The leaders of 66 B.C. First Nations and native tribes of Washington State met in Whistler this week for something called the Coast Salish Gathering, a relatively recent partnership of native groups surrounding the waterways of the Strait of Georgia, Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
Historically, the Coast Salish peoples are more of a linguistic grouping of indigenous peoples of this region than any sort of political entity. The name “Salish,” in fact, originally referred to peoples who inhabited territories further inland; eventually, all came to be referred to as “Salish,” with Coast Salish and Interior Salish forming two branches of a larger linguistic grouping.
The Coast Salish people, who have inhabited the region for some 10,000 years, share one other important characteristic: A historic reliance on the verdant forests and abundant sea life found in the interconnected series of waterways that increasingly are coming to be known as the Salish Sea. One look at a map of the region, showing the locations of the territories of these diverse peoples, reinforces the notion that the vast series of inland waterways has long sustained the peoples of the region and deserves, to the greatest degree possible, to be managed as a single ecosystem.
Oh, and about that name: Most non-indigenous inhabitants now refer to the major inland waterways of the region by their European names: Puget Sound, named for Peter Puget, the first mate of Capt. George Vancouver aboard HMS Discovery when its crew explored the region in 1792; the Strait of Juan de Fuca, named for Greek marine captain Ioannis Fokas, who claims to have explored the area during his journeys on behalf of Spanish King Philip II (“Juan de Fuca” is a Spanish transliteration of the name); and the Strait of George, named by Capt. Vancouver in honour of the reigning English monarch of the day, George III.
All of those names are fine as far as they go, but they fail to recognize the rather obvious reality that existed in this part of the world before first contact between Europeans and its indigenous peoples. What’s more, calling those three large waterways by separate names gives short shrift to the interconnectedness of the ecosystem — historically inhabited by several species of salmon, both resident and migrating orcas (killer whales) and, on land, abundant populations of black and grizzly bears and other terrestrial wildlife.
And that ecosystem is under increasing threat. In addition to the ravages of deforestation, motorized marine traffic and urban development, wild salmon populations are in precipitous decline because of overfishing and pests such as sea lice, brought about by careless fish farming practices. For the vast majority of the region’s population, the decline in salmon stocks means the potential loss of a food source and an industry; for indigenous peoples, it represents the loss of a time-honoured way of life.
In Washington, the salmon fishery is impacted to a large degree by something called the Boldt Decision, a 1974 court ruling that saw 50 per cent of the salmon catch allocated to treaty tribes. B.C. recently had a landmark court decision of its own, when fish biologist Alexandra Morton won her challenge of the B.C. government’s authority to regulate fish farms. Canada’s Department of Fisheries and Oceans has until next February to come up with a management plan. Here’s hoping it includes for more stringent oversight of open-net fish farming, which is having a devastating impact on wild stocks.
A lot of the talk at this week’s Coast Salish Gathering was about partnership. It’s going to take plenty of that across both national and cultural lines to see our region through to more effective management of its now-threatened resources. Most certainly, indigenous peoples of our region should play a significant role in that future. And long live the Salish Sea.
