), and DjRx-1 a large wooden trap located at Oyster Bay within Anderson Creek. In addition, a large wooden fish trap was prior to its destruction by dredging in the 1970s located in the mudflats at tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay), which is located between sites slahlt (DjRw-1) and ch’atelích (DiRw-28) (Merchant 1998), while the remnants of a wooden trap have been observed by the author in Bishop Creek adjacent to skelhp (DkSb-30) (Figure 3-8). Taphonomy The sample size used in this analysis is not large enough to accurately estimate the actual number of taxa in the excavated deposits. Taphonomic processes must be considered in the final counts of faunal data and other perishable materials, and as a potential cause for the apparent absence of rare and exotic taxa in the recovered samples. Alternately, taphonomic processes would have less effect on non-perishable materials, such as lithic raw materials types, slate being an example, and the presence of these materials in large quantities may be indicative of the ability of the shíshálh to transport them in large quantities, and the importance of the required trade networks. However, the similarities in the assemblage from the seven sites, which are spatially dispersed throughout tems swiya, suggest that the sample is representative of most available taxa, and that an increased sample would not significantly alter the make-up of the analyzed samples. A significant issue identified by Lepofsky et al. (2007:214) is that: “…in some cases non-local resources, and thus relations to more distant kin and non-kin, may not leave an archaeological signature.” We do know however, from ethnographic evidence that, although 99 Figure 3-8. Map indicating the location of identified fish traps in relation to sites discussed. Map produced by H. E. Brown. 100 the shíshálh did not have to travel to the interior to obtain food resources as “…most of the food is on the coast” (Kennedy and Bouchard 2010:86), they did travel there to obtain non-food resources, including marriage partners who were not socially proximal. This practice was described in the story of Sƨ lǝpqén which was recounted by Basil Joe to Wayne Suttles in 1952. Sƨ lǝpqén came to the head of Jervis Inlet .... Sƨ lǝpqén came from láxʷǝls to xǝnečǝn and grew up there. lǝx has a son who was shot while hunting. Sƨ lǝpqén found the body. lǝx gave him his daughter as a reward for finding the body. This couple was already married when the first priest came. When he was about to die lǝx called Sƨ lǝpqén to be the next chief. They walked down from Douglas country. It took three days (for a good man). He came with grandmother [his?] when a small boy. Sƨ lǝpqén had two cousins, qἑiqƐi, who was older, and ćƨlἑsqt, who was younger. The older saw a cedar rope and yew stick in a rock, about 150 years ago, on Anchor Mountain. These are all láxʷǝls names (Suttles 1952:8).9 Many contemporary shíshálh do activate contemporary kin ties to access fishing locations on the Fraser River, a practice that occurred during the pre-and post-contact past. However, if we take one example, the availability of all species of salmon within tems swiya, we can observe, that unlike other identified examples from the ethnographic period, including the Tsleil-Waututh (Lepofsky et al. 2007), that as long as these runs persisted, the shíshálh did not have to travel beyond tems swiya to obtain this critical resource. My results show that virtually all the resources recovered from Late Phase deposits at the seven sites; ch’atelích, slahlt, Bible Camp, salalus, skelhp, ts’ύnay and skwákwiyám could be harvested from within tems swiya, and many could be harvested from within a ten-kilometer radius or two to three hours travel by canoe or one day on foot (Blake 2010). What appears certain is that, with the exception of acquiring marriage partners, the shíshálh did not have to 9 Homer Barnett recorded the same version of this story during his 1935 interview with Joe La Dally, the grandfather of Basil Joe. 101 travel beyond the boundaries of tems swiya to satisfy their basic resource requirements, thereby negating the necessity for strong external kin networks. Not only do these results mirror those of Lepofsky et al. (2007), they are also supported by the ethnographic and historical records (Kennedy and Bouchard 2010; Peacock 1997, 1998; Smith 1940). Internal and External Social Relations Viewed collectively, the archaeological data present a picture of a strong focus on locally available resources during the Late Phase, with a subsequent high degree of local social interaction and shared identity, in part brought about through cooperative resource harvesting practices that crossed the boundaries of extended families. This would be particularly evident in salmon and herring fishing, and cooperative mammal hunting, specifically when goat, deer and birds were being hunted (Peacock 1997, 1998). Alternately, the data suggest that there was minimal regional and distant social interaction. The clearest exception to this pattern is observed in the proxy data provided by slate and obsidian. Why the shíshálh population at skelhp (DkSb-30) decided to travel more than one hundred kilometers to obtain slate from the McNabb Creek quarry, when they could have obtained it from a quarry located only sixty kilometers away at ts’ύnay is an interesting question that needs further exploration. Nevertheless, the data suggest a restricted social network beyond tems swiya. Beyond tems swiya, at least in the immediate post-contact period, interactions with the larger Coast Salish community around the Salish Sea appears to be limited, as attested to by Hill-Tout, who described the shíshálh focus as being inland towards the Lil’wat, a consequence in part due to the presence of the “war-like division of the Kwakiutl stock” (Hill-Tout 1904:99) 102 which controlled the waters of Georgia Strait, and according to Hill-Tout (1904:99) prevented the shíshálh from acquiring “ideas and conceptions” from their neighbours to the west and north. The observations of Hill-Tout are consistent with those provided by ethnographer James Teit who described the deep ties between the shíshálh and Lil’wat in his ethnography The Lillooet Indians. The Pemberton band intermarried so much with the Squamish of Howe Sound, and with the Sechelt of Jervis Inlet, that there were very few families who did not have relatives among these tribes. It is said that in former days many families of both these tribes spoke the Lillooet language among themselves. The Pemberton men and women who married members of these tribes settled among them; but no Coast men, and very few Coast women, settled among the Lillooet (Teit 1906:206) The antiquity of this relationship can be observed in a second narrative recorded by Teit and presented in his 1912 Traditions of the Lillooet Indians of British Columbia. The Seshelt tribe are in part descendants of a man and a porpoise (?) woman. Some of the Seshelt are Lillooet by origin. Their ancestors were a party of Lillooet who descended to the coast, and who continued to speak Lillooet until about 1850. They lived at Ha'nitcEn (Teit 1912:290). Critically, Teit described how this was essentially a one-way relationship, with Lil’wat men and women who married shíshálh choosing to settle on the coast, rather than among the Lil’wat (Teit 1906:200). In a 1977 interview with ethnographers Kennedy and Bouchard, Lil’wat elder Charlie Mack elaborated on Teit’s conclusion, when he described how economic exchange was one way, with coastal peoples, including the shíshálh having little motivation to trade or settle in the interior. CM: Yes. They got nothing to do in Mount Currie or up that way, you know, ‘cause most of the food is on the coast (Kennedy and Bouchard 2010:86). Contemporary Relationship Today the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya is quite different. Although there has been no systematic study, an examination of the homes of the average shíshálh would reveal a 103 diet virtually devoid of any food that was obtained from within the tems swiya and was identified within the archaeological record. Perhaps this is no more evident than with the current relationship between the shíshálh and the two primary resources of salmon and herring, both of which up until the 1950s played a vital role within shíshálh society–both socially and economically during their capture and consumption. Today, the shíshálh primarily catch salmon by commercial trawler, often beyond the boundaries of tems swiya. The catch is then distributed by truck to individual households. Often these households send their fish outside tems swiya to be processed (smoked or dried). Similarly, slháwat’ (herring) is virtually absent from the shíshálh diet, not through fault of the shíshálh, but due to their destruction by the commercial fishery. Lastly, the “non-Indigenous” foods that dominate the shíshálh diet are purchased at grocery stores who import virtually all the food from beyond tems swiya and the broader Sunshine Coast. This is not to say that traditional foods, medicines and fibre, typically cedar bark and roots used in the construction of clothing, regalia and art are not harvested from within tems swiya—they are—but only by a few individuals, and largely from the easily accessible southern areas typically accessed by motor vehicle. The goods that are manufactured are frequently sold to non-shíshálh in the tourist trade, leaving little further imprint on shíshálh society. The skwákwiyám The second way that the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya can be examined is through the skwákwiyám, a collection of oral texts that have been transmitted inter-generationally and consist of the stories and place names that contain the collective knowledge and history of the shíshálh people. The skwákwiyám are the cosmological or immaterial expression of the 104 archaeological record, describing culturally prescribed patterns of behaviour and cultural conceptions (Sahlins 1981:11). Within the skwákwiyám there are many themes, but three of them are central to the remainder of this chapter: 1) attachment to place, 2) the cooperative nature of economic practices, and 3) common history. These themes connect the shíshálh to each other through the creation of a common identity—embodied in the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya and materialized in the archaeological record. The skwákwiyám have been recorded in written form by various ethnographers of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Barnett 1955; Boas 1926, 1966, 1888; Hill-Tout 1978; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952), and with few exceptions (Hill-Tout 1978), these works have drawn on the second-hand accounts of pre-contact shíshálh cultural patterns provided by shíshálh advisors who had limited or no direct experience of the pre-contact way of life. The skwákwiyám, like the oral traditions of many First Nations, have been the victim of the intense pressure of the colonial conflict, first from memory loss due to massive population decline due to smallpox and subsequent outbreaks of various infectious disease, then by abuses of the Residential School system. Among the shíshálh, the negative effects of these forces have been compounded by the general absence of research into this subject during the early ethnographic period and that, with exception of Hill-Tout (1904), tended to focus on material culture (Barnett 1955; Smith 1935) rather than oral narratives. Consequently, the narratives that comprise the skwákwiyám are fragmentary and have had to be reconstructed from a variety of disparate ethnographic and historical sources. On one level, they describe the creation and transformation of tems swiya by a host of cosmological beings, all of which are imbued with special powers, and whose actions and physical representation are 105 represented in the land and waterscape. These origin stories are genealogical, linking people to cosmological beings and to place; they are fundamental components of social identity, along with place names and their associated stories; and they are vital indicators of ethnic identity, of people’s relationship to land and water, and of the intensity of this relationship. Spélem-úlh: origin stories Origin stories describing the spélem-úlh are the foremost component of the skwákwiyám and are a common characteristic of Coast Salish cosmology from Vancouver Island to the northern Salish Sea, and to the Fraser Valley. The spélem-úlh tell about the cosmological beings who created the land, sea, and sky—in otherwords the place in which the shíshálh dwell. It is to these cosmological beings, and the specific locations throughout tems Swiya where they arrived, that the shíshálh agreed to be known. These ancestors descended to earth bringing with them critical knowledge of technology and how it should be used. In many instances, they were confronted in battle by other cosmological beings, whereby they were transformed to stone, often appearing as enormous boulders that still clearly visible on the landscape. In becoming part of the land, these ancestral beings form a critical link connecting shíshálh–spélem-úlh–tems-swiya in a tripartite kin-based relationship (the spélem-úlh system). This system represented a totally integrated socio-economic scheme, maintained through the constant and intense daily encounter with the material and immaterial world. Understanding the role of the spélem-úlh within shíshálh culture is critical to the analysis of shíshálh–tems swiya social relations and the changing nature of this relationship. It is within the spélem-úlh that we see the synthesis of the “celestial” and “terrestrial” (Sahlins 1989: 379), the functional/economic and social/kinship in one reality (Atleo 2005: xi). By tracing descent to 106 individual spélem-úlh, shíshálh families claimed proprietary access to specific technology, and attachment to place, thereby claiming right to access and consume the land, water, plants and rocks. Ethnographic and historic sources (Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952) are currently inconclusive as to the precise number of spélem-úlh that inhabit shíshálh cosmology, however, shíshálh Elder Basil Joe described between eleven and twelve to ethnographer Wayne Suttles during the latter’s field research in 1952 (Suttles 1952), with a variations appearing in subsequent works (Merchant 2012; Peacock 1998; Peterson 1990). The spélem-úlh described by the various shíshálh sources descended to virtually all areas of tems swiya, arriving at or near major residential sites (Figure 3-9). The knowledge they provided focused on how to use the technologies required to conduct economic activities, with an emphasis on those associated with the harvest of marine and to a lesser degree terrestrial resources (Figure 3-9). Critical within the spélem-úlh narratives is the theme of sharing knowledge and the communal harvest. This sense of collectivity was described by shíshálh Elder Basil Joe to historian Lester Peterson. Each group shared its gifts with others, until the entire nation had acquired all skills. But each village maintained a special pride in the particular skill that it had received directly from the Divine Spirit through its SPIHL'-AHM-OHSS (Peterson 1990:16). 107 Figure 3-9. List of spélem-úlh by location. Source Source Source Date Location Name Gender(#) Knowledge Suttles BJ 1952 Pender Harbour – Male Spear CA Pender Harbour – Spear Barnett 1955 Pender Harbour – men(2), wife Peterson 1958-63 Pender Harbour – Male catching and curing herring Barnett Pender Harbour – Men (2) and wife Suttles BJ/CA 1952 Porpoise Bay w'yǝx lmǝt Male tools for canoe making Peterson 1958-63 Porpoise Bay – Male canoe making Suttles BJ 1952 Hotham Sound – fire in a clam shell Hill-Tout 1904 Hotham Sound – Male Suttles BJ 1952 Saltery Bay – paddle making tools Peterson 1958-63 Saltery Bay – 2 brothers making yew wood paddles Peterson 1958-63 Deserted Bay – 3 brothers bow and arrow, spear, harpoon Suttles BJ 1952 Deserted Bay – bow and arrow Suttles BJ 1952 Huneachin laxᵂléxᵂǝlǝq, ḱᵂayÉxcǝt [-sǝt?], kᵂẑlos male(3) Peterson 1958-63 Huneachin – Male fish trap for salmon Suttles BJ 1952 Nelson Island-Blind Bay – – cooking clams and fish BM/SS Nelson Island – – Peterson 1990 Nelson Island-Blind Bay – Male art of cooking clams Suttles BJ 1952 Brittain River1 ?ǝnǝkᵂači Male CA Brittain River Suttles BJ 1952 Agamemnon Channel – Male Peterson 1958-63 St. Vincent Bay – Female making and preserving fire Peterson 1958-63 Narrows Inlet – Male smoking salmon Barnett Sakinaw Lake – – BJ=Basil Joe, BM=Bill Mitchell, SS=Sarah Silvey, CA=Celia August There are multiple accounts throughout the skwákwiyám that describe the spélem-úlh engaging in cooperative hunting and fishing activities. One such account comes from Clarence Joe, who described the following narrative as being told to his first son William by the child’s paternal great-grandfather who, following the completion of the story, named the child Mayuk (grizzly bear) in honour of the adversary. Mayuk (Grizzly Bear) Three brothers were paddling up the ts’u’nay River with their dog on a hunting expedition. According to Clarence Joe, who told the story, these men were among his ancestors. They were, so the tale relates, huge, powerful, young men. Their wrists were as wide as an average man’s palm. No ordinary hand could pull one of their bows. 108 Suddenly, as they rounded a turn in the river, they came upon a grizzly. One of the elder brothers sent an arrow into it. Wounded, it plunged off through the woods. The youngest brother sprang ashore with his dog and set off in pursuit, while the other two brothers remained to watch for signs of the animal from the canoe. Employing his typical cunning, the wounded bear leaped from a hiding spot on to the younger hunter, who had been following the grizzly’s tracks in a light snow. The bear then pinned him between two small fallen trees. Thrusting a thumb into each corner of its mouth, and pressing out with his tremendously powerful arms, the young man was able to prevent the monster from using its teeth on him. The two trees protected his body from a crushing bear hug, but not from the creature’s claws. At the moment of the ambush, the hunter’s dog had run back to where the two older brothers waited. Sensing trouble, they immediately set out with him back to the scene of the struggle. The oldest brother ran up to the bear, felt for a vulnerable spot behind the shoulder blade, leapt back, and sent an arrow into one and then into the other of the beast’s sides. With the second, it collapsed dead. The hunters carried the younger brother to the river, which ran red with his blood when they bathed his wounds. Back at their home village ts’u’nay he was treated with a solution made from kwinalhp, the healing mountain hellebore, and he recovered from the terrible encounter (shíshálh Nation 2010). This narrative is likely a reference to the three spélem-úlh brothers who arrived at ts'únay (Deserted Bay) bringing the art of weaponry (Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952) (Figure 3-9). It also illustrates the communal nature of the hunt, a theme that is revisited in the arrival three spélem-úlh brothers at xenichen (Hunaechin) who brought knowledge of the construction and operation of fish traps (Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952), and the marriage of two spélem-úlh families at stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek) and their communal work in the construction of the stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek) fish trap (Suttles 1952). The cooperative nature of hunting and fishing practices described in the skwákwiyám mirrors that suggested by the archaeological record, illustrating the high degree of unity among the shíshálh. Place Names Place names and the stories with which they are associated are indicators of the shíshálh use and occupation of tems swiya, facilitating the deep and intimate attachment of people to place (Basso 1996). Alternately, changes in the meaning and use of place names may also indicate a 109 transformation in the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. In this section I explore various shíshálh place names and the means through which they connect the shíshálh to tems swiya, arguing that place names are both indicative of this intense social relationship, as well as being representative of the transformation in this relationship. Place names like the stories they are connected to, have been the subject of intense pressures throughout the duration of the colonial conflict. Over three hundred place names have been recorded within tems swiya, far below the five hundred that Hunn considers the maximum that an individual may hold due to limits on memory (Hunn 1994:84). Various researchers beginning with Hill-Tout (1904) have recorded these names and, as expected, there are discrepancies in the recorded meanings. Many of the meanings behind these names have also been lost, while many continue to be anglicized by the shíshálh themselves. Regardless of the damage, there are sufficient examples that can connect the shíshálh to place, and can re-enforce the ancient links between the shíshálh, their ancestors and tems swiya, while revealing the changing nature of this relationship. Virtually the entirety of tems swiya has been named emphasising the deep social relationship between tems swiya and the shíshálh, while at the same time expressing the history of the shíshálh people. Many of the most familiar place names are located along or in proximity to the coastline. They represent virtually every aspect of shíshálh life and history, fitting into two broad categories; descriptive and commemorative. Descriptive names are the most common, typically conforming to the following criteria: topography, resource harvesting, environment/climate, animal behaviour and the form of human settlement (village, fortification). Commemorative names are less frequent and are often more difficult to discern from the descriptive, though they frequently containing elements of the former. Commemorative names 110 typically conform to the following criteria: the first ancestors, creation, transformation of the landscape, transmission of oral traditions and appropriate behaviour. A theme that transcends both categories is the anthropomorphism of tems swiya—it is, afterall, a living ancestor. In her analysis of the Atikamekw of north-central Quebec, Sylvie Poirier has argued that place names “reveal not only a territory, but also the generations and events that have shaped Atikamekw history” (Poirier 2001:108). In effect, place names are both resilient and stable, illustrating an individual and collective longevity of occupation, intense connection to place, and common experience (Poirier 2001). In this vein, the construction of new place names, or the Anglicization of ancient ones by the shíshálh themselves should not be dismissed as negative consequences of the colonial conflict and a loss of attachment to place, rather they are legitimate expressions of a contemporary reality. The place names reveal not only tems swiya but the cosmological and historical events, and individuals that shaped shíshálh history. These names daily informed individual shíshálh of their family and collective histories and how, through the connection to spélem-úlh, they were connected to family territories and areas of proprietary access. These descriptive names clearly illustrate the intensity of use and occupation of tems swiya, describing not only daily activities, but also the availability and knowledge of specific resources, with commemorative names identifying locations and resources to which specific families maintained proprietary access. These names testify to the intense and deep knowledge developed over countless generations, a reality that can be applied across the entirety of tems swiya. The commemorative names also inform us of the length of this relationship, the formation of tems swiya, associated rules surrounding appropriate behaviour, and the 111 consequences of contravening protocols. One example comes from the story Calseeku (God’s Holy Water), which is situated in the southern portion of tems swiya at Bull’s Pass. This commemorative narrative occurs during the creation of tems swiya and describes the creation of a specific landscape, the consequences of inappropriate behavior, and the means through which this ancient event is visible and commemorated daily. Calseeku (God’s Holy Water) Calseeku is situated at Bull’s Pass on the shore side of an island which now has light house near it. The well can be reached by climbing the bluffs to get to it. It is said that around the well, various flowers grow, and well is partially covered by moss. The water in the well is said to be very deep. People have tried to reach the bottom to no avail, although the well is said to be in the middle of rocks. The location of the well has been known to our people who travelled by it frequently and it has been passed down from generation to generation. The story of Calseeku is: When God made the world he stopped in Calseeku to rest, there was no water there so he made the well. While the Lord was resting, a couple was passing by the island in their canoe. The Lord called to them, but they did not look no answer him, but kept on paddling. The Lord threw a stone at the couple hitting them both on the back of the head, immediately the couple turned to black ducks, with the white spot in the back of their head’s. The Lord said “In future, people will eat you.” This is the black duck we eat today (shíshálh Nation 2010). The history and knowledge contained within the narrative are encapsulated in the name xa7álsikwu (Calseeku), knowledge of which can be triggered by observing the white spot on the back of the duck’s head. Within this one word, the shíshálh would have been aware of their place in the world, their history, and themselves, all of which were as Keith Basso stated, “inseparably entwined” (Basso 1996:35). Without the knowledge of xa7álsikwu (Calseeku)–the place, there is no recognition of the narrative attached to it and the ability to trigger the collective memory associated with the place and the attached events. In the pre-contact past a shíshálh individual travelling along the waters of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) would within ten kilometers (or two hours of paddling) encounter at least seventeen named places, their associated stories, and a spélem-úlh (Figure 3-10). 112 Figure 3-10. Map of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) indicating the location of seventeen place names and a spélem-úlh, within a ten-kilometer (shaded zone) distance from ch’atelich. Map by H. E. Brown. 113 In 2013-2015 the shíshálh initiated and participated in the renaming of Saint Mary’s hospital in Sechelt, which is located within Sechelt Band Land No. 2 on the site of the former St. Augustine’s Residential School. The renaming of the hospital as “Sechelt Hospital” marked a compromise between Vancouver Coastal Health and the shíshálh Nation, whereby the word Sechelt, the anglicized form of shíshálh and the legal name of the shíshálh Nation, was bestowed on the hospital along with the use of the word shíshálh on hospital signage. The name is both commemorative, recognizing the important role of the shíshálh in the history of the hospital, as they had donated the land on which the hospital sits, but also recognizing the growing political influence of the shíshálh within tems swiya, as well as their increasing participation in the western political and economic system. It is also descriptive: announcing both the hospital’s geographic location and the activities conducted there. The inland areas of tems swiya are also named, these however, tend to be associated with supernatural beings, or vast anthropomorphised landscapes as opposed to site specific locations (Figure 3-11). These named landscapes create a topogeny that, attached to the landscape, represents the lived history and occupation of tems swiya embedded within its inlets, mountains and waters. These landscapes and names merge to provide a comprehensive history of the shíshálh and a literal example of tems swiya as a social entity. Starting at xenichen (Hunaechin) in the north, the traveller observes k'els (Anchor Mountain [Mt. Victoria]) (Figure 3.11) towering over the head of the inlet—whereupon the shíshálh took refuge during the “Great Flood” (Peterson 1990:43). To the immediate west is kélkelús (Mount Alfred), the highest peak within lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), drawing its name from its resemblance to an enormous fort (Peterson 1990:43). Proceeding to the south on the north side of swíwelát (Princess Louisa Inlet) one can observe embedded in the stone of tems swiya the 114 figure Tuhk-hss’ (Old One Eye), the physical embodiment of a departed creator who stands vigil over the waters of swíwelát (Princess Louisa Inlet) from which the waters of the Great Flood appeared (Peterson 1990:44).10 Continuing south along the east shore of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) one can spot kúl-ah-kham (Moorsam Bluff)—the name of which references the bluff’s similarity to a “giants palisade” (Peterson 1990:43). Just south of kúl-ah-kham (Moorsam Bluff) is Kuhm’-kwah which rises as two peaks above skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay). Kuhm’-kwah is a name that refers to the likeness of two brothers whose images are seen in the shapes of the two mountain peaks (Peterson 1990:43-44). South of skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay) is kwáy-ah-mohse (Mount Churchill) towering over the bay. In a legend recounted to historian Lester Peterson by shíshálh elder Reg Paull, the concept of territory is vividly reinforced by the skwákwiyám that tells how a climber who reached the top of this mountain (the height of land) would “return with the light in his face” (Peterson 1990:44)—in otherwords, the climber would literally have encountered the cosmological realm. Further south at the entrance to ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) on the north side of stl'íkwu (Skookumchuk Rapids) is located kwátámus (Kwatamus)—a name that refers to the landform’s resemblance to a “high hatter” or dignified person (Peterson 1990). To the west at the head of smít (Hotham Sound) the slope of the land resembles a man with his head thrown back in pride (Peterson 1990:44). To the east at the head of stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet) is a prominent peak that is notched like that of the central post of a long house. These are but a few of the many such evocative and history-infused place names that are found thoughout tems Swiya. 10Based on the available information, it is unclear what type of cosmological being Tuhk-hss’ is. 115 Figure 3-11. Map of tems swiya indicating the location of named landscapes described above. Map by H. E. Brown. 116 Discussion: the contemporary relationship Just as the old name xa7álsikwu (Calseeku) informed earlier generations of shíshálh about their history, the new place name “Sechelt Hospital” informs current and future generations of shíshálh about the events that comprise their collective history, and the changes that have occurred to their reality. Perhaps most importantly for this work it is the nature of the relationship between shíshálh and these two names that is most important. In the pre-contact past the intense daily interaction with the land and waterscape of tems swiya and the associated relationship with named places such as xa7álsikwu (Calseeku) would have informed the shíshálh about many aspects of their history, origins, beliefs, morality, and their future. However, changes in the shíshálh economy and peoples’ daily activities as well as their absence from the majority of tems swiya has caused regular interaction with their lands and waterways, thereby altering the ancestral relationship with the histories that are embedded within them. No longer can most shíshálh people recognize the profound knowledge embedded within the white spot on the back of the duck’s head. The changing nature of the meaning of place names and the way in which the shíshálh interact with them attest to the ongoing and dynamic nature of the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. New place names are constantly being created while many of the old place names are still in use. However, many of these old names have been anglicized and the meaning behind them has been lost to present generations. While this process has largely been a consequence of the stresses of the colonial conflict, it has also been facilitated by the shíshálh themselves. For example, in 2011 the government of the shíshálh Nation published the Sechelt Dictionary (Beaumont 2011), within which the names of the villages described in the 117 archaeological section of this chapter were transformed from their descriptive Indigenous form to the anglicised cartographic reference (Figure 3-12). Figure 3-12. Place names associated with the seven residential sites discussed in this chapter, their meaning in she shashíshálhem (the Sechelt language) and their English meanings as described in Beaumont (2011). Place Name Borden No. Meaning- she shashíshálhem Source Meaning-Sechelt Dictionary Meaning-shíshálh TUS s-kwákwiy-ám DlRx-9 story (this is history) Suttles 1952:5 Vancouver Bay Vancouver Bay ts’ún-ay EaRw-3 sheltered; protected from rain Bouchard and Kennedy 1986:10 Deserted Bay Deserted Bay ch’át-lích DiRw-28 Outside Hill-Tout 1904:21, Grekoff 1965-67, Bouchard 1971, Beaumont 1985 Sechelt Sechelt Slahlt DjRw-1 no meaning –- no meaning Bay west of Saltery Bay Skelhp DkSb-30 no meaning –- no meaning Saltery Bay Salalus DjSa-48 going along the beach Kennedy and Bouchard 1977:6 Madeira Park Bible Camp DjRw-14 no meaning –- no meaning no meaning Conclusion Chapter 2 examines previously constructed models of territory, from the watershed-based model of Marian Smith, the work of Wayne Suttles and William Elmendorf who prioritized the localized winter village, or village cluster, to the observations of Franz Boas, Charles Hill-Tout and Homer Barnett, and their influence on contemporary ethnographers of the shíshálh and their territorial reconstructions. This was followed by a review of four models produced by: Jay Miller, Brian Thom, Keith Carlson and Molly Malone, each of whom are largely influenced by Suttles but to some degree synthesize his work with that of their own and others, prior to presenting a selection of past and present First Nation understandings of territory, focusing on the shíshálh. My argument is that most recent reconstructions of individual Coast Salish territories have prioritised colonial frameworks of space and time, and with few exceptions are primarily informed by data drawn from a single discipline, either ethnography, ethnohistory, 118 archaeology or history, thereby creating models that are confined in scope but broad in application, thereby obfuscating the specificity of local variation. In this chapter I moved beyond these models by viewing territory as a western concept that prioritises the colonial frameworks of space and time. I have downgraded the influence of these frameworks to secondary considerations, choosing to replace the word territory with the shíshálh term tems swiya (our world) while simultaneously privileging the notion of kinship, within the context of Sahlins’ concept of “intersubjectivity” (Sahlins 2013). As Basso (1996), Cosgrove (1989), Ingold (1993) and Sahlins (2013) have clearly illustrated, there is a clear social relationship between people and the places they occupy that extends well beyond the boundaries of the metaphorical or the utilitarian/functional. Basso, drawing from Isak Dinesen (1979), sums up the nature of this relationship, people “embrace the countryside and find the embrace returned” (Basso 1996:106). Literally, the act of consumption, and shared experience bonded the shíshálh to tems swiya in an intense kin relationship that extended far beyond the functional/economic. The archaeological record provides a unique means through which we can quantify the shíshálh consumption of tems swiya and observe the intensity and long duration of this relationship. The example of the burial mound illustrated how tems swiya consumed the shíshálh and illustrates Sahlins’ concept of “intersubjectivity” whereby kinsmen are persons who “…belong to one another, who are parts of one another, who are co-present in each other, whose lives are joined and interdependent” (Sahlins 2013:21). It is these social relationships not biology as expressed in genealogy that are the invisible motors that drive the process of kinship and they are the means by which kinship may be constituted, either natally or postnatally, from biology or 119 by performance or by a combination of both (Sahlins 2013:28). Kinfolk are persons who are parts of one another to the extent that what happens to one is felt by the other. The archaeological record only advances our understanding of territory so far, its focus on the material realm does not allow us to appreciate the role of the immaterial/cosmological aspect of this relationship–for this we must turn to the skwákwiyám. Throughout their daily lives the shíshálh repeatedly encountered the place names, named landscapes, and spélem-úlh that populated their cosmological world. The place names informed the shíshálh of their collective history, a history embedded within tems swiya. With each encounter, they were informed of their ancestor’s actions, how they had approached events, and the appropriate form of action. The spélem-úlh are critical in this process, they literally connected the shíshálh to place adding personal connection to the place names and named landscapes, while simultaneously providing examples of successful strategies and outcomes when dealing with everyday activities. The evidence presented indicates that virtually all that the shíshálh consumed was drawn from the confined space of the fjords and inlets that comprised tems swiya. As Walky said to Phil Joe: “We own everything … as far as your eye could see that way, that way, that way, that way, it’s all ours.” Walky’s description is contextual, it is what one sees while travelling on the waters of tems swiya, it is all that can be observed from the ocean floor to the mountain tops “as far as the eye can see” it is the shíshálh world, it is tems swiya. Within this world is the archaeological record that the shíshálh created, and the contents of the skwákwiyám. The surrounding mountain tops–as far as the eye can see–mark the firm territorial boundary described by Khatsahlano in Chapter 2. The shíshálh were not confined to tems swiya, they ranged beyond its boundaries to trade, socialize and explore, but the intensity of their relationship with tems swiya was so extreme, as 120 observed in the consumption of the material and immaterial that it established a kin relationship that was all encompassing. Returning to Suttles warning regarding generalities, I stress that the kin-based model I have presented may only be applicable to the shíshálh. The nature of geography and the availability of resources that have contributed to the development of this relationship dramatically vary across the Coast Salish world. Therefore, while there are likely to be similarities across the region, to expect homogeneity in the perceptions of territory is unrealistic. Lastly, if the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya was established and maintained through intense daily interaction, it is logical to assume that changes in the degree of interaction would result in changes in the relationship. In this chapter, we briefly observed the changing nature of this relationship through the decline in the harvesting and consumption of resources produced and gathered from within tems swiya along with the changing nature of shíshálh place names. The degree of change that has occurred and the cause of change are critical questions and are the focus of the remainder of this dissertation. 121 PART II Contact and Accommodation 122 CHAPTER 4: The Phony War: smallpox and face-to-face contact The Old man got up early in the morning, made a fire, wrapped swok’waot around him, jerked and said “white man coming across; too much.” No one knew of white people then (Basil Joe, 1952). Introduction Many times, while working at the shíshálh Nation, I heard the ongoing colonial conflict described as a war, one that although long, had only occasionally been hot. If we consider the first face-to-face encounter between the shíshálh and the British in 1792 as its start, then the shíshálh are in the two-hundred and twenty-seventh year of the conflict. However, it can justifiably be argued that the conflict started even earlier, with the arrival and devastation of smallpox sometime in the late eighteenth century (Boyd 1999; Brabender 1935; Hill-Tout 1904; Joe 1965; Merchant 2012). Following these initial encounters, there would be little interaction between the shíshálh and Europeans until the latter stages of the first half of the nineteenth century. This was the period of the phony war, a time when both sides were aware of each-other, but direct contact was limited. Following the massive population decline resulting from the smallpox epidemic, the shíshálh reacted as they had previously done—they re-organized. They employed the ancient strategies of population movement and consolidation: they relocated within tems swiya, then they gathered together in new community groupings, waiting for the event to pass so that they could return to their villages. Contact is more than the first face-to-face encounter between peoples, it is both a singular event (Lutz 2008; Thrush 2011), and a complex process, during which the cultural categories of the participants, through a series of events are exposed to the other. Understanding the process of contact from the shíshálh perspective can be accomplished through the analysis of a series of five discernable events, drawn out over nearly a hundred years–or approximately five generations. Sometime in the late eighteenth century came the devastation of smallpox, then the 123 first encounters with the British in 1792 (Vancouver 1801), the arrival of the Oblates (OMI) in 1852 (Fowler 1990; Lemert 1954), followed by the initiation of resource alienation in the form of timber interests in 1868 (Durieu 1875; Fisher 1990; Keller and Leslie 1996; Mainland Guardian 1875; Roy and Taylor 2012), and finally land-alienation with the arrival of settlers in the 1870s (Durieu 1875; Fisher 1990; Keller and Leslie 1996; Mainland Guardian 1875; Peterson 1990; Roy 2012). In this section (Chapters 4, 5 and 6) I will examine these five events within the context of their effect on the spélem-úlh system, specifically the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship. In this chapter I examine the smallpox epidemic of the late eighteenth century, and the initial physical contact between the British and shíshálh in 1792. Chapter 5 explores the shíshálh-OMI relationship and Chapter 6 concludes with an analysis of the effects of land alienation and resource extraction. It is these events, and the strategies that were employed by the shíshálh, that in part, would eventually transform the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya, thereby setting the stage for the contemporary manifestation of this relationship. I order to attempt a definition of the nature of shíshálh agency I will draw on examples from Hawaii and New Zealand. I then proceed to an analysis of a series of events, each of which will be examined from the context of a series of oral traditions that correspond to the “segmentary level[s]” of the social sphere (Sahlins 1985:58), thereby bringing the symbolic scheme of the spélem-úlh system from the cosmological into the contemporary terrestrial world. Through this analysis I attempt to reconcile discrepancies between the archaeological and historical records, thereby illuminating the shíshálh response to the events discussed. To accomplish these objectives, I draw on four data sets; the skwákwiyám, the archaeological record and both ethnographic and historical documents, all of which will be examined through the 124 theoretical framework of “perennial philosophy” (Armstrong 2005:2), or what Sahlins calls mythopraxis.11 According to this perspective, everything that occurs in the terrestrial realm, everything that we can see, hear and touch has its counterpart in the cosmological or divine realm, which is “richer, stronger and more enduring than our own” (Armstrong 2005:2). This perspective contends that human beings experience events according to an already existing cosmological pattern that supposedly resides inside collective the consciousness of the specific group to which they belong. It contends that events are hardly specific, but are historical; in this case, mythic themes are recurring and regenerative (Carlson 2007a; Sahlins 1989). In her analysis of Skagit society Sally Snyder takes a similar perspective to that of Carlson and Sahlins, perpetuating the assumption that a people’s oral literature reflects the “very essence of their social life” (Snyder 1964:4). Borrowing from Melville Jacobs The Content and Style of an Oral Literature (1959), and Eric Fromm’s The Forgotten Language (1951), Snyder contends that among the Skagit unresolved social conflicts found expression in oral tradition, specifically myths, a similar finding to that of Jacobs who concluded that among the Clackamas Chinook the content of myth tended to focus on the stress points of daily life (Jacobs 1959). The models presented above provide a method by which individual events can not only be interpreted, but also provide a means through which the motivation for individual and collective actions can be identified, and the process of structural change (individual and collective agency) can be accounted. These stories are critical as they reveal what was both stressful and important to the shíshálh in the pre- and post-contact periods. The objective of this 11 In this chapter the skwákwiyám has largely been reconstructed from documents prepared by previous researchers who drew on accounts provided by seven Advisors, these include; Joe La Dally, Charlie Roberts, Clarence Joe, Basil Joe, Gilbert Joe and Cindy Joe. Except for Charlie Roberts who along with Joe La Dally were the primary advisors to Barnett and Hill-Tout, all are members of the Joe family and direct descendants of La Dally. The author did not conduct interviews with any of these Advisors. 