An Indigenous-led group in Sitka has received an unexpected contribution – two parcels of land on an island just outside of Sitka. The Herring Protectors gathered earlier this month (4-6-24) to visit the land and celebrate the unusual gift.
On a drizzly Saturday afternoon, about 40 elders, culture-bearers, and supporters of Sitka’s Herring Protectors are boarding an Allen Marine boat bound for the far side of Middle Island, about six miles northwest of downtown Sitka.
Kh’asheechtlaa Louise Brady co-founded the group Herring Protectors in 2016, initially as a local response to the Standing Rock movement in South Dakota. Now, the Indigenous-led group advocates for the protection of Sitka’s herring population.
Land ownership wasn’t on the group’s to-do list, but Brady says that changed when a Southeast couple, Rachel Myron and Steve Lewis, reached out to her about two years ago.
“Her and her husband had these two pieces of land on Middle Island that they were going to give to another organization,” Brady says. “But they had been watching Herring Protectors and really liked the way that we were approaching it — not so much fighting people, but bringing people together to protect what we love.”
The location turned out to be fortuitous – the land sits right next to a historical hotspot for herring spawn. Brady isn’t sure how they’ll use the land long-term, but she says it could be a convenient hub for harvesters.
“We’re headed to a really good area for harvesting,” Brady says. “It also happens to be really close to our land, so people could perhaps anchor up there and not have to come back to town, and they could just check their branches.”
Today, the focus is on gratitude for the land and for previous generations. As the boat weaves its way through Sitka Sound, Tlingit scholar X̱ʼunei Lance Twitchell addresses the group.
“What’s gonna happen out there is sometimes we think about the things we don’t want to let go of — the things that are most precious to us — and we give them up,” he says. “And the reason we do this is because some people have died protecting our lands.”
He’s holding a heavy copper shield, or tin’aa, engraved with a formline herring design. The tin’aa is a symbol of wealth – and today they will throw it, along with food and tobacco, into the water around Middle Island.
“It’s not showing any disrespect to this item,” Twitchell says. “It’s a cherished thing, but what we’re saying here today is that even the things we value most, we give up for our future generations, so that maybe they won’t know this sorrow that we feel when we look around and we see people taking everything there was protected for us.”
He passes the tin’aa around the boat, encouraging everyone to touch it before it goes into the ocean. Next, he holds up a small woven basket with a turkey sandwich and a sprinkle of tobacco, also destined for the water.
“We’ll offer them food here today, before we eat,” he says. “Maybe we’re hungry, but we feed our ancestors first because we love them.”
As the boat approaches the rocky, forested shoreline of Middle Island, the group sings mourning songs and calls out the names of ancestors.
Brady raises the tin’aa over her head and drops it into the ocean. Twitchell drops the basket of food and tobacco. Others file through, tossing shreds of tobacco into the swirling waters. After a moment, everything disappears beneath the water.
Brady says there’s still a long way to go towards restoring land access.
“I’m hoping all of our people have more land,” she says. “I’m hoping all of our people get access to sockeye, to herring eggs, to halibut, to the flora, all the fauna, all the fish.”
For now, though, the ancestors are fed, and the Herring Protectors turn to their own meals in gratitude for the gift of food, and the gift of land.
Editor’s note: Rachel Myron is a member of the KCAW Board of Directors.
