Bringing Dad Home

Dad, Harry 'Basso' Menzies was born and raised on BC's north coast. He spent his life on the water. Half his life he lived in Prince Rupert. The second half he lived in the lowermainland, primarily on Bowen Island. Even as he lived on Bowen he continued to return home as a commercial fisherman fishing salmon, herring, and halibut all along the north coast. He kept coming home even when he had stopped fishing. When he became too infirm to travel himself he kept tabs on things through a network of family and friends.

Basso talks with skipper Justin Dickens

Dad kept his wits about him to the end. But there were moments when his sense of the present dissolved. In those moments he would often be on the boat focussed on solving a problem. 

One time he needed me to find the flashlights to check something out in the engine room. Another time I was sent down to the engine room to pump the boat out. Dragging anchor was a major item -both in life and in memory. Several times I had calls from Dad asking me to help him keep the boat on anchor.

Dad liked to talk current issues - the price of halibut in 'Rupert, what boats were landing what kinds of fish in 'Rupert. He did pay attention to other news as he had become a regular CBC listener this past decade. But it was 'Rupert news that kept his attention.

Dad belongs to the north coast and over the long weekend at the end of September I brought him home. 

A memorial reception was held in the First United Church Hall, Saturday September 28, 2024. The attendees included retired commercial fishermen who had known him, family and friends from Gitxaala, Prince Rupert, and the Interior. It was a warm audience who stayed after the short program and talked about Dad and their memories of him.

Dad was born a member of the Eagle clan. His own mother Elizabeth Menzies, nee Gamble, was herself born in Laxh Klan (Kitkatla). Her  mother, first wife of Edward Gamble, was Ellen Denis descendent of a Tlingit Eagle Clan house. Family member Craig Bolton (Eagle Clan) mc'ed the program. Reverend Derry Bott gave the opening and closing prayers. My cousin Anne Barrett (the daughter of my father's sister) shared reflections.  I also shared my memories of Dad. Family member Merle Bolton (Eagle Clan) coordinated and organized the refreshments for the attendees.

The support and assistance of my north coast family was critical in making the reception such a success.

On Sunday, September 29, 2024, Justin Dickens met us at the Cow Bay floats to take us across the Harbour to McNichol Creek, a place that was important to Dad as a young man and child. His family spent a lot of time there during the depression years. They caught fish and crabs, hunted, picked berries, and lived their lives. 

Later as an adolescent and young man he played and partied there with friends and family. 

I was joined by by cousin Eddie Davies (son of my father's sister) and his son Alan. As we pulled into the mouth of McNichol Creek Eddie regaled us with stories of life and times in the cabins. He talked 

about how he spent the first six months of his life living with his family in a cabin at McNichol Creek. His Dad and another man would row to work every morning.

My own father often spoke about rowing across the harbour as a child. He would tell how his sister Babe would swim across the harbour. No small feat.

Eddie, Alan and I stepped out onto the bow of Justin's boat, checked the  

direction of the wind, then slowly let Dad return to the waters of the north coast. We paused in the silence of the moment. I took one final photo of the eagle crested bentwood box that had held Dad on his final voyage.  

Justin turned the boat around and took us back to the dock.

Eulogy, September 28, 2024. Harry Basil Menzies Memorial Reception, Prince Rupert

Harry Basil Menzies, born of a Scottish-Canadian father Harry Menzies (whose family arrived in southern Ontario in the early 1800s) and a Tsimshian mother Elizabeth Gamble (whose family is rooted in this land since time immemorial).  

b. September 12, 1929; d. July 23, 2024.

 

Dad grew up on the north coast. He spent time with his parents out in Grassy Bay and over at McNichol Creek. From a young age he had a lot of freedom to do what he wanted and go where he pleased – mostly this was out on the water. He would tell me about visiting with his grandfather Edward Gamble on his boat when it came into harbour and tied up at CowBay or how Edward and Alice Gamble would visit up at the house on 8^th that Dad grew up in. 