125 chapter is, through the examination of these events, to determine whether smallpox and face-to- face contact had a discernable effect on the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship, and in what manner if any these events affected future shíshálh strategies. Events As Sahlins (1985:153) describes them, events are “…the empirical form of a system.” They are happenings of significance, which are dependent upon the social structure of the parties involved for their existence, and for their effect. And, as Max Weber stated, “Events are not just there and happen…but they have a meaning and happen because of that meaning” (Weber in Sahlins 1985:153). An “…event is not just a happening in the world; it is a relation between a certain happening and a given symbolic scheme” (Sahlins 1985:153). For the shíshálh, both events and the symbolic scheme are encapsulated by the spélem-úlh system, and it is this system that gives specific events not only effect but also infuses them with cultural significance. Therefore, each event is interpreted, understood and approached from a specific cultural, and individual perspective. In his analysis of the Maori, Sahlins details the process through which events are interpreted and responded to, and how their effects are carried forward. It is through this framework that we can employ the narratives that comprise the skwákwiyám to not only understand shíshálh strategies, but also to understand how the successful outcomes of these strategies were carried forward into successive stages of the colonial conflict. The events presented in this chapter will be examined from the context of specific oral traditions that correspond to the “segmentary level[s]” of the social sphere (Sahlins 1985:58), thereby bringing the symbolic scheme of the spélem-úlh system into daily practice in the terrestrial world. 126 …the main cultural relationships devolve through a series of progressively distinctive and delimited forms, corresponding to the devolution in social sphere or segmentary level, from primordial myths to tribal and clan legends, and from clan legends to family histories, until–as carried forward in the ancestral references of proverbial sayings, proper names, or the pronoun ‘I’–they become the order of present existence. The final form of the cosmic myth is the event” (Sahlins 1985:58). The events to be discussed represent some of the most severe of the entire colonial conflict. Smallpox and missionaries (Chapter 5) have often been cited as some of the most effective agents of colonialism, threatening the very foundations of First Nation societies (Arnett 2016; Fisher 1990; Lemert 1954; Peacock 1997). Examinations into these topics, particularly the roles of missionaries, have typically recognized exclusive missionary agency, and the ability of individual missionaries to affect enormous social change on entire First Nations (Fisher 1990: LaViolette 1961; Lemert 1954; Neylan 2013:835; Peacock 1998). The 1980s and 1990s saw a shift in focus, as scholars inserted First Nations’ agency into the conversation (Bolt 1992; Grant 1984; Neylan 2003), however, it was not until the 1990s, and the increased access to and focus on, previously unavailable sources, particularly First Nation oral traditions, and OMI records, that a more balanced approach developed–one that considered the role of First Nations as agents of change (Christophers 1995; Neylan 2003; Oliver 2014). Throughout the Coast Salish world, agency has been examined from a number of diverse perspectives: Bill Angelbeck (2009) considers warfare and the protection of one’s community to be an extreme form of agency, Carlson (2009) takes a uniquely Indigenous perspective, articulating a Stó:lō understanding of agency whereby events don’t occur as a result of human agency, rather they occur as they are fated or meant to be (Carlson 2009:32). Like Carlson, Malone (2013) considers agency from the perspective of the Upper Skagit whereby both humans and non-humans possess agency. 127 With exceptions (Lutz 2008; Metcalfe-Chenail 2007; Sahlins 1981), the degree to which First Nations exerted influence on events within the colonial conflict continues to be underestimated. As one historian describes it, First Nation agency is considered to be a form of “indigenous defensiveness – a rather truncated form of agency” (Brock 2000:159-160). Alternately, crediting First Nations with an offensive or proactive agency continues to be approached with caution, fearing that to do so somehow disregards the power imbalance that existed between the colonizer and the colonized while simultaneously failing to appreciate the adverse impacts upon First Nations because of the colonial conflict. In his analysis of late eighteenth century Hawaiian-British interaction, Marshall Sahlins clearly illustrates how Hawaiian elites and non-elites attempted to direct, and in many instances succeeded in directing, their relationship with the British for their individual and collective advantage, resulting in both negative and positive outcomes (Sahlins 1978, 1981, 1983). Similarly, shíshálh leaders manipulated their relationship with Europeans during the events to be discussed for their own strategic objectives, and, as with the Hawaiian case, the outcomes were both positive and negative. Accurate assessment of the effectiveness of these strategies, and their subsequent impacts on shíshálh culture, requires an examination of shíshálh motivations and an analysis of the outcomes from the perspective of the distinct cultural logic that formulated their strategic decisions. Such complex and important fulcrums of shíshálh-British interaction provide a valuable opportunity to re-envision the standard interpretation of the shíshálh position within the larger colonial conflict and, specifically, the role of the shíshálh as directors as opposed to actors, and their ability to influence the outcomes of events. It can be argued that inserting such a high degree of agency somehow ignores the accepted realities of this ongoing struggle, while 128 downplaying historical imbalances of power. I suggest that inserting shíshálh agency is reflective of the position of the shíshálh leaders discussed in this work, who considered themselves equal purveyors of agency to that of the Crown and industry. In this light, the successful outcomes of today’s strategies (litigation, assertion, reconciliation) are merely the latest examples of successful tactics in a more than two century-long strategy. Throughout these chapters, it will become clear that tactics employed by shíshálh leaders in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Chapter 5) show that they were often very much the protagonists attempting to exert, as they always had, their own form of agency—agency that was initially grounded in the distinct logic of the spélem-úlh system. The First Event: Smallpox–A Silent Contact Smallpox clearly occurred within the framework of shíshálh cultural logic, arriving prior to physical contact with Europeans, and before the stresses of the colonial conflict ultimately transformed the spélem-úlh system in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In Chapters 2 and 3 we observed how archaeology and the skwákwiyám (oral traditions) were used to establish an understanding of the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship. Again, I turn to the skwákwiyám as it allows for the illumination of the distinct logic that guided the shíshálh when responding to the events to be described. In an analysis of Stó:lō narratives Keith Carlson states, that although the smallpox epidemics of the late eighteenth century have been examined with regard to when they occurred and their demographic effects, little attention has been “directed towards assessing the cultural responses and social effects” (Carlson 2010:92). These two approaches are not mutually 129 exclusive, both must be considered in any assessment of the prescribed shíshálh response, and the subsequent social impacts. In the pre-contact Coast Salish world catastrophic events were common and many are codified in the oral traditions of these peoples, creating narratives that detail the social and historical effect of these events as well as the strategic decisions employed by Coast Salish leaders and the potential outcomes of their strategies. The strategies and outcomes described in these narratives are virtually the only sources of information to illuminate the effect of these events (if any) on the cultures of Coast Salish peoples in the pre-contact world. We will observe how for the shíshálh the response to catastrophic events recreates the events described in the skwákwiyám and hence the very way the shíshálh experienced the past provides us with a view of the way they initially experienced their present—in otherwords, their “ontogeny recapitulates [their] cosmogony” (Sahlins 1985:59). A glimpse into First Nation responses to smallpox has been created by George M. Guimet, Robert T. Boyd, David L. Whited and Nile Thompson who in their The Legacy of Introduced Disease: The Southern Coast Salish (1991) create through the use of ethnographic data a tentative model of the reaction to and consequences of smallpox among the aboriginal people of the Puget Sound basin. Their model described seven distinct actions, including: (1) individuals, whole families and groups often fleeing from infected areas, spreading the disease along trade and kinship networks, (2) aboriginal health care practitioners becoming overloaded and unable to treat all those infected, (3) health care practitioners often utilizing health care practices that increased morbidity and mortality, (4) normal subsistence practices often ceased, in whole or in part, increasing death rates, (5) a general breakdown of the sociocultural system occurring, likely causing (6) a change in some ceremonies, and (7) a series of long-term changes 130 to the structure of the traditional culture following the high rates of mortality (Guimet et al. 1991:22). As we will see, the shíshálh response to smallpox is similar to that described above. Smallpox, the first of the two events that are the subject of this chapter arrived in silence, without form or identity, but within an understandable context–it occurred then ended, it existed within a finite period. Smallpox, what Robert Boyd describes as the “Spirit of Pestilence” (Boyd 1999), indicated to the shíshálh that the equilibrium between themselves and the spirit world was out of balance. Evidence suggests that sometime in the early historic period (Boyd 1999; Galois 1994:39; Harris 1994)–possibly during the 1770s–smallpox affected the entire coastal region of what is now British Columbia.12 By the time Europeans arrived in tems swiya its devastating effects had already been experienced, culminating in demographic decline and population consolidation (Brabender 1935:1; Joe 1965; Merchant 2012). In the proto-contact and post-contact worlds, catastrophic events were no less common than in the pre-contact world. The effects of these events were obvious to all, First Nation and European alike. The abandoned villages and scarred faces observed by Vancouver (Vancouver 1801), and the “skeleton, upon Skeletons” (Joe 1965:3) described by the shíshálh bare witness to its effects. Danielle Metcalfe-Chenail (2007), and Christopher Arnett (2016), have detailed how the Interior Salish of eastern British Columbia and northern Washington State, and the Nlaka’pamux of British Columbia’s western Interior Plateau, interpreted smallpox and earthquakes within their repsective worldviews (Arnett 2016:329; Metcalfe-Chenail 2007)—i.e., these catastrophies were considered as a demonstration that their relationships with the spirit world were out of balance. 12 Ethnologist James Mooney identified four major epidemics in the Northwest (1781-82, 1836-37, 1852-53, and 1862) (Mooney 1928:13-14, 27,30), while Robert Boyd identifies evidence of a fifth in 1801-2 and a possible sixth in the winter of 1824-25 (Boyd 1999:22). 131 The consequence of this imbalance was manifest in mass death, imposed upon them by the offended spiritual powers. In the past, with the Great Snow, Great Flood, and Great Landslide all of which resulted in mass death, balance was eventually restored with the spirit world and the shíshálh people rebounded. In 1791 the colonial conflict entered the physical realm, slowly accelerating, first with the arrival of José María Narváez as part of the Spanish expedition of Francisco Eliza (McDowell 1998; Wagner 1933), and then, eleven months later, with the arrival of British Captain George Vancouver and his crew, resulting in the first recorded physical contact between the shíshálh and British on June 17, 1792. Smallpox and the first face-to-face encounter are the opening events of the colonial conflict. They are intimately entwined—the former influences the frequency and intensity of the latter—including the European perception of the shíshálh, as well as their residential patterns. History is currently silent regarding the presence of smallpox among the shíshálh during this period, although there are oral traditions and accounts from the post-contact period (Brabender 1935; Chirouse 1887-1889; Joe 1965). Vancouver and his crew were aware of its presence on the west coast and could identify its devastating effects among the Coast Salish communities to the south of tems swiya: [A]t the extremity of the inlet…about sixty [people]…: one or two had visited us on the preceding Thursday morning [at Port Discovery]; particularly one man who had suffered very much from the small pox. This deplorable disease is not only common, but it is greatly to be apprehended is very fatal among them, as its indelible marks were seen on many; and several had lost the sight of one eye…owing most likely to the virulent effects of this baneful disorder (Vancouver 1801:241). Similarly, Archibald Menzies alluded to its possible presence throughout the Coast Salish world: They found but few Inhabitants in the Northern branches but if they might judge from the deserted Villages they met in this excursion, the Country appeared to be formerly much more numerously inhabited than at present, tho they could form no conjecture or opinion on the cause of this apparent depopulation… (Menzies 1923:63). 132 In a 1965 interview with CBC journalist Imbert Orchard, Clarence Joe drawing on oral tradition, described how the population of ch'atelích (Sechelt), the current location of the largest shíshálh community, was destroyed by smallpox prior to European arrival. And the early arrival of the white man, we were told by our forefathers, that they had suffered an epidemic, and this epidemic was the smallpox. And they were dying by the thousands where we have witnessed ourselves the skeletons with our immediate village here. Today we are now like a pine homes with basements, and when we hire bulldozer to excavate our basement we come upon skeleton, upon skeletons (Orchard 1965:3). Clarence Joe’s account is supported by a secondary account provided by OMI Missionary Father William Brabender, which appeared in his Mission de Sechelt: Ses pénibles débuts, ses épreuves, ses succès. According to the Indians, since time immemorial, the site where Sechelt was built was called Chatteledge, inhabited by a tribe of Red-Skins who were always at war with neighbouring tribes and were finally decimated by them. But a terrible plague, due to contact with whites, again ravaged the ranks of these Red-Skins: a smallpox epidemic broke out among them. Unaware of the seriousness of the contagious disease and wanting to get immediate relief for their bodies burning with fever, all the infected threw themselves into the sea. Obviously this meant immediate death, and not a single person escaped the fatal outcome. Later, one could see all along the river heaps of human bones bearing witness to the sad history of an unfortunate people” (Brabender 1935:1). The accounts of Joe and Brabender correspond with archaeological evidence recovered from site DiRw-28 (ch'atelích). During house construction over the last seventy-years (Joe 1965; Merchant n.d.), and during archaeological excavations conducted within the last fifteen years (Bilton 2014; Merchant 2012), extensive human remains have been recovered, although these remains have not been securely dated to the era of the initial smallpox epidemics, and there currently is no pathological evidence of the disease, the sheer number and location of human interments corresponds with the descriptions provided by Joe (1965), and Brabender (1935). Visiting Euro-Americans observed smallpox among survivors at several locations on the west coast of what are now defined as Washington State and British Columbia, including Puget Sound, Nitinat, Sitka, and Parry Passage. Based on this evidence Boyd (1985) has suggested that sometime during the 1770s, smallpox affected the entire coastal region. Alternately, Harris 133 (1994) argues that smallpox arrived in about 1782 and was more localized around Puget Sound and the Georgia Strait region, extending as far as the northern end of Georgia Strait and Nitinat on the west coast of Vancouver Island (Galois 1994:39; Harris 1994) (Figure 4-1). Despite the few historical descriptions of shíshálh population and the lack of direct accounts of the devastating impact that smallpox had on them, they were clearly located within the smallpox impact zone described by both Boyd and Harris. Drawing on the oral tradition provided by Joe, the secondary account of Brabender, and the archaeological evidence, along with what inferences we can draw from neighbouring First Nations (Boyd 1985; Carlson 2007a; Galois 1994), it is highly probable that the shíshálh had already been severely impacted by smallpox prior to the arrival of the European naval expeditions. 134 Figure 4-1. Documented location of late 1770s smallpox outbreaks as described by Boyd (1990), and approximate extent of 1782 smallpox epidemic as described by Harris (1994), with tems swiya indicated in red. Map by H. E. Brown. 135 Archaeology: The Pre-Contact Residential Pattern Archaeology and ethnographic data have proven valuable tools in the reconstruction of pre-contact life ways of Coast Salish peoples. Colin Grier (Grier 2007) through a series of examples taken from the Gulf of Georgia region of British Columbia’s south coast illustrates how archaeology and ethnography both produce different but complimentary knowledge. When ethnography is used to inform archaeological interpretation Grier estimates that this form of the direct historical approach has a reasonable limit of two millennia (Grier 2007:303), thereby comfortabley encompassing the time frame covered in this work. Neither ethnographic or archaeological data allow us to enter the thought processes of pre-contact shíshálh leaders. However, archaeology does allow us to reconstruct, at a general level, the nature of shíshálh residential patterns prior to and following smallpox and subsequent European arrival (Merchant 2012). These data can then be compared with European observations, and when interpreted within the context of the skwákwiyám we can begin to appreciate the cultural logic that led to the shíshálh response to smallpox. The archaeological studies described in Chapters 1 and 2 have identified over five hundred archaeological sites within tems swiya, and up to one kilometre beyond its boundary: 342 (71%) of these are located along the southern shore of the Sechelt and Malaspina Peninsulas, clustering in five distinct nodes between xwésám (Roberts Creek) and kwékwenis (Lang Bay). The remaining 138 sites are located throughout the fjords, inlets, and mountain ranges that comprise the interior of tems swiya (Figure 4-2). Significantly, shell midden deposits, typically associated with multi-seasonal or year-round winter villages have been identified at 314 of the recorded sites, the majority of which (268 [71%]) are located between xwésám (Roberts Creek) 136 and kwékwenis (Lang Bay). Only one site (DlRx-9 skwákwiyám) containing shell midden deposits has currently been identified in lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet).13 Prior to 2002 archaeological research within tems swiya was primarily CRM (cultural resource management) driven, facilitating the requirements of the twin forces of development and industry. Archaeological research, therefore, focused on those areas most affected by development and industry: the southern shore of Sechelt and Malaspina Peninsulas. However, my own research conducted between 1998 and 2014 in lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), and the recent survey of skúpa (Salmon Inlet) and stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet) by the University of Toronto between 2009 and 2016 (Letham 2011), when combined with the ethnographic evidence provided by Hill-Tout (Maud 1978), Barnett (1955), and Kennedy and Bouchard (1986 and 1990) and historic accounts provided by Durieu (1935:2), Grekoff (1965-1967), and Peterson (1990) strongly suggest that the pattern of site distribution is a function of shíshálh residential strategies rather than survey bias. This patter confirms that pre-contact shíshálh multi-seasonal and year-round occupation was primarily located along the southern coastline of tems swiya and within the interior of its southern inlets (Figure 4-2). Residential sites are typically represented by extensive archaeological complexes, composed of multiple archaeological site types, sometimes extending over several kilometers. One of the largest of these is located on the Sechelt isthmus, partially situated within the primary shíshálh community of ch’atelích (Sechelt Band Land 2), and the adjacent District of Sechelt. A detailed description of the site is presented in Chapter 3. 13 Of the 479 archaeological sites currently recorded within shishalh Territory, 342 are located on the coastline between xwésám (Roberts Creek) and kwékwenis. Fourteen sites containing shell midden deposits are in Sechelt Inlet, 16 are in Salmon Inlet, 15 are located within Sechelt Inlet, and one is located in Hotham Sound. 137 Figure 4-2. Map of tems swiya indicating clusters of archaeological sites (yellow), shíshálh band lands (red polygons), and currently known range of site occupation (based on 2 σ calibration, radiocarbon dates presented as cal BP). Map by H. E. Brown. 138 In 1921 two fortified sites that protected the eastern and western approaches to ch’atelích (Sechelt) were recorded and described by H. I. Smith (1935) who also included a map indicating their location (Figure 4-3). On the bluff at the camp of the Columbus boys club, a mile and a half south of Sechelt, B.C., is a fort consisting of a ditch outside of a concentric wall, apparently made of the earth from the ditch. The bluff is about 60 feet high and can be climbed, as the face is terraced into four or five levels (Smith 1935:36). Figure 4-3. Sketch map of kwétl'lích (Trail Bay), indicating the location of two fortified sites located at the western and southern extent of bay (Taken from Smith 1935). Complexes similar to ch’atelích (Sechelt) are situated along the southern coast of the Malaspina and Sechelt Peninsulas: 15 kilometers west of ch’atelích is stl'ítl'ku (Secret Cove) and sxwélap (Thormanby Island) composed of at least 36 recorded sites; 13 kilometers to the northwest is kálpilín (Pender Harbour) containing over 62 recorded sites; near the western boundary of tems swiya is yélkín (Thunder Bay) with 31 sites, and finally, 3 kilometres to the north of ch’atelích (Sechelt) is tsúlích (Porpoise Bay), the location of site DjRw-1 along with 17 additional archaeological sites. Ch’atelích (Sechelt) and tsúlích (Porpoise Bay) could be considered a single complex as the archaeological deposits of the two are virtually continuous and indistinguishable across this narrow isthmus separating the two bodies of water. 139 When compared with the ethnographic data, these archaeological complexes roughly correspond with the location of the winter residences associated with the five divisions of the shíshálh that were identified in the mid-nineteenth century (Durieu 1935:2).14 There are least four descriptions of the various divisions. During his 1902 visit Hill-Tout recorded the names of what he described as the “…old divisions of the tribe…” (1) Qunetcin, at the head of Queen’s Reach; (2) Tsonai, at Deserted Bay…; (3) Tuwanekq, at the head of Narrow’s Arm; and (4) Sqaiaqos, many settlements but no fixed abode” (Maud 1978:95). Kennedy and Bouchard provide a similar description also associating each group with a “…particular geographic area…” (Kennedy and Bouchard 1986:5 and 1990:443). Homer Barnett appears to recognize seven sub-groups, identified by names of the headmen who controlled each of the associated houses, these included: t’kaiyu, saiLum, tcé:tcoe, kwulkweltot, lamxa:tci, luxuleohwuluk, and unkwa:tci (Barnett 1935:24). Barnett appears to recognize four sub-groups, largely based upon the location of the above individuals’ summer homes. For the people residing at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) he gives the name klalamklatc and he also identifies the hane:tcan (this is a version of Hunaechin or xénichen which translates as head of the inlet). He identified the Tsonai as the sub-group that used Deserted Bay. The third group he identifies as the tewankw (same as Maud and Kennedy and Bouchard) who occupy the head of Narrows Arm. The final group he identifies as the xexoats who occupy Thunder Bay and Hotham Sound.15 The records of the OMI identify five sub-groups, these include the; (1) Klaya-kwose who resided at Pender Harbour and Thunder 14 Today the shíshálh administration officially recognizes four sub-groups (Peacock 1990), the: xénichen (at the head of Jervis Inlet), ts’únay (at Deserted Bay), téwánkw (in Sechelt, Salmon and Narrows Inlets), and sxixus (from Roberts Creek to Lang Bay). These sub-groups are largely geographic based designations, that bare little resemblance to the family or kin-based groups described by La Dally (1935). 15 These designations correspond with those recognized by the shíshálh administration, and it is from Barnett that these descriptions are largely drawn. It is unclear whether Barnett is describing geographic or social units, as he appears to combine geographic and descriptive terms. It is from these groupings that the shíshálh have reconstructed their current recognition of four sub-groups. 140 Bay, (2) Tsoh-nye located at Deserted Bay, (3) the Hunae-chin located at the head of Jervis Inlet, (4) Twank who resided in Sechelt Inlet and the Gulf of Georgia south of Pender Harbour, and (5) the Klye-kwim who may have been a fifth group residing in Narrows Arm (Durieu 1935:2). Despite this general concordance between the archaeological and ethnographic data, the character of Coast Salish bilateral kinship and its facilitation of residential mobility combined with various ethnographic portrayals of the pre-contact divisions of the shíshálh (Barnett 1955; Grekoff 1965-1967; Maud 1978; Kennedy and Bouchard 1986; Durieu 1935:2; Peterson 1990) make it difficult to definitively establish a correlation between complexes of archaeological sites and ethnographically defined divisions. What we can conclude with a high degree of certainty from these lines of data is that prior to contact the shíshálh practiced a residential pattern whereby major multi-seasonal or year-round villages were located along the south coast of the Malaspina and Sechelt Peninsulas from kwékwenis (Lang Bay) to xwésám (Roberts Creek) on the lower Sunshine Coast, and along the shores of the interior inlets of tems swiya. Typically, these village sites are located within sheltered bays, providing protection from inclement weather, defense against attack, and proximity to seasonably available resources (Kennedy and Bouchard 1986:4) (Figure 4-4). Radiocarbon dates obtained from these villages, suggest almost 6500 years of continuous occupation (Merchant 2002; Pegg 2007) of the coastline of Malaspina and Sechelt Peninsulas. However, the paucity of radiocarbon dates from this region dating to the post-contact period (except for DjRw-1 and DjRx-34) suggests that by contact a redistribution of the population had occurred (Figure 4-2). 141 Figure 4-4. Radiocarbon dates for sites presented in Figure 4-2. Ordered by site and descending order of age. Site Number Site Type Material Delta 13C (per mil) C14 Years BP (SD) Calibrated Age-Range (Years BP) (2σ) Lab. No. (Beta) Upper Lower EbRx-81 Large resource Wood -25.0 820 ± 80 650 920 186340 EbRx-81 procurement village with rock shelter burials and wooden fish trap Bone collagen -13.6 870 ± 40 690 910 148781 DkRv-32 Small village Bone collagen -20.5 900 ± 40 730 920 286183 DjRw-142 Large village with Bone collagen -12.9 2040 ± 30 4440 4780 308224 DjRw-142 Burials Charred material -22.3 2570 ± 40 2540 2760 286178 DjRw-142 Bone collagen -21.8 2800 ± 40 2790 2990 286179 DjRw-142 Bone collagen -27.8 3520 ± 30 3770 3880 309493 DjRw-142 Bone collagen -14.9 4040 ± 40 4420 4790 286180 DjRw-142 Bone collagen -20.2 5650 ± 30 6350 6490 309492 DjRw-11 Large village with Charred material -26.5 220 ± 50 0 420 169947 DjRw-11 house depression Bone collagen -13.6 830 ± 40 680 790 169946 DjRw-12 Bone collagen -26.5 830 ± 40 680 800 255656 DjRw-12 Charred material -23.3 900 ± 40 730 920 270115 DjRw-12 Charred material -25.9 920 ± 40 740 930 255655 DjRw-12 Charred material -24.1 2880 ± 40 2880 3150 270113 DjRw-12 Charred material -23.0 3690 ± 40 3910 4150 270114 DiRw-282 Large village with two Charred material -24.0 1000 ± 40 800 970 270111 DiRw-282 rows of houses and Bone collagen -13.5 1310 ± 40 1170 1300 270109 DiRw-281 Palisade Charred material -28.5 1470 ± 40 1300 1420 169948 DiRw-281 Bone collagen -13.5 2510 ± 40 2380 2740 200334 DiRw-281 Bone collagen -13.5 2540 ± 40 2480 2750 200335 DiRw-282 Charred material -28.1 2600 ± 40 2710 2770 270112 DiRw-282 Charred material -23.3 2700 ± 30 2750 2850 309494 DiRw-281 Shell -3.3 3350 ± 70 2600 2860 169949 DjRx-341 Small village with palisade Bone collagen n/a 310 ± 40 290 490 249729 DjSa-482 Large village with stone fish trap Charred material -24.6 550 ± 40 510 640 286181 DjSa-482 Charred material -24.6 1300 ± 40 1170 1300 286182 DjRx-11 Wooden fish trap Wood -27.4 570 ± 40 520 650 173354 DjRx-11 Wood -22.6 1240 ± 40 1060 1270 194364 Notes: 1. Source: Shishalh Nation Rights and Title Department. 2. Source: Bilton 2014. 142 European Observations “we had seen about seventeen Indians in our travels this day, who were much more painted than any we had hitherto met with” (Vancouver 1801:201).16 Initial face-to-face contact between the shíshálh and Europeans appears to have been brief and had little if any impact upon either party. Rather, the importance of the event lies in the series of detailed observations made by Vancouver and his crew regarding the distribution of populations, specifically, the absence of people at known residential sites, observations which can then be compared to the archaeological record. Between July 10 and 12, 1791 José María Narváez, as part of the Spanish expedition of Francois Eliza arrived in tems swiya (McDowell 1998; Wagner 1933). For three days Narváez led his two small boats along the southern coast of the Sechelt and Malaspina Peninsulas, from Howe Sound northwest to the southwest point of Hardy Island (McDowell 1998: 58; Wagner 1933:38-39) (Figure 4-5). Reconstructing Narváez’s voyage from brief reports and charts prepared for the Eliza expedition (Kew 1998: 32), McDowell recounts how Narváez anchored near the archaeological complex of ch’atelích (Sechelt and DiRw-28) at a location described as Rio de la Aguada17 (Wagner 1933:38), and at a second location on the west side of sxwélap (Thormanby Island) (Wagner 1933:38). His account, although brief and only partially reconstructed, provides no mention of either population or structures at any of the locations he cruised by or at which he anchored (Figure 4-5). 16 This passage is Captain George Vancouver’s description of initial contact between the shíshálh and British on June 17, 1792. 17 This location may either be Wilson Creek or Chapman Creek, both located approximately five kilometres southeast of the present District of Sechelt. Throughout this area there are numerous large archaeological sites represented by extensive shell midden deposits, the most notable for its size is DiRu-10 located at the mouth of Wilson Creek. 143 Eleven months later, British Captain George Vancouver and his crew were the next to arrive. The journals of Vancouver and his First Officer Lieutenant Peter Puget provide the most detailed descriptions of tems swiya for this period. Over five days between June 16 and 20, 1792 Vancouver and his crew initially followed a route similar to Narváez, eventually proceeding further north to xénichen (Hunaechin) at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) (Figures 4-5 and 4-6). 144 Figure 4-5. Map of tems swiya indicating the routes of Narvaez (1791), and Vancouver (1792), and the archaeological sites which they passed. Map by H. E. Brown. 145 Figure 4-6. View of convergence of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel), and ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) looking north from Egmont Channel. Tchah-náyt-chun (Egmont Point) is located at far right. It is at this general location that the shíshálh and British made contact on June 17, 1792 (Photograph Andrew Peacock). During their visit, they passed a landscape that today contains over five hundred recorded archaeological sites, including the previously described residential complexes of ch’atelích (Sechelt), k'áxemínem (Sargeant Bay), stl'ítl'ku (Secret Cove), sxwélap (Thormanby Island), and kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour), camping on the west coast of the latter on the evening of June 16.18 Along this rocky shore of the main land we passed in quest of a resting place for the night, to no effect, until after dark; when we found shelter in a very dreary uncomfortable cove near the south point of an island, about a mile long, and about two miles to the S.S.E. of a narrow opening leading to the northward (Vancouver 1801:200). The following day (June 17), at a location near tchah-náyt-chun (Egmont Point) at the entrance to lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) Vancouver encountered people for the first time, “we had seen about 18 Based upon the latitude and longitude coordinates provided in his journal this location is likely Francis Bay, a small cove on the west shore of presentday Francis Peninsula. Jervis Inlet Dacres Point Egmont Point 146 seventeen Indians in our travels this day, who were much more painted than any we had hitherto met with” (Vancouver 1801:201). Over the next four days Vancouver would pass by—or occasionally camp within—a series of deep and well-protected bays located at the mouths of large salmon bearing rivers, each identified in shíshálh oral narratives, ethnographic accounts, and historical documents as important locations for the procurement of resources during the spring and summer months (Figure 4-5) (Barnett 1955; Maud 1978). The first of these was skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay) located approximately one-third of way up lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet)19 on its east side.20 After spending the evening of June 17 camped within or close to the bay, Vancouver proceeded north the following morning, passing ts’unay (Deserted Bay),21 the second of these bays, eventually arriving at xénichen (Hunaechin) at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) where he encountered people for a second time:22 This valley much excited my curiosity to ascertain what was beyond it. But as the streams of fresh water were not navigable, though the tide had risen up to the habitations of six or seven Indians (Vancouver 1801:204-205). 20 Identified by Barnett (1935-36:16) as the summer home of the division of the shíshálh headed by tcé:tcoe, skwákwiyám is today the location of archaeological site DlRx-9. shíshálh oral history recognizes the importance of skwákwiyám as an important salmon harvesting site (Peacock 1998), a narrative consistent with the archaeological data. Excavations conducted in 2010 (Merchant n.d.) at the north end of the bay near High Creek recovered extensive quantities of modified and utilized slate, flaked stone, and fish remains displaying evidence of processing in the form of cut marks. Vancouver, however, described neither population nor structures at this site. 21 Identified by Barnett (1935-36:16) as the summer home of the division of the shíshálh headed by t’kae yu, Tsonai is recognized in shíshálh oral narratives as being an important salmon harvesting site and the head of a trail network linking tems swiya with Squamish Territory to the east. shíshálh oral narratives describe the existence of a large wooden fish trap located at the mouth of the Deserted River and archaeological excavations that I conducted in 2009 identified extensive quantities of worked and used slate along the north side of the river’s mouth. Mineralogical characterization of the slate, conducted at Simon Fraser University in 2011, indicated that it originated from a large quarry located 2.3 kilometers to the south. 22 shíshálh oral narratives recount that xénichen is the location at which one of the shíshálh original ancestors descended bringing knowledge of the construction of fish traps (Peterson 1990). Identified by Barnett (1935-36:16) as the summer home of the divisions of the shíshálh headed by lúxúleohwúlúk and únkwa:tci, xénichen is today the location of the spiritual site of Chenawestan (Merchant 2000), a large wooden fish trap located at the mouth of the Huneachin River, and the head of a trail network connecting the shíshálh with Toba Inlet to the north and the Lil’wat to the northeast. 147 Following the purchase of fish in exchange for items of iron, Vancouver proceeded south, spending the evening of June 18 at or near Patrick Point, in clear sight of ts'únay (Deserted Bay) four kilometers to the east (Vancouver 1801:205-207). Continuing south on the morning of June 19, Vancouver spent the evening near skwálutsin (Goliath Bay) at the entrance to lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), departing the inlet the following morning (Figure 4-5). Except for the encounters described, no further observations were provided concerning population or settlements. The significance of this absence was not lost on Vancouver’s crew.23 On their return to the Discovery on June 23, Peter Puget recounted his first-hand impressions of the northern inlets (Jervis Inlet) to the expedition’s naturalist Archibald Menzies: The shore of the great North West Arm as far as they went is in general rocky with a border of lowland stretching along it producing pines of immense dimensions. They found but few Inhabitants in the Northern branches but if they might judge from the deserted Villages they met in this excursion, the Country appeared to be formerly much more numerously inhabited than at present, tho they could form no conjecture or opinion on the cause of this apparent depopulation…(Menzies 1923:63). The observations of Vancouver and his crew lie in contrast to the picture of shíshálh residential patterns provided by the archaeological record. This discrepancy has never been examined, however doing so would allow for an understanding of shíshálh strategic responses to events in the past—events that comprise the colonial conflict. In the following sections I will draw on four sets of data; the skwákwiyám, historical documents, the ethnographic record, and archaeological data in order to connect shíshálh cosmology to terrestrial events and thereby attempt to illuminate the process of group consolidation and persistence in tems swiya, both of which were critical components of the shíshálh strategy. 23 From April to mid-August the shíshálh dispersed throughout their territory conducting a variety of subsistence activities, including; digging for clams and fishing for salmon and herring along with a wide variety of other species. These activities would have taken them to seasonal procurement camps located at skwákwiyám (Vancouver Bay), Tsonai (Deserted Bay) and xénichen (Huneachin) prior to Vancouver’s arrival. Population was only observed by Vancouver at xénichen. 148 The Skwákwiyám: Understanding the Strategic Plan Exploring the connection between shíshálh cosmology and terrestrial events is vital (Armstrong 2005; Carlson 2010; Sahlins 1989) to interpreting shíshálh responses to contact. It is the contextualization of these terrestrial events within the context of a cosmic scheme (Sahlins 1989:380) that illustrates how behind everyday actions there is a complex logic that connects the “celestial” and “terrestrial” (Sahlins 1989: 379). The tendency of human beings, Sahlins argues, to appropriate experiences according to an already existing cosmological pattern that supposedly reside inside collective consciousness of a specific group, is the theory of “mythopraxis” or literally the practice of myths with regards to the mythic origin of things and their representing of present events. Thus, mythopraxis claims that events are hardly specific, but are historical; in this case, mythic themes are recurring and regenerative (Carlson 2007a; Sahlins 1989). In developing such a model, Sahlins provides a method by which individual events be interpreted, allowing us to better understand the motivations for individual and collective actions and, at the same time, track the processes of structural change brought about by individual and collective agency. The narratives presented in this and future chapters have been drawn from the skwákwiyám, some are fragmentary and have had to be reconstructed from a variety of disparate sources. In addition, some of the narratives do not occur at all levels of the social sphere or segmentary level (Sahlins 1985:58)—a deficiency that can be partly overcome by drawing on various narratives from different segmentary levels (Sahlins 1985:58). The skwákwiyám possess multiple levels of meaning: they may be literal, allegorical, legal, historical, or metaphorical. In the past they have often only been interpreted either literally or metaphorically, but to view them from only one of these perspectives does not allow their full significance to the shíshálh to be appreciated, nor does it allow us to understand what tems swiya 149 means to those who reside within it. The skwákwiyám are also descriptive: their contents provide the historiographical context within which the shíshálh functioned and provide examples to decision makers of the range of strategic decisions that could be employed, and their likelihood for success. Similarly, they also illuminate the social consequences of events, and the actions that derive from these events. Regarding this latter role, anthropologist Julie Cruikshank working with First Nations in the Yukon has examined the social role of stories, including epic narratives like those discussed in this chapter and their relationship to events. Cruikshank describes these stories as “cultural scaffolding” (Cruikshank 1998:41), on which we can construct the story or history of a people or individual and illuminate an event that had occurred during a person’s life, while adding meaning to an event (Cruikshank 1998). What emerges from a review of these narratives is the array of options available to the shíshálh, under what conditions each should be employed, and the underlying social consequences of their implementation. When a contemporary shíshálh leader states, “we have always done it this way,” they are drawing on the tradition of the skwákwiyám, recognizing the successful strategic decisions of past leaders, and the consequence to the shíshálh of their decisions, forming a continuous connection from past to present. They are as Sahlins states, carrying forward “…the ancestral references…” (Sahlins 1985:58), they are connecting the past to the present. However, the meaning intended in these references, and the desired outcomes may differ dramatically from the meaning employed by the ancestors, meanings that have been altered because of events. 