More Than a Title

A few weeks ago, someone in one of our gatherings expressed that they found introductions to be uncomfortable — even a bit intrusive. I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

It reminded me of a moment early in my journey with Culturally Committed, when I first began reaching out for guidance from Indigenous Peoples. I hosted a small virtual focus group, and I was thrilled (and terrified) to welcome a handful of people who had inspired me along the way. One of them was a respected Elder that I admired deeply. She was strong, cultural, direct, and she left an impression everywhere she went.

It was my very first time hosting a Zoom call, and I was riddled with nerves. Unsure of how to begin, I stumbled into the meeting without inviting introductions — afraid I might put people on the spot. After about a minute of me nervously talking, the Elder unmuted herself and gently interrupted. She apologized, and then shared that culturally, she could not accept sitting in a space like this without taking the time to say who she was and where she came from.

In that moment, I felt embarrassed. But looking back, I now see it clearly: she wasn’t correcting me to shame me — she was teaching me because she cared. And that teaching has stayed with me ever since.

George Harris Jr, one of our mentors, has helped me understand more deeply why this practice of introductions matters:

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For thousands and thousands of years, my people have followed a protocol around introductions. When we approached the shores of a neighbouring community, we would call out to that community’s leader, tell them who we were, where we came from, and that we were seeking permission to come ashore and rest. This was not just a formality — it was our way of letting people know we came in peace. In our communities, we are taught from a young age to remember who we are and where we come from, so that when we are called upon to introduce ourselves properly, we are ready. This practice continues in the spaces I work, and I hope it can be embraced all over Turtle Island. I know that in much of the western world, introductions can feel uncomfortable or even intimidating. Many people have been taught to keep their professional and personal lives separate, so when Indigenous people ask “Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?” it can feel intrusive. But these questions are meant to be answered on a personal level. I once worked with someone who responded with their name, job title, and company. An Elder replied, “That’s nice, but I didn’t ask you what your job title was or who you worked for. I asked you who you are and where you come from.” It’s important to understand the difference: job titles change, but the family names we carry stay with us forever. Too often, people put more weight on titles than on names, but our names connect us to our ancestors, our communities, and our histories.

I am often asked why we do introductions every time we gather. Once, this came up during only our second meeting. I asked the group, “Can you remember my traditional name, my parents’ names, my grandparents’ names, the community I come from, and the communities I am connected to through my family?” I was met with silence. I then explained that it would be unrealistic to expect anyone to remember all that after hearing it only twice. Unless you have an eidetic memory, it takes hearing something many times before it stays with you — and that is why we repeat introductions, so we can truly hear, learn, and remember. Some have told me they don’t feel comfortable or don’t know how to do introductions. To that I say: when you visit someone’s home, do you walk in without announcing yourself? No — you knock, you greet one another, and then you are welcomed in. We all understand this basic protocol. Here, on these lands, this is my people’s home. When you introduce yourself by sharing who you are, where you come from, and who your family is, you are knocking on the door in a way that honours our ways of being.

If you were to travel to another country, you would likely try to learn a few words in their language and show respect for their customs. I am asking for the same here, and I would hope it means even more, because this is the place you call home. My people have been here since time immemorial, and we are not going anywhere. Settlers are not going anywhere. We must coexist. My people were forced to learn western ways, and now it is time for settlers to learn some of ours. The difference is that we will not hurt you for making mistakes, nor will we punish you for speaking your own language. You will be met with love and respect on your learning journey. So please, come with an open heart and open mind, and maybe, just maybe, we can work together to create a better tomorrow — not just for my people, but for all people who call these lands home.

Huy ch q’u - Thank you

Wholwolet'za - George Harris Jr | Mentor

Reading George’s words, I’m reminded that when we introduce ourselves, we are doing far more than breaking the ice. We are knocking on the door of someone else’s home. We are announcing ourselves in a way that honours the people whose lands we stand on. And we are offering the gift of connection — not through our titles, but through our names, our families, and our stories.

So yes, introductions can feel uncomfortable for those of us raised in western spaces. But just as we would make an effort to respect the customs of another country we travel to, here on Coast Salish Territory — on stolen land — introductions are one of the ways we can show respect, humility, and care.

That small moment with the Elder was a turning point for me, one that set the foundation for how I now approach every gathering. Introductions are not a burden, but a responsibility and a privilege. They remind us that we belong to one another, and they allow us to begin in the right way.

Huy ch q’u, George, for putting words to what my heart has been learning all these years. And thank you to the Elder for interrupting me so that I could be taught.

May we all keep learning, keep showing up with open hearts, and keep remembering who we are and where we come from.

🧡 Kim