 

He shared stories of his own Dad’s family coming to Victoria and then how the brothers worked their way up the coast to Prince Rupert via Rivers Inlet. He did a relief shift on the MV Thomas Crosby once. ON that trip he was able to go ashore at Rivers Inlet and see the headstone of an uncle who had died while working there.

 

Dad and I spent a lot of time talking about family, who they are and how we were related. These stories were often framed by events. He never just recited family trees, he told stories about the people and how we were connected emerged through the telling. 

 

Dad worked most of his life. I rarely heard him complain about it. He took pride in his stories of work. He told how one morning as he slept in his father came to him and demanded he decide ‘go to school, or go to work.’ Dad replied ‘work’ – his own father then said okay, get dressed, there’s a job for you down at Fairview. So began Dads nearly 60 years of work in the fishing industry.

 

Dad spent much of his time since the 1980s living in the lowermainland. But the north coast was always home. Until a few years ago Dad kept the family home on Eight Avenue East. Several generations of Dad’s family grew up in that house. My sisters and I did. My memories of our childhood home is interwoven with his stories and photos of my father’s own childhood there.

 

Dad kept coming home. His fished halibut out of Prince Rupert until he was in his 70s. But even when he stopped fishing he kept coming up the coast every year to have the Miss Georgina pulled out of the water at McLean’s shipyard. I typically stepped in as his deckhand and traveling companion on those trips. Sometimes my own sons came along, sometimes other family members. We would head up the coast pulling into his favourite anchorages, every place had a story.

Neither man nor boat were really in the best of shape. One trip we had to drape a giant tarp over the bow to hold the water from leaking in through the stem. Dad enjoyed these trips but it was clear they were hard on him.

 

One fall, after working on the boat to get it ready to return south he gathered a crew – Eddie Davies and Norman Viktil, I was too busy at UBC to join in. He headed south just before thanksgiving. They got down to Namu. The weather was rough. The boat mechanics were breaking down. They had to tie up at Namu. They had a rough night at the dock. Dad decided to turn around and run back to Shearwater where he and his crew spent thanksgiving waiting for a mechanic to return to do a repair on the boat. Instead of finishing the trip south, they ran back to Rupert where the Miss Georgina sat at McLeans until she made her final trip across to Haida Gwaii tied alongside of the Star Wars. 

 

But that didn’t hold Dad back. He kept coming back to Rupert. When he couldn’t convince me to take him north Eddie drove down to Bowen to bring him here for his second to last trip. Dad loved that road trip. Today he is on his final journey, coming home to stay.

   

Thank you for being with us here as we remember Harry Basil Menzies. 

Harry Basil (Basso / Teddy) Menzies. b September 12, 1929; d. July 23, 2024.

Comments presented at August 17, 2024 Memorial Service on Bowen Island.

Harry Basil Menzies, born of a Scottish-Canadian father (whose family arrived in southern Ontario in the early 1800s) and a Tsimshian mother (whose family is rooted in this land since time immemorial). 

Harry & Elizabeth Menzies

Eleven years ago, we stood in this place to say goodbye to Shirley, our mother and Basso’s wife. Shirley and Basso were together for 52 years. I was with my father on the day Mom passed. We sat together with her. Then he said he was going home. In the parking lot we hugged, he held back his tears, and then got into his car to return to Bowen. I followed him on the next ferry.

 

I’ve spent many hours in my father’s company: as a child in the front seat of his car on the way to the boat, as a youth and adult in the wheelhouse of his boat travelling the coast, and as an older man sitting with him at his kitchen table. Then finally sitting with him as he left this world. Often, he would talk about his life -mostly about his work as a commercial fisherman, but occasionally about his youth and his family. Some of his stories had a clear arc, others were fragments that only made sense with a lifetime of listening to him. I will miss these moments with him.

 

 

Dad was born at home in Prince Rupert. My sisters and I grew up in that same house. My memories of our childhood home is interwoven with his stories and photos of my father’s own childhood there.

Sister 'Babe,' Dad, mother Elizabeth.