150 Spélem-úlh: The Primordial Myth Bilateral kinship has been recognized as one of the defining aspects of Coast Salish culture (Suttles 1987). Based on kinship, Suttles (1987) recognized the “non-discrete, non-localized, property-holding kin group” or its head as holding rights to the “most productive natural resource” (Suttles 1963; Thom 2009). Typically, these groups of extended families traced their origin and proprietary access to land and resources from a spélem-úlh. If we are to trace shíshálh group descent from spélem-úlh then it is possible that at one time the shíshálh consisted of between eleven and sixteen divisions. Regardless of the maximum number of divisions that may have existed in shíshálh society, what is important, is that prior to and following face-to-face contact, shíshálh society was in flux, changing in response to the pressures of the opening stages of the colonial conflict. Among the shíshálh there a few individuals today who trace their descent to spélem-úlh, however, many trace their family’s descent to physical locations, specifically, to one of the ancient village sites at which the spélem-úlh arrived. A table presenting the various descriptions of spélem-úlh and the locations at which they arrived is presented in Chapter 3. As primordial beings the spélem-úlh represent the beginning of shíshálh lineages, they are also cosmological, literally descending from the skies. Critically, for this work they are a symbol and agent of shíshálh unity, drawing the people together through the sharing of knowledge across all families and through marriage to other spélem-úlh. Thus, they illustrate and represent at the cosmological level the process through which group consolidation occurs. The spélem-úlh narratives occur at all levels of the social sphere. They are primordial myths representing the beginning of lineages, devolving to clan legends that describe the movement of villages following calamities, underpinning family histories explaining the 151 rationale behind individual actions, and finally, appearing as the names of individual shíshálh moving these narratives forward into the present. It is through the spélem-úlh that we can reconcile the discrepancies in the pre- and post-contact shíshálh residential patterns, and sense can be made of the seemingly disparate lines of archaeological, historical, and ethnographic data. The first of these narratives is ǝnǝkᵂači Leap, reconstructed from a variety of sources (Barnett 1935; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952). This narrative illustrates how spélem-úlh, each representing a distinct shíshálh sub-group, through a series of divine and mortal actions, migrate within tems swiya, consolidate their populations through marriage, overcome resource shortages, and eventually return to earth appearing in the form of a giant boulder on the shores of lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel). ǝnǝkᵂači Leap At slhílhem (Brittain River), located 48 kilometers up lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) on the inlet’s west side, is the location at which the spélem-úlh ?ǝnǝkᵂači arrived (Suttles 1952). Some time in the cosmological past ?ǝnǝkᵂači leapt south to kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake), where he and his three sons dug the channel of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek), thereby connecting kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) with salt water at lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (Suttles 1952). Following completion of their task, the sons of ǝnǝkᵂači married the three daughters of the spélem-úlh of lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (Suttles 1952), an act, much like the sharing of knowledge describe in Chapter 3 by Basil Joe to Lester Peterson, consolided the populations of these two cosmological families (Figure 4-7).24 The motivation for ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap, and the consolidation of the two families is not given. However, if we are to interpret the actions of the spélem-úlh from that which we can observe in 24 This account was provided to Suttles in 1952 by Basil Joe. 152 the actions of the culture heroes who inhabit the lower “social sphere or segmentary level” (Sahlins 1985:58), consolidation typically occurs following a catastrophic event (these events will be discussed in following sections, and include the Great Flood, the Great Landslide and the Great Snow). When ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap is placed within their geographical context, we can perhaps begin to understand the motivations behind the actions of ?ǝnǝkᵂači and his cosmological compatriots. Kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) is the largest fresh water body within tems swiya and is connected to lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) by the 250-metre-long channel of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek). Despite its small size, stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek) is the location of one of the most important, if not largest, Sockeye salmons run in tems swiya. At the mouth of the creek where it enters lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) are the remains of an enormous stone fish trap (Figure 4-8). 153 Figure 4-7. Map of tems swiya illustrating ǝnǝkᵂači Leap from slhílhem (Brittain River) to kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) (thick red arrow), the movement of ǝnǝkᵂači and his sons down kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake) (small red arrow), and their construction of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek) and arrival at lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (dashed line). Map by H. E. Brown. 154 Figure 4-8. View of the mouth of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek), with lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) in background. Stone remains of fish trap are visible at centre of photograph. Photograph by author. Basil Joe completes the story of ?ǝnǝkᵂači, bringing it to its terrestrial conclusion. In 1990 he identified for Lester Peterson a spélem-úlh in stone form occupying the east shore of lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) (Figure 4-9). This stone, combined with the events described in ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap, represent the perfect expression of the spélem-úlh system, complete socio-economic integration, along with the symbolic and literal connection between the people and tems swiya, as expressed through the kinship ties to the spélem-úlh and its connection to the earth. To re-enforce this connection, the name ?ǝnǝkᵂači later appears in human form, recorded by Barnett in 1935, as the head of a house located at the consolidated shíshálh village of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) located on the north shore of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour), a mere three and a half kilometers southeast from kwílkwilútsin (Sakinaw Lake). 155 Figure 4-9. Basil Joe next to the spélem-úlh of lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel). Photograph provided by Robert Joe. The creation of stséxwena (Sakinaw Creek), the resulting establishment of the Sockeye fishery, and the consolidation of the spélem-úlh families is the cosmological representation of the shíshálh strategic patterns that we are about to observe in the Great Landslide, the Great Snow, the Great Flood, which are expressed terrestrially as the consolidation of populations into large residential centres. This pattern will be observed in the following sections at Slahlt (DjRw-1), and Séxw?ámin (DjSa-3), and eventually (in Chapter 5) in the consolidation of the shíshálh at ch'atelích (Sechelt) following the arrival of the OMI and the establishment of the Mission at ch'atelích (Sechelt). By way of the shíshálh cosmic scheme, in this case ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap, we can begin to make sense of the strategies employed by the shíshálh following the smallpox epidemic of the 156 late eighteenth century, and begin to appreciate shíshálh agency, and the rationale behind their decisions. The shíshálh were essentially following the logic expressed in the actions of ?ǝnǝkᵂači, they were moving, consolidating, but more importantly for this work they were remaining within tems swiya. Tribal and Clan Legends: The Great Events Descending from the level of primordial myths, we arrive at tribal and clan legends. On their own, these narratives describe individual finite events; collectively, they represent a corpus of works that describe the shíshálh strategy of consolidation and remaining in tems swiya following these events. In bringing the primordial stories like those of the spélem-úlh forward, these legends link the primordial myths with the lower level events described in the skwákwiyám, which ultimately connect to the archaeological and historical records. The primary themes of these stories are, consolidation and the maintenance of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. The Great Flood Much like ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap, the Great Flood has been pieced together from a series of disparate sources (Keller and Leslie 1996; Peterson 1990; Suttles 1952). The story recounts how a great cataclysm rocked the shíshálh world when floodwaters tore down the slopes of the swíwelát (Princess Louisa Inlet), racing in lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), and causing sea levels to rise. As their villages became inundated, and tems swiya was covered in water, the shíshálh fled north, seeking refuge in a cave on k'els25 (Anchor Mountain), located north of xenichen (Hunaechin) at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) (Peterson 1990:4-5). When the floodwaters receded, the shíshálh 25 K'els (Anchor Mountain) is located at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), Mount Victoria is its English name. 157 exited the cave, repopulating tems swiya, returning to the villages they had previously deserted (Merchant 2008) (Figure 4-10). Figure 4-10. Photograph of swíwelát (Princess Louisa Inlet) (background), from which the waters of the Great Flood flowed into lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) and covered the entire world. Photograph by Andrew Peacock. The Great Snow The story of the Great Snow survives in considerable detail within a variety of forms, and at various levels of detail. In 1902 shíshálh advisor Charlie Roberts recounted what may be the first recorded version of the story to Charles Hill-Tout (Maud 1978:117), however, Roberts did not situate the story within any geographical context. In 1935 Joe Le Dally provided a more detailed account to Homer Barnett, situating the snowstorm in kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). My informant gave a brief outline of a legend involving a phenomenal snow which piled up to the tops of the trees at Pender Harbor. A marker exists there today to attest its great depth. A famine resulted which killed off all the Sechelt people except one man, his wife and his five daughters. Although the informant hesitated to admit matrilocal residence when questioned on the point, he maintained that three of these women were the progenitors of the renascent Sechelt (Barnett 1955: 31). 158 In 2000 Gilbert Joe, the great grandson of Le Dally recounted the story to me (Merchant 2000). Like Le Dally, he situated the events surrounding the storm in kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). In 2012 Cindy Joe August, the daughter of Gilbert Joe and the great-great-grand daughter of Le Dally also recounted this story, however, unlike her father, she did not situate it within kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). In what may be a metaphorical variation of the above, Cindy Joe-August tells of a smallpox epidemic that struck the shíshálh. Four sisters survived the epidemic, two of whom would eventually re-populate tems swiya (Joe-August 2012).26 Great Landslide The last of these three narratives is the Great Landslide. Unlike the previous two, this story appears to focus on the actions of one specific group the tewankw, and describes their consolidation at Slahlt (SBL-5; and DjRw-1) following the destruction of their main village located at the head of s-tl’íxw-im (Narrows Inlet), by an enormous landslide (Beaumont 2011;viii). This story speaks to how the shíshálh respond to significant events in their collective history, illustrating the two primary themes of population redistribution in the form of consolidation and the maintenance of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. In ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap and the summaries of the three narratives just presented, the strategy following each catastrophe is the movement of the shíshálh population within tems swiya, then group consolidation, followed by atomization and a return by the shíshálh to their ancient villages. There is variation to these themes: in both ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap and the Great Landslide narratives atomization does not occur. This could be a consequence of the incompleteness of 26 This could be a contemporary version of the events surrounding the rise of T’kaiyu to the paramount Chieftainship of the shíshálh in séxw?ámin (Garden Bay). In this story T’kaiyu ascends to his position following a “Great Snow” and along with his wife and three of five daughters gives birth to the shíshálh Nation. 159 these narratives resulting from the previously described damage to the skwákwiyám, or one of a myriad of outcomes that the shíshálh could expect to occur within the larger strategic framework. Regardless, what is consistent is that the shíshálh remained within tems swiya, ensuring that the relationship endured. In the following section, I will examine two examples of the described strategic pattern. Drawn from the archaeological and ethnographic records, these examples will illustrate how the narratives contained within the skwákwiyám, when presented as family histories, bring the themes of the cosmological myths–the spélem-úlh–to the terrestrial. Family Histories: the shíshálh response The discrepancy between the pre-contact residential pattern, as expressed in the archaeological record, and the contact and post-contact pattern of shíshálh population distribution observed by Narvaez, Vancouver, and later by the ethnographer Homer Barnett has never been examined in detail; nor has any formal explanation been offered in the literature to account for this discrepancy, or the processes by which this discrepancy may have occurred. To the north (Galois 1994:34) and south (Carlson 2007a) it has been suggested that similar patterns of population re-distribution are a consequence of the smallpox epidemics of the late eighteenth century. Critically, neither Narvaez or Vancouver appear to have entered ?álh-tew-lích (Sechelt Inlet) or kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). Vancouver’s map of “Jarvis Canal” only identifies the shallow bays where kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) and the western entrance to ?álh-tew-lích (Sechelt Inlet) are located (Figure 4-11). These omissions, much like those of Barnett over a hundred years later (1935), failed to record the interior of tems swiya, that portion located along 160 the shores and bays of ?álh-tew-lích (Sechelt Inlet), s-kwúpa (Salmon Inlet), and s-tl’íxw-im (Narrows Inlet). Of the vast numbers of sites identified, two located within the interior of the tems swiya are important to this discussion. Critically, these two sites, through a combination of archaeological data in the case of DjRw-1, and historical and ethnographic evidence in the case of DjSa-3, can be dated to the period of contact, thereby illuminating the shíshálh response to the first stage of the colonial conflict. Figure 4-11. Vancouver’s map showing Jarvis Canal (Jervis Inlet). Neither the entrance to Pender Harbour (1) nor the entrance to Sechelt Inlet (2) are identified. Slahlt (DjRw-1) Located near the southern end of ?álh-tew-lích (Sechelt Inlet) is the village site of slahlt. Today the village site is primarily composed of buried archaeological deposits (DjRw-1). Archaeological investigations variously conducted over the last twenty-years (Bilton 2014; 1 2 161 Coupland 2012; Mason 1996; Merchant 2002, 2002a), have revealed extensive archaeological remains, including dense and extensive shell midden deposits, faunal remains, lithics, human interments and house remains (Bilton 2014). Significantly, eleven carbon samples have been submitted for AMS dating, returning dates ranging from 4140 years BP to 290 years BP (at the 2σ level) (Bilton 2014; Coupland 2012; Merchant 2012). The most recent of these 220+50 cal BP (at the 2σ level) (Figure 4-12), obtained from the shoreline at approximately 22 cm below datum, securely places occupation of the site prior to the time of Vancouver’s arrival in 1792. Figure 4-12. Radiocarbon dates for slahlt (DjRw-1). Ordered in descending order of age. Lab. No. (Beta) Provenience Material Delta 13C (per mil) C14 Years BP (SD) Calibrated Age-Range (Years BP) (2σ) Upper Lower 1699471 Shore line Charred material -26.5 220 ± 50 0 420 2861742 Hearth Wood charcoal 310 + 40 290 490 1699461 Shore line Bone collagen -13.6 830 ± 40 680 790 2556562 Shore line Bone collagen -26.5 830 ± 40 680 800 2701152 Shore line Charred material -23.3 900 ± 40 730 920 2556552 Shore line Charred material -25.9 920 ± 40 740 930 2861762 Shore line Wood charcoal 1100 + 40 930 1070 2861752 Shore line Wood charcoal 1710 + 40 1530 1710 2701132 House Charred material -24.1 2880 ± 40 2880 3150 2861772 Hearth Wood charcoal 3670 + 40 3890 4140 2701142 House Charred material -23.0 3690 ± 40 3910 4150 Notes: 1. Source: shíshálh Nation Rights and Title Department. 2. Source: Bilton 2014. On New Year’s day 1868, Father Léon Fouquet OMI visited slahlt. In a letter to his superior the Very Reverend Father, Superior General Charles-Constant Jolivet, Fouquet would describe slahlt, and his observation of the election of a new “chief” (Reverend Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868, Archives Deschatelets). Eight years later in 1876, George Blenkinsop conducted a census of tems swiya (Blenkinsop 1876), recording slahlt as being occupied and identifying burial grounds at the location (Blenkinsop 1876). In 1915 the Royal Commission on Indian Affairs (British Columbia 162 1915) again described slahlt as being occupied, and recorded garden plots, a fishing station and a camping ground (Merchant 2012; British Columbia 1915). When these multiple lines of evidence are combined, it can be concluded that slahlt (DjRw-1) has probably been occupied continuously for four thousand years through to the period of initial contact and into the twentieth century (Figure 4-13). Figure 4-13. View west towards Angus Bay from waterfront of slahlt (DjRw-1 and Sechelt Band Land No. 5). District of Sechelt Museum and Archives. Séxw?ámin (DjSa-3) Located twenty-five kilometers to the northwest of slahlt (DjRw-1) is the vast residential complex of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) and situated on its north shore is the village of séxw?ámin (DjSa-3). The site was first recorded by Steve Acheson and Sid Riley (1976), who identified vast shell midden deposits, however, residential and commercial developments have caused extensive damage to the site, all but erasing the surrounding ancillary features that may have existed, including canoe skids, stone traps and any associated burial mounds. 163 No radiocarbon dates have been obtained from séxw?ámin, so no definitive determination of the site’s occupation at contact can be made through the archaeological record. Proxy evidence in the form of radiocarbon dates obtained from sálálus (DjSa-48) located one and a half kilometers to the southwest of séxw?ámin (DjSa-3), suggest that the general location of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) was occupied during the contact period. Two radiocarbon samples recovered from the excavations date to 640-510 BP (Beta-286191) and 1300-1170 BP (Beta 286192) respectively (Bilton 2014: 173). These dates were separated by 48 cm of archaeological deposits, potentially representing seven hundred and ninety years of occupation. Extrapolating from the rate of deposition between these dates, it is not unreasonable to assume that the 41 cm of deposits located above Beta-286191 represent a similar period, indicating that sálálus (DjSa-48) was occupied through the period of initial contact (Figure 4-13). Figure 4-14. Radiocarbon dates for sálálus (DjSa-48). Ordered in descending order of age. All dates presented as 2-sigma calibrated. Lab. No. (Beta) Provenience Material C14 Age BP (Conventional) Calibrated Age-Range (Years BP) (2σ) Upper Lower 2861911 Unit A, 40 cm BD charcoal 550 ± 40 510 640 2861921 Unit A, 90 cm BD charcoal 1300 + 40 1170 1300 Notes: 1. Source: Bilton 2014. The ethnographic record—specifically the genealogy of Joe Le Dally—provides further evidence supporting the occupation of séxw?ámin (DjSa-3) during the period of contact. When interviewed by Barnett in 1935 Le Dally described in detail the village of séxw?ámin as it existed during “aboriginal times” (Barnett 1955:18). He described the location of seven long houses, and the associated “commoner villages” of e:lahan and tsa:qulus (Figure 4-17) (Barnett 1935:71). He also identified the seven head men who controlled the houses, providing their names, partial reconstructions of their lineages and status within the community (Figure 4-14). 164 Le Dally was born around 1850 at the southern extent of tems swiya on spílksen (Texada Island). His mother was born around 1825 and his grandfather T’kaiyu was born around 1800 or earlier, both were born in séxw?ámin (Barnett 1935). Le Dally identified T’kaiyu as one the heads of the seven houses, and the paramount Chief of all the shíshálh at séxw?ámin (Barnett 1935:48). T’kaiyu’s father was the celebrated shíshálh s-yáykwlh (Indian doctor) kaltopa (Barnett 1935; Suttles 1952), who was born in séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) around 1775, thereby establishing occupation of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) at the time of the first smallpox epidemic and prior to the arrival of Vancouver in 1792. When these various lines of data are combined, it appears that séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) was clearly occupied at the time of Vancouver’s arrival. Vancouver tried to enter kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) from the south, through poke-póke-um (Bargain Narrows), but was denied entry by low tides, and was forced to spend the evening of June 16, 1792 camped on the harbour’s outer west coast (Merchant 2012; Vancouver 1801). The following day he proceeded north through lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) missing the harbour’s entrance. The story of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) is essentially a family history, therefore, we must return to T’kaiyu. Le Dally described him as the paramount Chief of all the shíshálh at séxw?ámin (Garden Bay). He ascended to his position following the Great Snow. The account provided to Barnett, and drawn directly from Barnett’s 1935 notes is presented below. …t’kaiyu for being founder of existing Sechelt people in some wild story–a great snow which covered the area up to tops of trees (a marker put there by t’kaiyu is today stuck at top of tall tree near Pender Harbor indicates snow level then) caused a famine which killed off all the Sechelt people except t’kaiyu and his family–had wife and 5 daughters–2 of these went to Nanaimo the rest stayed and gave birth to Sechelt (He hesitated to admit matrilocal residence for these–I think he was stuck when I put that problem up to him–this together with fact that the rest of the headmen whose names I have would appear to be contemporaries in part with t’kaiyu and they have brothers and sons continuing on makes a problem of this story) (Barnett 1935:48). 165 The above passage can be interpreted literally or metaphorically. Regardless, since T’kaiyu was likely born prior to 1800, the events described must have occurred in the late eighteenth century, around the time of the first smallpox epidemic. If taken metaphorically, with the Great Snow representing smallpox, then the story of T’kaiyu represents the consolidation of the various shíshálh sub-groups at séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), the terrestrial manifestation of the events described in ?ǝnǝkᵂači leap. Figure 4-15. Map of the consolidated village of Séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), located on the north shore of Kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour). The seven houses located at centre represent the main village, with the house of T’kaiyu indicated in red, while the “commoners’ villages” of e:lahan and tsa:qulus are located to the left and right, respectively (Barnett 1935:71). The evidence provided for slahlt (DjRw-1), and séxw?ámin (DjSa-3) strongly suggests that following the smallpox of the late eighteenth century, and subsequent population decline, the shíshálh response was consistent with that described in the skwákwiyám with regard to responses to similar catastrophic events in the past, in other words, the consolidation of the shíshálh population into large villages located in the protected and sheltered bays and inlets common to T’kaiyu 166 the southern half of tems swiya. These population centers went unobserved by both Narvaez and Vancouve—likely because they both failed to enter into the heart of tems swiya. Summary The central thesis explored in this chapter, is that the opening stages of the colonial conflict–smallpox then face-to-face contact, had little effect on the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. Smallpox has been described as “…the largest known demographic collapse in North American history” (Arnett 2016:43), however, the shíshálh responded to it in a culturally prescribed manner, employing tactics that had proved so successful throughout their history–they consolidated within tems swiya, waited for the event to pass then atomized, returning to their villages, or remaining within the consolidated villages for an extended period. Regardless of the outcome of the larger strategic framework, the shíshálh remained within tems swiya, they did not leave their territory to eventually be absorbed within a distant population. Instead, they continued to consume it and in turn be consumed by it—thus the essential kin relationship was maintained. The shíshálh response was similar to many other First Nations throughout the Coast Salish world. In her A History of the Swinomish Tribal Community (1975) Natalie Roberts details how the First Nations of the Skagit Region of Washington State collectively experienced five different modes of local residential organization, with profound change occurring from contact with Europeans forward, these modes included: (1) the winter village community of aboriginal times, (2) the extended village cluster of early contact times, (3) the band or tribe of treaty times, (4) the informal reservation community of early reservation times, and (5) the legal corporation of modern times. Roberts’ model is very similar to that identified for the shíshálh in that both groups consolidated following initial contact and population decline, while remaining with their territory. 167 However, this pattern was not completely uniform across the Coast Salish world. Alternative responses included group migration, which has been identified as a logical component of a response to population decline (Carlson 2010; Miller 1999) brought about by smallpox. This response is expressed in many Coast Salish narratives. Carlson (2010), for example, has identified these migrations as a vital component in Stó:lō social and identity reformation in the post-contact period. He describes the process of migration as that of a vacuum effect, whereby, mass death and abandonment “created vacuums” (Carlson 2010:98) into which subsequent generations of Stó:lō peoples migrated. Citing an example from the lower reaches of the Lillooet River, and relying on the work of Charles Hill-Tout, and the testimony of Stó:lō elder Matilda Guiterrez (Carlson 2010:99), he describes how the headwaters of Harrison Lake and the lower reaches of the Lillooet River were formerly occupied by Halq’emélem speakers (Carlson 2010:98), who were killed off by smallpox, with the survivors moving downstream to live with relatives at Chehalis. This created a void in their territory, into which the Lil’wat moved from the north (Carlson 2010:99).27 The example of shíshálh territorial stability does not imply that Carlson’s model is incorrect; rather, it suggests a people adopted a range of responses depending on their particular situations and that generalized regional reconstructions may hide some of the historical variations that occurred. Historian Alexandra Harmon in her Coast Salish History (2008) describes how generalized historical reconstructions do not fit within the mind set of First Nations “…the many individuals and communities who fall within their own or other’s definition of Coast Salish do 27 Recent archaeological evidence from the Lower Lillooet River tends to contradict Carlson’s model (Sanders and Merchant 2017), suggesting that there was a remarkably long, and stable occupation of the Lower Lillooet River region that extended through the contact period. This occupation is characterized by a sustained Lil’wat occupation prior to and following the epidemics of the late eighteenth century. Such a pattern, which is intimately entwined and consistent with shíshálh history, sees populations stay within their territory, shifting village sites, or consolidating villages, or when needed importing populations to augment existing ones. 168 not publicly claim a collective history that embraces them all” (Harmon 2008:30). Harmon’s conclusion is based upon the analysis of seven histories written by Coast Salish authors or historians writing under direction of Coast Salish communities. When these histories are written none are a collective Coast Salish history, rather they are localized accounts that focus on “tribes or band” (Harmon 2008:32), presenting a more accurate example of First Nation sensibilities of identity and experience of events, particularly experiences within the colonial conflict. A localized approach allows us to appreciate the motives and actions of First Nations participants both in the past and present, an approach that is consistent with goals of post-colonial discourse to develop alternate understandings of the experiences and effects of the colonial conflict upon First Nations. This approach emphasizes the agency of these peoples within the conflict and comes to an understanding of their responses to the conflict and the cultures that develop. In addition, the focus on locality directs scholars away from broad interpretations of the colonial conflict to an increased focus on individual encounters and the role of social structures in conditioning First Nations’ responses. Perhaps this is nowhere more evident than in the Pacific, where the relationship between Europeans and colonized peoples has received considerable attention (Henley 2004; Sahlins 1978, 1981, 1983, 1989, 1999, 2000). Providing fresh insights into the conflict, these alternative interpretations have refashioned our understanding of this encounter, transforming it from a vertical relationship whereby supposedly technologically and culturally superior Europeans imposed themselves on an inferior Indigenous population, to a horizontal relationship, whereby Indigenous peoples participated in the conflict through the pragmatic response to events and the resultant transformation of their cultures (Sahlins 1989). 169 Smallpox and face-to-face contact are the first in a series of case studies that will be examined in this work. They illustrate various ways that practice, and structure interact to affect the course of history. The examples of responses to an array of catastrophes illustrates how people act according to their own cultural conceptions of received cultural categories; in turn, these practices return to the category and effect change through revision or transformation or, in the case of smallpox, the shíshálh response sustains the categories for long periods (Sahlins 1981: 7, 11, 24). By remaining within tems swiya the shíshálh remained in contact with their named places, and cosmological beings embodied therein, while continuing to consume tems swiya, and in turn being consumed by it. This assured that the social relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya remained intact, allowing them to face the next stages of the conflict, the arrival of the OMI and a second wave of smallpox, with a reinforced strategic practice, informed by a cultural logic that had proved effective for millennia, and had been successful in mitigating the first stage of this unfolding conflict Although the spélem-úlh system remained intact following these opening events, it appears that the shíshálh did not recognize the dramatic difference between the colonial conflict and previous catastrophes. Whereas the previous two events described—smallpox and face-to-face contact—were finite, the larger event of colonialism had just begun, continuing indefinitely, and with increasing intensity, eventually extending beyond the bounds of shíshálh cultural logic. Eventually the spélem-úlh system would have to change—but not until it dealt with one more adversary—OMI—the Oblates of Mary Immaculate. 170 CHAPTER 5: The Arrival of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate At first only a small nucleus of the converted Seschelt met for confession, mass, and guidance, but progress in conversion was so rapid that by 1871 the sacrament of confirmation was administered to the entire Seschelt tribe (Lemert 1954:23). So far as can be ascertained this set a record for prosyletization on the Northwest Coast, from the standpoint of priority and universality of native response, that we believe to be unequalled-even by the much-heralded performance of Bishop Duncan among the Tsimshian at Metlakatla (Lemert 1954:23). In conclusion, there is little historical evidence to suggest that the Sechelt mission alone was particularly disruptive of traditional Sechelt culture and lifestyle. Any disruption which occurred was much more likely to have come from a social or economic source rather than from the Oblate mission (Fowler 1990:62-63). Introduction In the previous chapter I concluded that smallpox and face-to-face contact with Europeans had no discernable effect on the spélem-úlh system in general and the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship specifically, both appeared to remain intact. In addition, the strategies that the shíshálh employed during these events were consistent with ancient strategies that were described in the skwákwiyám, their success set the stage for the shíshálh response to the next event of the colonial conflict: the arrival of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI). In this chapter I will reassess the influence of the OMI mission on the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. This will be accomplished by answering two questions: did the shíshálh participate in the mass acceptance of Christian ritual in the form of baptism and marriage, and what was the motivation for the shíshálh to relocate to ch’atelích (Sechelt) in 1868? I begin my reassessment with a review of the two-leading studies of the OMI mission: Lemert’s sociological analysis (1954) and Fowler’s (1990) historical review. I then proceed to a discussion of the OMI and their distinct missionary strategy as presented in the Durieu System. This will include a discussion of the acceptance of Christian ritual by the shíshálh and their move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) in 1868, both of which will be analysed within two contexts: first the smallpox epidemic that struck the shíshálh in 1862, and second, the narratives presented in the 171 skwákwiyám, some of which have been previously presented in Chapters 3 and 4. In doing so I again insert a high-degree of shíshálh agency into the discussion, thereby highlighting shíshálh perceptions of this event. The Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI) The OMI mission to the shíshálh provides an example of a post-contact event that is well documented in the historical and ethnographic literature of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. As the passages presented at the beginning of this chapter attest, perhaps no other event in the shíshálh experience of the colonial conflict has produced such a divergence of opinion in the academic literature with regards to its effects and the degree of influence exerted by the participants. Ironically, perhaps no other event provides such clear insight into Euro-Canadian misunderstandings of shíshálh motivations during this period. Critically, this discussion has failed to not only incorporate any semblance of shíshálh voice into the analysis, but has simultaneously portrayed the shíshálh as passive actors, ignoring their motivations in exposing themselves to Christian ritual. The OMI mission to the shíshálh has been described as one of the most successful of all coastal missions, viewed as the Catholic Church’s answer to William Duncan’s better-known Church Missionary Society at Metlakhatla (Fowler 1990:52). Scholarly enquiry into the mission began with Edwin Lemert’s The Life and Death of an Indian State (1954), a sociological analysis that focused on disruption to shíshálh culture and social systems. He concluded that the Oblate Mission accomplished the complete conversion of the shíshálh between 1862-1871 (Lemert 1954). Lemert’s thesis was adopted by future scholars, the constant re-iteration of which (Duff 1964; Fisher 1990; Kennedy 1969) led to its acceptance as the orthodox view of shíshálh daily 172 life for the period between 1860 and 1904 (Fowler 1990). The shíshálh government added credence to Lemert’s thesis, adopting his position, as observed in the preface to the Sechelt Dictionary. Under the Durieu system, which prevailed for several years, the lives of the newly converted Sechelters were severely restricted. The people apparently took up the Catholic faith and its rituals with enthusiasm, but in so doing they had to give up cultural traditions (dancing, potlatching, shamanism, etc.) that were in conflict with church dogma (Beaumont 2011: ix). In contrast, historian Rodney Fowler writing nearly forty years after Lemert, and relying upon Oblate and secular documents (Fowler 1990:60), systematically deconstructed Lemert’s thesis, suggesting that “the impact of the Mission was considerably less disruptive of traditional culture than Lemert asserts” (Fowler 1990:60). Fowler concluded that there “is little historical evidence to suggest that the Sechelt mission alone was particularly disruptive of traditional Sechelt culture and lifestyle” (Fowler 1990:62-63). Rather, he exonerates the Oblates, placing the blame for any cultural disruption that did occur on social and economic forces (Fowler 1990:62). Although debate about the influence of the mission on the shíshálh is dichotomized, with scholars either advancing the position that missionaries caused great destruction to shíshálh culture (e.g., Lemert 1954), or they didn’t (e.g., Fowler 1990), there is little debate that the shíshálh at the direction of the OMI willingly participated in two important tennets of the OMI missionary strategy; (1) they relocated to present day Sechelt in 1868, a move that is purported to have facilitated the adoption of the second tenet, and (2) the rapid and near complete administration of baptism and marriage rites to a large segment of the shíshálh population by 1871 (Brabender 1935; Lemert 1954). What is clearly absent from these analyses is any serious enquiry into the shíshálh understanding behind their motivations to engage with the OMI, and the historical context within which the shíshálh-OMI relationship developed. 173 What little enquiry concerning shíshálh motivations that has occurred is largely superficial, neither considering shíshálh motivations behind the establishment and maintenance of a relationship with the OMI, nor shíshálh assessments of the level of OMI influence during the latter half of the nineteenth century.28 Other than three statements that are highly critical of the OMI and appear to have been provided by Salish advisors (Lemert 1954:26), the work of both Lemert and Fowler are notable for the absence of any direct references to recollections of the shíshálh experience. Simply put: what did the shíshálh hope to gain from this relationship, did they achieve their objectives, and at what cost? In addition to the absence of shíshálh voice, is the absence of context. Contact between the shíshálh and OMI occurs at a critical point in shíshálh history, coinciding with the second outbreak of smallpox in 1862, and immediately prior to Euro-Canadian settlement and the establishment of the new economy and land and resource alienation. Therefore, when analysing the shíshálh response to the OMI it is critical that their motivations, historical context and the structure of shíshálh society be considered. Alternately, any analysis of the introduction of Christianity to the shíshálh must consider how the financial and personal resources of the OMI affected their strategy of conversion (Brock 2000:159). Peggy Brock, in her analysis of missionary activity in nineteenth century British Columbia and South-West Australia, suggests that aboriginal attitudes towards and the acceptance of Christianity were not static, rather, the acceptance of Christianity was dependent upon the changing “material and political circumstances both within and outside Indigenous communities” (Brock 2000:159). As previously described, Christianity arrived within the context 28I make a clear distinction between the missionary order the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI) and the later activities of the priests and nuns associated with Saint Augustine’s Residential School that was operated on Sechelt Band Land No. 2. 