Back in the fall of 2017, I was hired to promote and takeover* the Instagram account of Parkbus, a transportation service brand that connects city dwellers to various national or provincial parks encouraging Canadians to spend time in the great outdoors. A friend of mine and I got a complimentary ride to a park of our choice plus a couple of hundred dollars, and in exchange, we would promote Parkbus’ service on our own personal Instagram accounts while also sharing Instagram Stories of our day on Parkbus’ brand account.
*For those of you who are uninitiated to the world of social media (I salute you, you radical!) a takeover is essentially when someone takes control of someone else’s account temporarily (usually a brand or a business) to share content and promote a product, service, event, or the sort.
As someone who loves to go hiking but lives in downtown Toronto without access to a vehicle (at the time), Parkbus is actually a godsend (and no, they’re not paying me for this endorsement which comes years after that contract, though I’d gladly welcome that!) Parkbus provides accessible rides, connecting those who live in the city to hiking trails, campgrounds, and canoe access points, which are otherwise difficult to get to without a car or through our limited public transportation. And so I was more than happy to engage in this partnership.
When I got to Rattlesnake Park, our park of choice, we began taking photos and videos of our experience. But before sharing anything online, I thought it would be important to start off the Instagram Story with a land acknowledgment. It didn’t feel right to be sharing this experience of the beautiful nature around us without recognizing the history of the land we were on.
To be completely honest, I didn’t know much about Indigenous history in what we now know as Canada at this point in time, but I knew, in a general and vague sense, that we were on colonized land. “Reconciliation” was a concept that was being talked about more and more in my social and professional circles. I had seen maybe one or two land acknowledgments read out loud at events, and I thought that it was a powerful gesture.
And so I quickly Googled to try and find whose land we were on. As 2017 Justine would tell you, “it was really hard to find that information. The Attawandaron, the Haudenosaunee, and the Anishinabe were the first peoples to live on Rattlesnake Point in the Halton Region, as we know it today. But you’ll find no mention of this on the Conservation Halton/region of Halton website or Wikipedia or any other major mainstream source.”
That information has since been added to these websites, but four years ago, it certainly wasn’t there, or not accessibly so. I found it on another website called whose.land run by grassroots non-profit organizations.
But once I did find it, I began recording my land acknowledgment on video explaining who the first peoples were of what is now known as Halton region and thanking them for “sharing the land” with us.
And off it went to be shared on Instagram for the world to see.
I Was Wrong!
After a few minutes, I received a DM from a good friend of mine who kindly pointed out that “this land was not technically shared with us” but rather, stolen from Indigenous nations. She wrote to me to say that “most of the Indigenous land acknowledgments at the start of programs give thanks, which is nice and more comfortable. But it’s time for us to re-write those comfortable acknowledgments.”
She was right. I was wrong. And her message gave me a flutter of panic.
I had just sent out this video for potentially thousands of people to watch and my language was lazy at best, damaging at worst. Sure, I acknowledged the original inhabitants of the land but I had glossed over the reality of their history.
Much of the land that we are on now, in what we now know as Ontario and all across Canada, is unceded territory. Meaning the land was not given or shared, but rather stolen by European settlers. Ripped away from its people who called it home. Either that or the land is where there are territorial agreements that are not abided by nor respected by the government of Canada.
And here I was, an immigrant settler who had benefitted from that colonial violence, perpetuating that cheerful narrative with little to no recognition of the damage and harm done to Indigenous nations.
I was complicit in the erasure of Indigenous history by painting a rosier picture of the brutality that actually happened and continues to happen — that is, the deliberate and systematic cultural genocide of many nations and peoples through the process of colonization.
My sharing of this land acknowledgment was essentially a performance that was not rooted in any real kind of knowledge, but rather a flimsy intention to “do good”. I literally did a brief Google search 5 minutes before recording the video to learn about the land I was on without fully understanding the wider scope of the history and struggle I was “acknowledging”.
My intentions, however well and good, did not negate the negative impact of continuing a narrative that hid the reality of a brutal system that has been oppressing Indigenous peoples for generations. That kind of behaviour is incredibly harmful and damaging.
What I Know Now: Rooting Acknowledgments in Both Knowledge and Action
That experience gave me pause and the following years have been spent deep in reflection and in learning about the stolen land we are all on, how colonization is an ongoing process that continues to inflict violence on Indigenous lands, cultures, and bodies, and my own role and responsibility as an immigrant settler on native land.
This experience was a spark to jump-start my decolonization journey — this journey of unlearning the many narratives, tools, and practices that colonization and white supremacy have ingrained within me through my formal education in the public school system and academia, mainstream media, and other major influences and institutions.
I began to recognize that my platform and the language I use have the power to influence and impact others. I began to realize that if I’m going to speak on issues that affect others, I better damn well come from a more informed and intentional place.
I know now that the region of Halton has a rich history that includes the Anishinabe, the Attawandaron, the Haudenosaunee, and the Métis. I know now that in 1818, the Mississaugas of the Credit signed the Ajetance Purchase (Treaty 19), which includes what is now known as Brampton and Milton.
I know now that acknowledging all this doesn’t really mean anything unless it’s rooted in action. So what if you know whose land you’re on? What is knowledge without action? True reconciliation with Indigenous peoples requires all of us to move beyond words. If any meaningful change is to happen, we must act.
Since this experience, I’ve created Living Hyphen, a community that explores what it means to live in between cultures. A community that represents people who have been displaced in some way, voluntary or forced, from abroad or from this very land we now all call home.
I do not take land acknowledgments lightly anymore. Though they continue to be a very important introduction to every event, every gathering, every issue of our magazine, they are exactly that––an introduction, a mere beginning, a gateway to deeper and more involved action.
Beyond land acknowledgments, I direct those in the Living Hyphen community or within our orbit to our dedicated Indigenous Allyship resources to move them along their own decolonization journey. This dedicated resource hub is an ongoing work-in-progress, a nod to the fact that this work of decolonization, of learning and unlearning, of acting in allyship, is never truly complete.
“How do you be a better ally? By listening instead of talking. By learning. By making space and not taking it. By humbling yourself and acknowledging the limits of your understanding and empathy. By understanding your role in the movement, as well as the role you may have had in what caused the movement to begin with.” — Jesse Wente
I recognize the role I have played in the past as an unaware immigrant settler and my complicity in Indigenous erasure. I recognize that I will likely be wrong again about these matters in the future.
But in this process, I commit to listening instead of talking, to making space and not taking it. And I welcome the opportunity to learn so that I can do and be better.
This article is part of I Was Wrong(ed!), a publication that acts as a decolonizing space to acknowledge, reflect on, and learn from failure.