On thing my father liked to do was talk with people. He would learn about them and share stories of his own life all at the same time.

 

Dad’s life was defined by fishing. Not only did he work on the water, but he also took us all on holidays on the boat. We would fish, set crab traps, and explore coves and creeks all around the coast. When he and mom found themselves with grandchildren they took those children on the boat as well. Other grandparents take the kids to Disneyland, my parents took the grandkids jigging for rock cod.

 

During the 1930s depression my father’s family supplemented their meagre income with venison, seafood, and wild plants and berries. One of my favourites of Dad’s stories involved him and a cousin fishing salmon in McNicol Creek. They stood up to their chests in the creek holding a gillnet. Their two fathers rowed back and forth picking the salmon out of the net. “It was cold,” Dad would say. Relief came when his mother and aunt came rowing down the channel yelling at the men to take the boys out of the water.  

 

Dad and I spent a lot of time talking about family, who they are and how we were related. These stories were often framed by events – like his childhood gillnetting earlier mentioned which is story about Uncle Lee, cousin Vic, and Aunt Nettie in addition to fishing. 

Shirley and Basso Menzies.

My first remembered version of this story began in another story about Dad having been invited to beach seine at his grandfather’s fishing camp in Lowe Inlet. While an anthropologist like me might create an abstract chart connecting people, Dad told family as stories, moments, and events that explained the importance of the connections.

 

Another of Dad’s favourite stories dates to when he was second engineer on the Cape Perry in 1950.  They were collecting fish a couple of hundred miles south of Prince Rupert. An American bomber had crashed. Dad delighted in telling the story of rescuing the flight crew in the middle of a cold and windy night. Dad was interviewed by CBC radio when he was 87. They spun together a feature with modest editing. In another life Dad may well have been a radio commentator.

 

What made Dad’s radio story so powerful is its authenticity. He talked with the radio host the same way he would speak to any of us here. He draws us in, includes us, makes us feel valued. This was a strength of his, to be able to connect with all kinds of people.

 

I will miss my father. I know that you will also miss him in your own way.  On behalf of my sisters and our families, thank you for being with us as we remember Harry Basil Menzies. 

Dad on the wheel, FV Miss Georgina.

A memorial reception will be held in the First United Church Hall, Prince Rupert at 2pm on Saturday September 28, 2024.

FV Miss Georgina, RIP

Written Oct., 2022. 

In 1977 my Dad bought the Miss Georgina. I was actually with him when he shook the hand of John Strand (then owner of the Miss Georgina) to close the deal. We were in Vancouver over the Christmas break that year. Dad and John had no contract, just a verbal agreement and a handshake. I was impressed with the boat. Dad was too of course, but he was also impressed with the price $275,000. It was a lot of money, about 5 or 6 times the amount he had paid for the much older Ala Wai II in 1967 (which was sold a year and half after buying the Miss Georgina for about $380,000 and whose license made the Pacific Baron a possibility).

Dad bought his first boat, the Ala Wai II in 1967. That was a tough year. For political reasons, not fishy ones. Dad fished for the Prince Rupert Fishermen's Co-op and that year they went to head in a labour struggle with the United Fishermen and Allied Workers' Union. I've written about that conflict in a paper called On Permanent Strike. It was a hard year to go from working on the deck of the Silver Bounty to skippering his own boat, but by the end of the 1970s Dad, with the whole family,  had made it work. 

Crew of the Silver Bounty

Dad also ran the Lois N in the late 1950s and early 1960s. It was owed by Nickersons (then a ship chanderly). Prior to that he worked on and ran a series of boats, his very first a small packer out of Butedale in his teens.  

With the Ala Wai, one of the first things my parents did was rebuild the wheelhouse on her. It was quite small. The work was done at the Wahl Brothers shipyard in Cow Bay (there is nothing there today). I was in grade one when they did that, but remember the plans my mother drew up with the boat builders. I also remember spending lots of time at the shipyard playing in the boat shed and on the boat as the wheelhouse was built.