174 of severe external threats to shíshálh society (smallpox, land and resource alienation), the drawn out nature of the latter of these two forces would suggest that the acceptance of Christianity was not a one-off decision made by individuals or the entirety of the shíshálh, rather it suggests the process of change would be contingent on the perceived advantages and disadvantages of accepting Christianity and its rituals, and the countervailing pressures from within shíshálh society and the newly established colonial order (Brock 2000). Durieu System The OMI are a Catholic missionary order, founded by Bishop Eugène de Mazenod in 1816. In 1838 they sent missionaries to the Oregon Territory and by 1857 they had established headquarters at Esquimalt on Vancouver Island. They later moved to the mainland in 1859 and soon thereafter opened the St. Charles Mission at New Westminster in 1860 followed in 1868 by the St. Mary’s Mission near the City of Mission in the lower Fraser valley. The primary objective of the OMI was conversion. From the time of their arrival in Oregon, to their establishment in the British colonies north of what was to become the international boundary, the OMI developed its missionary methodology, resulting in the establishment of their unique form of “indirect evangelism” (Brock 2000:165, 169),29 culminating in the establishment of the Durieu system in the 1860s. The Durieu system, as envisioned by French Missionary Paul Durieu OMI, who arrived on the west coast in 1850, partially drew on the example of Jesuit missions in seventeenth- 29 Brock (2000) identifies three specific missionary systems operating throughout the nineteenth century in what is now British Columbia. These included the; “indirect evangelism or missionary itinerancy and premised on the absent missionary; the second, the Christian village with the ever-present missionary; and thirdly, the permanent village base which was not economically self-sufficient and had a partly itinerant indigenous population” (Brock 2000:169). The Sechelt mission was “indirect evangelism,” with no resident priest, while Duncan’s Church Missionary Society mission at Metlakhatla is an example of a Christian village 175 century Paraguay, adopting one of the key pillars of this approach: the resettlement of Aboriginal peoples. Resettlement was intended to facilitate conversion, whereby dislocation from lands with which the shíshálh had social ties, to locations where they presumably did not, made them more susceptible to conversion (Brabender 1935; Brock 2000; Lemert 1954). In 1853 the OMI missionaries received official instructions regarding the operation of foreign missions. Missionaries were to work in pairs, only adult Natives who were sufficiently instructed and who had behaved satisfactorily during a probationary period could be admitted to baptism. Catechisms and canticles were to be translated into Native languages, and visual imagery, including the “ladder” were to be employed as teaching aids, in addition, Natives were to be settled in permanent communities. Few details were provided about how to precisely accomplish these goals, therefore OMI methodology in B.C. developed slowly through trial and error (Blake 1998:28). The Durieu system as implemented in British Columbia was characterized by its flexibility, in part determined by limited resources. In 1861 the OMI were limited to one missionary for every six thousand potential converts. To overcome these shortages the OMI employed an itinerant method of evangelizing whereby OMI missionaries travelled throughout the territories of individual First Nations they sought to convert, rather than establishing permanent missions. In addition, the absence of missionaries required that Christian practices were enforced by high status individuals, including hiwus (chief) and family heads, who served as agents of Christianity within the communities the OMI sought to convert. These individuals were charged with the responsibility to disseminate “Catholicism and Catholic discipline” (Brock 2000:165) among their people, through their appointment to lay positions in the Church, 176 such as “bell-man” (Fowler 1990:60).30 This approach would prove problematic as it depended on the changing internal political circumstances within First Nation communities and the objectives of the elites upon which the OMI depended. Other methods employed by the OMI included distributing “Catholic Ladders,” a device introduced by Father Francois Blanchett in Oregon in 1839 (White and Laurent 1996). The ladder was intended to overcome difficulties imposed by language and the absence of understanding within First Nation communities of the history in which Christianity had developed (White and Laurent 1996:72). Initially designed as a four-sided "sahale stick," then eventually transformed in the 1840s to a paper chart, the ladder taught the history and beliefs of the Catholic Church through pictures and symbols. Its straightforward graphic approach to religious instruction proved to be one of the most effective tools of conversion (White and Laurent 1996:72). The ladders were supplied to chiefs who returned to their villages as Native catechists, using the device to spread basic knowledge of Catholicism including the idea of heaven and hell and Christ the Saviour. Mass baptism was also employed as a technique of conversion, allowing large numbers of people to receive the sacraments at one gathering, thereby alleviating the difficulties imposed by the low numbers of missionaries. Baptism was not regarded as proof of conversion; further training was required before sacraments could be considered. The OMI considered the process of conversion to be an extended process, something that could only be achieved after a potential convert had learned to read and write thereby making the Bible accessible (Brock 2000). 30 In the Chinook trade language, the bell-man was called the tin-tin man, likely derived from the Latin word tintinnabulum, meaning a small bell (Fowler 1990:60). Among the shíshálh, the term tin-tin man is still used to refer to a bell-man. The job of the tin-tin man was to sound the hours of the liturgical offices. 177 First contact between the shíshálh and the OMI may have occurred in 1841. In that year, Father Modeste Demers OMI spent six weeks at Fort Langley and, although not specifically identified, the shíshálh could certainly have been among the large number of First Nations that visited Demers at this time (Demers 1841). Eleven years later, in April 1852, confirmed contact between the shíshálh and OMI appears to have occurred, when missionary Father Timothee Lempfrit OMI arrived in tems swiya, spending “over a week with the Indians of the Sechelt peninsula” (Meyer 1985:35). Three years later, contact occurred again when the shíshálh visited Demers at the Fort Langley Mission.31 It appears that by this time the shíshálh and OMI had considerable contact. On October 11 and 12, 1858 William Downie, who was dispatched by Governor James Douglas to asses the suitability of the Jervis Inlet route to the gold fields, was greeted on his arrival at xénichen (Huneachin) at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), by Natives who not only shook his hand, but were “crossing themselves” (Downie 1858:5). OMI records describe Father Léon Fouquet spending two months among the shíshálh and Sliammon in 1860, reputedly to learn Chinook, however, in Missions (OMI 1913:409) it states that Fouquet visited the shíshálh on his way to Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Islands) in 1860. In contrast to these accounts, George Forbes OMI, maintained that Fouquet went to Washington to learn Chinook (Forbes n.d.a). Alternately, Fouquet’s motivation for travelling to the shíshálh village of séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) has been described as an initial attempt at converting the shíshálh, according to some accounts (Brabender 1935; Lemert 1954). This initial attempt was a complete failure, as Fouquet was greeted by a collective response from the shíshálh leadership resulting in his expulsion (Forbes n.d.). The first contact between these mainland Salish tribes and missionaries occurred in 1860 when two priests of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate made a brief reconnaissance of the Sechelt and, 31 In addition to the shíshálh, their northern neighbours the Sliammon were also identified at this gathering. 178 significantly, were driven away because the Indians “knew what white men are” (Lemert 1954:23).32 Brabender (1935) offered a slightly different version to that presented by Lemert, however, the theme of shíshálh rejection of the OMI remains consistent. But let us return to the year 1868. It was then that Father Durieu, OMI, called together the five divisions of the Sechelt tribe at Chatteledge, that is to say Sechelt today, and invited them, for the first time, to build a church that would accommodate everyone and houses for each family. But several years before this gathering, Fr. Durieu had visited these Red-Skins. At the time, these Indians had a very poor opinion of whites, who came among them solely to earn a profit, and they refused all food and all lodging to the European missionary, to such an extent that he had to turn back (Brabender 1935:2). In 1862 the shíshálh contacted the OMI in New Westminster when two hiwus (chiefs) from séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), along with their families requested that Fouquet send a missionary to their village (Brabender 1935:2; Fowler 1990:60). Fouquet interpreted the motive for the shíshálh request lying in their desire to seek the establishment of a temperance society to combat the negative effects of alcoholism (Brabender 1935:2; Fowler 1990; OMI 1865:325). His interpretation of the shíshálh request should be considered with scepticism. In the early period of missionization, “temperance” did not solely refer to the abstinence of alcohol, rather, it included the strict avoidance of a broad spectrum of traditional practices, which were considered by the OMI to be in competition with Catholic dogma and ritual (Lemert 1954:24). These included: (1) the shíshálh giving up all forms of dancing, (2) refrain from potlatching, (3) cease all patronage of the shaman, and (4) cease consumption of alcohol and gambling (Lemert 1954:24). It seems highly unlikely that the shíshálh would willingly give up such critical practices, particularly when they would increasingly be required to combat the effects of smallpox, and other European-introduced stress. This interpretation is supported by the fact that at this initial meeting only one of the hiwus sought baptism but was refused (Fowler 1990:60). Following their five 32 Rev. George Forbes, "Origins of the Archdiocese of Vancouver" (unpublished, undated paper). 179 days with Fouquet it is reported that the shíshálh returned to séxw?ámin (Garden Bay), constructed a chapel, and very quickly increased the number of converts to approximately twenty (Brabender 1935:3; Fowler 1990:60). In 1862 and 1863 additional shíshálh missions were sent to Fouquet, at which time the first baptisms occurred, six in 1862 and eight in 1863 (Figure 5-1). Then on May 24, 1864 forty shíshálh canoes arrived at New Westminster, ostensibly to participate in celebrations marking Queen Victoria’s birthday (Brabender 1935:6). During this visit the first mass baptism of shíshálh occurred when eighteen shíshálh received the sacrament as well as being provided with the vaccination for smallpox (Brabender 1935:6; Fowler 1990:60).33 Between 1865-1867 the OMI made occasional visits to tems swiya, travelling by canoe from village to village (Fowler 1990; Joe 1965; Thomas 1898). Then in 1868, a single mass mission was held at the consolidated shíshálh village of ch’atelích (present day Sechelt) (Brabender 1935:2; Fowler 1990), at which time the Sechelt mission was established. During this period it is claimed that the shíshálh began to accept Christian ritual (Brabender 1935; Lemert 1953), with mass baptisms and marriages occurring at such a high rate that it has been claimed by Lemert (1954) and others (e.g., Brabender 1935; Beaumont 2011) that by 1867 all the shíshálh were baptized (Brabender 1935) and by 1871 all were confirmed (Brabender 1935:7; Fowler 1990; Lemert 1953). It must have been a great and sweet consolation to the missionary zeal to reap the first fruits of his hard ministry. Each year, he spent from 9 to 12 weeks among these poor people, educating them, encouraging them and correcting them. The Sechelt, meanwhile, visited their missionary several times a year at New Westminster, where they stayed for a week, to learn even more. Again in the village, the chiefs, in turn, exercised their duties of office. In 1867, the last of the Scolaps [sxwelap/Buccaneer Bay] tribe were admitted into the Church at New Westminster, which meant that in 1869, when Fr. Durieu received a visit from the tribe, practically all of them were Christian. That is why Mgr. D'Herbomez, OMI, the first Vicar Apostolic of British Columbia, had the good fortune of giving the sacrament of confirmation to all the Sechelt in 1871 (Brabender 1935:7). 33 It is not clear whether all shíshálh who were in attendance were baptized or only those that received the sacrament. 180 Lemert’s conclusion does not hold up to scrutiny. Fowler (1990) correctly states that total conversion of the shíshálh had not occurred. OMI baptismal records indicate that after 1871 baptisms and confirmations remained “ongoing events at the annual missions” (Fowler 1990:61; St. Peter’s Church Registry 1861-68; St. Mary’s baptismal registry 1863-1874; Registry of marriages, St. Marys Mission 1867-1872; Register for St. Charles Mission 1869-1879), with both old and young shíshálh continuing to be baptized in considerable numbers. OMI records indicate that in the period from 1868 to 1879 at least 114 shíshálh individuals were baptized (St. Peter’s Church Registry 1861-68; St. Mary’s baptismal registry 1863-1874; Registry of marriages, St. Marys Mission 1867-1872; Register for St. Charles Mission 1869-1879). Furthermore, in 1875, Father Marchal OMI baptized a seventy-five-year-old man. In 1897, while Father Thomas OMI was baptizing shíshálh, he also administered the sacrament of confirmation to a seventy-year-old man (Fowler 1990). In addition, by 1872 the OMI were still only making yearly visits to the tems swiya, and there was no resident priest in the various shíshálh villages until 1904 (Brabender 1935:12; Fowler 1990). During the period described, the OMI were totally dependent upon the largess of the shíshálh for transport and accommodation. This condition allowed the shíshálh to control the intensity of the relationship. If the shíshálh didn’t want the OMI in their communities, they could simply withhold transport. It has already been described how they denied the OMI access to their village at séxw?ámin in 1862 (Garden Bay) (Forbes n.d.). The dependency of the OMI is described in a letter written in 1868 by Father Fouquet and addressed to the Very Reverend Father Superior General Jolivet. It was December 30th 1867 when I left New Westminster, I had the happiness rare at that time of the year, to meet a good Sechelt who was returning to his camp and counted himself fortunate to be able to give me passage aboard his canoe, rather say in the bottom of his canoe…. 181 We continued our journey the next morning and the following days without incidents. On New Year’s day we crossed an isthmus which separated us from a small bay, a little further stood the village of the Sechelt. Two canoes were waiting for us at the entrance of the bay. The young men who came to meet us began to sing the hymn of the canoe keeping time with the rowing. “Now that you are the chief you must accompany the priest.” He did not wait for a second invitation, he was too happy. 8 Or 9 big strong fellows had volunteer to take me to the next camp, we left after we had touched everyone’s hand and all thanked me for naming them a chief. At four that afternoon, after a joyful crossing in spite of the cold and snow, we arrived at the second camp Sechelt (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868, Archives Deschatelets, 175 Main, Ottawa, Canada). Similarly, Clarence Joe during his interview with CBC journalist Imbert Orchard in 1965, clearly describes how the shíshálh, who were “broad-minded” (Orchard 1965:4), were the ones who not only decided to establish the mission at ch’atelích (Sechelt), but did so to assist the OMI, who apparently found the constant travel throughout tems swiya difficult (Orchard 1965:4). So in 1868 these missionaries then were travelling with the Indians on war canoes. And war canoes–there was no passenger boat, no steamers in those days–all their transportation was by war canoes. The missionaries were travelling by war canoes with the Indians from village to village. So it was suggested by one of the chiefs from up the head of Jervis Inlet, Chief (Indian) and Chief (Indian) – they must have been broad-minded chiefs – decided that the community should be built. Instead of the missionary travelling from village to village, which was a very lengthy trip for a missionary, they decided to build a village and build one big church for the whole of the Sechelt Nation (Orchard 1965:4). Joe clearly re-orients the discussion regarding who selected the location of the mission. From his perspective the shíshálh were clearly in a position of dominance: the nature and tone of his words show a people who were not passive players, rather, they reflect a people still very much in control of events. Clarence Joe, born in 1917, was the son of xaxának (Basil Joe [b. 1880]) and the grandson of yayometum (Joe Le Dally [b.~1850]). Both his father and grandfather directly experienced the OMI. xaxának was baptised by the OMI in 1884 (St. Peters 1884), and like both his father and grandfather, Clarence was intimately schooled in the history of his people (Robert Joe, personal communication 2016). His words may be the closest personal recollections of the 182 shíshálh-OMI relationship that exist, providing vital insight into shíshálh interpretations of this critical event. So reluctant were the shíshálh to submit to sustained contact with the OMI, the Fathers and their superiors were forced to construct a series of chapels throughout tems swiya from which they could minister to the shíshálh (Durieu 1935; Merchant 2012).34 The first of these was established at séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) in 1862 (Brabender 1935:3; Fowler 1990:60), two others were established at ts’unay (Deserted Bay) xénichen (Huneachin) (Figure 5-1). The OMI program seems to have been so ineffectual that, as late as 1898, the shíshálh were refusing to permanently remain at the mission in ch’atelích (Sechelt) (Thomas 1898). Father Francois Thomas OMI submitted a letter to his superiors describing the situation, and requesting that he be allowed to live among the shíshálh in the mountains above xénichen in order “… to follow them as they practiced their nomadic life …” (Thomas 1898:263-268). In the same letter he goes on to say: A good part of the year they spend in the bush or up in the mountains, sleeping in tents at night, following the hunt for deer, which together with fish, constitutes their daily bread, and also the hunt for bear which provides them with pelts for sale… Contact between the shíshálh and OMI remained intermittent well into the twentieth century. In 1913 hiwus George along with three fellow shíshálh hiwus wrote to the Royal Commission on Indian Reserves. The primary focus of their letter was to protest the trespass and occupation of their lands at Skookumchuk by a “half-breed” Alfred Jeffrey (George et al. 1913). Importantly, this letter described how the shíshálh continued to occupy five camps, one of which 34 Established by the OMI to facilitate the missionization of the shíshálh, these chapels were administered by Oblate priests travelling by boat to the various shíshálh communities, a pattern that continued into the late nineteenth century when the establishment of the Sechelt Mission and the consolidation of the shíshálh population at present day ch’atelích (Sechelt) made them redundant (Durieu 1935:2). 183 was ch’atelích (Sechelt), the site of the Mission and a location that was now only visited when the shíshálh sought “spiritual nourishment” (George et al. 1913). We Indians at Sechelt are assembled here and want to expose to you a case that touches us very closely. We have been living at Skookum Chook for long years. Our forefathers had the land there for centuries. About forty years ago we were obliged to move from one place to another and we have cleared that last place from bush. There are 23 (twenty-three) houses built there, gardens are made and apple-trees planted. We always believed that this place was ours, till we hear lately that a half-breed, by the name of Alfred Jeffrey has taken up that land. We cannot understand this, and we ask for our rights. How is it possible that other people can take this land from us? How is it possible that we can be deprived of our living? We cannot all make our living at Sechelt, since we only go there for our spiritual nourishment, as the church and priest is there. We are five camps, Sechelt, Jervis Inlet, Pender Harbour, Deserted Bay and Skookum Chook. Sechelt is our Centre, because our church is there, but we always had our land at other places. Skookum Chook is absolutely necessary for us, because it is there we fish the most and if the old reserve were taken from us we would not know where to stay there and to make our living (George et al. 1913). The above paragraph raises the issue of “spiritual nourishment,” what does this mean for the shíshálh, and how often is it required? In the following section, through the use of historical documents, ethnographic analogy, and oral tradition, I will explore the development of the relationship between the shíshálh and OMI within the context of the 1862 smallpox epidemic. 184 Figure 5-1. Map of tems swiya indicating the major consolidated villages known to have existed at contact, and the OMI chapels. Map by H. E. Brown. 185 The Smallpox of 1862 If the shíshálh were submitting to mass baptism and marriage, as the OMI registries indicate, what were they hoping to achieve? Initial contact with the OMI appears to have had little effect, the only shíshálh who requested baptism prior to 1862 were refused the sacrament (Fowler 1990:60). Perhaps there was no need for them to adopt the new spiritual medicine that the OMI offered–suggested by the observation that, prior to 1862, there appears to have been no great rush on the part of the shíshálh to obtain it. As we observed in the previous chapter, the shíshálh already had established strategies to successfully negotiate contact with the first wave of European contact and the first onslaught of smallpox, and their system interacting with outsiders was working as it always had. However, prior to 1862 they had not been subject to a second wave of smallpox, and the voracious pressures of the twin forces of resource and land alienation that other neighbouring First Nations were already experiencing. However, beginning in the spring of 1862 the situation began to change: smallpox arrived again and new medicine was required. On March 18, 1862, the Daily British Colonist reported the outbreak of smallpox in Victoria. On March 26, the paper reported two new cases, one having arrived on the Oregon, the second on the Brother Jonathan, both steamers arriving from San Francisco (Boyd 1999, 1985). Smallpox quickly spread among the northern First Nations residing around Victoria (Daily British Colonist [DBC], 18, March 1862) (Boyd 1999, 1985; Fisher 1990), as the number of fatalities increased, there were ever increasing calls from the settler population to evict the First Nations from their homes and send them back to their northern villages (Daily British Colonist [DBC], 28, April 1862). On April 28, 1862 orders were issued by the Commissioner of Police giving the Tsimshian one day to leave their homes surrounding Victoria, an order that was 186 enforced by the assistance of a naval gunboat (Daily British Colonist [DBC], 29, April 1862). As the evictions increased and people proceeded north to their home territories, the disease spread quickly, infecting the communities at which they stopped along the way (Fisher 1990:115). Based upon conservative canoe travel time estimates, contagious refugees from Victoria could have reached sxwélap (Thormanby Island), ch’atelích (Sechelt) and kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour)–roughly 100 to 150 kilometers north of Victoria–in approximately two or three days of paddling.35 Again, there are few direct historical accounts of this second outbreak affecting the shíshálh. However, we can indirectly discern its effects from two sources, a letter written to the Mainland Guardian by Bishop Durieu (1875), and the census completed by Indian Commissioner Gilbert M. Sproat (1875). In his letter, Durieu stated, that between the shíshálh and Kla Ah Men (Sliammon Nation), the two Nations “do not muster more than 370 souls” (Durieu Letter to the Mainland Guardia, June 16, 1875, pg. 3). While Sproat’s census recorded one hundred and sixty-seven shíshálh, composed of fifty-six women, fifty-five men, fourteen adolescents, and forty-two children (Sproat 1875). When reading these numbers, caution should be taken, as many shíshálh avoided either census, choosing to remain in the distant reaches of tems swiya, thereby reducing the recorded numbers. Regardless, the low numbers suggest that thirteen years after this second smallpox outbreak, shíshálh population remained perilously low. The skwákwiyám provides an account of this second smallpox outbreak, describing the devastation it wrought. The Legend of Deserted Bay–Tsoh-Nye, was recounted to Al Lloyd by Chief Dan Johnson of kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) (Johnson n.d.), it is presented in full below. 35 This estimate is based upon Ames (2002), and Blake’s (2010) estimate of thirty-kilometers a day marine travel by canoe under favourable conditions, and when no one was sick. 187 When the white man first settled on the coast the native people were very interested in all the strange and different things he did, and got great amusement from watching his every day life – how he worked and especially how he amused himself. Gastown36 was the only place on the lower coast where there were a lot of whitemen and was a favorite place for the fun of whiteman watching. The native families would travel by canoe to Gastown and spend days and sometimes weeks watching with great interest and quiet amusement. They watched how the whiteman worked and the tools he used, they observed the food he ate and the clothes he wore, they wondered about the houses he lived in – because you must realise that for the most part they had never seen any of these things before and they were totally different from the natives they had always known. Of particular interest was the white man’s habit of drinking and then getting into arguments and fights and sometimes ending up in jail. Some of the native people tried this strange custom but the results were not too happy. One other thing the white man had brought was disease – diseases like chicken-pox, measles and smallpox. The white man had been exposed to the diseases for generations and had developed some immunity and know how to treat them, Chicken-pox and measles were not very sick with them, small pox was worse but not considered too serious. But for the native people these diseases were very bad, very dangerous – they had never had them before and did not know how people who caught them should be treated – and because of this many of the people who caught the chicken-pox or measles died from them, and those who caught smallpox were almost certain to die. It happened that a group of people from Jervis Inlet were in Gastown when an outbreak of smallpox happened, and when they saw people become very sick and covered with ugly spots, they decided that Home was the best place to be. They gathered up their belongings and their children loaded them in their canoes and headed up the Inlet as fast as their paddles would drive them. They did not know that they were carrying not only their belongings and their children, but in their blood they were carrying the dreaded smallpox germs, to their families and friends at Tsoh-nye. Some little time after this, two men were fishing off Tsoh-nye and as they finished they thought it was funny that they could see no smoke from the houses, and as they got closer they could see no one on the shore or around the houses, no sign of life at all. They talked about this and their curiosity made them go into the shore to see what it was all about. As soon as they put their boat on the beach they had a bad feeling, something was very wrong, they looked at the houses and they saw just dead people and more dead people, all dead from the smallpox. There were many houses but each was the same, more dead people. They were not afraid of the smallpox as they had both had it so they looked to see if perhaps some one person was still alive. Just as they were about to give up they heard a baby cry, very faint, so they looked and there at her dead mothers breast, was a baby girl hungrily trying to get milk. They took the little girl baby and washed her[e] in the salt chuck, wrapped her in clean clothes and took her, the only living person in Tsoh-nye, to Gastown to be cared for by her own people. No native people went back to Tsoh-nye for many years and it was called Deserted Bay and still is on the white man’s map…that girl she grew to be a beautiful lady, got herself a good man, and had many children. Although this narrative originates in Gastown, which was not established till 1867, five years after the outbreak, the events described are remarkably similar to those surrounding the 1862 outbreak in Victoria and described in the Daily British Colonist (Daily British Colonist [DBC], 28, April 1862). As with the Tsimshian to the north, smallpox was brought back to tems 36 Gastown was not established until the arrival of “Gassy Jack” Deighton in 1867, five years after the 1862 smallpox outbreak. 188 swiya by shíshálh fleeing the disease. Just as described in examples from the north, the effect of the disease on the shíshálh was devastating, killing the entire population of ts'únay (Deserted Bay), except for a baby girl. As in the story of the Great Snow, the young girl would grow up to have “many children,” thereby becoming the progenitor of the modern shíshálh Nation. In addition to detailing the events surrounding the second smallpox outbreak, The Legend of Deserted Bay describes the shíshálh response within the context of their historical logic observed in the narratives presented in Chapter 4. The event occurs, the shíshálh consolidate, then following the event they disperse, with the survivors re-establishing the population. In The Legend of Deserted Bay, the survivors, rather than remain within the tems swiya, resettle in “Gastown,” beyond the boundary of tems swiya. Whether this variation indicates a change in the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship or is brought about by a misunderstanding on the part of the recorder, or inaccuracies in the telling of the story is difficult to determine, regardless, it represents a distinct deviation from one of the central themes of the previous narratives. It should be noted, that during the latter part of the nineteenth century, Burrard Inlet where Gastown is located, had become vital to the shíshálh economy as they began to export large amounts of timber to the lumber mills located along the inlet’s shores (see Chapter 6). By 1876, Gilbert Malcolm Sproat reported that the shíshálh had in a single year supplied 1,300,000 cubic meters of saw-logs to the Burrard Inlet mills (Sproat 1876). Likely accompanying this economic importance was an increased social importance, whereby Gastown began to take on a role in shíshálh social life. The economic and social importance of Gastown may also account for the location’s central importance within the narrative. As we have observed throughout this and the previous chapter, in the proto-contact and post-contact world catastrophic events were no less common than in the pre-contact world. The 189 Salish world, including that of the shíshálh continued to be rocked by catastrophic events. Historian Dannielle Metcalfe-Chenail (2007) has detailed the effects of the 1872 earthquake on the Interior Salish of eastern British Columbia and Washington State, while numerous scholars (Arnett 2016, Boyd 1990; Carlson 2010; Harris 1994; Merchant 2012; Ramenofsky 1987) have documented the effects of smallpox on both the Interior and Coast Salish peoples. The effects of these events were obvious to all, First Nation and European alike. The abandoned villages and scarred faces observed by Vancouver (Vancouver 1801), and the “skeleton, upon seletons” (Joe 1965:3) observed by the shíshálh, bear witness to its effects. Christopher Arnett (2016), and Metcalfe-Chenail (2007) have detailed how the Nlaka’pamux of British Columbia’s western interior plateau, and the Interior Salish of the eastern British Columbia and northern Washington State, interpreted smallpox and earthquakes respectively, within their own worldview (Arnett 2016:329; Metcalfe-Chenail 2007). Whereas, Arnett has identified rock art as a culturally prescribed, proactive practice to ward off present and future smallpox events (Arnett 2016:329), Metcalfe-Chenail identified Catholic ritual, specifically, baptism and marriage as a culturally appropriate response to deal with smallpox. In the following section, I will examine the shíshálh response to this second outbreak of smallpox from the perspectives presented by Arnett, Metcalfe-Chenail, and Elizabeth Vibert, with a special focus on the baptismal and marriage records of the OMI. This will be followed by an examination of the shíshálh “move” to ch’atelích (Sechelt) from kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) and the establishment of the Sechelt mission in 1868. 190 The Return to Equilibrium: baptism and marriage In the evening of December 14, 1872, a large earthquake struck what is now eastern British Columbia and Washington State. The earthquake measured an estimated 6.8 on the Modified Mercalli intensity magnitude scale, causing rock slides along the Columbia River near Wenatchee, Washington, reportedly damming the river for a few hours, and killing several people (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007:1). To the west in the Okanagan and Similkameen Valleys of southern British Columbia the earthquake produced fumaroles, releasing sulfurous gas into the air (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007:1). For the Interior Salish living in the region of the earthquake, the disaster was a portent of a larger issue, an imbalance between the physical and spiritual world. Metcalfe-Chenail states, “at the time of the earthquake the Interior Salish deeply valued their relationships with the spirit world” (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007:4). The earthquake indicated that this “relationship had not been properly honoured” (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007:4), and although the Interior Salish turned to traditional spiritual protocols to re-align this relationship, they also sought out Christian missionaries to obtain rituals such as baptism and marriage, resulting in a spike in the administration of these sacraments following the earthquake (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007). In her analysis of early nineteenth century prophetic movements on the Columbia Plateau, Elizabeth Vibert argues that to understand Indigenous responses to the forces of colonialism it is essential to consider the internal logic, beliefs and practices that give these responses resonance in native societies (Vibert 1995:197-199). For First Nations on the Plateau there is evidence that the mass illness and death resulting from the first two contact-era epidemics were not blamed on a contagion (Vibert 1995: 199). Rather, the Plateau people turned inward for an explanation, considering smallpox and other diseases to be a signal that there was 191 “an imbalance or power struggle among the personal spirit partners that animated the spiritual universe of the Plateau” (Vibert 1995: 199). Both events were interpreted as a spiritual crisis within the respective societies, and the adoption of Christian ritual and the development of prophetic movements were culturally prescribed responses to these events that fit firmly within established cultural logic. The objective of these responses was to eliminate conflict and re-establish equilibrium or balance between the people-spirit or spirit-spirit relationship, by removing the conflict from these relationships’ equilibrium could be restored between the participants thereby eliminating the negative effects of this imbalance. Like the earthquake, the 1862 smallpox epidemic was a non-material entity, although invisible, its effects were real, causing mass death, which was visible in the bodies of the deceased that littered the affected villages (Arnett 2016). The Legend of Deserted Bay-Tsoh-Nye describes in detail how the disease was transported to tems swiya, how the affected populations were unaware of its silent presence, and the destruction it caused. They did not know that they were carrying not only their belongings and their children, but in their blood they were carrying the dreaded smallpox germs, to their families and friends at Tsoh-nye (Johnson n.d.). For the shíshálh, the smallpox epidemics equated with the Interior Plateau's earthquake, a portent of the imbalance between themselves and the spirit world–in other words, equilibrium had been lost. This imbalance was brought about by their failure to properly honour this relationship, and thus the consequence of this imbalance was manifest in mass death, imposed upon them by the offended spiritual powers. In the past, with the Great Snow, and the Great Flood, both of which resulted in mass death, equilibrium was restored, and the shíshálh rebounded, returning to the desired status quo. In the story Calseeku God’s Holy Water, 192 presented in Chapter 3, the consequences of inappropriate behaviour and falling out of favour with the spirit world are described in detail. Prior to 1862 the shíshálh had little contact with the OMI, only one request from them for baptism was recorded. In the late spring of 1862 this changed, the shíshálh sought out the OMI, and forty canoes, fully loaded arrived in New Westminster. On June 28, one hundred and two days after the Daily British Colonist reported the outbreak of smallpox in Victoria, the shíshálh received their first mass baptism, when six shíshálh; five boys and one girl received the sacrament from Father Grandidier at New Westminster ([New Westminster Baptism Records 1861-1868) (Figure 5-2). Administering the sacrament of individual couple marriage would not begin until later, but in April 1867 mass marriage ceremonies were conducted and would continue, along with mass baptisms, intermittently over the next eighteen years. These took place at a variety of locations both within and beyond tems swiya, and in varying numbers (Figures 5-2). The baptism data presented in Figure 5-2 reveals an important trend: after 1874 all recipients appear range in age from infant to fifty. This may indicate that there was a constant and ongoing need for baptism. The cause of this is not clear, however, it could represent an ongoing imbalance in the system. It should also be noted, that concurrently with the initiation of baptisms, the shíshálh also received smallpox vaccinations from the OMI. This suggests that, at least in one aspect of the OMI-shíshálh relationship, the OMI were in control. 193 Figure 5-2. Baptisms of shíshálh by year, number, and age range, from 1862 through 1879 (Data obtained from the Oblate baptismal records). Year No. of Baptisms Baptismal Location(s) Age Range 1862 6 New Westminster 2–6 1863 8 New Westminster 2–8 1864 18 New Westminster (3), Sechelt (15) 1–10 1865 7 Sechelt (6), Garden Bay (1) 2–5 1866 30 St. Marie (29), New Westminster (1) 15–45 1867 4 New Westminster (4) 2*–10* 1868 5 New Westminster (5) 10+–3 1869 17 Sechelt (2), New Westminster (8), Burrard Inlet (1), unknown (6) infant–50 1870 25 Sechelt (15), New Westminster (4), Burrard Inlet (2), St. Mary’s (4) 1+–75 1871 14 St. Mary’s (10), Sechelt (1), New Westminster (2), unknown (1) 4+–30 1872 2 Burrard (1), New Westminster (1) 21+–5* 1873 13 St. Marie (2), Sechelt (10), Thormanby Island (1) 9+–40 1874 6 Sechelt (1), New Westminster (4), Burrard Inlet (1) 15+–50 1875 7 New Westminster (2), Burrard Inlet (1), Sechelt (4) 4+–3* 1876 8 Sechelt (5), Burrard Inlet (1), New Westminster (2) 14+–10* 1877 4 Burrard Inlet (4) infant–3* 1878 10 Sechelt (2), Burrard Inlet (3), New Westminster (5) 2+–2* 1879 3 Sechelt (3) 1+–3+ *=age described in months +=age described in days In 1998 the shíshálh Nation produced a graph of baptisms and marriages as part of their Traditional Use Study (Peacock 1998) (Figure 5-3). This graph shows all baptisms by year, number of participants, and gender. The data presented in the graph differs from that presented in Figure 5-2. For example, the shíshálh graph (Figure 5-3) shows nineteen baptisms occurring in 1865, while Figure 5-2 indicates that for the same year there were seven baptisms. The cause of the discrepancy is not clear; however, the general pattern of both figures is consistent and corresponds will with that described in previous sections. 194 Figure 5-3. Graph showing baptisms and marriages of shíshálh by year, number, and gender. Data taken from the shíshálh Nation Traditional Use Study (Peacock 1998) Numbers vary slightly from those presented in Figure 5-2. The spike in baptism rates following the 1862 smallpox outbreak represents a dramatic divergence from shíshálh behaviour up to that point, but what was the motivation for this shift? In a letter written by Fouquet to Jolivet in 1862, he describes the presence of the Chichels (shíshálh) and other First Nations at New Westminster in 1861-62. Although Fouquet presents an understandably biased interpretation of the Natives preference for Christianity over that of their traditional spiritual practices, he does describe the dual use of Indigenous spiritual practices and Christian ritual by the attending First Nations, as a more secure method of “being protected and preserved from death”. In 1862 the Chichels [Shíshálh], as well as the Tlohos [Klahoose], came to New Westminster, the former wanted to remain there until they had learned the prayers; both asked that temperance be organized among them, which was granted to them. 05101520253035401865 1870 1875 1880 1885 1890 1895 1900 1905Shíshálh Marriages and Baptisms(OMI Records) New Westminster, B.C. 1860-1905marriages baptisms (female) baptism (male) 195 All of the camps within the scope of St. Charles37 mission have taken prayer with the exception of one; this sad outcome is due to the influence of the ministers and a few English bigots. Throughout 1861 the Indians of the river and the Skroamish gave us only consolations; the few months that reverend father Grandidier went to Fort Hope he lived besieged by the Indians of the neighborhood, he knew so well how to establish among them the priest’s influence that since then they have remained very attached to him. In New Westminster the Indians gave us the same satisfaction and at Easter that same year, they were more than 800 gathered for the holidays; unfortunately we had no church. The devil, who had appeared to sleep throughout all of 1861, began to show himself in 1862. Winters being very harsh and all the river frozen, a famous tamanouas from Fort Yale began to scare the Indians, to hold them to ransom, bring them together and make his prayer; all of it accompanied by predictions, threats, promises; you are familiar, Reverend Father, with these great tamanouas. The fox, he recommended to the Indians not to reject the word of the priest and the prayer but to have both at the same time, to be more sure of being protected and preserved from death. God and the tamanouas would protect them. He thought the priest would not go one hundred miles over the ice and hoped to have time to restore his influence. Many Indians, some from fear, others from curiosity, would watch his antics and listen to his predictions. Against the imposter’s expectations, the priest went up, confused him, and three days later the hand of God struck him with paralysis; he died last summer (1862). From the priest’s first visit, almost all the Indians turned from their error, many were punished, the imposter was left with perhaps twenty members (Fouquet 1862:2-3). Just as Metcalfe-Chenail (2007) identified the Interior Salish augmenting traditional practices with Christian ritual to overcome the earthquake of 1872, the shíshálh according to the above passage, along with other coastal First Nations, were clearly augmenting traditional practices with Christian ritual to overcome smallpox. For the shíshálh, the OMI represented a source of ritual and associated spirit power that could be drawn on to augment the inefficiencies in their own spiritual practices. For the shíshálh, the spiritual imbalance had to be reversed, and equilibrium restored, something that could potentially be achieved through the adoption of specific Christian rituals (Metcalfe-Chenail 2007).38 The accounts provided by Metcalfe-Chenail and Arnett clearly provide ethnographic analogies that can be used to re-interpret the shíshálh acceptance of Christian ritual in the latter half of the nineteenth century. This re-interpretation is 37 The OMI operated eight missions within what is now British Columbia. The first to be established was the Immaculate Conception in 1859 near Lake Okanagan. Then in 1860 the St. Charles mission was established at New Westminster, and it was within this mission that the shíshálh were located. The remaining missions include the St. Mary’s mission upriver from New Westminster in 1861, the St. Michael’s mission on Harbledown Island between 1866-74, St. Joseph’s mission at Williams Lake in 1867, St. Eugene’s at Cranbrook in 1874, the Assumption mission at Fort Rupert 1863-65, and lastly, Our Lady of Good Hope at Stuart Lake in 1873. 