Our Home on Native Land

Today is Canada Day.

My relationship with this day has changed so much over the years, and I’m still figuring out how I feel about it.

Ten years ago, I was that person who would outfit my entire family in Canada shirts and little maple leaf face tattoos. We’d stand on the sidewalk in Parksville, waving flags as the parade went by. Back then, it felt simple. I felt proud to be a Canadian.

Five years ago, I remember telling my friend Ashley that I felt like I was being radicalized. I said it jokingly, but underneath, I could feel things shifting. I was learning more about the truths of this place I call home. Realizing my pride only told part of the story.

Now, it feels complicated. I still want to feel proud of where I live – but not at the expense of truth. More than anything, I hope this country can grow into a place where Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples share relationships that are healthy, prosperous, respectful and equitable. That hope feels more real to me than fireworks ever did.

Today, I want to share George’s reflections with you. His words always help me sit more deeply with what this day really means:

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As we come upon a day that many people mark with fireworks, flags, and celebration—the birthday of the country we live in, Canada—I’m sitting with a lot of mixed emotions.

Canada Day has always been complicated for me. Many people take this time to proudly show their patriotism, to celebrate the greatness of this nation. I understand that. I understand wanting to belong to something that makes you feel safe, proud, and free.

But as an Indigenous person, that’s not the full story I live with. My relationship with this country is not only one of citizenship—it’s one rooted in a history of survival, resistance, and deep ancestral connection to these lands. I want to be clear: I do not speak for all Indigenous people. Our experiences and worldviews are as diverse as our Nations. But this is my truth.

Just the other day, I had the privilege of watching my niece Anika graduate from high school. I was so proud—overwhelmed, really. The high school band played “O Canada,” and they did a beautiful job. But when we all stood for the anthem, I felt that familiar weight in my chest. Part of me wanted to sit. Part of me wanted to take a knee like Colin Kaepernick did all those years ago. In the end, I stood—but I sang the anthem differently, in my heart.

When it came to the words “our home and native land,” I chose to honour Jully Black’s version: “our home on Native land.” Because that rings more true to me. This land has always been Indigenous land—long before Canada became a country, and long after any anthem was written.

I also thought about something my bro Bob Chamberlin does. Whenever he's in a stadium and hears “our home and native land,” he proudly yells “Native Land!” as a reminder of where we truly are. I love that. That pride. That bold truth.

Another line I changed in my head was “God keep our land glorious and free.” In my heart, I replaced “God” with “Creator.” I whispered to myself: “Creator, keep our land glorious and free.” Because for so many of our people, the Creator is who we call upon—not just for protection, but for the healing we are still waiting for. The freedom we are still fighting for.

Our people are still struggling for basic human rights. We’re still having to justify our existence on lands that were taken from us. We’re still working to reclaim what was once ours. And we’re doing it not just for ourselves—but for the next seven generations.

So when July 1st comes around, I don’t celebrate in the traditional way. If I leave the house, I don’t wear red and white. I wear orange. I wear it for my father, a Residential School Survivor. For my mother, a Day School Survivor. I wear it for those who didn’t make it home. For those who never had the chance to graduate like my niece Anika did.

I hold on to hope that one day, Canada will be a country we can all celebrate—because it will have fully committed to Truth and Reconciliation. Not just in words, but in action. Not just in policy, but in spirit.

Until that day comes, I’ll keep wearing orange. I’ll keep remembering. And I’ll keep teaching.

~ Wholwholet'za

Reading George’s words today reminded me of all the layers that live beneath a simple holiday on the calendar.

I think about who I was, standing there in red and white. I think about who I am now, still learning, still unlearning, still holding hope.

I don’t know exactly today will look like for me. But I know I will spend it remembering, listening, and holding space for the truth of this land – and the people whose land it has always been.

Wishing you a gentle Canada Day. 🧡

🧡 Kim