The Miss Georgina was a bigger, stronger, safer boat than the Ala Wai II (which had been built as a halibut longliner in the 1920s as the Ken Falls). I felt so proud to work the boat with my Dad. The 1970s was a period of rapid expansion in BC's fishing industry. Fish prices jumped and lots of money was made and lost. Interest rates for boat loans were in the double digits. For a year and a bit Dad owned both boats, but being in charge of a 'fleet' wasn't my Dad's idea of a good time so when Ray Krause made him an offer to buy the Ala Wai II one lunch time at Amy's Fairview Cafe at the Co-op, it didn't take Dad long to agree to sell that boat to Ray.

Since the early 1970s I spent every summer with Dad on his boat (well into the 1990s when I got hired at UBC).  I even spent a fishing season with Dad and his crew member Herbie when I was in grade five gill netting herring one winter (a four week holiday from school). Usually, my winter herring trips were restricted to the easter break so I didn't miss school.  In my grade twelve year I again took the entire season off to seine herring on the Miss Georgina. Mostly, I only went out in the summers. I hated having to step off the boat in the fall to return to school. I'll admit it, I even cried one September morning as the boat pulled away from the Co-op dock without me on it.  My late Uncle Fred Gamble took my place that time. 

I've written about how the time on the boat was more than just work, it was a transition into manhood and a culture of life that still clings to our coastline. I have a lot of memories on that boat. Memories of men who have passed away. Good times. Nasty times. Rough water, big fish trips. I learned about my father working with him and his crews. I sat many hours silent in the wheelhouse with him as we travelled the coast.

Miss Georgina, circa 1985.

The boat itself was built by Matsumoto Shipyards in the early 1950s. It was originally built as a table seiner. Shortly thereafter it was converted into a drum seiner (as shown in the photo adjoining, tied to the dock fully loaded in Prince Rupert).

Sometime in the 1970s then skipper John Strand tried to out run a storm fishing black cod off the Oregon coast. He took a big wave over the bow that knocked the wheelhouse loose and smashed all the forward windows. They made it back to port but then redid the wheelhouse with the raised up forward house I knew her with.  When Strand sold Dad the Miss Georgina he bought a bigger boat he then named Star Wars.

Miss Georgina, circa 1960s.

This past summer  (2022), Dad finally sold the boat. She had sat for almost a decade in Prince Rupert, tied to the dock at a local shipyard. Dad had planned on bringing the boat south, but on his last trip he only made it to Namu (about midway between 'Rupert and Vancouver). The weather drove him into harbour.  The boat wasn't fairing it well. After spending a tough night in Namu, he turned around and steamed to Shearwater / Bella Bella were he and his crew spent Thanksgiving. Once the weather calmed down he decided to return to Prince Rupert rather than continue heading south. That was his last time running the boat and she wasn't really up to travelling anymore herself.

Over the years the shipyard owner cared for Dad's boat. It came out of the water every year for inspection, but most everything else was left to the elements. From time to time I suggested Dad sell the boat.  For a number of reasons (fishing licences, nostalgia, emotion) he held off selling her. Then the shipyard was sold and the new owners wanted the boat gone. They had plans and those plans did not include old decaying fishboats owned by old men. The pandemic put everything in standstill for a couple years. But then this past year I convinced Dad it was time to sell the boat.

These things take time -about a year to be exact- but we had a buyer, the papers were signed and processed and then this summer the new owner took over responsibility for the Miss Georgina. 

Late last week the Miss Georgina left Prince Rupert Harbour tied alongside the Star Wars.  For the boat owner trivia buffs, Star Wars was the boat that John Strand bought when he sold Dad the Miss Georgina. So it's kind of fitting that the Star Wars was the Miss Georgina's escort to her final berth.

This last voyage was in good weather, but hard on the old boat. The crew taking her over had an 'arduous' time of it. Sadly, she didn't fair well. Despite having got her to her final resting place without serious mishap, she took on too much water while tied to the dock and found her self submerged today.