196 directly supported by Fouquet’s 1862 letter, and indirectly by the baptismal and marriage records of the OMI. The conclusion that the shíshálh accepted Christian ritual rather than Christianity clearly fits within the system of shíshálh cultural logic that existed during this period. When shíshálh actions are examined within their cultural and temporal context, it appears that they had achieved their objective–they had been inoculated against smallpox, both in the spiritual and physical realms. In the following section, using ethnographic data, and historical documents, I examine the second component of the OMI strategy of conversion, the establishment of the Sechelt mission in 1868. The Move One of the central pillars of the OMI missionary method, was the relocation of subject populations. In the shíshálh case, their relocation from séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) in kálp-ílín (Pender Harbour) to ch’atelích (Sechelt) has been cited as a vital component in the OMI strategy of conversion. It has been stated, directly and indirectly, by ethnographers (Barnett 1954; Kennedy and Bouchard 1990:443), archaeologists (Wilson 1989), and the shíshálh (Beaumont 2011:viii; Peacock 1990:21), that prior to the establishment of the mission in 1868, ch’atelích (Sechelt) was not an important residential location for the shíshálh, only “having its beginnings in 1868, when Father (later Bishop) Paul Durieu of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate set about to centralize the various [shíshálh] groups here” (Beaumont 2011:viii). Subsequently, it has been established, primarily through the review of additional data, including archaeological and ethnographic evidence (Bilton 2014; Joe 1965; Merchant 2002, 197 2012), and place names, that ch’atelích (Sechelt), prior to the establishment of the mission in 1868 had been a vast shíshálh residential complex for at least three thousand years. When interviewed by Major Matthews in 1938, August Jack Khahtsahlano of the Skwxú7mesh Uxwumixw (Squamish Nation) placed the territorial boundary between the shíshálh and Skwxú7mesh at xwésám (Robert’s Creek) (Matthews 1955:90), approximately ten and a half kilometers to the southeast of ch’atelích (Sechelt), situating ch’atelích (Sechelt) well within tems swiya. In 1965, shíshálh Elder Clarence Joe in an interview with CBC journalist Imbert Orchard described how ch’atelích (Sechelt) had always been a shíshálh village, until the population was destroyed by the smallpox epidemic of the 1770s (Figure 5-4). That's the way our forefathers lived. Up until the time, up in the time of the early arrival of the white man. And the early arrival of the white man, we were told by our forefathers, that they had suffered an epidemic, and this epidemic was the smallpox. And they were dying by the thousands where we have witnessed ourselves the skeletons with our immediate village here. Today we are now like a pine homes with basements, and when we hire bulldozer to excavate our basement we come upon skeleton, upon skeletons. And I'll quote here, I'll quote her in a book a document written by the missionaries, this part of the document here, "According to the immemorial tradition of local Indians Sechelt is built on a site of Shotledge," that's the immediate name of this village, Shotledge, "the home of a tribe that was always at war with neighboring tribes and was finally destroyed by them and by smallpox brought in by white man. Burning with fever they rushed into the sea, died and left mounds of their bones of their shore.” That’s the first epidemic and these were taken by the early missionaries, early missionaries as told by them by the Indians they had contact with in the early arrivals in this land (Joe 1965:3). 198 Figure 5-4. View of ch’atelích (Sechelt) in 1915 looking west. Cemetery is in foreground, mission church is located at center right, and kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) at left (District of Sechelt Museum and Archives). The long-term occupation of ch’atelích (Sechelt) is also evident in the presence of place names, which are critical indicators of the intense occupation of a region or specific location by a people. Within five kilometers of what was to be the site of the mission, no less than seventeen shíshálh place names have been recorded (Figure 5-5). 199 Figure 5-5. Shíshálh place names located within five kilometers of Sechelt Mission. Place Name Location Meaning Source tsúlích Porpoise Bay –- Beaumont 2011 ch’atelích Sechelt town site outside, on the ocean side Kennedy and Bouchard 1977, 1986 tuh-hahw'-ah-khain Sechelt town site –- Peacock 1998 álhtúlích Lower Porpoise Bay Inside Kennedy and Bouchard 1986 tchahw’-ahwp East Porpoise Bay –- Peacock 1998 smémkw'áli Poise Island –- Peacock 1998 kwétl'lích Trail Bay –- Beaumont 2011, Peacock 1998 k’élaxan Selma Park Stockade Kennedy and Bouchard 1986 k’ík’ laxan Selma Park little stockade Kennedy and Bouchard 1986 lhílhknách Trail Islands –- Peacock 1998 k’élxám north of Selma Park anchor place Kennedy and Bouchard 1977 mímxwnach Trail Bay Mall Sechelt unsettled at back end Kennedy and Bouchard 1977 Lhalt SBL-5 and adjacent bay –- Kennedy and Bouchard 1977 swík’als SBL-3, west side of Porpoise Bay clear rock Kennedy and Bouchard 1977 íyikw west side of Porpoise Bay good point Kennedy and Bouchard 1977 ts'áyémay Angus Creek –- Peacock 1998 huh-kway-wahn Shannon Creek –- Peacock 1998 To the north, near the head of tsúlích (Porpoise Bay), only five kilometers from were the mission was located is the site at which a spélem-úlh (First Ancestor) arrived (Peterson 1958-1963; Suttles 1952), bringing knowledge of canoe making (Peterson 1958-1963; Suttles 1952), emphasising the ancient and intense link between the shíshálh and ch’atelích (Sechelt). On New Years Day 1868 Father Léon Fouquet OMI landed at ch’atelích (Sechelt), crossed the isthmus, a narrow strip of land that separates the Salish Sea from tsúlích (Porpoise Bay). Then by canoe he travelled the approximately two kilometers to the nearby shíshálh village of slahlt (present day Sechelt Band Land No. 5), where he witnessed the selection of a hiwus (chief) (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868). That day he travelled by canoe to the second shíshálh village, presumably located at séxw?ámin (Garden Bay) (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868). Fouquet’s letter is very important, as he clearly identifies shíshálh populations, living in a large village within sight of the location at which the Mission would 200 within the year be established (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868). As previously discussed in Chapter 4, ch’atelích (Sechelt) is the location of archaeological site DiRw-28, which is part of a vast archaeological complex that spans virtually the entire shoreline of kwétl'lích (Trail Bay), and tsúlích (Porpoise Bay). Archaeological investigations conducted at DiRw-28 by the author (Merchant 2002, n.d.), and Bilton (2014), indicate that ch’atelích (Sechelt), was the site of an enormous residential complex. Seven radiocarbon dates obtained from the site indicate that ch’atelích (Sechelt) has been occupied for at least the last three thousand years, with an occupational hiatus following the devastation of the late eighteenth century smallpox epidemic. Multiple lines of evidence, ethnographic, historical and archaeological, clearly indicate that ch’atelích (Sechelt) was a shíshálh residential complex prior to the establishment of the mission. Furthermore, the general location had an intense socio-economic connection to the shíshálh as expressed in the place names and spélem-úlh (First Ancestor). All the lines of data presented above can be drawn together to illustrate the importance of this location to the shíshálh, extending well into the pre-contact past. The Grieving Mother Case studies are useful in drawing together seemingly disparate lines of data into a coherent and succinct narrative. The following clearly illustrates the shíshálh attachment to ch’atelích (Sechelt), thereby contradicting the assumed motivation by which the OMI would have selected the location for the mission. 201 Approximately, one kilometre south of ch’atelích (Sechelt) is the Selma Park breakwater, a location described in she shashíshálhem (the shíshálh language) as k'élaxan (stockade) (Peterson 1958-1963), or “k’ík’ laxan” (little stockade) (Beaumont 1985). This was the site of a palisaded fort (Smith 1935:1), that in 1921 became the location of a Knights of Columbus Boys camp. Children playing at the camp recovered from beneath the roots of a tree a stone carving, approximately 50 cm high, popularly referred to as the “Sechelt Image” (Figure 5-6). The ‘Image’ was eventually purchased in 1926 by the Vancouver Museum from Chief Dan Paull, where it remained until it was returned to the shíshálh Nation in 2010. Figure 5-6. The “Sechelt image,” recovered from the Knights of Columbus Boys camp in 1921, and returned to the shíshálh Nation in 2010 (Photographer unknown. District of Sechelt Museum and Archives). A popular shíshálh oral tradition recorded by Lester Peterson (1990:95), suggests that the image depicts a grieving mother, who after hearing of the death of her son at the hands of a “band of renegades from the north” (Peterson 1990:95), committed suicide by throwing herself from the bluff at k'élaxan (stockade) (Peterson 1990:94). Stone sculptures, like the Sechelt 202 Image, are typically associated with the Marpole culture (2500-1400 BP) (Mitchell 1990:345), suggesting that the shíshálh occupation of this location extends to at least that period. Radiocarbon dates obtained from nearby DiRw-28, support this assumption. Discussion What is clear from the presented lines of data and the above case study, and contrary to many previously published sources (e.g., Kennedy and Bouchard 1990; Peterson 1990; Peacock 1998), as well as the position of the OMI, the location selected for the mission, had always been an important shíshálh residential and ceremonial complex. The account provided by Clarence Joe thirty-years after the beginning of the OMI Mission and presented at the beginning of this chapter presents a very different history. As with the discussion of baptismal and marriage records, it is clear that the shíshálh have an understanding of their move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) and the establishment of the mission in 1862 that differs from that of both the OMI and Lemert. For the shíshálh this was not a move, as much as it was a return to an ancient village site, one whose importance is codified within the skwákwiyám, and visible in the richness of the archaeological record, and the historical documents created by the OMI themselves. The move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) clearly resembles the pattern of population consolidation following catastrophic events that were described in Chapter 4. During those earlier consolidations, it appears, that the shíshálh were clearly in control of events, again the spélem-úlh system appeared to be intact, and the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya remained strong. 203 Summary When we review the events connected with the establishment of the Sechelt mission, and the impacts of the OMI upon the shíshálh, within the context of the arguments put forward by Lemert and Fowler, it appears clear that Lemert’s analysis is far from accurate. Like many scholars who have written about Indigenous/Colonial history, he has failed to account for any form of shíshálh agency, or to adequately consider the temporal context within which the OMI arrived. Much like his contemporaries, and those who immediately followed, as well as the OMI themselves, the major oversight is the lack of accounting for and appreciation of shíshálh history and shíshálh strategic objectives in the face of ongoing upheavals–both before and after the arrival of the first Europeans. For Lemert to conclude that the Sechelt mission was “unequalled-even by the much-heralded performance of Bishop Duncan among the Tsimshian at Metlakatla” (Lemert 1954:23), proof visible in the rapid rate of “ritual confirmations” (Lemert 1954:23), which resulted in what he described as the complete “sloughing-off” (Lemert 1954:23) of shíshálh ceremonial culture at a very early period of contact is not only a failure to appreciate shíshálh motives, but also a failure to critically analyze the difference between OMI theory and practice. Lemert’s basis for concluding that the shíshálh had converted, and abandoned their traditional ways, is largely based on his acceptance of the fact that the OMI would not have “confirmed any Indians who were not fully participating in the liturgy and living a Christian lifestyle” (Fowler 1990:57). This point is critical as Fowler (1990) states in his response to Lemert’s analysis, that Lemert makes no distinction between OMI theory and practice. At their other missions throughout what was to become British Columbia, the OMI frequently confirmed Natives who had little if any knowledge of the Catholic Faith (Fowler 1990:57), a problem that 204 was faced by Father Lejacq at Fort St. James, were adult Natives were baptized by Demers in 1842 and then left without instruction until 1861 (Fowler 1989, 1990). These practices went against OMI official instruction, which stated that “only adult Natives who were sufficiently instructed and had proved themselves during a probationary period were to be admitted to baptism” (Blake 1998:28). After 1853 OMI strategy changed. As discussed earlier in this chapter, the limited resources of the OMI required that their approach to missionary work be flexible including the conferring of baptism with little if any training in Catholic doctrine and conducting mass baptism to overcome the shortage of priests. These strategies characterized the OMI approach to the shíshálh. Fowler concludes that the creation of the image of success that has surrounded the Sechelt mission, lies with Bishop Bunoz and Father Brabender. Both Bunoz and Brabender wrote promotional accounts of the mission intended for the Catholic laity. By highlighting the mission’s successes they hoped to increase the financial contributions of the laity (Fowler 1990:56). Chenail-Smith identified a similar practice among the Jesuits of Colville Agency in eastern Washington State following the 1872 earthquake (Chenail-Smith 2007:22). What the OMI and Lemert appear to have accomplished from a reading of the evidence, is that they created their own chapter of the standard colonial narrative. This raises the following question: was the narrative created to facilitate the sustained financial support for the OMI, thereby continuing their missionary program, or was it an interpretation informed by their own cultural logic? Regardless of their motivation, it appears clear that the OMI, through the modification of their approach, recognized that one of the core principles of their missionary strategy–i.e., not to administer sacraments to unprepared shíshálh–did not have the required 205 effect. In response to this perceived failure, they where prepared to “sloug[hing]-off” (Lemert 1954:23) their beliefs to achieve their goals. In sharp contrast, the shíshálh were simply following the cultural logic that had recently proved so successful in dealing with the eighteenth-century smallpox outbreak described in Chapter 4. Missionaries came with the objective of altering shíshálh culture. Even though the balance of power was shifting from Natives to Europeans (Fisher 1990), the shift was not uniform. It occurred with great rapidity and effect in some areas of British Columbia and less so in others. Similarly, the approach to these new arrivals by First Nations, and the ability of their leaders to manage the situation was similarly not uniform. Through a review of these two salient aspects of the shíshálh–OMI relationship; the adoption of Christian ritual, and the shíshálh move to ch’atelích (Sechelt), it becomes clear that the OMI did not dramatically affect shíshálh culture. As historical documents have shown (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868, Archives Deschatelets, 175 Main, Ottawa, Canada) the OMI recognized that the adoption of Christian ritual by the shíshálh and other First Nations was not necessarily indicative of the conversion to Christianity, rather it could be interpreted as guaranteeing that all possible means were adopted to ensure that equilibrium was restored following the human catastrophe of the 1862 smallpox outbreak. It would be naïve to assume that OMI attempts at conversion were a total failure. Although hard to discern it would be logical to assume that some shíshálh did convert to Christianity. One area where the OMI appear to have been successful was in the creation of internal divisions among the shíshálh, in the following Chapter the story of Violet Jackson highlights the consequence of this success. 206 For the shíshálh, the move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) was just another move and consolidation, a pattern of practice that had existed for millennia, similar to population consolidation following catastrophic events that were described in Chapter 4. However, the fact that consolidation occurred six years after the 1862 smallpox epidemic suggests that some other forces may have influenced this move. During those earlier consolidations, it appears, that the shíshálh were clearly in control of events, again the spélem-úlh system appeared to be intact, and the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya remained strong. Directed culture change occurs in relationships of inequality, where “there is a relationship of dominance and submission between the two groups in contact” (Fisher 1990:97), with the dominant group interfering actively and purposefully with the culture of the other” (Smith 1963:502). Logically then, the shíshálh who were providing transport and accommodation to the OMI appeared to be in a position of dominance–but to what degree remains uncertain. Furthermore, their decision to return to one of their ancient villages at which the OMI decided to establish a mission and, at least at this early stage, participate in Christian ritual when they deemed it necessary, suggests that they were clearly resisting change. As previously stated, it appears that the OMI through their failure to adhere to their own theory of missionization, were themselves being subject to change. So, strong was this resistance, that in 1898 the OMI were still pursuing the shíshálh throughout the far reaches of tems swiya in attempts at conversion (Thomas 1898). For the shíshálh their relationship with the OMI had been a success, they had acquired medicine–both spiritual and material (vaccine) through which they could combat the ravages of smallpox, while for the time being at least, they had given up little. This does not mean that shíshálh society had remained unchanged. The dramatic loss of population resulted in changes in 207 the geographic distribution of the shíshálh, population had consolidated, primarily at two large villages, one in slahlt (Klaalth SBL#5, east Porpoise Bay) and a second at séxw?ámin (Garden Bay). As recognized by Guilmet et al. (1991) in their study of the effects of disease among the Southern Coast Salish, the redistribution would have had a significant sociocultural impact through the consolidation of previously independent populations. In addition, the loss of spiritual leaders due to smallpox or through murder due to their inability to cure the sick would have increased the impact on the metaphysical and moral belief systems (Guilmet et al. 1991:10), thereby facilitating the introduction of western medicine technologies, religious beliefs and social institutions (Guilmet et al. 1991:10). Critically for the analysis of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship, the decline in population may have decreased the intensity of resource procurement activities, such as salmon fishing, hunting, the collecting of shellfish and harvesting of plant resources, thereby initiating a change in the frequency and intensity of their daily encounters and interactions with tems swiya. No longer would the place names and cosmological beings be encountered daily with the same intensity as they would have been prior to the arrival of smallpox, and elders with knowledge of these locations would have declined. Such changes were a portent of what was about to come with the full force of the arrival of settlers and their governments and the resulting land and resource alienation. In the following chapter, we will observe how the shíshálh through the cultivation of their relationship with the OMI successfully acquired OMI assistance in the battle over resource and land alienation (Chapter 6). To maintain this relationship required careful diplomacy, and the delicate manipulation of a potentially dangerous adversary, one that clearly represented opportunity, but also a great threat. As the nineteenth century entered its final quarter, settlement increased, and the old shíshálh strategies embedded within the spélem-úlh system, and described 208 in the skwákwiyám, and which proved so successful for millennia proved inadequate. Radical change was essential, and the shíshálh were required to draw on all their experience and resources at their disposal to survive into the twentieth century. If politics is the mutual accommodation of differences, then shíshálh policy in the final stages of the twentieth century was one of pure politics. Up until the 1870s the shíshálh appear to have maintained a position of dominance, the spélem-úlh system remained, and their relationship with tems swiya remained intact. Cultural accommodation had not been a necessity, political and social equilibrium within their society had been maintained. I conclude that although the shíshálh were initially surviving the colonial conflict within the framework of their cultural logic, the conflict would soon extend beyond this framework, therefore changes to the social structures of shíshálh society that characterized the spélem-úlh system were demanded—they had to become “good Indians” since the alternative was “extermination” (Ayessik to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14, 1874). Different times and different places call for different responses, although the shíshálh may have been able to resist change and even influence the OMI, they were undoubtedly entering a new phase of the colonial conflict. With the burgeoning timber markets of Vancouver only sixty kilometers away, the shíshálh were ideally situated to capitalize on this new opportunity, alternately tems swiya was vulnerable to the threats of industrial logging and Euro-Canadian settlement. Maintaining a primary socio-economic focus at kalpilin (Pender Harbour) made no sense economically, or politically. With these multiple forces at play, it was perfectly logical for the shíshálh to re-establish ch’át-lích (Sechelt) as a major socio-economic center. 209 In the following chapter I will examine the shíshálh move to ch’át-lích (Sechelt) within the context of the burgeoning timber industry that was established in Burrard Inlet (Roy and Taylor 2012). The developing domestic lumber trade, and both the domestic and export lumber market, had resulted in a dramatic depletion of the forest in and around what is now the lower mainland of British Columbia. The relative proximity of tems swiya, and its vast timber resources made it a prime location from which trees could be harvested. Perhaps it was the lumber trade that provided the impetus for the shíshálh move back to ch’át-lích (Sechelt). 210 CHAPTER 6: A Great Injustice: Land and Resource Alienation–1869 to Present It appears that some time ago the Indian Commissioner, Dr. Powell, went up to the rancherie of the Sechelts, and had an interview with Schelle, when the latter was told that a reservation of eighteen acres for each member of his tribe would be set aside for the Sechelts. That since that time white men have been encroaching upon them, until they have not sufficient land left to them on which to produce food for the people or pasturage for their cattle. They have been told that only two acres each is now to be appropriated for them, which is evidently insufficient. The dissatisfaction and discontent is growing very serious amongst them, and Schelle looks for trouble if the reservation, as promised, is not secured to them. (Mainland Guardian [MLG], 9 June 1875, p. 3) Introduction Throughout the events discussed thus far, we have observed how shíshálh leaders were seasoned political operatives who, having been schooled at the knees of their Elders, employed all the tools at their disposal when dealing with the smallpox epidemic and the ministrations of the OMI. The successful strategies they employed were described in the skwákwiyám. They included the classic Coast Salish tactics of activating kinship ties (Merchant 2012; Suttles 1952), moving villages to alternate settlement locations, and consolidating their population into larger aggregations (Barnett 1955; Carlson 2001, 2009; Fouquet 1868; Suttles 1952). When the crises had settled down to some degree, leaders then encouraged their families and community members to disperse and reoccupy the many parts of tems swiya. The objectives of these tactics were intended to restore equilibrium following catastrophic events and ensure the survival of the shíshálh. The success of these strategies ensured that the spélem-úlh system and the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya remained intact. When existing strategies proved inadequate, as was the case with smallpox, we observed that the shíshálh augmented their established system through the use of vaccination and the incorporation of Catholic baptism and marriage rituals in the fight against the dread disease. 211 As the nineteenth century entered its final quarter the old strategies were having little effect against the developing threats of resettlement and resource extraction. Shíshálh leaders were coming to fear, as were other First Nations in what was now defined as British Columbia, the growing threats of displacement and extermination and they realized that new strategies were required (Ayessik to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14, 1874:1-2). First Nations including the shíshálh had to be proactive in their responses to these threats if they hoped to restore a semblance of equilibrium. This required dramatic actions that both drew upon precedents described in the skwákwiyám, and required leaders to veer from orthodoxy in order to find novel solutions. Just as they had previously adopted Christian ritual to augment their existing spiritual practices, they now began draw upon elements of the newer–settler– economy in order to augment the older–Indigenous–economy. Thus began the inexorable process of overthrowing the ancient spélem-úlh system. In this chapter I will examine how the shíshálh responded to two distinct but interlocking events: (1) resettlement of tems swiya, and (2) resource extraction (in particular, the timber industry) and how these two events disrupted the spélem-úlh system through the alienation of shíshálh lands and resources. In doing so, I will attempt to answer the following two questions: (1) how did the shíshálh strategically respond to these two events? and (2) what was the effect of their strategy on the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship? The following section is a discussion of indigeneity, which throughout this work has been presented as the spélem-úlh system. This discussion is required as it sets up latter sections of the chapter which discuss the transformation of shíshálh culture and society. In addition, such discussion is important, as its application sits at a core theme of post-colonial theory–the move 212 away from generalized reconstructions of colonized peoples to studies that focus on specific localized communities. Anthropologist Bruce Miller (2003) identifies five dominant definitions of the term "Indigenous" within the academic literature: (1) the relational approach, (2) Indigenous as geography, (3) Indigenous as primacy of occupation, (4) the Martínez Cobo Study, and (5) indigenes culture and history. The plethora of definitions illustrate the difficulty and danger of applying a universal descriptor to a diverse group with a worldwide population of over sixty million people with vast differences in culture and history. I suggest that employing such a generalized term as "Indigenous" risks perpetuating the colonial tendency of generalizing the cultures and experiences of the colonized–especially when the term is used as a kind of catch-all category for ethnicity. Therefore, rather than considering Indigenous as an ethnicity, I take it to be an epistemological or ontological perspective that is informed by the longterm, daily and intense interaction with the physical and immaterial world. I will examine how the new strategies that the shíshálh began to employ during this period began the move away from Indigenous ontologies and the shift to increasingly drawing on references to and experiences within the new economy. shíshálh habitus was was clearly changing at an accelerating rate and each succeeding generation began to approach the events of the colonial conflict by drawing on their own experience within the new economy. The old perspectives and practices were becoming history and the increasingly frequent and unavoidable interaction with settler society was creating new norms in a new economy. As we will observe change was rapid–and it had to be because the shíshálh leaders knew that they couldn’t wait passively to be changed by ongoing events, they had to shape them themselves. 213 I will start with a review of the historical context within which the events to be discussed occurred, including the role of shíshálh agency and the nature of shíshálh strategy. This is followed by a review of the evidence provided by historical sources including petitions, letters, and census data. These documents illuminate the nature of shíshálh–settler relations, and the various conflicts and incidents that led to the shíshálh altering their strategic approach. I then proceed to review the historical events that prompted the shíshálh to fear cultural and physical extermination and thereby prompting them to develop a new strategy in response. This is followed by a discussion of the twin events of the resettlement of tems swiya and the development of the timber industry and the shíshálh reactions to these events. The last section of the chapter examines the shíshálh response in comparison with other colonized peoples' responses to similar events. Finally, I examine how the shíshálh response to the colonial process has had two intertwined impacts: (1) the physical survival of the shíshálh as a people and (2) the transformation of the ancient spélem-úlh system and the gradual decline of shíshálh indigeneity. We will look at one event that clearly illustrates this transformation: the enactment of the Sechelt Indian Band Self Government Act (Canada 1986) on October 9, 1986. The purpose of the Act was to enable the Sechelt Indian Band to exercise and maintain self-government on Sechelt Lands, and to obtain control over the administration of the resources and services available to its members. The Act transferred the thirty-three Indian reserves formerly under the Indian Act to the shíshálh who now own them as fee simple lands (Shíshálh Nation 2007:13). Critically, these lands are now real estate, and for the shíshálh, tems swiya has become a commodity wherein the 214 the former Indian Reserves can now potentially be sold, providing such a proposal is approved by majority vote in a Band referendum (Canada 1986).39 Indigenous Debate about the meaning of the word "Indigenous" is complex and often confusing. In British Columbia as First Nation issues surge to the front of public discourse the word is increasingly applied by First Nations, academics, broadcasters, politicians and the public as a descriptor of ethnicity, whose principal characteristic is that of primacy of occupation. In section I examine the five approaches to the definition of "Indigenous" Miller (2003), and the relevance of each regarding this chapter. The relational approach has primarily been advanced by anthropologist Thomas Hylland Eriksen. Eriksen considers the notion of indigeneity in relation to ethnicity and nationalism, a position he justifies as the concept of indigeneity has arisen in opposition to the rise of nationalist consciousness in Europe during the age of colonialism. the term “indigenous people” is used in anthropology to describe a non-dominant group in a delineated territory, with a more or less acknowledged claim to aboriginality…. Aboriginal peoples are not necessarily “first comers.”… Indigenous groups are defined as a non-state people, and they are always linked with a non-industrial mode of production. This does not mean that members of indigenous peoples never take part in governments or work in factories, but rather that they represent a way of life which renders them particularly vulnerable in relation to modernisation and the state…. Indigenous peoples stand in a potentially conflictual relationship to the nation-state as an institution. Their main political project is often presented as an attempt to survive as a culture-bearing group, they rarely or never envision the formation of their own nation-state. They are non-state peoples (Eriksen 1993:125-26). Miller argues that although Eriksen’s definition has much utility, it ultimately fails as many Indigenous communities, such as among the various Maya peoples of Mexico and Central 39 The constitution of the shíshálh Nation states the following regarding the sale of shíshálh Band Lands, “Except as provided in section 3, no Sechelt Lands may be mortgaged, sold, or otherwise have the title to them transferred, unless the mortgage, sale or title transfer has been first approved in a referendum by a vote 75% in favour by all the Band Electors (Shishalh Nation 1993:5). 215 America, have been organized into state societies, while others currently envision themselves as members of states or potentially as such, and some Maya communities are also engaged in adopting the trappings of statehood or some similar form (Miller 2003:55). In the context of British Columbia, Eriksen’s definition has even less utility than Miller gives credit. Particularly problematic, are the two core principles of Eriksen’s definition: Indigenous people’s connection to a non-industrial mode of production and their potential conflictual relationship to the nation-state (Eriksen 1993). Although these principles may have been accurate in the past, the forces of colonialism and the strategies of many First Nations, the shíshálh included, have moved many First Nations within British Columbia, particularly those in the southern portion of the Province, away from the non-industrial mode of production. Simultaneously, the move away from the old economy is seen to be in alignment with the objectives of contemporary industry and government. A second and even more problematic definition of Indigeneity is to conflate a particular Indigenous group with physically defined geography (Miller 2003:58). From this perspective Indigenous would only apply to those peoples who were the subject of European conquest, or it would apply only when people from another continent arrive and assert control and a system of dominance over another (Berge 1993:237; Miller 2003:58). As Miller suggests, a glaring and troubling consequence of this approach is that peoples colonized by non-European States would be excluded from such a definition, as would contemporary aboriginal peoples, such as those of Japan or Taiwan. Similarly, and perhaps more troubling is that it would also exclude Indigenous peoples who have themselves been dominated and or colonized by other Indigenous peoples. In 1975 representatives from various Indigenous groups gathered in Port Alberni British Columbia to consider common issues and to create an international lobbying organization (Miller 216 2003:59). This meeting became known as the World Conference of Indigenous Peoples (WCIP), one of whose objectives was to develop a common definition of "Indigenous." The particpants struggled to develop definition of the term––a reflection of the vast differences between the various groups present. Eventually the charter of the WCIP produced the following definition: Indigenous peoples shall be people living in countries which have a population composed of different ethnic or racial groups who are descendants of the earliest populations which survive in the areas, and who do not, as a group, control the national government within which they live” (Dyck 1985a:25, citing Sanders 1982:2). By 1981, a draft International Covenant on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples adopted, for discussion at the Third General Assembly of the WCIP, a further definition of Indigenous: The term Indigenous Peoples refers to a people (a) who live in a territory before the entry of a colonizing population, which colonizing population has created a new state or states to include territory, and (b) who continue to live as a people in the territory and who do not control the national government of the state or state within which they live” (Dyck 1985a:26). The above two definitions are similar, however, the central theme of both is primacy of occupation. As Eriksen pointed out (1993) the focus on primacy of occupation is problematic, as many Indigenous peoples are not the original inhabitants of their territories. The fourth definition and considered by many to be the most influential, is that developed by José Martínez Cobo, the UN special rapporteur of the sub-commission of the Working Group of Indigenous Populations (WGIP). Indigenous communities, peoples and nations are those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of the societies now prevailing in those territories, or parts of them. They form at present non-dominant sectors of society and are determined to preserve, develop and transmit to future generations their ancestral territories, and their ethnic identity, as the basis of their continued existence as peoples, in accordance with their own cultural patterns, social institutions and legal systems (Martínez Cobo 1987:29). According to Rajat Kanti Das (1994) this definition highlights three elements: distinctiveness, the impact of colonialism, and non-dominance (Simpson 1997: 207). Miller (2003:64) states that the definition also emphasizes the idea of historical continuity. 217 …for an extended period reaching into the present, demonstrated through one or more of the following factors: occupation of all or part of ancestral lands; common ancestry with the original inhabitants of these lands; common ancestry with the original inhabitants of these lands; culture in general or in specific manifestations (religion, dress, etc.); language; residence in certain part of the country, or in certain regions of the world; or other relevant factors (Martínez Cobo 1987:29). Of course, this definition is problematic for many First Nations, the need to prove continuity of occupation, a major component of rights and title litigation requires extensive evidence, which is both costly to produce, or may not be available due to the vagaries of the colonial conflict, notably the loss of oral tradition, or the destruction of archaeological sites through development. The definition that I consider to be the most applicable is the concept of the Fourth World, developed by George Manuel and Michael Poslun (1974), and described by Miller (2003) as the Indigenes, Culture, and History approach. Manuel and Poslun describe Indigenous as “people who have special, non-technical, non-modern exploitative relations to the lands which they still inhabit and who are disenfranchised by the nations within which they live” (Manuel and Poslun 1985a:21; as summarized by Graburn 1982:67). Miller (2003:61) argues that the emphasis on the mode of economy is problematic as it excludes peoples who are urbanized, engage in the contemporary work force or have been dispersed by the deleterious effects of development (Miller 2003:61). Although Miller is correct to state that Manuel’s definition focuses on economy, I would counter that this should not be considered problematic. Rather, I suggest that Manuel’s definition strikes at the core of what First Nations throughout British Columbia consistently stress: their economies and their relationship to the territories within which they dwell are the defining characteristics of what it means to be Indigenous. In this model humans do not exploit their territories, nor are they in competition with them, rather, they have a special relationship with the land. Throughout this work I have described this as a kin relationship. 218 By defining Indigenous as non-technical, non-modern exploitative relations to the lands which they still inhabit (Manuel and Posluns 1974), Manuel is recognizing (intentionally or not) that indigeneity is not an ethnicity, rather, it is a way of being, and a body of knowledge, it is both an ontology and an epistemology. Simultaneously, his definition recognizes that Indigenousness is not static, rather, it is changing—and as such, one can lose one's Indigenousness just as one can regain it. Context: a necessary change in strategy The events discussed in this chapter begin in the latter half of the nineteenth century, with a focus on the period between 1869 and 1920. It is during this period that the shíshálh implemented a strategy that culminated in the eventual overthrow of the spélem-úlh system and helped form the basis of their contemporary relationship with tems swiya. Although it is difficult to precisely delimit the timing of some of the key events, such as village resettlement and resource extraction operations, several members the OMI order, and some government officials did occasionally record these activities, providing us with some historical documention. It is from records such as these that we learn that the re-settlement of tems swiya began in May 1869 when John Scales, formerly of the Royal Engineers, was granted one hundred and fifty acres (District Lot 303) on the Sechelt isthmus, the current location of the municipality of Sechelt. Five years later, in 1874, commercial logging began in Sechelt, establishing a dominant resource industry that contiues to be a major economic and social force in the region today. These twin pressures of land grants to non-Indigenous settlers and permission to extract primary resources such as timber, represented a completely new level of disruption and threat to shíshálh communities and their connections to their home territories. Earlier practices of 219 activating of kinship ties (Merchant 2012; Suttles 1952), movement of village locations, consolidation of population into larger settlements (Barnett 1955; Carlson 2001, 2009, Suttles 1952), or alternately, atomizing into smaller dispersed settlements and eventual repopulation of tems swiya following dissastrous events—such as smallpox epidemics—were now proving inadequate. The smallpox epidemics and the arrival of the OMI, like the Great Flood, the Great Landslide and the Great Snow before them, were relatively finite events: they appeared and were often devestating and/or disruptive—but they ended. In each of these earlier cases of disruptive events, the ancient system, augmented by Catholic ritual, had been successful in restoring a degree of equilibrium. The begining of colonial settlements and land alienation along with large-scale resource extraction was of a differnt order of magnitude: they not only struck the shíshálh people, but they also implacted tems swiya itself. The consequences were obvious: both the shíshálh and tems swiya were being alienated. shíshálh could no longer could freely interact with their kin (both persons and tems swiya) because settlers were alienating land and were forcibly removing shíshálh families from villages that they had inhabited for thousands of years—and in some cases their homes were burned down by the incoming settlers. Often, shíshálh were left with parcels of land that were too small to support their household members—families that had slowly begun to rebound from earlier epidemics. To make matters worse, the arriving foreigners who claimed tems swiya and its resources had no discernable rights that could be traced through descent from spélem-úlh: for the shíshálh leaders and community members the significance of this transfromation was obvious: the spélem-úlh system and tems swiya were under direct assault. 