It is a sad state of affairs. At least she is now where she needs to be for this final stage of her life.

It is a bittersweet moment. I was pleased to see the Miss Georgina heading out on her final journey. The pictures of her submerged at the dock left a sad feeling. No boat should face such an indignity. 

As of Thanksgiving Day, Oct. 10, 2022, the Miss Georgina was brought back to the surface and is now floating as she should be.

I am relieved that there is at least a semblance of resolution for this beautiful old boat.  

Freshly painted at the dock ready to go is how I will remember this boat. Remembering the hours spent with my Dad helping him get her ready season after season.

--------

Some additional photos of better days.

Daniel Bruce Robin Ignas, DOB August 22, 1957; DOD February 21, 2023.

Daniel Ignas passed away in Terrace BC during the night of February 21, 2023. He was living with his mother, supporting her wish to live at home in her old age. His brother Dominic came that night to be with their mother and do the work of calling family and friends. Daniel's passing has left a hole in all our lives. 

Over the 41 years I had the pleasure of being Daniel's brother-in-law I spent many hours visiting and talking politics. We shared an interest in making the world a fairer, more just place. Daniel was a lifelong supporter and advocate of the New Democratic Party, I tend to sit to the left of that. Daniel was generous with his debate, while he might get flustered from time to time with criticisms of the NDP, I am certain my fellow brothers-in-law would agree, Daniel was always up for a good political conversation and he came well prepared.

Daniel studied at the then North West Community College where he meet many influential political thinkers and writers. When we spoke Daniel would talk with me about their theories and points of view on making our world a better place. We would debate their merits and enjoy the moment.  

Daniel's participation in NDP politics was very important to him. His adherence to a social justice political worldview framed, I think, his sense of himself as a caring and committed person. He wasn't satisfied with talk, he was actively involved in NDP politics and electoral campaigns. In the early 1980s he was, for example, an active organizer of Terrace's local peace movement.  

For many years we had a family election pool. He, along with fellow brother-in-law Harley, were enthusiastic participants in the pool. His support of the NDP never coloured his predications. Daniel often came closest to the the actual outcomes then the rest of us. 

Daniel was a favoured uncle. My sons loved the times Daniel would come to visit. I know my nieces who grew up in Prince George have similar memories of Uncle Dan. He loved a chance to visit. Christmas for sure was a special time for Daniel. As Heather shared (see below) we affectionately called him Uncle Christmas due to his enthusiasm to celebrate the season by distributing gifts (this, I am told was a trait that goes back to his childhood). 

In Vancouver we always waited for 'the sleigh' to turn up sometime in mid-December. Daniel would unload presents for our household.  We in turn tried to fill any empty space in his truck with gifts going north to Prince George and Terrace. Daniel maintained social connections in important ways across the vastness of BC and the distributed nature of a modern family.

Daniel spent much of his working life in the Ignas family contracting business. He variously operated heavy equipment and coordinated construction safety. On my research trips up north and back home it was a pleasure to meet up with Daniel.  Our work paths would often cross in 'Rupert or out in Lach Klan were he was involved in several major infrastructure projects. During one such moment he shared his 'Rupert home with me as I prepared to go gillnet fishing for food. He let me transform the place into a netloft and fish shed!

My visits north often overlapped with Daniel's birthday in August. Every time I could I would invite Daniel out for a birthday lunch or dinner. We did this for years. The last time we meet face to face was over dinner at The Crest in Prince Rupert in 2021. We had a great view of the harbour. We talked politics and work. He showed me photos of the jobs he was working. I shared my mountain goat research. We had a great time.

 This year as Daniel's birthday approaches I won't be able to have dinner with him. I won't be able to gather together in person with those who love him and wish him well on his next journey. But across the distance I will spend a moment with those I love saying good bye to a dear friend who enriched the lives of many people.

-------

The photograph was taken in August 2019, during the last time we (Barbara and Harley) spent with uncle Daniel.

It was taken on August 19th (auntie Elaine’s birthday) and “we spent it looking at one of the most beautiful places in the world”. 

Daniel and Rufous, Terrace BC, August, 2019

------

"Daniel was my older  brother and  it was he who I chose to give  the “toast to the bride” at my wedding and  with his sudden passing I will cherish his words even more.   Daniel became part of my new family and he helped us celebrate many happy times.   Despite the pouring rain and a very long wait until I crossed the finish line he was waiting  with Dick and the girls when I ran my marathon.  He did ask later if there was a time limit in which I had to complete the run in."     

"I was able to spend time with Daniel in my home when he came for the holidays and he took a keen interest in all aspects of the holiday from house decorating to menu planning including the preparation of the dishes.  Christmas morning breakfast without  him frantically stirring the hollandaise sauce  will never be the same. "    

"Daniel’s generosity was epic and his nickname of “Uncle Christmas” was well earned along with his patience in ensuring whatever gift he had given to the girls was assembled.  This he did after a full night of gift wrapping and  day of celebrations. He spoke fondly of listening to the CBC Christmas eve music that played throughout the night and how special that was to him.  We shared a love of country music and had many happy moments listening to and discussing the various artists we liked." 

"There was never any shortage of conversation when Daniel was around he loved current affairs and could talk a long time on any political topic or historical event." 

"His unexpected passing has left a tear in the fabric of my life but he will live on in my heart.   Rest in peace dearest brother you were loved."

Heather

"Daniel was a unique individual with whom I had the privilege of a friendship for over three decades.  A brother-in-law who helped me understand and enjoy the Ignas clan for so many years.  I always enjoyed my trips to Terrace and stops on the way to Haida Gwaii as well as Dan’s visits to us in PG.  Most memorable were his Christmas stops with us throughout the childhood of my children and it always seemed Santa had arrived for all of us as Daniel secluded himself downstairs meticulously wrapping presents until early hours."

"I have never met anyone more generous and I hope he felt the appreciation and love we offered in return.  His sudden death is still difficult to process emotionally, especially for his beloved siblings and mother.  I share in their grief."  

Dick

Daniel sledding with Penny (shared by Jack Raymond).

------

From Penny, Fiona, and Mitch.

"It is impossible to think about Uncle Daniel without thinking about Christmas. Uncle Dan knew the magic of Christmas for a child and from the second he would arrive at our house in his sleigh he set about weaving that magic. Every year we could find him staying up late wrapping gifts in so much ribbon that we are still re-using it today, wearing the cracker hats at Christmas dinner and being the best sous-chef in the kitchen. Beyond the gifts, we will also remember him for how he gave us his time. We especially remember our niece's lunches where Uncle Dan took out all the nieces for lunch at Earls in Prince George, and a Christmas movie."

"Uncle Dan was kind and a lover of animals. I believe that animals react to the kindness in people and our animals were always drawn to Uncle Dan. He could barely sit down without our cats taking up residence on his lap. I remember one time after housesitting he said “I just need an extra hand because they always want to be petted.” Zeus, who was very anxious especially when we left was so pleased to have Uncle Dan to spend time with and even as an old dog he lived on in our minds as “baby Z” which is what Uncle Dan dubbed him."

"Even when we moved away from Prince George Uncle Dan always made sure we felt his love and support with flowers and cards for every big occasion. We (Mitch, Fiona and Penny) distinctly remember the first Christmas that they spent in Kingston (provinces away from family) the apartment was buzzed and a gorgeous orchid plant (now carefully attended to by Mitch) as well as the centrepiece for the kitchen table both made their way into our home for the holidays."

------

Photos shared by Dominic, circa late 1980s.

Daniel running the boat with Vern Gier (co-worker) and Dominic diving in Reynold Sound on the west side of Haida Gwai. 

In Daajing Giids (formerly Queen Charlotte City), walking down a flight of stairs 

--------

From Petra

Dominic, Dale, and Daniel. Xmas PG.