40 40 Nearly one hundred and fifty years after the first settler arrived in tems swiya these threats continue at a voracious rate. Of the two, resettlement continues to be the greatest threat, permanently alienating lands and waters, to a point 220 In spite of these catastrophic changes the shíshálh were not, and never had been, passive observers of these transfomations. Their participation in the early timber industry was not unexpected nor was it unique: the shíshálh have been active players in the timber industry from its beginning. In fact, it is within the context of the timber industry that they were most able to exert agency, and their role and success in this industry are well documented (Roy and Taylor 2012; Sproat 1876). It is the convergence of these two threats—the incursion of European settlers and the expansion of the timber industry to produce lumber for export to growing settlements such as Vancouver—that would eventually lead to the use of military force by the shíshálh in 1874, concluding in the eventual overthrow of the spélem-úlh system. When writing about the colonial conflict scholars emphasize the process of enforced culture change, and the effects of colonization upon the Indigenous peoples of a region. Post-colonial studies have, however, increasingly inserted the agency of the colonized into the debate, recognizing that colonized peoples, both individuals and collectives, can and at times must alter the structures of their own societies to ensure their survival (Henley 2004; Sahlins 1978, 1989). What continues to be under-appreciated is that the overturning of ancient structures, such as land and resource tenure systems, and established strategic responses to events like those expressed in the skwákwiyám, can be conducted with an eye to the distant future. Simply put, a movement away from indigeneity, like that discussed in this chapter does not have to be permanent. There is no reason to assume that change cannot be reversed. In the previously discussed shíshálh strategic responses to smallpox and the OMI, it became clear that the strategies invoked were the latest in a long line of responses to individual events—the long-term were the shíshálh are now confined to 929.81 hectares, a mere 0.15% of tems swiya. No longer could they return to tems swiya following the passing of the event. Recently signed reconciliation agreements between the shíshálh government and the Crown have slightly increased the holdings of the shíshálh Nation, At the time of writing, details of these agreements are not public. 221 objective being the survival of the shíshálh people, which included sustaining their culture and all that it entailed. Similarly, shíshálh responses to resettlement and resource alienation were intended to secure their survival. The strategy that the shíshálh employed to deal with resettlement and resource extraction has been multi-tracked and composed of: (1) asserting the continued occupation of their lands in the face of aggression, (2) recognizing the dominance of the new economy and being willing to cooperate with the colonial authorities in ensuring its success—as long as they could have their fair share of the benefits, (3) engaging elements of both the old and new economy to ensure their continued occupation of tems swiya, and (4) employing multiple lines of evidence including archaeological, historical, and ethnographic data to substantiate their claims to prior and long-term occupation and use of tems swiya. Beginning more that a century ago, these individual tactics were synthesised into a holistic strategy that drew on themes of cultural connection to tems swiya (Hall 1915; Joe 1965; Johnson 1915; Reilly 1895), while employing the temporal argument of prior occupation and resource use to legitimize their claims (Paul 1918). In employing this multi-track strategy, the shíshálh not only argued for their rights, but they also simultaneously situated themselves as unique. In an early petition submitted by “nearly all the chiefs” of British Columbia to Premier Richard McBride, and signed by shíshálh hiwus Julius, they asserted: “We do not come to you as a body of settlers but as the original inhabitants of this land” (Jon et al. n.d.). This assertion of rightful ownership was reiterated by the shíshálh when they submitted their petitions to the Royal Commission between 1913-1916. I want to tell you about: the place that I am going to tell you this place number 1410 and 2524 is a real Indian reserve from long time about seven acres is cleared were [where] the Indians were planting from long years ago up to now. My house was there and a white burned it down and settled himself there. When the first Commissioner came we were not in time to tell them about this place. This place is good for us Indians that were [where] we fish in the creek and get our living there (Paul 1915:1). 222 The Data: petitions, letters, and census In the following sections I will primarily draw on historical sources, consisting of petitions, letters and census data, to examine the nature of shíshálh–settler relations, and the foundations of fear that led to the shíshálh altering their strategic approach. Insight into their strategies, specifically their motivations, expectations, fears and strategies are obtained through a series of primary documents that include: letters written by colonial surveyors, gold seekers, and colonial administrators; petitions and letters written on behalf of the shíshálh by the OMI and others; and censuses, including the OMI census of 1873, Blenkinsop’s census of 1876 and 1877, and the Royal Commission census of 1913-1916.41 These sources all provide snapshots of shíshálh land use and occupation during the period covered by this chapter. Shíshálh Petitions and Correspondence The petitions submitted by the shíshálh to the Royal Commission on Indian Affairs for the Province of British Columbia (the Royal Commission), and correspondence written by the shíshálh, Crown, and OMI provide the two most important bodies of data for the period covered in this chapter. Of these two sets of documents, the more than thirty-six petitions submitted by the shíshálh to the commission between 1913-1916 provide the clearest insight into the observations of the shíshálh and their cultural and psychological condition during this period. The petitions detail a litany of grievances against the Crown, while expressing the most modest of requests by a people, whose only objective is to live in peace and security (Figure 6-1). In reading these documents, one is struck by three central themes: 1) a sense of helplessness on the part of the shíshálh as they attempt to survive within a constant climate of violence and fear, 2) a 41 The most recent census information is compiled the 1998 shíshálh Nation Shíshálh Traditional Use Study (TUS), and the various censuses completed by the Government of Canada, including the most recent one in 2016. 223 frustration at their inability to convince the colonial authorities that they are willing and valuable partners in the new society that was being forged, and 3) a recognition that the old strategies and tactics on which they had relied upon for millennia are no longer proving adequate. The correspondence written by the shíshálh, Crown and OMI provide a valuable supplement to the petitions, further illuminating the events to be discussed. When these two sets of documents are observed together it becomes clear that the shíshálh recognized that the old ways were fast disappearing and, if they did not act quickly and radically, they would soon cease to exist. Census Data Between 1873 and 1915 at least three censuses were conducted among the shíshálh. Not only do they provide estimates of population levels, they also provide a picture of shíshálh land use and occupancy during this unstable period. As such the census results provide clear insight into shíshálh behaviour and the forces influencing their strategic decisions. The first census was conducted by Father Paul Durieu (OMI) during his trip to ch'atelích (Sechelt) in 1873. Father Durieu counted three hundred shíshálh and identified small chapels at four widely dispersed locations (ch’atelích, tsonai and xénichen). The presence of these chapels is particularly interesting as they document a well-entrenched and persistent shíshálh population residing throughout the northern reaches of tems swiya—in spite of the OMI’s attempts to amalgamate households at the consolidated village of ch'atelích (Sechelt). The second census was conducted by George Blenkinsop who, as an employee of the Canadian government and as part of a Canada-British Columbia Commission to settle the British Columbia land question, conducted the first census of First Nations in the lower third of the Province. His Census of Indian Tribes, Winter 1876 and 1877 reveals a similar picture to that 224 presented by the OMI. Blenkinsop identified 167 shíshálh, various huts, burial grounds, orchards and potato patches located at seventeen locations throughout tems swiya. Although shíshálh population had decreased to dangerously low levels by the end of the nineteenth century, these two censuses illustrate how they continued to occupy locations throughout the periphery of tems swiya, with large segments of their population choosing to avoid the Mission located at ch’atelích (Sechelt). The data presented in Figure 6-2 indicate that the shíshálh managed to sustain their occupation through a mixture of the old and new economies, combining fishing of the old economy with agriculture/gardening and, as we will observe later in this chapter, logging—both elements of the new economy. In 1915 The Royal Commission met with the shíshálh, noting their continued occupation of tems swiya (British Columbia 1915:246-279). The commission's interviews with shíshálh leaders established that the population was 260, living in 60 family groups (British Columbia 1915:250), and residing in houses located on 16 of their 23 reserves. Although Sechelt Reserve No. 2 was the primary residence for all the shíshálh, people continued to live on 15 other reserves, dwelling in a total of 63 houses, making the total number of houses 113, or almost two houses for each of the sixty families (Kew 1998:40) (Figures 6-2). Although shíshálh population had decreased to dangerously low levels in the latter stages of the nineteenth century, these two censuses illustrate how they continued to occupy locations throughout tems swiya, with many families choosing to avoid the Mission located at ch’atelích (Sechelt). The data presented in Figure 6-2 indicates that the shíshálh managed to sustain their occupation through a mixture of the old and new economies, combining their long history of fishing with agriculture/gardening and as we will observe later in this chapter, logging—both elements of the new economy. 225 These censuses indicate that throughout the late nineteenth century and into the early-twentieth century, the shíshálh maintained a constant occupation of tems swiya—the success of which was sustained through an amalgam of the old and new economies. As the twentieth century proceeded the shíshálh modified their strategy of land use and occupation, consolidating their population in the southern reaches of tems swiya, primarily at the community of ch’atelích (Sechelt) (SBL No. 2). 226 Figure 6-1. List of shíshálh petitions submitted to the Royal Commission on Indian Affairs (British Columbia 1913-1916), and specific issues addressed (list may not be complete). Year Petitioner Location she shashíshálhem Issue 1915 Old August SBL-5 slahlt Land to support growing family 1915 John Baptiste SBL-13 schílútsin Land and timber supply 1915 John Baptiste SBL-27 stl'ikwu Land for family, increased wood supply and land for planting vegetables n.d. Peter Benwa Francis Peninsula 100 hundred acres at Francis Peninsula Bay 1913 Chief George et. al. Poise Island Protection of burial ground 1913 Chief George et. al. SBL-25 xwíxw?us Boulder Island, south entrance to Skookumchuk Narrows 1915 Chief Julius et. al. SBL-26 kwátámus Egmont, north side of Skookumchuk Narrows 1915 ? General Land, hunting, and fishing areas 1867 5 shíshálh Chiefs General Protection of existing reserves, continued prohibition of liquor sales on reserves, repeal of the duty on transport of goods along the Fraser River 1915 Chief George Tillicum Bay p'ík'ílakw Land to support growing population 1915 Chief George Tillicum Bay sackeye Creek Land to support growing population 1915 Chief George Stackquiling Land to support growing population 1915 Chief George SBL-10 cháchlílhtenam Land to support growing population n.d. George (Anyes) Thunder Bay Request for land to be made into a reserve for growing vegetable and fishing 1915 John Hall SBL-3 swík'als Land to support family, access to fishing grounds at creek mouth n.d. Jimmy Johnson Flat Island 200 acres to grow plants 1915 Jimmy Johnson SBL-19, 19a and 22 séxw?ámin, stséxwena Land possibly at Irvine’s Landing or adjacent to SBL-19 or 19a, and access to Sakinaw Creek (SBL-22) to fish 1918 Chief John et. al. SBL-11 xénichen Permission to develop a community garden on the reserve 1915 Chief John SBL-11 xénichen Infringement on fishing rights, and request to Crown to ensure fishing rights are protected 1903 Chief Jules, Chief George SBL-2 ch'atelích Additional 2000 acres adjacent to SBL-2 to support farming, as fishing is becoming uncertain 1915 Chief Paul, Chief George SBL-6, 6a, 7, 8 stl'íxwim Permission to log reserve in Narrows arm to raise money to buy food and clothes for their children. 1915 Chief Paul 1915 Chief Paul Egmont Point Develop a garden 1915 Chief Paul Skookumchuk Narrows Develop a garden and fish 1915 Chief Paul Shannon Creek huh-kway-wahn No issue provided. 1915 Chief Paul Mouth of Salmon Inlet No issue identified. 1915 Chief Paul Rights hand side of Narrows Inlet Land requested 1915 Chief Paul South side of entrance to Narrows Inlet Land requested 1915 Chief Paul North side of entrance to Narrows Inlet Land requested 1915 Chief Paul East side of Porpoise Bay p'ík'ílakw Village site requested 1915 Chief Paul East side of Porpoise Bay huh-kway-wahn Village site requested 1915 Chief Paul, Michael Paul East side of Porpoise Bay p'ík'ílakw Village site requested 1915 Chief Paul, Michael Paul East side of Porpoise Bay sackeye Creek Access to fishing stream n.d. – – – Land requested 1915 – Storm Bay shákin Land and fishing stream requested 1915 – – – Water in front of unnamed reserve 227 Figure 6-2. Locations at which Blenkinsop (1877) and Royal Commission on Indian Affairs (British Columbia 1915) recorded shíshálh population in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Location (shíshálh Name) Blenkinsop 1877 Royal Commission 1913-16 xenichen occupied/1 small church/4 huts intermittently occupied/garden/fishing station swíwelát occupied/1 hut intermittently occupied/garden/fishing station schílútsin Occupied intermittently occupied/garden sp'ík'ilhxan occupied/hut intermittently occupied/garden/fishing station ts'únay occupied/3 huts occupied/fishing station slhílhem occupied/2 huts occupied/fishing station/garden skwákwiyám Occupied intermittently occupied/camping ground/fishing station cheéch-kwaht Occupied intermittently occupied/camping ground/cranberry marsh stl'íxwim occupied/2 huts (could also be 10 or 11) intermittently occupied/garden/fishing station/hunting base stl'íxwim unoccupied/wild land on western side of narrows arm stl'íxwim occupied/camping place/garden cháchlílhtenam occupied/2 small huts/potato patch occupied/garden plot Slahlt occupied/burial ground occupied/garden plot/fishing station/camping ground ch'atelích occupied/burial ground/12 cottages/small huts to dry firewood/vegetable patch/apples/1 horse/9 cattle/12 fowl occupied/village/cultivatable tract of land/roman catholic church/meeting house ts'úkw'um occupied/fishing station/camping ground swík'als occupied/potato ground occupied/garden/fishing station úlhkáyem occupied/potato patch occupied intermittently/garden/fishing station sálálus occupied/camping ground/garden sálálus occupied/1 hut/potatoes occupied/fishing station kway-ah-kuhl-ohss Occupied smíshalin Occupied séxw?ámin intermittently occupied/fishing station/hunting base/garden stséxwena intermittently occupied/fishing station/garden séxálíten intermittently occupied/fishing station/camping ground kwékwenis occupied/orchard/fishing station The Foundation of Fear: stimulus for a new strategy Until the mid-nineteenth century, and the formation of British Columbia, the colonies of New Caledonia and Vancouver Island had been essentially “nothing more than a fur-trading post” (Rich 1959:761; Fisher 1990)—and First Nations along the coast of BC had largely acted as partners in this trade. To move the colony of Vancouver Island away from its dependence on furs, and initiate the settlement phase of the colonial project, the British installed as the colony's new governor, Richard Blanshard, a man who had no previous relationship with the dominant Hudson’s Bay Company (Fisher 1990:49). In 1850, Blanshard arrived in Victoria to assume his new post, however, authority over land remained with James Douglas and the HBC. After only eighteen months Blanshard was recalled to London, to be replaced in 1851 by his rival James 228 Douglas who was serving as Chief Factor of Fort Victoria (Fisher 1990:50). During his brief tenure, Blanshard’s acts of violent aggression against First Nations, notably his assault on the Nahwitti (northern Kwakiutl band) (Fisher 1990:52), a division of the Kwakiutl living near the north end of Vancouver Island, foreshadowed the future of First Nations–Settler relations. Blanshard’s actions lay in stark contrast to the general atmosphere of accommodation that had characterized the fur-trade era and, in particular, James Douglas’ approach exemplified by his signing of the Vancouver Island (Douglas) Treaties between 1850-1854.42 Robin Fisher, in his analysis of Blanshard, stated that he “lacked the ability, and probably the inclination, to delve into the subtleties of Indian motivation” (Fisher 1990:51). Fisher states that Douglas’ approach, as he oversaw this phase of settlement, was shaped by his long history in the fur-trade and represented the “transitional phase from fur trade to settlement” (Fisher 1990:53). James Douglas proceeded to reinstate the practices of accommodation that had characterized the fur-trade era up until that point (Fisher 1990). However, violence would continue: on April 20, 1863 the Royal Navy warship Forward attacked the Hul’qumi’num village of Lamalcha located near the southwest corner of Penelakut Island. The attack of the Forward was ostensibly to “rout” out Hul’qumi’num individuals who had attacked European transients residing in the Gulf Islands. The Forward was repulsed, however, and the colonial government responded with what has been described as one of the largest British military operations in the history of British Columbia (Arnett 1999). Eventually, the colonial authorities executed four Lamalcha and Penelakut warriors by hanging (Arnett 1999). The conflict 42 Between 1850-1854 James Douglas negotiated fourteen agreements with Vancouver Island First Nations. The objective of the treaties was to extinguish the property rights of First Nations, thereby facilitating the transfer of lands to British settlers. 229 represented a growing problem: not only for the Hul’qumi’num, but also for virtually every First Nation throughout British Columbia. It many ways, this event and its aftermath help colonial authorities and settlers justify the continued alienation of Hul’qumi’num and many other Indigenous peoples from their lands and resources. Located only 70 kilometers south of ch’atelích, the actions of the Hul’qumi’num at Lamalcha and the ensuing British response could not have been lost on the shíshálh. The official colonial policy with regards to land was outlined in the Royal Proclamation of 1763, which recognized “Indian title” (Cail 1974:171) to their land, and the “need to secure its cession in return for adequate compensation” (Cail 1974:171). However, this policy was not applied universally across Britain’s North American possessions. In Canada, First Nations east of the Rockies were treated more “liberally”—at least in the opinion of those First Nations in British Columbia (e.g., Ayessik to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14 1874), since the eastern First Nations were being provided with more land per family. West of the Rocky Mountains, the transition in British interest–from primarily trading relations to a settlement frontier–marks what legal historian Douglas Harris describes as “the beginngs of a fundamental transition in relations with Native peoples” (Harris 2011:19). Whereas First Nations had up until this point been critical associates in the various trading activities that occurred throughout the region, they now became obstacles to the process of settlement. From 1849, with the creation of the Colony of Vancouver Island, through to 1924 when the Dominion of Canada and British Columbia agreed on the final reserve geography of British Columbia, there was an increasing transition from trading relationships to land confiscation and the creation of a settlement frontier. This was characterized by the 230 establishment of an increasingly agrarian and resource extraction economy undergirded by the state’s emphasis on creating private property—a philosopy that clashed with First Nations land use patterns that were characterized by large winter villages, fishing, hunting, and plant harvesting territories, and spiritual sites and landscapes (Harris 2011:19). With private property came the appearance of the “settler fence” (Harris 2011:19)—a material symbol and economic tool that was necessary to satisfy the requirements of a pre-emption claim to “improve” the land. The lands within fenced boundaries became private property, permanently alienating parcels of land from the First Nations who had previously cared for them from time immemorial: land had now become the exclusive property of these new owners (Harris 2011:19). Accompany the appearance of private property was the parallel establishment of relatively tiny Indian reserves, the creation of which typically followed a few years behind increased settler interest in a region (Harris 2011:20). The worsening situation for First Nations was compounded in 1858 with the retirement of James Douglas as Chief Factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company in Victoria: his successors had no interest in using HBC resources to compensate the First Nations for their land. Furthermore, the Imperial Government and the Vancouver Island House of Assembly, refused to provide Douglas—now as the Governor of the Colony—with the funds to purchase land, each claiming it was the other’s responsibility (Carnarvon to Governor Douglas, C.B. April 11 1859; Fisher 1990). Regardless, Douglas continued the policy of laying out reserves, insisting that they neither be reduced in size by subsequent assemblies or encroached upon by settlers (Douglas 1859; Fisher 1971:4). Following Douglas’s second retirement, this time as Governor, in 1864, and British Columbia’s entry into Canada in 1871, colonial land policy was largely dictated by Joseph 231 Trutch, who in 1864 had been appointed Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works. Following the entry of British Columbia into Canada in 1871, Trutch served as the Province’s First Lieutenant Governor between 1871 and 1876. In the 1870s, the “Indian land question” in British Columbia turned on the allotment of reserves (Blake 1998:29). Trutch was far more conservative than was Douglas regarding the allottment of Reserve lands for First Nations communities and Trutch considered the allotment of large tracts for this purpose to be prejudicial to the “general interests of the Colony” (Trutch 1867:42). The threat posed to First Nations by this draconian new Provincial land policy, specifically, the manifestly inadequate size of reserves, forced First Nations to act. In 1874 fifty-six chiefs from Douglas Portage, the Lower Fraser River and north along the coast to Bute Inlet—including five from shíshálh—submitted a petition to I. R. Powell the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia, in which they expressed their concern over the government’s land policy: For many years we have been complaining of the land left us being too small. We have laid our complaints before Government officials nearest to us; they sent us to some others; so we had no redress to the present; and we have felt like men trampled on, and are commencing to believe that the aim of the white men is to exterminate us as soon as they can, although we have been always quiet, obedient, kind and friendly to the whites. [Peter Ayessik, Chief of Hope, to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia, signed in New Westminster July 14, 1874] This was not the first petition that addressed the growing concerns of First Nations. In 1867 seventy Chiefs from Lytton, Port Douglas, the lower Fraser River and the coast as far as the north end of Vancouver Island, including five shíshálh, submitted a petition to the Earl of Carnarvon. Although the petition addressed many issues, two of the central themes were again the loss of land and the effect of this alienation on the psychological well being of First Nations: The white men tell many things about taking our lands; our hearts become very sick. We wish to say to Governor Seymour: please protect our lands; many are our children and some go to school one of them has written this. (Fouquet 1867:10). 232 Clearly, First Nations were reaching a breaking point. They were concerned about their ability to physically exist and they appear to have become increasingly distressed and depressed at the lack of response from government officials. Whatever were the motives and final objectives of the British Columbia government, First Nations leaders throughout the southern portion of the province were certainly justified in their bleak analysis of the situation. For decades, European settlers and administrators had expressed their willingness to engage in violence in their dealings with First Nations peoples—especially if it helped them to obtain their objectives. Throughout the periods of the maritime and land-based fur-trade, some acts of violence had occurred between traders and natives. However, as historian Robin Fisher has noted, it is surprising that there was a relative lack of violence in Western Canada, and this may accommodation may have been largely brought about by shared economic interests (Fisher 1990:35). The economic basis for this accommodation is summed up in an 1843 exchange between Captain T. Spaulding of the American trading vessel Lausanne who accused the HBC of the mass murder of Indians (Ross 1937). In denying this claime, John McLoughlin, Chief Factor of the Columbia District of the HBC based at Fort Vancouver replied that any such act would be counter to the company’s economic interest (McLoughlin 1843). HBC leaders, increasingly frustrated by declining profits, in part resulting from First Nations trading practices, were not afraid to express strategies of mass violence, as long as such expression did not actually affect trade. For example, Peter Skene Ogden a senior official with the HBC’s Columbia Department once stated that he would like to spend a year or two exterminating all the adult males of the Snake River region (Fisher 1990; Davies and Johnson 1961:52). Perhaps the only thing that prevented such atrocities from actually taking place is that 233 some of the wiser and more cautious traders and adminsitrators realized that any attempts to exterminate the Indigenous peoples on whom they were dependent, would inevitably wipe out their own economic interests by curtailing the fur-trade itself. With the decline of the fur-trade, and the coming of increased European settlement, and new forms resource extraction—including forestry and mining—First Nation partnerships were no longer required. In the eyes of the colonizers, Indigenous peoples and their ancestral claims were becoming a hindrance to settlement and resource extraction. Arguments against extermination were certainly not as strong as they had once been, a situation that First Nation leaders were certainly aware of, and that they had experienced first hand in 1863 when the Hul’qumi’num at Lamalcha were attacked (Arnett 1999). In the final quarter of the nineteenth century First Nations throughout British Columbia were coming to the conclusion that their physical and cultural survival was at stake. Whereas they had once been economic partners in the fur-trade (Fisher 1990), the increasing intensity of resource extraction, and the re-settlement of their lands had transformed these very territories into a commodity of exchange. The shíshálh, like other First Nations, were now in the way of direct land and resource colonization (Arnett 1999; Fisher 1990; Harris 1997). Land and resources quickly became the objects of European focus, leading to increasing encroachment on what little lands that were exclusively allotted to the shíshálh. Even without increased European encroachments, these reserved lands were too small to sustain the shíshálh communities and economies—consequently, people became increasingly “discouraged and depressed” (Ayessik to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14 1874). Their fears were real, and historical precedent justified their fear. 234 Out of frustration with the land policies of Governor James Douglas’ successors, and their overall deteriorating situation, in 1874 two Stó:lō leaders, Chief Peter Ayessick of Hope and Chief Alexis of Cheam, organized a meeting of fifty-four First Nation leaders from neighbouring communities. With the assistance of OMI priests, they drafted a petition which addressed grievances with the Government of British Columbia. The first, and central theme of the petition was the quantity of land to be reserved for the use of each First Nation family (Ayessik to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14 1874). The petition also touched on three additional themes, the first of which was the psychological state of their communities. On behalf of his community and other signatories, Chief Ayessik wrote that: Discouragement and depression have come upon our people. Many of them have given up the of land, because our gardens have not been protected against the encroachment of he whites (Ayessik 1875:296-298). This was a theme that would be repeated many times over the coming forty-two years as petitions and letters were submitted by the shíshálh to the Royal Commission and other government bodies (Chief Julius to Deechburn January 3, 1915; John 1915; Paul 1915a, 1915b). Another theme in these petitions was the clear assertion that the signatory communities had given up the old economy, and fully intended to be willing partners in the new economy of British Columbia: We are not lazy and roaming about people as we used to be. We have worked hard and a long time to spare money to buy agricultural implements, cattle, horses etc. as nobody has given us any assistance. We could point out many of our people who have these past years bought with their own money ploughs, harrows, yokes of oxen and horses, and now with your kind assistance we have a bright hope to enter into the path of civilization (Ayessik 1875:296-298). Finally, First Nations clearly expressed their belief that their physical and cultural existence was being threatened. In addition to these ideas presented in the petitions, the documents also hinted at the threat of violence. As Robin Fisher has noted, up until this point violence had been 235 surprisingly absent throughout the colonial conflict (Fisher 1990), but as the following passage suggests deteriorating conditions did not rule out its future use if deemed necessary: We consider that 80 acres of land per family is absolutely necessary for our support and for the future well-fare of our children. We declare that 20 or 30 acres of land per family will not give satisfaction, but will create ill-feelings, irritation amongst our people and we cannot say what will be the consequences (Ayessik 1875:296-298). The four themes presented in the 1874 petition clearly represented the political stance of the signatory First Nations. They also represent the cultural conceptions of shíshálh leaders, who when they analysed the unfolding colonial conflict of the late nineteenth century, realized that the practices and strategies that they had previously employed were no longer having the desired effect. They would approach the colonial conflict through the implementation of a new set of strategies which would eventually transform the spélem-úlh system. The change that took place through a new articulation of power dynamics between the shíshálh and the colonizers, was the amplification of local vs. trans-local interests. This realignment represented a change that would accentuate and amplify the power of external interests leading to the complete disruption and overthrow of the spélem-úlh system. This was in fact a similar outcome to that witnessed in the Hawaiian–British encounter (Sahlins 1978,1981; Wolf 1982)—and many other such expansions of global powers into regions of pre-Capitalist societies and economies. Observed in this context, the 1874 petition represented the blueprint of the newly established shíshálh strategy. In the following sections I will examine this new strategy, and its role in responding to the twin forces of resettlement and resource alienation (specifically logging), and how these events formed the catalyst for the transformation of the spélem-úlh system. 236 Two Events: the resettlement of tems swiya and the arrival of loggers The following section covers the period from 1869 through to 1920. 1869 marks the beginning of the resettlement phase of tems swiya and the start of a prolonged period of harassment and burning out of the shíshálh people. Soon after, beginning in 1874, loggers arrived, kicking off four and half decades of land alteration, encroachment and alienation, and setting the pattern that continues today in various forms and guises. In the following sections I will examine the twin events of resettlement and the arrival of loggers, two events that are interlocked, and that eventually converged in 1874. Although both had great effect upon the shíshálh, logging eventually provided one of a few mechanisms through which the shíshálh were able to mitigate some of the negative effects of resettlement and the associated process of land alienation. The phenomena we will observe throughout this chapter are “objective causes” (Sahlins 1978:8-9), and their resulting “cultural effects” (Sahlins 1978:8-9)—processes that Sahlins describes as the “conjunctures,” in otherwords, the social conditions within which history is produced (Sahlins 1978:7-9). As such, I view the transformation of shíshálh society as the development of legitimate cultural expressions that developed in order to ensure shíshálh survival. Resettlement One of the first settlers to arrive in 1869 was John Scales. He was granted 150 acres (District Lot 303), and then in 1875 he was able to purchase an additional 110 acres (District Lot 304) at a dollar an acre, thereby controlling virtually the entire Sechelt isthmus. In comparison, prior to 237 1869, the shíshálh had only been allotted one small 45 acre reserve (I.R. No. 1) at the mouth of ts'úkw'um (Wilson Creek), five kilometers southeast of ch'atelích (Sechelt). Scales’ property was sold to the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia Hugh Nelson, who then re-sold it to Herbert Whitaker in 1891 (Brabender 1935:10-11; Keller and Leslie 1996:68). William Brabender OMI writing in the Missions de la Congregation des Oblats de Marie Immaculée in 1935 described the purchased land as formerly being occupied by the shíshálh, but since they did not have “…notarized title to prove that they were the legal owners of the land, were dispersed” (Brabender 1935:11). In 1890 Herbert Whittaker opened a general store on the property and then, in 1899, he established a hotel (Brabender 1935:11; Keller and Leslie 1996). Whıtaker would eventually become the “richest settler in Sechelt” (Brabender 1935:11), controlling the waterfront and all the associated commerce that had once been under shíshálh control. His holdings went on to form the foundation of the District of Sechelt, eventually incorporated in 1956. In 1884 Joseph Bouillon arrived in ch'atelích (Sechelt) with Paul Durieu OMI. Bouillon pre-empted District Lot 310, located three and a half kilometers west of Scales’ pre-emption and extending from the ocean north along both sides of chékém (Wakefield Creek). In 1891 a group of seven men, including Thomas John Cook, registered pre-emption claims along the waterfront between the properties owned by Scales and Bouillon. In 1919, M. Cairu [Kearns], a Catholic from Vancouver, approached Brabender to lease a parcel of land near the eastern end of SBL No. 2. Cairu agreed to pay a fee of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a year to the Catholic church for the lease. Following the successful negotiations, Cairu promptly constructed a camp, along with a church, on the property creating a retreat for Catholic tourists from Vancouver (Brabender 1935:11). Brabender claimed to have 238 facilitated the arrangement with Cairu for two reasons: first, he wanted to establish a Catholic neighbourhood on the Sunshine Coast and second, he wanted to prove to the shíshálh “that all whites are not the scoundrels they knew in the past, but that among them are also many good Catholics” (Brabender 1935:11). Brabender was overly optimistic—within 50 years the pre-emptions of Scales and the other recently arrived settlers permanently alienated the entire Sechelt isthmus, hemming in the shíshálh between rapidly growing settler enclaves. Lands that for over 3,000 years been vital to the shíshálh were now no longer accessible to them (Merchant 2012; Bilton 2014; Peacock 1998). The rich cranberry bogs located in the southern portion of the isthmus (now DL303), the deer hunting grounds, and bird netting sites located in the northern portion of the isthmus (DL304), and the vital portage route connecting kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) to tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay) had become permanently alienated by settler land purchases. In addition, access to the ancient fish traps located all along the mud flats forming the southern shore of tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay) was severely restricted, as was access to the many salmon spawing streams along the shore. The severe blow to the shíshálh economy was two-fold: not only did it strike at the heart of their old economy, but prime agricultural land adjacent to their now restricted reserves was alienated, making the ongoing adjustment to and adoption of the new economic activities even more difficult (McDonald 1903). As was the case for many other First Nations throughout British Columbia the shíshálh land situation was rapidly becoming grave. Illustrating this stark inequality, the settler John Scales, with two brief economic transactions in the 1870s, controlled 200 more acres of land than the entire shíshálh Nation. The resettlement of the Sechelt isthmus was only the beginning. As land became more difficult to acquire, settlers proceeded north along the shores of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) and 239 into kálpilín (Pender Harbour), in addition to the many other bays and inlets all along the north shore of the sínku (Strait of Georgia). This European re-settlement of tems swiya was largely confined to its southern portion with permanent land alienation in the form of fee simple property purchase. Both fee simple land purchases and long-term Crown leases were much rarer north of tchah-náyt-chun (Egmont Point). In this region of tems swiya the relative absence of a permanent non-shíshálh population provided a refuge to which many shíshálh retreated in order to escape the pressures of the colonial conflict (Merchant 2012). This allowed some shíshálh families to maintain a closer relationship with tems swiya than was possible in the south (Joe n.d.; Merchant 2012; Thomas 1898). This bifurcated nature of the European resettlement of tems swiya allowed some shíshálh families to maintain their traditional relationships with their territories and the old economy in the north, while in the south the new economy became entrenched much earlier and more rapidly. Their movement north along the shores of ?álhtúlích (Sechelt Inlet) brought settlers into conflict with the shíshálh, many of whom had not yet retreated into the interior of tems swiya. Historical documents from this period make it clear that the resettlement process was punctuated by violence and intimidation that was typically initiated by settlers and agents of the Crown, often supported by gunships and militia, and included chasing shíshálh people from their villages (Thomas J. Cook to Policeman Paul September 3 1918), burning and destruction of their homes (Merchant 2007; Paul 1915c, 1915d), and intimidation by provincial natural resource officers (John 1915; Johnson 1915). 