--------

These are a selection of photos I (Charles) have on my phone. One of Daniel's favourite restaurants was at the former Yew Seafood at the Four Seasons downtown - we spent many special visits there with him. In 2015 Daniel made an effort to join the Raymonds, Elaine, and Veronica and I at the Chilko Lake Lodge. Here is a photo of Daniel at the peak on our family hike. Daniel often did more than just turn up, he put himself to work. These photos of him at Airdrie's wedding in Vancouver show him doing his best to make the day memorable. 

Left; Daniel going to dinner at the Yew Seafood, Four Seasons (a favourite spot), 2014.

Center: Daniel at Chilko Lake, 2015.

Right: at Airdrie's wedding, 2012.

Decorating the wedding boat, 2012.

Daniel at Chilko Lake.

On a mountain hike with Jack, Veronica, and Uncle Dan, Chilko Lake trip.

"All That Indian Crap;" white scepticism and Indigeneity

"No," the old fisherman said to the young grad student. "No, I'm not going to answer your questions. I know your prof. He's into all that Indian crap. So no, I'm not going to participate," he said.

I had given the student a list of names of local fishermen she might track down for her graduate field school project in Prince Rupert. I knew many of the white men in town had 'issues' with Aboriginal Rights and Title. I figured a few of them would decline to participate. The student's project was looking at a fisheries management tactic, not Indigenous/settler relations, so I didn't expect the old fisherman's response.

"All that Indian crap" was a reference to both my personal and political practices. The student wasn't quite sure how to respond. I also suspect the student 'translated' the actual words and deleted the less civil phrases. The student was an unknowing third party to a local struggle over racialized boundaries in which the white men I had worked with as a commercial fishermen made clear their views on who was an Indian and what rights those Indians 'really' had.

As a grad student I had published a paper, Stories from Home (1994), about the racialized conflict in Prince Rupert over Aboriginal Rights and Title. In that paper I explicitly acknowledged my white and First Nation background, even as I took an equivocal stance on the issue:"The object of the article is not to convince the reader of the rightness or wrongness of Euro-Canadian opposition to First Nations' land claims but rather to create a space in which their fear of and their reactions to land claims can be better understood."

I grew up in a multi-racial multi-ethnic working class town. WASPyness defined the local elite, but Prince Rupert was demographically intersectional. I'm not saying this was a harmonious inter-racial community, nor am I saying it was a war zone. It was, as John Porter famously called Canada, a vertical mosaic in which race and ethnicity were entwined with class and power. The boundaries were fiercely policed. 

Growing up in this environment I was well aware of all the racialized and sexualized taunts and insults that permeated so much of our daily lives growing up (and later working lives). There's a part of a child that ignores the implications of these things. Yet they lurk there and at times they intrude in ways that disrupt and disturb. From playground to family dinner to stray looks and comments in the street - we are all inundated with racialized sentiments and affects. As an old timer now looking back I see more than I did as a child, but that child stays with me even as I write this.

As a child our memories are as much memories of feelings as they are memories of events. It took me years to appreciate why a phone call at any hour of the night would have me answering the phone, even before I was properly awake. 

My father was a distant water fisherman when I was young. When his boat slipped the lines at the dock and set sail Dad was gone for a month. There was no reliable communications until the boat was heading home. We never knew when the call would come. We never knew if it would be good news or bad.  Any communication of an accident or mishap would fall to my mother to tell the other wives and girlfriends. I dreaded those calls even as I looked forward to them.  Even knowing why late night calls affect me so strongly doesn't help with the sense of dread of the ringing phone.

Racilized memories are like that. 

In a town of multi-ethnic immigrants there was a strong desire to be white. A desire among those 'less' white to climb the vertical mosaic into the power of WASPyness. Trying to step outside that intersectionality was policed tightly. People worked hard to keep the lines between white and not white clear.

My background is an interracial one - not just the sense of the place I am from, but also my home. In addition to growing up in an environment in which people were intensely interested in difference, my family was its own microcosm of racialization. At home difference and combination was celebrated. At school and at work difference was codified and social separation enforced by those with power. 

Dial forward a couple decades.

I'm a newish prof at UBC taking a group of graduate students home for a fieldschool in Prince Rupert. Some are doing projects with Gitxaała, the rest in ’Rupert with First Nation and Settler participants. I’m co-teaching with a new UBC graduate. It’s exciting to come home and be there with a group of earnest and passionate students. Then the young student returns to report the old fisherman's refusal and how he explained it.

At the time I took it in stride and focussed on working with the student to ensure they had a project that would work and people to interview.  But the old man's message hit home, I knew he had intended me to hear both his distain and his criticism. It also made me reflect on how my father thought of this man as a friend. What would I say, if anything, to my father? I doubt that the old fisherman would have said anything to my father about 'Indian crap,' but he certainly felt entitled to tell the young women student off and in a way that implicated me in his refusal.

Behind that old white man's anger was a racialist ideology in which 'real Indians' were few in number. An ideology that considered most current 'Indians' as fakes. Fake Indians were, in that old white man's mind, people like me from 'mixed' homes with university educations.  Similar to the argument used by Widdowson and Howard in Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry, the old white fisherman thought 'all that Indian crap' was made up.  In his mind there weren't any 'real' Indians left.

In this context settlers who pretend to be Indian confirm and perform the old white fisherman's cynical imaginings and essentiallized beliefs. These pretendians make real the cynical belief there are no 'real' Indians anymore. But it's not just racist old white men who harbour these ideas. I've met many erstwhile liberals who, once they learn I am First Nation, try to drill down to figure out by 'how much.' In a presentation (ultimately published as Standing on the Shore with Sabaan) a progressive colleague shared in the Q&A, 'But aren't they [First Nations] part of the modernist project,' i.e. no longer authentically Indian. 

People who search their family lore for traces of an Indigenous past and then 'reconnect' themselves to an invented Indigenous identity are part and parcel of the old white fisherman's misconception. They share a racialized belief in a kind of blood identity. Membership and belonging requires real connections, involvement, and acceptance- not merely some forgotten genealogical link. 

Pretindianism and settler conceptions of authentic identity are part of what Hugh Brody labeled colonial folklore in The Peoples's Land.  Brody tells us that colonial folklore involves

“illustrations.  Repeated, retold, reworked, they are a confused form of folklore: each storyteller shapes events and meanings according to his own preoccupations. …  Considered alongside more reliable accounts of traditional Eskimo life, or viewed in the light of northern history, they must be judged inaccurate.  But the teller of such stories does not attempt to judge accuracy, he is not concerned with the possibilities or niceties of objective validity;  he has not studied the books and the articles.  The stories and views expressed by northern Whites are the product of a living social context; they inform and are being informed by it" (1975:79). 

The old white fishermen shares with other settlers this confused form of folklore. 

The reality of First Nations identities is that we are indeed part of the modern world. I am a university professor. I have several relatives who are teachers. Some family work as longshoreman. Others in the trades.  Our families interconnect with settlers and have for generations. We also maintain deep connections to our history in this place, in our home territories. Traditional practices continue and transform is ways unique to our experiences as First Nations people in a colonial world. 

The wider oral history of the Tsimshian peoples is replete with narratives of unions between supernatural beings and human, with accounts of travellers arriving and becoming part of already existing communities, of people leaving for long periods of time and returning with spouses from far away. These are histories of adoption, alliance, and relationship building. These are concepts of belonging and membership that are not biologically based, but relationally-based. They were possible becuase Indigenous peoples controlled ones' own territories and thus could decide from places of authority who was a member and who wasn't. These were collective decisions, not individual identifications.

The old fisherman's attempts at boundary maintenance fits a settler world (conservative and progressive both) that locates the idea of Indigenous authenticity in a racialized past that has been degraded through admixture.  The ultimate result is the erasure of First Nations people. Constructing identity in the old fisherman's manner runs counter to Indigenous understandings of belonging that are based on relationships, not biology.