240 Harassing and burning Harassing shíshálh families, then burning their homes was the preferred method of pre-emption during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In 1915 shíshálh hiwus Paul Policeman described in a petition to the Royal Commission how his home had been burned down, and he and his family were chased from their village of p'ík'ílakw (Tillicum Bay), located 7.5 kilometers north of ch'atelích (Sechelt). I want to tell you about: the place that I am going to tell you this place number 1410 and 2524 is a real Indian reserve from long time about seven acres is cleared were [where] the Indians were planting from long years ago up to now. My house was there and a white burned it down and settled himself there. When the first Commissioner came we were not in time to tell them about this place. This place is good for us Indians that were [where] we fish in the creek and get our living there (Paul 1915c:1). At this place it my place and the white man that in it plese [sic] take him out of there he is not the owner of the land where he is. I am the owner of the place. So plese take him away from there I know you have the power to do it. I have cows but I have no place for it and this place I am telling you is good for animals (Paul 1915c:2). I have my sheep but I have no place for them and ask you again to make sure. I want to put my sheep on this Islands no. 1388 no. 1389 no. 1386 no. 1387 (Paul 1915c:2). In a second and similar account, again submitted by Paul, a violent act of dispossession is described from the shíshálh village of huh-kway-wahn (Shannon Creek), located 3.5 kilometers north of ch'atelích (Sechelt). So here this place here number between T.L 33923 and No L. [1557 or 1559?] about ten acres of this place cleared where the Indians used to plant, and when the first white man went there he burned our houses and settled himself there, and so please take this man away and give him another place, there are many other Government lands besides our place (Paul 1915d:1). In a third account, John Hall, a shíshálh living at swík'als (SBL No.3) on the west side of tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay), expressed to the Royal Commission his concerns over the lack of land to support his growing family, and his inability to access the creek that flows through the village for fishing. Please, notify the Royal Commission about what I want to tell them. Last Spring I told the Commission that I wanted a little addition to my small reserve. Now I would like you to bring this my humble request again before the Commissioners. I am getting old now and my children are getting big. We cannot all live on so 241 small a piece of land. Furthermore, I would like if you would give me the little creek that is flowing through my land and also the mouth of the Creek with the adjoining saltwater, so that I have no trouble in fishing there. We Indians get into trouble with the white man’s land so often without knowing it. Everywhere the white man tells us: [“]you must not do this” and, you must not “take that,” and God gave us this land for time immemorial (Hall 1915:1-2). Conflict was not limited to tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay), it occurred throughout tems swiya. On November 1, 1915 John the hiwus of the shíshálh living at xénichen (Hunaechin) at the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), submitted a petition detailing a grievance over the infringement of his people’s fishing rights and the seemingly arbitrary nature of the enforcement of government regulations. Last week we got into trouble with fishing inspector Mr. Taylor. We had been fishing with a net inside in the limits of our reserve, not outside. Now he took our net away. We cannot understand this at all. Under the Indian Act we are intitled [sic] to manage our business as far as hunting and fishing are concerned on our reserves in the fullest sense of the words. This is the verdict of the supreme court of this province (Confer Saanich case at the Victoria Court this spring.) Now if the Supreme Court speaks like that what for have we always those troubles? Besides this, we have our reserve at Head of Jervis Inlet together with a piece of the Squawqua [Skwawka] River. The fishing inspector tells us now, that those places with the surrounding waters (350 yards far into the Sea) Do not belong to us and that any Jap or white man can go and fish there. We are altogether at a loss now to say what belongs to us and what not. Considering this we beg the following from you: I. Please, send us a map which tells us exactly our reserves and the waters belonging to them (also the Squawqua River) II. Please, have the case decided, to what we are entitled under the Indian Act. We have no 1000 dollars to go to the Court and have it decided as in the Saanich case. III Please, send all these things with all details to my address, so that I can show it to any Government Official (John 1915:1-3). Jimmy Johnson the hiwus of the shíshálh living in kálpilín (Pender Harbour) provided a series of accounts describing a litany of grievances. The first of these describes the infringement on his community’s right to fish by the government fishing inspector. The creek goes through our reserve and nevertheless the fishing inspector forbids us to fish there, saying that we do not ow [own] that Creek. This condition of things is so queer that the Red Man is entirely at a loss to understand it. And we beg you, Gentlemen, to arrange this affaire [sic], that an ordinary Christian knows where he is at home (Johnson 1915b:1). In a second account, Johnson describes how some of his community who were forced to live on a small island in kálpilín (Pender Harbour) which he describes as a “heap of stones,” were required 242 to paddle 300 yards to the north to collect water from the spring located on the mainland. However, they were denied access to the water source by the white settler, who drove the women away. Our Island in Pender Harbour is only a heap of stones, no water is there and no wood to be had. Now there is a spring on the mainland, about 300 yards away from [our?] Island. Now we have used this spring-water for time immemorial, we even had formerly our houses near-by. The white man, that owns the land and the spring now chases our women away, when they want to take water there. Is that right, is that Christian? We cannot use saltwater for cooking and drinking. Please, let us have the use of this water, as our forefathers have had (Johnson 1915). These islands, now designated as SBL Sekalton 21 and Sekalton 21a, are a combined 2.28 acres. They were occupied through the 1950s, after which all the residents left them for the mainland (Figure 6-3). From the accounts provided above, it is clear that the ongoing harassment had a negative effect on the ability of the shíshálh to continue to feed themselves through fishing, as their access to fish-bearing streams and prized fishing sites on the ocean was increasingly restricted. During the early 20th century, access to fish became increasingly difficult as streams were degraded by commercial logging operations and herring stocks were severely depleted by commercial over-fishing.43 43 Events like those described in the petitions, although less frequent continued into the contemporary period. Typically inspired by disputes over land and resource ownership, they attest to the continuance of the resettlement phase of the colonial conflict. 243 Figure 6-3. View south from Irvine’s Landing to Sekalton 21 (right) and Sekalton 21a (left). Picture shows the houses that existed in 1930 (Source unknown). Loggers Concurrent with resettlement was the initiation of resource extraction, the most notable of which was commercial logging. Shíshálh participation in the fur trade had been fairly marginal (Orchard 1965) and Hudson Bay Company records suggest that by the 1830s the shíshálh were still a little-known group. The last two Lodges of Cowitchens went down this day. Shienten a Musquiam Chief passed up on his way from the Shishals a tribe to the north of Burrards Canal–he traded 6 Beaver Skins. He Says the Shishals intends Coming here Soon to trade the few skins they have (MacMillan 1828:81).44 However, as the first half of the 19th century closed, the shíshálh, though they remained on the periphery, began to take tentative steps to enter the developing new economy. Their efforts to “work the Coal” (McKay 1852:3) seams of Vancouver Island were prevented by the Nanaimoes 44 In his Report to the Governor and Council for 1830, Archibald McDonald identified fifty Sku-Challs (shíshálh), mixed with sixty Squaltes (Lil’wat), north of the Fraser River (McDonald 1998:386). 244 (McKay 1852), causing them to turn their attentions to the shingle trade. Correspondence from Joseph William McKay to Governor Douglas in September 1852, suggests that by this time the shíshálh were still lacking sufficient European tools, or knowledge of European markets, and indicates that their interaction with Europeans continued to be minimal at most. A number of Skuwhomish and Sheshalls arrived here last week. They are anxious to enter into the shingle business as the Nanaimoes will not allow them to work the Coal. They brought with them a few pieces of split cedar to trade as near the shape of shingles as they had any idea of, for which they asked extravagant prices, owing to their want of tools they cannot work at a reasonable rate. A few bundles of shingles as samples with the price per bundle would tend to enlighten them on the subject. Some of the Metchoosen shingle makers have friends here (McKay 1852:3). As the 1850s ended, the status quo quickly changed. With the discovery of gold in 1858 twenty to thirty thousand miners poured into British Columbia, with most heading to the gold fields along the upper reaches of Fraser River (Fisher 1990; Harris 1997). The primary route through the Fraser Canyon became dangerous due to conflicts between miners and the Nlha7kápmx people (Harris 1997), requiring the development of an alternate route to the Interior. In search of a new route, surveyors came to the head of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) in the winter of 1858-1859, while the occasional gold seeker arrived on the shores of skúpa (Salmon Inlet) and stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet) (Keller and Leslie 1996:32). In the end, an alternative route to the gold fields was selected—outside of tems Swiya—and consequently only a few miners arrived in area, and the growing mining industry had little effect upon the shíshálh. Instead, it was the timber industry that would have the greatest impact on the region. In the 1860s two large sawmills were established in Burrard Inlet (Roy and Taylor 2012) in order to feed the expanding domestic lumber trade along with the export market. This rapid growth in the demand for wood products resulted in a dramatic and rapid depletion of the forests in and around Vancouver and neighbouring settlements in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia (Keller and Leslie 1996). The lumber market soon had to look farther afield, leading 245 loggers and lumber buyers to set their sights on tems swiya with its vast timber resources. With its relative proximity—only 60 or so kilometers away by sea, it quickly became a prime source for harvesting and exporting valuable timber. In response to this new economic opportunity, some shíshálh men entered directly into the hand logging trade, while others travelled to Burrard Inlet to work in the mills. Concurrently, the major timber interests located around Burrard Inlet, including the Moodyville Sawmill Company, which in 1874 initiated logging operations on the Sunshine Coast in the Gower Point area near present day Gibsons, began to spread north along the coast to tems swiya. So productive were the shíshálh loggers and the forests of tems swiya that observers noted some of the largest log booms of the late nineteenth century originating in the upper reaches of lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) (Keller and Leslie 1996). The initial loggers who arrived in tems swiya were hand loggers, who roamed along the shores of the inlets harvesting the large stands of enormous fir and other coniferous tree species growing near the shoreline—so close to the sea that the giant trees could be felled directly into the water. During this period, the shíshálh increasingly entered the logging trade, applying for and obtaining Provincial timber licenses to cut trees on what had been “redefined as Crown timberlands in the areas to which their families had long-standing affiliations under the shíshálh own legal traditions” (Roy and Taylor 2012:20). So successful were they that in 1876 Gilbert Malcolm Sproat (a successful sawmill operator and later a colonial official) reported that the shíshálh had in a single year supplied 1.3 million cubic meters of saw-logs to the Burrard Inlet mills (Sproat 1876). This accomplishment was recognized a century later by shíshálh elder Gilbert Joe, who stated that “A lot of the timber that our forefathers hand logged were used to build up Vancouver and New Westminster” (Joe 1979). Following the success of the shíshálh 246 logging enterprises, Sproat urged the provincial government to grant First Nations timber leases and large reserves for logging (Harris 1997:98). In 1875 the government refused, and the shíshálh along with other coastal First Nations were reduced to working as wage laborers within their own forests. First Nations peoples all along British Columbia’s coast had always been flexible in adapting to the new colonial economic realities. In the first half of the 19th century they altered their traditional economic practices in order to engage in the fur-trade (Fisher 1990:35). Along the north coast entire villages relocated themselves in order to facilitate employment in both the fur trade (Fisher 1990:47; Martindale 1999) and the salmon industry (Menzies and Butler 2008). First Nations were adept at integrating themselves with the emerging lumber industry—integrating this work with their traditional patterns of seasonal movements (Menzies and Butler 2008:136). By 1868 the shíshálh re-established ch'atelích (Sechelt) as their major residential centre (Fowler 1990; Lemert 1954; Joe 1965). Although it has generally been accepted that the move was instigated by the OMI to effect missionization to the shíshálh (Fowler 1990; Lemert 1854), I presented an alternative motivation in Chapter 5—that the shíshálh rebuilt this settlement in order to participate in the opportunities afforded by the emerging colonial economy. Archaeological evidence shows that ch'atelích (Sechelt) had, for 3000 years or more, been an important socio-economic center for the shíshálh. Although there we have no direct evidence to substantiate the suggestion that one of their main motives for re-establishing settlement at ch'atelích, I think that its proximity to the saw mills of Burrard Inlet, and the pre-existing portage route across the Sechelt isthmus made this spot the ideal location from which shíshálh logging operations could be centred. The suggestion that the resettlement at ch'atelích (Sechelt) in order 247 to facilitate community members’ entry into the lumber trade is consistent with the actions of other First Nations residing along the southern shores of the Salish Sea and it mirrors past strategies of the shíshálh as described in the skwákwiyám. Petitions submitted by the shíshálh, letters from colonial administrators (Douglas 1852), and newspaper accounts (Mainland Guardian, June 16, 1875), clearly document that the shíshálh actively engaged in logging as early as 1852 and show that much of the logging activity was centred around the Sechelt isthmus and the southern shores of tsúlích (south Porpoise Bay). Shíshálh leaders clearly recognized—and wrote about—the economic benefits that could be gained from engagement in the lumber industry (Paul 1915a; Paul and George 1915a). As historian Susan Roy has pointed out, the significance of the timber industry to the shíshálh is indicated by the “wide range of sháshishálem words describing its process” (Roy and Taylor 2012:17-18) (Figure 6-4). Figure 6-4. Preliminary list of sháshishálem words that relate directly to logging.45 English sháshishálem Source boom-stick ch’ék’-áli Beaumont 2011 donkey-engine Ténki Beaumont 2011 hand logging xi 'xixits-nach Julian 1979, Roy 2012 Logging xíts-nach Beaumont 2011 log barking lhekw’iwesáls Julian 1979, Roy 2012 log-boom s-ch’ek’ Beaumont 2011 Logger xíxits-nach s-túmish Beaumont 2011 log-scaling stick xé?áts-émin Beaumont 2011 Tugboat s-lhék-nách Beaumont 2011 steam tugboat Ténki Beaumont 2011 Roy reports that by the late 1880s virtually all shíshálh men were involved in logging, working either independently as hand loggers or employed in non-Native logging operations at off-reserve sites throughout tems swiya (Roy and Taylor 2012:19). The timber trade induced the shíshálh to repeatedly return to these areas, year after year—a process that resulted in an increase 45 Table based on Roy 2012. 248 of family logging areas and a decrease in collective ownership.46 Although collective ownership may have been reduced, some lines of evidence indicate that logging may have increased cooperative practices, as observed in the sharing of the wealth to develop community-based projects, including housing, schools, and the church at ch'atelích (Sechelt). The shíshálh Response: Schelle Takes Action H.M.S. Myrmiddon sailed at 7 ½ o’clk yesterday morning for Jarvis Inlet. Judge Pemberton did not go as pacificator. The Local Government having deprived him of clerical assistance he was compelled through a desire not to disarrange the County Court business to decline the honor. Judge Bushby will join the ship at Burrard Inlet and proceed in her to the seat of war. (Daily British Colonist [DBC], 16 December 1874) Shíshálh success in the logging industry increasingly brought them into direct competition with the corporate interests based in Burrard Inlet. One well known example of this competition came to a head in December 1874. Three loggers, John Thomas, I. A. Culver, and C. Gerrin, had been hand-logging for many months at stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet), and lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) when hiwus Schelle dispatched an armed party to evict them. Although this region was part of hiwus Schelle’s traditional, unceded, territory, the Moody Nelson Company who employed the three loggers claimed it as part of their timber lease and complained to the provincial authorities (Bushby 1874:1; DBC 20 December 20 1874). Ultimately, “war” was avoided and Chief Schelle and his men were unsuccessful in removing the loggers from his traditional territory. 46 In his seminal book Contact and Conflict, Indian European Relations in British Columbia, 1774-1890, historian Robin Fisher describes the account of Diamond Jenness, who described how Sekani families, year after year returned to the same fur trapping areas, the result being the development of family fur trapping areas (Fisher 1990:47). 249 The strategy employed by the Hul’qumi’num during the expulsion of settlers at the village of Lamalcha had largely been unsuccessful, resulting in military defeat, with no significant increase in their land base (Arnett 1999). The shíshálh must have been aware of this outcome. However, whether or not this influenced their strategy in conflicts such as the one between hiwis Schelle and the loggers in stl'íxwim (Narrows Inlet) and lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet) we can ascertain that the strategy they employed was far more nuanced than that of the Lamalcha and appears to have been conscious of the threat they were facing. Although the above conflict ostensibly concerned forestry, the greater concern was in fact land—or the lack thereof. After their repeated requests for land were ignored and following increasing pressure from lumber interests that were infringing on shíshálh lands and challenging their sovereignty, shíshálh leaders knew that decisive action was required. The absence of any established reserves was of special concern, leading five of their hiwus to sign the New Westminster petition earlier that year (Ayessik [1875] to the Indian Commissioner for the Province of British Columbia July 14 1874). The grievance originated from a promise made by I. R. Powell, the Indian Commissioner for British Columbia, in May of 1873, who had promised that every family of five should be granted eighty acres of land (Durieu 1875:1). Powell’s subsequent denial of this promise, and the continued granting of small and inferior parcels to First Nations families prompted in the New Westminster petition. Exemplified by hiwis Schelle, the response from the shíshálh was a brilliantly crafted combination of military force, economic warfare, diplomacy, and public relations—and it drew on a keen understanding of not only their own precarious position, but that of British Columbia. Schelle had carefully selected his target: the evicted loggers worked on behalf of “Moody and Nelsons” (Bushby 1874; DBC 20 December 1874). According to newspaper accounts of the 250 day (DBC 20 December 1874) this company was one of the largest taxpayers in the fledgling province. Immediately after learning of Schelle’s and his followers’ actions, the colonial authorities dispatched, on December 15, 1874, the gunship HMS Myrmidon. On board the vessel was the Superintendent of Police Philip Woollacott (Bushby 1874; DBC 18 December 1874; MLG 24 December 1874), and Judge Arthur Bushby who was picked up in Burrard Inlet (DBC 16 July 1874). Arriving at kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) on December 16, Bushby immediately addressed the situation, declining the assistance of “an armed boats crew” (Bushby 1874:5), he confronted Schelle and the men he had directed, informing them of the “nature of the charge against them, making them understand that the white men occupied the ground by lawful authority and that they would be protected in their rights” (Bushby 1874:2-3). After considerable conversation the Chief confessed that he has instructed his people to warn off the whites: that he regretted and was sorry that they should have been armed while so doing: that he and his people were well disposed towards the whites, but that other tribes about had their Reserves of land secured to them: that they had none: that they thought this not just: that they were afraid the whites would soon secure all the land they wished, but that they were not aware that the whites whom they had warned off had any legal rights to the land etc. etc. (Bushby 1874:3). Under threat of arrest, Schelle “heartily” promised “that the whites would not be disturbed” and the conflict subsided (Bushby 1874:4). In his correspondence to the Lieutenant Governor, Bushby identified the source of the conflict arising from shíshálh fear over increased land alienation, essentially criticizing the position of I. R. Powell, his political superior. I must be allowed to add that I consider this tribe—the Seechells—who bear a very good character—have just ground for complaint: they are entitled to have their Reserves—whatever they may be—surveyed without delay, which I am convinced would remove all future chance of discontent or trouble on their part and I beg to offer as a suggestion that until such Reserves are defined no further Leases or Preemptions be granted in the vicinity of this Tribe (Bushby 1874:4-5). On December 18, 1874 The Daily British Colonist reported the outcome of the conflict, and its cause which, according to the paper, was the diminishing land base of the shíshálh. 251 The war ship returned and reports that the Indians are peacefully inclined and that the difficulty arose from a disinclination of the Indians to part with their lands without compensation. It was explained to them that the Reserve difficulty, caused by the action of the Local Government, would soon be cleared away by the Imperial and Canadian governments, and the Indians consented to allow the loggers to resume work (DBC 18 December 1874). The actions of the shíshálh did not bring immediate results, in 1875, Schelle increasingly frustrated at the slow pace of reserve allotments and continued fears of white encroachment and land alienation initiated the second tactic of his larger strategy: he engaged in public relations. Public relations have long been and continue to be a vital component of First Nations political strategy, wherein leaders often employ the press or respected non-aboriginal leaders to present a positive picture of First Nation communities as a tactic to advance pressing issues (Miller 1998). It is from within this context that hiwis Schelle visited the Mainland Guardian at New Westminster, resulting in the editorial of June 9, 1875 titled “A Great Injustice”. A Great Injustice Schelle, the Chief of the Sechelt tribe of Indians, and an Indian deputed by the Cliam tribe to Schelle, called upon us to request that we would make public their grievances. It appears that some time ago the Indian Commissioner, Dr. Powell, went up to the rancherie of the Sechelts, and had an interview with Schelle, when the latter was told that a reservation of eighteen acres for each member of his tribe would be set aside for the Sechelts. That since that time white men have been encroaching upon them, until they have not sufficient land left to them on which to produce food for the people or pasturage for their cattle. They have been told that only two acres each is now to be appropriated for them, which is evidently insufficient. The dissatisfaction and discontent is growing very serious amongst them, and Schelle looks for trouble if the reservation, as promised, is not secured to them. We are assured by persons who know them well, that they are remarkably industrious, well-behaved, and most exemplary in their moral duties; they have a church where the services are regularly performed each Sunday. They have cattle, and cultivate their land. Schelle says that presents of farming implements and horses have been given to the Musqueam tribe, but he does not ask for them; he only asks that the quantity of land promised to them shall be confirmed, which is only what they are entitled to. He says the white man receives 160 acres, and timber leases are granted covering large tracts. He makes no objection to that if the promised eighteen acres for each soul of his tribe is conceded. He asks that the land situate on a creek about two miles above the Sechelt portage to the north west be allotted, as that is the [village?] that has belonged to them for ages. The Cliams are similarly situated, and appeal in the same terms. The two tribes muster about two thousand souls and are far advanced in civilization. They bitterly resent any interference with their land, and the sense of wrong is very deeply impressed on their minds. It is a matter calling for immediate investigation, otherwise we may have serious trouble. The Walkem government has persistently ignored this danger, and have been granting timber leases and pre-emptions which encroach upon these people. Some settlement must be made without delay; common humanity requires it (Mainland Guardian June 9, 1875:3). 252 Although this editorial, according to Paul Durieu OMI, contains many inaccuracies, it did publicly expose the concerns of the shíshálh and the potential consequences of continued government inaction. Perhaps more critically, one-week later Durieu responded to the Guardian’s article, identifying the insincerity of the colonial land policy regarding First Nations, while succinctly describing the concerns of the shíshálh. But Schelle says, if the white men are coming one after the other, before their reserves have been marked out, they will take the best of the land, and encroach on the Indians until they have not sufficient land left them, on which to produce food for the people or pasturage for the cattle; (Durieu 1875). On June 14, 1875 Powell addressed the shíshálh and Sliammon, describing his intention to allot twenty acres of land per family (Mainland Guardian [MLG], 9 June 1875, p. 3). Soon afterwards, Sechelt I.R. No. 2, located at ch’atelích (Sechelt) on the kwétl'lích (Trail Bay) waterfront, was surveyed by Captain William Jemmett and in 1876 it was confirmed by the Reserve Commission. The actions of the shíshálh had province-wide ramifications. In 1875 Alexis, Chief of the Cheam located near Chilliwack in the Fraser Valley, was also frustrated by the continued slow pace of land allocation. He sent a letter to Indian Commissioner James Lenihan describing his concerns—but also containing a not-so-subtle threat. We will be forced to act as Seashelt [Sechelt] indians have done with just reason this winter, drive out every white man who would try to preempt the lands we wish to have outside our present reserves (Chief Alexis 1875). Schelle’s actions had been a success, he had obtained for his people the land that was required. Even so, the struggle for land and forests continued unabated. During 1876 and 1877 shíshálh representatives repeatedly petitioned the Indian Reserve Commission for two timber leases. Typically however, even though the Commission recommended that the shíshálh be allotted the reserve lands and leases they request, the requests were turned down. 253 This struggle for land continued through the early decades of the twentieth century and into the contemporary period. In a petition submitted in 1903 the shíshálh requested an additional 2,000 acres of land adjacent to their main reserve at ch’át-lích (Sechelt)—the purpose being to increase their agricultural capacity. Clearly, they had become engaged in the “new economy” and were intent on making the government aware of this, leveraging their cooperation and success to obtain additional lands. [we]…do hereby respectfully request the Indian Department to secure for us about one thousand acres of unoccupied land adjoining our first Sechelt-reserve, and have the same set aside as an additional reserve for our use, that the said land is mostly suitable for farming, being easily cleared with good soil, that the present Sechelt reserve does not contain soil suitable for farming, and as we must in the near future, owing to the uncertainty of fishing and other occupations, turn our attention more to farming, we therefore hope that the Department will grant our request (Chief Jules 1903). R.C. MacDonald, the Indian Agent for the shíshálh, was clearly supportive of their request. He highlighted the shíshálh’s recognition of their need to engage in the new economy, i.e., farming, resulting in the forwarding of their request to A.W. Vowell the Indian Superintendent. These Indians are beginning to see the necessity of their engaging more extensively in farming, and this, being good farming land, easily cleared and good soil, they are anxious to secure it (McDonald 1903). As the following letter illustrates, the shíshálh request was rejected by Vowell, largely on the basis that the shíshálh did not require further allotments of land, as they had so radically altered their lifestyle since the first allotment of lands, including many fishing stations in earlier years. On receipt of your letter of the 30th ultimo, No 315-3, with reference to the additional 1000 acres asked for by the Seshelt [Sechelt] Indians, I directed Mr. Surveyor Green to ascertain at the Land Office whether any of the land required had already been alienated by the Provincial Govt, and to obtain any other information that might be available. As a result of his inquiries I learn that there is a white settlement between the old Seshelt reserve No. 2 and the land asked for, while to the West of the proposed reserve is another settlement. Mr. Green was informed that the land between the two settlements is absolutely worthless being a rocky mountain denuded of timber by fire, and that had it been otherwise the land would have been taken up long ago. Before submitting the Indians request to the Dept it is very necessary that there should be no mistake about the quality of the soil, and I would ask you if you have personally examined the land and are prepared to vouch for the statement contained in you letter–viz.–”that a considerable portion of the land applied for is fairly good soil.” 254 On referring to the Schedule of Indian reserves I find that no less than 23 separate allotments have been made for this band and as the conditions under which they live has so radically changed since those reserves were allotted I cannot think that the numerous fishing stations are as necessary for them as formerly. As you are aware the Provincial Govt. is adverse to any further reservations, and as the land applied for lies between two white settlements there may be a difficulty in obtaining the sanction of the Govt. unless some of the present reserves are surrendered (Vowell 1904:2-3). Vowell’s letter clearly illustrates the dilemma faced by the shíshálh. Although they attempted to cooperate with the new regime through the transformation of their culture and embrace of the new economy, their success precluded them from receiving new allotments of land to accommodate their population—and they wound up with much less land than the government was willing to give to settlers.47 Convergence: Participation in the lumber industry Even though Schelle’s actions were successful in securing an additional small parcel of land for the shíshálh, they did not, however, address the long-term maintenance of the spélem-úlh system. I have argued in previous chapters that, prior to the 1870s, the shíshálh appear to have maintained a position of relative equilibrium, if not dominance, with the settlers. The spélem-úlh system remained and the relationship between many shíshálh and tems swiya was intact. Until the mid-1870s the old strategies had maintained political and social equilibrium within their society, even if they did have to make some accommodations: first to the British, then the government of British Columbia and the OMI. If politics is the mutual accommodation of 47 A similar example of shíshálh response to the pressures of the broader market economy comes from the present-day. In 2005, an outside corporation planned to develop two open pit mines in tems swiya. In opposition, the shíshálh through a declaration signed by their Elders, declared that the mines would cause irreversible damage to both their environment and culture—two concepts that they consider to be inseparable (tláx-tláxmin 2006). The shíshálh vowed to use all means at their disposal to defeat the project and maintain the integrity of tems swiya for future generations. In a referendum over 80 percent of the shíshálh Nation voted to oppose the project, galvanizing their community and securing the support of the neighboring non-shíshálh population, including environmental groups, municipal politicians, and the general populace, in the end the mining project was defeated. 255 differences, then shíshálh policy during the final quarter if the nineteenth century was pure politics. To mitigate the effects of colonial policies, colonized peoples from around the world have adopted innovative methods to oppose the institutions of the colonizer and mitigate the consequences of the outlawing of traditional practices and the infringement upon established economic systems. In their 1976 documentary film Trobriand Cricket: An Ingenious Response to Colonialism, Gary Kildea and Jerry Leach explored how the Trobriand Islanders transformed the introduced game of cricket as a means through which they could express traditional practices and institutions, including warfare, tribal rivalry, and inter-village competition—all of which had been outlawed by the British Colonial administration in Eastern Papua New Guinea. There are many parallels to this creative transformation of colonial sporting practices in response to the pervasive social, economic and political intrusions into the lives of Indigenous peoples everywhere. Closer to home Wayne Suttles examined the role of the “summer sports events” (1987:223) or what John Dewhirst alternately described as the “Summer Festivals” (Dewhirst 1976:232), while I have examined the role of the Coast Salish soccer tournament (Merchant 2011). Throughout the Coast Salish World these annual events are often held from early May through to early July—and some occur as late as the Labour Day long weekend (Dewhirst 1976:237). They are hosted by approximately eight Coast Salish communities on both sides of the international boundary, however, the exact number of communities that host and participate in these gatherings often varied. Many of the summer festivals described by Dewhirst (1976) and Suttles (1987) were primarily an expression of Indian identity to Euro-Canadian/American outsiders (Dewhirst 1976:232) where non-Natives were invited and entertained. 256 One of the most important occaisons for Coast Salish gatherings is inter-community summer canoe racing competitions. While the previously mentioned summer festivals often included some canoe racing, the dedicated canoe racing events are aimed at First Nations participants and observers and have a history spanning more that 150 years—though they doubtlessly have roots extending back many centuries if not millennia earlier (Hoover 2018). Similar to the Coast Salish canoe racing circuit, the inter-community soccer tournaments are events that reaffirmation group identity in annual gatherings to which whites are typically not invited. The expression of identity was an important feature of the potlatch (Suttles 1987), and in this sense the events described by Dewhirst (1976), Suttles (1987), Hoover (2018) and Merchant (2011) replaced this aspect of the potlatch. It was not only sports events that Coast Salish people adopted and modified in their attempts to mitigate the effects of colonialism. Many shíshálh wholeheartedly adopted Western agricultural practices, including sheep husbandry and the growing of food crops. The adoption of these practices fulfilled many of the requirements of the shíshálh: they provided sources of food and cash, while at the same time allowing them to remain at some of their ancestral village sites—all the while reassuring the colonial authorities that by abandoning the old ways they were willing participants in the new economy. These new practices do not appear to have been overly difficult for the shíshálh to adopt, in many cases merely adding new species or slightly modified practices to established ones—often at the same locations. However successful the shíshálh may have been in adopting some of these new activities, to a great extent many of them lay outside of the spélem-úlh system—and this was because many of the new economic and social activities did not foster the continuous and intense interaction with tems swiya. 257 In contrast, the logging industry was an exception to peoples’ alienation from tems Swiya. Logging largely fit within the structures of the spélem-úlh system because it allowed the shíshálh to intensively interact on a daily basis with tems swiya, thereby facilitating the maintenance of ancient ties to ancestral villages, resource procurement locations, and the cosmological beings that inhabited their world, while maintaining the perception that they were embracing the new economy. The role of First Nations in the resource industry has been examined from a variety of theoretical frameworks. Menzies and Butler in their The Indigenous Foundation of the Resource Economy of BC’s North Coast (2008) take a decidedly Marxist perspective in their review of the Ts’ymsen people’s engagement in the forest industry, with the HBC as an entry point into the wage economy and into the large-scale commercial production of timber products (Menzies 2008:137). Increasingly a feminist perspective has developed surrounding the role of aboriginal women in the colonial economy. Roy and Taylor in their We Were Real Skookum Women (2012) explored the significant role of shíshálh women in the lumber industry. Similarly, Loraine Littlefield conducted an extensive analysis of the role of Sne-nay-muxw (Nanaimo) women, first in the coal mining industry of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and subsequently in the forestry industry of the early twentieth century. Finally, she tracks womens’ work in the contemporary service economy. Using feminist anthropology, Littlefield illustrates how the experiences of Sne-nay-muxw women in the labour force are different not only from men but also from other women based upon relational inequalities of race and class (Littlefield 1995). A series of autobiographies and biographies of Coast Salish women has greatly expanded the existing body of feminist literature in this region. These works provide first-hand accounts of women’s experiences within the colonial context. One such work, Harriot Dover’s Tulalip: From 258 my Heart, details the experience of a Tulalip woman growing up on the Tulalip Reservation in northwest Washington State. Dover describes the socioeconomic difficulties women, and by extension the Tulalip as a whole, faced during the colonial conflict. These challenges included restricted access to fresh water, the decline in the abundance of traditional foods resulting from the Tribe’s reduced land base and restricted access to the ocean, the implementation of federal policies preventing the construction of largescale wood dwellings that once served as winter residences and potlatch houses, the banning of ancestral religious practices and ceremonies, and finally, the push to have Tulalip people give up their ancient fishing and hunting economies and become farmers instead (Dover 2013:xiv). Autobiographies of aboriginal men also provide insight into issues faced by First Nation peoples. In his memoir Call Me Hank: A Stó:lō Man’s Reflections on Logging, Living and Growing Old, Henry Pennier (2009) of the Stó:lō Nation recounts how his four decades of employment within the lumber industry of British Columbia during the first half of the twentieth century provided an opportunity for him to prove his worth as a man and dispel the stereotype of the “lazy Indians” (Pennier 2009:xxi). Pennier discusses how logging and its associated dangers were actually a part of ancient Stó:lō traditions and how achieving victory through balanced and harmonious competition with giant Douglas fir trees was paralleled in the sense of victory a hunter might experience during a successful expedition (Pennier 2009:xxvi). John Lutz in Makuk: A New History of Aboriginal-White Relations (2009) discusses how First Nations workers within the forest industry have been underappreciated. They have according to Lutz been “vanished” (Lutz 2008:40) within the new economy due to deeply rooted Euro-Canadian perceptions of racial hierarchies. 259 An area that has largely remained absent from the discussion is the role of the resource industry as a creator of space within the colonial economy and social hierarchy, whereby First Nation people could exert agency and maintain established practices while simultaneously giving the impression that they were adopting the practices of the colonizer. In this sense, successful participation in the logging industry was also an act of resistance: “just as with fishing, logging is something that our ancestors have always known and excelled at.” Shíshálh community members, both Elders and those of younger generations, both men and women are quick to inform non-shíshálh of their historical position in the lumber industry. The underlying theme of their testimony was their superiority, expressed eloquently by Gilbert Joe, “Sechelt Band members have production second to none in their modern high-lead logging industry. We’ve got records that have never been beaten” (Joe 1979). This was in no way an idle boast. The forests of tems swiya have always been a source of wealth for the shíshálh, playing a vital role in their economy for millennia prior to the arrival of Euro-Canadian settlers. The importance of the forests, particularly cedar is described within the skwákwiyám. It is from the spélem-úlh that the shíshálh received knowledge of wood working, and proprietary access to the wood supply of tems swiya. The skwákwiyám identifies no less than ten spélem-úlh who are directly associated with knowledge of wood products, touching on virtually every aspect of the shíshálh economy, ranging from the manufacture and use of weapons, transport, and the mass harvest of food (Figure 6-5). 260 Figure 6-5. List of spélem-úlh associated with the production of technology associated in whole or in part with wood. Reference Source Source Date Location Name Gender(#) Knowledge Suttles BJ 1952 Pender Harbour – Male spear CA Pender Harbour – spear Barnett 1955 Pender Harbour – men(2), wife Suttles BJ/CA 1952 Porpoise Bay w'yƏx lmƏt Male tools for canoe making Suttles BJ 1952 Saltery Bay – paddle making tools Suttles BJ 1952 Deserted Bay – bow and arrow Suttles BJ 1952 Huneachin laxᵂléxᵂǝlǝq, ḱᵂayÉxcǝt [-sǝt?], kᵂẑlos male(3) Peterson 1958-63 Porpoise Bay – Male canoe making Peterson 1958-63 Saltery Bay – 2 brothers making yew wood paddles Peterson 1958-63 Deserted Bay – 3 brothers bow and arrow, spear, harpoon BJ=Basil Joe, BM=Bill Mitchell, SS=Sarah Silvey, CA=Celia August For many non-shíshálh residents of tems swiya, logging is typically assumed to have been forced upon the shíshálh as part of the colonizing process. The idea of the shíshálh or any other First Nation engaging in the “forest industry” is at odds with Euro-Canadian biases and stereotypes of First Nations relationships with the natural environment. As with many other aspects of shíshálh practice, the general population is surprised, and adverse to accept the idea that logging on any scale, other than at a minor and sustainable level, was antithetical to shíshálh beliefs. But, as historian Susan Roy has expressed in her study of the role of shíshálh women in the logging industry, the forest industry had an importance beyond its economic value, it also “connected Shíshálh families to the territory” (Roy and Taylor 2012:105). In Chapter 3 I discussed how movement throughout tems swiya by the shíshálh re-enforced the spélem-úlh system by bringing the shíshálh into repeated and intense daily interaction with spélem-úlh, and other cosmological beings, the passing of named landscapes, and the consumption of tems swiya through the ingesting of food. Logging similarly provided the same opportunities allowing the shíshálh to return to and occupy their ancient village sites and conduct socio-economic activities associated with the old economy. In doing so they could 261 continue ancient practices beyond the eyes of the colonial authorities. For example, shíshálh Elder Margaret Joe-Dixon recounted to me in 2007, that as a young child she had witnessed and participated in a “First Salmon” ceremony conducted by her family while they were living at ts'únay (Deserted Bay) where the adults were engaged in fishing and logging (Margaret Joe-Dixon, personal communication 2007). By repeatedly returning to areas to log, the shíshálh were also reaffirming their connection to place, the resources families had always owned, and to the spélem-úlh from which proprietary access to resources originated (Roy and Taylor 2012). The continuity in the practice of resource ownership can be traced through ethnographic evidence. In 1927 Tel-es-ol-wet a shíshálh woman described to anthropologist Harlan I. Smith how the pictograph in lílkw'émin (Agamemnon Channel) identified group ownership of territory and resources (Smith 1935:3). In a 1997 interview, shíshálh Elder Madeline described how an individual family’s ownership of processed cedar shakes was identified by through the colour of the tie that was used to secure each bundle. And they (women) tie up their cedar shakes, they make them long like as high as the house going to be, eight feet, tie a bundle, big bundle like this, tie it together and each family’s got their own colour of tie so they know who’s who, who owns it” (Joe and Joe interview 1997 in Roy and Taylor 2012:110). Benny Joe in an interview with teacher and labour activist Frank Fuller, described in detail the process of logging, which involved both women and men, while integrating elements of both the old and the new economies. We had a little goi [gas] boat. Dad bought it for five hundred dollars. We use to come and pick up some groceries at Union Steamship here; then we would pack it across there (to Porpoise Bay), load it on the boat and away we’re going up Sechelt Inlet, Narrows Arm, Salmon Arm. We had a nice time. We would take the goi [gas] boat to one place up the inlet. We put the canoes on a tow line. We would camp in one place. Then they would use the dugout canoe to get where they were logging. The women would use the canoes to go out. They had old canoes, you know—dugout. My dad made some of them. The women were the cookers—cookers and berry pickers. They would gather food—some would pick berries and some would go jigging cod (Joe nd). 262 We use to pick a day, like maybe Friday or Saturday. We would to [go] up to some burnt out old logging camp with lots of wild black berries, eh. We jumped off, walk up, pick all the berries and bring them back. When the tide was low, we looked for a clam beach—cockle and flat clams and what have you. We dug them. I know all those things (Joe 1987:1-2). In a second passage, presented below, Clarence Joe provides a similar picture of the lifestyle provided by logging, in this account he clearly merges characteristics of both the old and new economies. We pretty well lived off the land. They too lived off the land. A lot of their store food was flour, sugar, tea and what not. This is talking for my grandfathers’ time. A lot of time, care of pilot bread I seen, you know, the round biscuits. Everything was in cases, what I[n] wooden boxes, a sack of flour, all in hundred pound sacks, sugar was all in hundred pound bags—sacks. Lots of beans. They had gardens then. Later on in the years in Jervis Inlet, Hunaechin and Tsoh-nye, there were gardens all up on both sides of the river. This was in the time when my grandfather, you might say, was getting to be an elderly people. They had a lot of gardens; they had a lot of fruit trees and lots of time they were supplying the logging camps. In my grandfathers’ time when he got old, he was supplying the logging camps selling the vegetables to the logging camps. My grandfather would go fishing cod or salmon—go selling them to logging camps. I remember him selling fresh fish to the camps and selling vegetable—potatoes, cabbage, carrots (Clarence Joe n.d.). When we compare the accounts presented above to the petitions submitted by the shíshálh to the Royal Commission 69 years earlier, with an example presented below, we can see a clear distinction in the mindset of the shíshálh during these two periods and within these two varied practices. Now, my father and grand-fathers have lived there and cleaned that place. No white man has cleaned it. Besides, this is the only salmon creek where we Tlúalt [Klaalth?] get our fish for winter. Then the Royal Commission has taken the matter up and promised us favorable consideration. Now we hear about proceedings against. Any decent Indian should loose [sic] his temper under such trying circumstances. We poor people do not even know where we are at home now and when I was a young man the whole country belonged to us (Paul 1918). We have been poor and miserable fore [sic] years and the Commission is going round to help the Indian, so we ask the lands we wish to get from were [sic] we will become better (Paul 1915b). It is hard to determine whether the shíshálh reconciled logging as a replacement for the old economy, but regardless, the characteristics described by Clarence and Benny Joe and the 263 similarities with elements of the old economy are clear. In the second passage provided by Clarence Joe, he describes how in the latter stages of his grandfather Joe Le Dally’s life there were gardens at xénichen (Hunaechin), ts'únay (Deserted Bay), and lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet). Because of their engagement in the logging industry, this one passage indicates that Le Dally and his family would pass by at least thirty-six named places and encounter seven spélem-úlh while attending their gardens. So intense was shíshálh involvement in the lumber industry that, well into the twentieth century, Indian Agents knew that was impractical to visit shíshálh housholds prior to June as they were all away logging (McDonald 1903; Ball 1933; Roy and Taylor 2012). Discussion: Effects on the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship We have been poor and miserable fore [sic] years and the Commission is going round to help the Indian, so we ask the lands we wish to get from were [sic] we will become better (Paul 1915b:2). Whosoever takes our fishing or hunting rights from us, might just as well take our lives too (John 1915:3). I do not exaggerate in saying that some of these Indians die if they lose their land; they take it so much to heart (Sproat 1879). The central thesis explored in this chapter is that the resettlement of tems swiya and resource extraction, principally logging, had a profound effect upon the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship, and by extension the spélem-úlh system. Many of the changes that occurred were driven in part by the shíshálh, who like many First Nations throughout British Columbia recognized that if they did not change, they could very well be exterminated. Shíshálh agency during this period is visible in the pre-emptive actions taken by the shíshálh, including hiwus Schelle’s expulsion of the loggers, the adoption of logging, and to a lesser degree agriculture. I consider shíshálh agency within the context of the threat of the everpresent threat physical and cultural extermination that existed throughout the period covered by this chapter. 264 Undoubtedly the parameters within which the shíshálh could exert agency were limited, they had to identify areas within which agency could be asserted and attempt to steer events in a favourable direction. By being proactive in their efforts, they could maintain a degree of control over the process by which their society was transformed, including to some degree, political, economic, and social autonomy, all of which were expressed within the continued occupation and subsequent maintenance of their relationship with tems swiya. In previous chapters, we observed how neither smallpox, nor the OMI affected the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. During the course of these tumultuous events both maintained the social relationship with the other, the shíshálh continued to maintain intense daily contact with the physical and cosmological world that composed tems swiya, while tems swiya continued to nurture, and eventually consume, the shíshálh people. The census data collected by the OMI (Durieu 1873), Blenkinsop (1877), and then the Royal Commission (1913-1916) clearly illustrate that although the primary shíshálh residential centre was now located at ch'atelích (Sechelt), many continued to maintain a presence throughout the entirety of tems swiya. This was recognized by Oblate Missionary Father Thomas Francois OMI, who in 1898 put in a request to his superiors that he be allowed to live among the shíshálh “… to follow them as they practiced their nomadic life …” (Thomas 1898:263-268): A good part of the year they spend in the bush or up in the mountains, sleeping in tents at night, following the hunt for deer, which together with fish, constitutes their daily bread, and also the hunt for bear which provides them with pelts for sale… A second example of this continued presence comes from a letter written by the hiwus George along with three fellow hiwus, who in 1913 wrote to the Royal Commission on Indian Reserves protesting the trespass and occupation of their lands at Skookumchuk by a “half-breed” (George et al. 1913). 265 Not only were the shíshálh residing at the resource procurement sites like those alluded to by Father Thomas, and described in the census data, they were also as the above passage suggests, residing at a series of larger residential sites located at ch'atelích (Sechelt), lékw'émin (Jervis Inlet), kálpilín (Pender Harbour), ts'únay (Deserted Bay), and the státéláp (Skookumchuk-SBL 27), with many smaller settlements consisting of a single family, located at former sites previously occupied only during the summer months (Blenkinsop 1877). The census data, and the petitions indicate that while, in general, the shíshálh population was moving south, the letter of Father Thomas suggests that it was in the periphery away from ch'atelích and along the inlets to the north—beyond the eyes of the colonial authoritie—that the old economy continued. The continued occupation of tems swiya was facilitated by a mixture of elements from both the old and new economies. Throughout the southern reaches of tems swiya the shíshálh were increasingly engaged in the new economy. A review of the thirty-six petitions cited in Figure 6-1, revealed seven requests to increases allotments of land for agricultural purposes, and two for tracts of land to increase timber supply for logging. Notably, one of the petitions requested 2000 acres adjacent to the community of ch'atelích (Sechelt) to facilitate increased agricultural production. The process described above signified the initiation of the change in the shíshálh-tems swiya relationship. No longer were all the shíshálh daily encountering the cosmological beings from which they descended, and who guided them in their daily lives. The place names, stories, spélem-úlh, and cosmological beings, which they once encountered as they travelled throughout tems swiya to harvest resources, and visit family and friends were, for many, increasingly becoming strangers. Children who were born after the introduction of the new economy could only occasionally experience tems swiya as their parents had. 266 So profound were the changes, that in 1914 a petition signed by 33 shíshálh, including five hiwus, called for the banning of the Potlatch, along with a series of other practices, including the superstitious dances, and tamanoes (Chiefs 1914). The petition described these customs as being “absolutely opposed to civilization, religion, prayers etc.” (Chiefs 1914). The petition was also notable as it was signed by Joe Le Dally, and by many shíshálh who provided petitions to the Royal Commission. The petition was penned by Edm. Patavin, O.M.I., so the negative view of the “old ways” voiced by the shíshálh should be taken with caution. Were the shíshálh truly denouncing their culture, or was this part of the larger strategy, whereby they presented a picture of appeasement to the colonial authorities, while continuing ancient practices beyond the colonizers gaze? However, ethnographer Charles Hill-Tout, during his 1902 field work among the shíshálh described them as “the most industrious and prosperous of all the native peoples in the Province” (Hill-Tout 1904:93). Regardless of the full nature of the changes that were occurring within shíshálh culture, it is clear that the shíshálh Indigenous epistemologies and ontologies were in decline, their habitus was clearly changing, and each succeeding generation began to approach the events of the colonial conflict by drawing on their own experience within the new economy. The old ways were becoming history rather than practice. Change was not uniform however. Some shíshálh, including leaders, were adopting the newer ways while, simultaneously, as Father Thomas (1898) describes earlier in this chapter, many continued to practice the old economy. What is certain, however, is that the transformation of the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship that began in 1869 with the arrival of settlers, marked the beginning of the end of the embrace, and the end of the spélem-úlh system. The tripartite kin-based relationship of shíshálh–spélem-úlh–tems swiya, which represented a totally integrated socio-economic scheme, maintained through the constant long-term intense encounter with the 267 material and immaterial world was faltering. Alienation from lands and resources no longer brought the shíshálh into daily contact with the material and immaterial world, people and tems swiya were diverging. The maintenance of the relationship that logging could provide had its limits, and only a small part of tems swiya could be experienced through commercial logging. Alternately, wholesale adoption of elements of the new economy, including agriculture and farming served to further alienate the shíshálh from tems swiya. This transformation of the relationship would continue for years to come, eventually culminating in the signing of the Self-Government Agreement in 1996, and the morphing of tems swiya from kin to real estate. 268 CHAPTER 7: Self Government: Completing the Transformation The central theme of this dissertation is that the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya conditioned the shíshálh response to contact and colonialism. In turn, this relationship was itself transformed due to the stresses of the colonial conflict. I addressed this theme through four lines of data; archaeology, history, ethnography, and the immaterial realm of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions). These lines of data were used to analyse the shíshálh response to five discernable events, drawn out over nearly 225 years, and spanning roughly eleven generations; (1) the late 18th century devastation of the smallpox epidemic, (2) contact with the British in 1792 and subsequent early colonial encounters (Merchant 2012; Vancouver 1801), (3) the influence of the Oblates (OMI) following their arrival in 1852 (Meyer 1985), (4) the initiation of resource alienation in the form of timber interests in 1868, and (5) the arrival of settlers in the 1870s with its associated processes of land-alienation. The consequences of these events converge in the contemporary era, where we see the shíshálh negotiating economic partnerships with hydro-electric projects, forest licensees and other commercial interests. The primary cultural expression examined in this dissertation is the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya, and how it has changed through time. Transformations are not solely the result of external forces, they are also the result of associated internal pressures, often expressed through intense and confrontational community dialogue that straddles traditional kin-based networks on the one hand and recently introduced Euro-Canadian political structures on the other. Nowhere are these transformations more obvious than in the economic agreements negotiated for the personal benefit of political elites, and their families and at times for the collective benefit of the shíshálh. Negotiated across ethnic boundaries, with Federal, Provincial and local governments and local and international developers, these agreements are expressions 269 of the transformations that have occurred within the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. The emergence of a new cultural expression, though distinctly different from those of the pre-contact or colonial eras, are no less legitimate—rather, they represent a constant pattern of change and continuity, whereby the shíshálh merge the ancient socio-economic practices of tems swiya with those of the contemporary world, creating in Sahlins’ (1999: 411) term, a “modernization of indigeneity,” ensuring shíshálh survival through the twenty-first century. In this chapter I present a brief summary of each of the preceding chapters, and examine the implications relating to the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. I end this volume with my overall conclusions and present some final thoughts regarding how the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship may develop in the future. Chapters 1 through 6 I began this dissertation by defining tems swiya, my experience within it and introducing my theoretical and methodological frameworks. The data employed in this work came from four disparate–but linked–lines of data: archaeology, history, ethnography and the immaterial realm of the skwákwiyám (shíshálh oral traditions). These four sources of data were used to analyse the shíshálh response to five discernable events—all of which are described in Chapters 3 through 6. Examination of these events allowed me to explore shíshálh responses to the colonial conflict and the resulting changes to the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. In Chapter 2 I explored the various reconstructions of Coast Salish territories that have been developed by researchers during the last century, with an emphasis on answering the question: how they relate to tems swiya? I did not attempt to debunk the various models, rather, I put forth an argument that is consistent with post-colonial theory—one that shows how a 270 localized approach can be incorporated within a larger understanding of Coast Salish territoriality. This allowed me to invert the typical practice, whereby a broad framework is transposed onto local peoples and shift it by giving priorty to the local perspectives. This approach shows that typical reconstructions of individual Coast Salish territories have prioritised Colonial frameworks of space and time and, with few exceptions, are primarily informed by data drawn from a single discipline, either ethnography, ethnohistory, history or archaeology. The longterm negative effect of this approach has been to create interpretive models that are confined in scope but broad in application, thereby obfuscating the specificity of local variation. I concluded that the orthodox view of territory as developed by Suttles (1987) and Elmendorf (1960:257-258) has, for the shíshálh, obscured differences between them and their neighbours, simultaneously undermining their legitimate claims to territory. At the same time, this orthodox view of Coast Salish territories has the community’s own perceptions of both individual and group identity. Lastly, I conclude that theoretical frameworks that have led to models that typically privilege the material/functional, and to a lesser degree the spiritual/immaterial, have been neither holistic nor consistent with Indigenous perspectives. Instead, I propose that researchers should move away from territorial reconstructions of people-land relationships that are purely utilitarian/functional to models and descriptions of territory that emphasize the dynamic nature of changing social and familial relationships. Chapter 3 presents an alternative model of territory, as applied to the shíshálh while drawing on multiple data sets, including archaeology, ethnography and oral traditions, and incorporating ideas about the role of the material and immaterial realms in the shíshálh understanding of territory. In doing so I create a territorial reconstruction that is not solely socially, economically, or geographically based, but rather it is a composite of all three. This 271 approach recognizes territories as an expression of a totally integrated socio-economic scheme—herein described as the spélem-úlh system. This approach remains consistent with a post-colonial theory that focuses on the local rather than general/non-local patterns, while privileging an Indigenous anthropology that recognizes the social relationship between people, plants, animals and cosmological beings that inhabit and constitute the physical territories in which the shíshálh have always lived. Throughout the chapter it becomes obvious that the archaeological record provides a unique means through which we can describe the shíshálh conception of tems swiya and observe the intensity and long duration of this relationship. This is Sahlins’ concept of “intersubjectivity,” whereby kinsmen are persons who “belong to one another, who are parts of one another, who are co-present in each other, whose lives are joined and interdependent” (Sahlins 2013:21). Kinfolk are persons who are parts of one another to the extent that what happens to one is felt by the other. However, the archaeological record only advances our understanding of territory so far, since its focus on the material does not allow us to fully appreciate the role of the immaterial/cosmological aspect of this relationship. For this we must turn to the skwákwiyám. Throughout their daily lives the shíshálh repeatedly encountered the place names, named landscapes and spélem-úlh that populated their cosmological world. The place names informed them of their collective history, a history embedded within tems swiya. With each encounter, they could see and experience the physical manifestations of their ancestors’ actions and how they had approached events in the past and thereby understand the appropriate forms of action that they themselves were expected to uphold in the present. The spélem-úlh were critical in this process because they literally connected the shíshálh to place, adding a deeply felt personal 272 connection to the place names and named landscapes while simultaneously providing examples of successful strategies and outcomes when dealing with everyday activities and challenges. The evidence presented indicates that virtually all that the shíshálh consumed was drawn from the confined space of the fjords hemmed in by their surrounding mountain peaks and defined by the network of interconnected inlets and waterways that comprised tems swiya. This brings us back to the passage in Chapter 2, where Walky told Phil Joe that: “We own everything. As far as your eye could see that way, that way, that way, that way, it’s all ours.” Walky’s description is contextual—this is what one sees while travelling by boat along the water ways of tems swiya—the entire shíshálh world can in fact be observed from the ocean floor to the mountain tops “as far as the eye can see.” It is all the shíshálh world, it is tems swiya. Within this world is the material, physicial archaeological record that the shíshálh created and it remains as an everpresent testimony to the skwákwiyám. The shíshálh were not confined to tems swiya, they ranged beyond its boundaries to trade, socialize and explore, but the intensity of their relationship with tems swiya was so extreme, as observed in their consumption of the material and immaterial of the sea and land, that it established an intense and all-encompassing kin relationship with tems swiya. Returning to Suttles warning regarding generalities, I stress that the kin-based model I have presented may only be applicable to the shíshálh—though I suspect that it is closely mirrored in similar ways throughout the Indigenous cultures of the Salish Sea. Finally, the chapter concluded with a discussion of the kin relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya that was established and maintained through intense daily interaction. It is logical, therefore, that that changes in the degree of interaction would result in changes in the relationship. 273 In Chapters 4 through 6, I examined five events within the context of the strategies employed by the shíshálh, and their role in eventual transformation of the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. Chapter 4, The Phony War, introduces the first two events: the arrival and devastation of smallpox sometime in the late eighteenth century and the face-to-face contact between the shíshálh and British in 1792. I began the chapter by defining events and the nature of shíshálh agency, drawing on an example from Hawaii for comparison. I then proceeded to an analysis of a series of events, each of which was examined in the context of a series of oral traditions that corresponded to the segmentary levels of the social sphere (Sahlins 1985:58), thereby bringing the symbolic scheme of the spélem-úlh system from the cosmological realm into the everyday terrestrial world. Through this analysis I reconciled discrepancies between the archaeological and historical records, illuminating the shíshálh response to the two events discussed. This was accomplished by drawing on four data sets; the skwákwiyám, archaeological information, ethnographic records and, finally historical documents. All of these were examined through the theoretical framework of “perennial philosophy” (Armstrong 2005:2), or what Sahlins calls “mythopraxis.” According to this perspective, everything that occurs in the terrestrial realm—everything that we can see, hear and touch—has its counterpart in the cosmological and divine realms that are “richer, stronger and more enduring than our own” (Armstrong 2005:2). This perspective contends that humans’ appropriate experiences according to an already existing cosmological pattern that supposedly resides inside collective consciousness of a specific group. Events are historical and intertwined with mythic themes that are recurring and regenerative (Carlson 2007a; Sahlins 1989). The central thesis explored Chapter 4, is that the opening stages of the colonial conflict—first smallpox then face-to-face contact—had little effect on the relationship between the 274 shíshálh and tems swiya. Although smallpox has been described as “…the largest known demographic collapse in North American history” (Arnett 2016:43), it is evident that the shíshálh responded to it in a culturally prescribed manner and employed tactics that had proved so successful throughout their history. They regrouped within tems swiya, waited for the event to pass then atomized: in some cases, returning to their villages and in others remaining within their consolidated villages for extended periods. Regardless of the particular settlement choices made by different subgroups, the shíshálh remained within tems swiya: they did not migrate elsewhere to eventually be absorbed within a distant population: instead, they continued to consume it and in turn be consumed and the crucial kin relationship was maintained. This assured that the social relationship between the shíshálh people and tems swiya did not change—rather, it remained intact, allowing them to face the next stages of the conflict, the arrival of the OMI and a second wave of smallpox with a re-enforced strategic practice informed by a cultural logic that had proven effective for millennia and had been successful in mitigating the first stage of this unfolding conflict. As the spélem-úlh system persisted following these opening events, it appears that the shíshálh may not have recognized the dramatic difference between this emerging colonial conflict and previous catastrophes that their ancestors had faced. Whereas previous events were finite, the colonial conflict had just begun, and it would continue indefinitely, with increasing intensity, and eventually extending beyond the bounds of shíshálh cultural logic. Although during the initial few decades of the colonial conflict the spélem-úlh system remained intact, it eventually had to change—but not until taking on one more adversary—the OMI. Chapter 5 reassessd the third event, the arrival of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (OMI) and the impact that they had on the shíshálh–tems swiya relationship. This was accomplished by 275 attempting to answer two questions: (1) why did the shíshálh participate in the mass acceptance of Christian ritual in the form of baptism and marriage? and (2) why did they relocate to ch’atelích (Sechelt) in 1868? I began this reassessment with a review of the two leading analyses of the OMI mission: Lemert’s sociological analysis (1954) and Fowler’s (1990) historical review. I then proceeded to a discussion of the OMI and their distinct missionary strategy as presented in the Durieu System. This included a discussion of the acceptance of Christian ritual by the shíshálh and their move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) in 1868, both of which were analysed first within the context of the smallpox epidemic that struck the shíshálh in 1862, and second within the context of the narratives presented in the skwákwiyám. The OMI mission has been described as one of the most successful of all coastal missions, viewed as the Catholic Church’s answer to William Duncan’s better-known Church Missionary Society at Metlakhatla (Fowler 1990:52). Scholarly enquiry into the Sechelt mission began with Edwin Lemert’s The Life and Death of an Indian State (1954), a sociological analysis that focused on disruption to shíshálh culture and social systems as a consequence of the OMI mission. He concluded that the Oblate Mission accomplished the complete conversion of the shíshálh between 1862-1871 (Lemert 1954). Lemert’s thesis was adopted by future scholars, the constant re-iteration of which (Duff 1964; Fisher 1990; Kennedy 1969) led to its acceptance as the orthodox view of shíshálh daily life for the period between 1860 and 1904 (Fowler 1990). The shíshálh government has recently added credence to Lemert’s thesis, adopting his position, as observed in the preface to the Sechelt Dictionary: Under the Durieu system, which prevailed for several years, the lives of the newly converted Sechelters were severely restricted. The people apparently took up the Catholic faith and its rituals with enthusiasm, but in so doing they had to give up cultural traditions (dancing, potlatching, shamanism, etc.) that were in conflict with church dogma (Beaumont 2011: ix). 276 In contrast, historian Rodney Fowler writing nearly forty years after Lemert, and relying upon “Oblate and secular documents” (Fowler 1990:60), systematically deconstructed Lemert’s thesis, suggesting that “the impact of the Mission was considerably less disruptive of traditional culture than Lemert asserts” (Fowler 1990:60). Fowler concluded that there “is little historical evidence to suggest that the Sechelt mission alone was particularly disruptive of traditional Sechelt culture and lifestyle” (Fowler 1990:62-63). Rather, he exonerates the Oblates, placing the blame for any cultural disruption that did occur on broader social and economic forces that were pervading the newly formed colony (Fowler 1990:62). Although debate surrounding the influence of the mission on the shíshálh is dichotomized, with scholars either advancing the position that missionaries caused great destruction to shíshálh culture (Lemert 1954)—or they didn’t (Fowler 1990), there is little debate that the shíshálh, at the direction of the OMI, willingly participated in the OMI missionary strategy: they relocated to present day Sechelt in 1868, a move that facilitated the rapid and near complete administration of baptism and marriage rites to a large segment of the shíshálh population by 1871 (Brabender 1935; Lemert 1954). What is clearly absent from these analyses is any serious inquiry into the shíshálh motivations to engage with the OMI and the historical context within which the shíshálh–OMI relationship developed. When we review the events surrounding the establishment of the Sechelt mission and the effects of the OMI on shíshálh social and political organization within the context of the arguments put forward by Lemert and Fowler, it appears clear that Lemert’s analysis is far from accurate. His primary shortcomings include his failure to account for any form of shíshálh agency and his inadequate consideration of the temporal/historical context within which the OMI arrived. Much like his contemporaries and those who immediately followed, including the OMI 277 themselves, Lemert failed to appreciate the strategic objectives of the shíshálh, and how they viewed their place within the colonial conflict. Through a review of these two salient aspects of the shíshálh-OMI relationship—the adoption of Christian ritual, and the shíshálh move to ch’atelích (Sechelt)—it becomes clear that the OMI did not dramatically affect shíshálh culture. As historical documents have shown (Reverand Father Fouquet to Very Reverend Father, Superior General, letter, 20 December 1868) that the OMI recognized that the adoption of Christian ritual by the shíshálh and other First Nations was not necessarily indicative of the conversion to Christianity, rather it could be interpreted as guaranteeing that all possible means were adopted to ensure that equilibrium was restored following the catastrophic smallpox outbreak of 1862. For the shíshálh, the move to ch’atelích (Sechelt) was just another move and consolidation, reenacting a pattern of mobility that had existed for millennia including the population consolidations described in Chapter 4. However, the fact that consolidation occurred six years after the 1862 smallpox epidemic suggests that some other powerful forces may also have influenced this move. During the earlier consolidations the shíshálh were clearly in control of events. The spélem-úlh system remained intact and the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya continued to be strong. In the same vein, during the events of the 1860s, the shíshálh who were providing transport and accommodation to the OMI appeared to be in a position of dominance—but to what degree remains uncertain. Furthermore, the shíshálh decision to return to one of their ancient villages where the OMI had begun to establish a mission, and to participate in Christian ritual when they deemed necessary, provides evidence that they were resisting change. It appears that the OMI Fathers, through their failure to adhere to the organization’s own theory of missionization, were themselves subject to the forces of change. So strong was shíshálh 278 resistance, that in 1898 the Oblates were still pursuing the shíshálh through the far reaches of tems swiya in attempts at conversion (Thomas 1898). In Chapter 6 I examined how the shíshálh responded to two distinct but interlocking events—resettlement of tems swiya and resource extraction exemplified by the timber industry—and I explored how these two events disrupted the spélem-úlh system by alienating the shíshálh from their lands and resources. In doing so I attempted to show that the shíshálh strategically responded to these two events, but not without longterm consequences for the shíshálh–tems swiya social relationship. These events transformed shíshálh indigeneity as encapsulated by the spélem-úlh system. Rather than considering indigeneity and Indigenous identity as ethnicity or ethnic identity, I consider it to be an epistemological or ontological perspective that is informed by the ongoing daily and intense interaction with the physical and immaterial worlds. The new strategies that the shíshálh began to employ moved, to some degree, away from their Indigenous ontologies, and instead drew on references to and experiences within the new economy. The consequence of this transformation is that the shíshálh habitus changed: with each succeeding generation that increasingly approached the stream of events created by the colonial conflict by drawing on their own experience within the new economy, the old perspectives became history rather than lived practice. Change was rapid because it had to be: the shíshálh couldn’t wait to be changed, they had to do it themselves. Changing Relationships The relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya has changed significantly over the past two and a half centuries, but this change has not been uniform nor consistent across all sections of 279 shíshálh society. At first glance the passage “lil xemit tems swiya nelh mes stutula” (roughly translated as “we are looking after our land, where we come from”, shíshálh Nation 2007) suggests a continuity of the relationship between the contemporary shíshálh and tems swiya, one that is consistent with the pre-1869 relationship. On another level, though, it is a political statement primarily intended for external audiences and meant to reinforce the notion of an extensive and intense relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. The second half of the passage “nelh mes stutula” (where we come from) resonates with the ancient theme of kinship, creating an image of a child emerging from its mother. Too often such statements are taken at face value with an uncritical eye, yet to do so is to ignore the events discussed in previous chapters, and in particular some of the strategic decisions taken by shíshálh leaders over many decades of struggle and compromise with successive colonial, provincial, and federal governments. Beginning in the 1980s, the shíshálh sought federal legislation to obtain greater control over reserve lands and reduce control of the Canadian government in their daily lives. Finally, on October 9, 1986, Canada enacted the Sechelt Indian Band Self Government Act. The purpose of this Act was to enable the Sechelt Indian Band to exercise and maintain self-government on Sechelt Lands, and obtain control over the administration of the resources and services available to Band members. The Act transferred the 33 Indian Reserves, formerly under control of the Indian Act, to the shíshálh, who now own them as fee simple lands. In practice, these lands can now be sold providing a majority of band support such initiative by referendum. The Act also contains a provision for the establishment of the Sechelt Indian Government District. On July 23, 1987 Canada passed the Sechelt Indian Government District Enabling Act (Canada 1986), 280 thereby establishing the Sechelt Indian Government District Council as the administrative arm of responsible for Band Land management (Shíshálh Nation 2007:13). The second significant event occurred in 1994 at the provincial level when the shíshálh submitted their statement of intent to the tripartite B.C. Treaty Commission. Five years later the Sechelt Agreement in Principle (AIP) was signed (British Columbia 1999), representing the penultimate stage in the tripartite negotiation between the shíshálh, Canada and British Columbia. The AIP called for the shíshálh to cede virtually the entirety of tems swiya, they would remain in control of a mere 933 hectares of rural and urban land–only 0.18 percent of tems swiya. In addition, they could acquire up to a maximum of 3,055 hectares of land within 24 years of signing of the treaty (British Columbia 1999:23). These two agreements represented the culmination of a nearly two and a half century-long process of transformation in the relationship between the shíshálh and tems swiya. These agreements are also representative of an ongoing internal conflict within the greater shíshálh community—one driven by alternate perceptions of the very nature of tems swiya. Not only did the Self Government Act essentially transform the shíshálh into a municipality, but the very few parts of the tems swiya they controlled (the 33 band lands [formerly reserves]) became a commodity that could be sold as common real estate. In addition, the shíshálh council at the time, through their negotiation of the proposed treaty, was willing to cede virtually the entirety of tems swiya in exchange for forty-two million dollars (British Columbia 1999:75-76). However, prior to final ratification of the treaty, opposition to the agreement by band members resulted in its rejection. 281 Alternate Views and Internal Tensions The two agreements described above, along with the ultimate rejection of the treaty, not only represent the choices available to shíshálh leaders, but they also lie in sharp contrast to the political stance and strategies of shíshálh leaders during the intense and often violent environment of the 19th century. Faced with smallpox, contact with missionaries and the intrusions of settlers, the shíshálh often relied on the wisdom and strategies of their ancestors as described in the skwákwiyám. With the potential loss of land, water and resources, shíshálh leaders initiated military conflict to retain access to resources, occupied village sites in the face of often violent evictions and they frequently petitioned for the return of ancestral lands. The intervention and defeat of the AIP in 2000 was consistent with the practices of the nineteenth century shíshálh and was the latest action in a long struggle to maintain control of tems swiya. On a general level, the treaty was perceived as an extremely poor agreement. For those who opposed the treaty, the decision was straightforward: they were simply not prepared to cede tems swiya. This action was consistent with similar actions and decisions of nineteenth century shíshálh leaders. The alternative was unimaginable, the complete alienation of tems swiya and the final severing of a relationship that had existed since the beginning of time. A direct outcome of the defeat of the treaty was the initiation of research in contemplation of a comprehensive title case, with the primary objective to obtain title to the entirety of tems swiya. This project initiated in 2000, by Robert Joe, one of shíshálh leaders and administrators that had opposed the AIP and who would eventually establish and direct the shíshálh Nation Rights and Title Department, was consistent with 19th century shíshálh political objectives. This project resulted in the collection of over 10,000 pages of oral testimony, the collection of thousands of historical documents, an extensive archaeological research program 282 and the public assertion of shíshálh territorial integrity. One of the primary objectives of this research program, which I participated in for nearly 14 years as both archaeologist and ethnographer, was to identify fully the parameters of tems swiya. On October 15, 2017 the shíshálh Nation gathered in their community hall to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of Self-Government. However, as the events discussed in Chapters 2 through 6 illustrate, the shíshálh have always been self-governing, so why a thirty year celebration? Did the participants recognize the contradiction in the celebration? Did all those attending truly accept that they had only been self-governing for thirty years? In celebrating Self-Government, the shíshálh were publicly recognizing the overthrow of the spélem-úlh system and by extension the dramatic degree to which their relationship with tems swiya has altered over the many decades since colonization by non-shíshálh settlers. The tensions of the colonial conflict have increasingly transformed the kin-based ties of the pre-contact era, giving rise to a more functional relationship, whereby many shíshálh view tems swiya not as kin, rather, as a source of economic opportunity. Internally, the differing degree to which individuals view this ancient relationship creates tension, giving rise to conflicts between those who are considered “traditional” and those who are not. Future Directions This study builds upon the work of many other scholars who have worked throughout the Coast Salish world and beyond. My approach has been to focus on the local and describe the shíshálh in terms that are consistent with my experiences living and working in their community. I have tried, where possible, to avoid making generalizations and conclusions that could be detrimental to our understanding of Coast Salish peoples—but even more importantly, that could be 283 detrimental to shíshálh social and political aspirations. In being locally focused I adhere to the wisdom of Suttles who warned against generalizations (1987) while simultaneously building on the work of Indigenous scholars such as Yumks (Rudy Reimer) (2011) a member of the Skwxwú7mesh Nation who moved has beyond the confines of the material to include the intensely personal, familial and social in his interpretation of the archaeological record. I have not taken this analysis into the contemporary era, in part because the events that have unfolded beyond the temporal limits of this work are so enormous, but also due to my personal removal from the daily developments of shíshálh life. What I have observed from a distance is that the shíshálh through recent strategic decisions have entered into economic partnerships, including logging, eco-tourism and hydro-electric developments that have provided the economic impetus for their sustained return to all of tems swiya.48 Finally, the loss of indigeneity does not have to be permanent, if the shíshálh are able to continue the process of returning to tems swiya on a regular basis, then their relationships with tems swiya have the potential to return to modes that echo, if not replicate, the pre-1868 era. However, this can only be achieved through a process of reconciliation, whereby the non-shíshálh who occupy tems swiya come to terms with—and acknowledge—the very real historical events and processes described in this study. 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As far as the eye can see : the shíshálh in their territory, 1791-1920
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