As a student pursuing Gender Studies and Indigenous Studies at the University of Victoria, I recognize the importance of situating myself within my learning and research. Self-location is not only a fundamental practice within Indigenous Studies but a crucial step in deconstructing colonial privilege and understanding the responsibilities settlers have on these lands. Through the practice of self-location I plan to explore my identity, cultural and territorial origins, and familial relationships while situating these experiences within the broader context of my education.
While my mother technically gave birth to me in a hospital in Edmonton, I was born into the community of Taloyaok in 1997. The most northern community on the mainland of Canada, Taloyaok has no hospitals for women to deliver but has rich cultural practice’s surrounding birth and naming. After a person dies, it is common to name a newborn child after them, believing that the deceased person’s spirit lives on through the new child, essentially “bringing them back” to the community. As a baby I was given the name “Kovalaq” as my official middle name. Kovalaq was a great hunter and elder in the community who had recently passed. After receiving this name, Kovalaq’s son began visiting. His son didn’t speak English but would stand over my crib speaking in Inuktitut, telling me stories about his life and sharing the love he had for his father. I was even given a stuffed seal toy who I eventually named “Sara” and still cherish greatly to this day. As a settler and descendant of colonizers I have mixed feelings regarding my middle name. Despite having grown up immersed in Indigenous ways of being I have had little to no experience with Inuit cultural practices and often worry about being appropriative. I hope to someday go back to Taloyoak and engage with the land, the community, and Kovalaq’s family in more meaningful ways.
My family eventually settled in Thebacha or “beside the rapids” in what is colonially known as Fort Smith, Northwest Territories (NWT), a predominantly Indigenous community located on Treaty 8 territory. We arrived in January of 1999 after moving south from Taloyoak only months before the official separation of Nunavut from the rest of the NWT. Due to this fact I have never technically been to the territory of “Nunavut”. Thebacha is the traditional land of the Smith Landing First Nation (Thebatthie), the Salt River First Nation (Dedharesche), and the South Slave Métis. Growing up in this community, I was immersed in the teachings of the land, learning to listen to the land’s wisdom while respecting and nurturing it through activities such as planting, harvesting, and sustainable hunting.
Despite the deep connection to the land Thebacha that I forged, my family’s roots lie elsewhere. My mother’s ancestors immigrated from France over a century ago to Cold Lake, Alberta, and my father’s lineage includes a mix of Eastern European origins. As many of my Indigenous friends were white passing it wasn’t until I was twelve or thirteen years old that I fully understood my place as a perpetrator of settler colonialism. The realization that I was descended from colonizers rather than the Indigenous stewards of this land initially left me feeling alienated from not only my peers but the land and community that shaped my identity. Reconciling my settler identity with the values I had learned growing up in Thebacha has been a long and ongoing journey of unlearning colonial privilege and working toward radical allyship.
Thebacha and the surrounding area carry the profound scars of colonialism. The forced amalgamation of Chipewyan bands and the negotiation of land claims, such as the Salt River and Smith Landing agreements, have had a longstanding impact on the residents’ lives and community dynamics. My work with Parks Canada exposed me to the complexities of these histories, particularly through the digitization hunting permits in Wood Buffalo National Park. These hunting permits require proof of family lineage through legal documents in order for Indigenous people to gain access to their legal hunting rights in the National Park. While the work was intellectually engaging, it also laid bare the uncomfortable reality of colonial systems that persist in controlling Indigenous identities and livelihoods across all of Canada. The Indian Act’s entanglement with hunting rights in Wood Buffalo served as a stark reminder of how treaties and policies were designed to perpetuate colonial control. Working with the Federal government reinforced my understanding of the necessity in addressing systemic inequities and advocating for the inclusion of Indigenous voices within all levels of government and institutions like Parks Canada.
My academic journey at the University of Victoria on the traditional territory of the Lekwungen peoples and the Songhees, Esquimalt, and W̱SÁNEĆ First Nations has emphasized the importance of intersecting disciplines, such as Gender Studies and Indigenous Studies. These disciplines provide critical frameworks for analyzing intersectional identity, representation, and power structures. As a student I think it’s important to be critical of the systems of power that are at play within colonial institutes like universities. The University of Victoria supposed emphasis on reconciliation and decolonization doesn’t consistently align with their actions as proven with their policies on Indigenous landback and the expensive policing of the Palestinian encampment.
As a student at the University of Victoria, I recognize the privilege of living and learning on the unceded traditional territory of the Lək̓ʷəŋən peoples. This acknowledgment extends beyond a ceremonial statement to the Songhees, Esquimalt, and WSÁNEĆ Nations, it demands a commitment to understanding my relationship with the land, the people, and the colonial systems within our institution that impact Indigenous communities. Over time, I have come to see self-location not only as an academic practice but also as a relational act that ties my personal identity and academic pursuits to the broader processes of decolonization and resurgence. The emphasis on relationality has encouraged me to reflect on how my positionality influences my perspectives and interactions. For instance, discussions on treaty obligations, land stewardship, and the role of non-Indigenous allies have illuminated the ways settlers can support Indigenous resurgence. Building relationships with the land and with Indigenous knowledge systems has become central to my academic and personal growth.
Additionally, I see education as a key avenue for decolonization. I recognize the gaps in my knowledge and the ongoing nature of this work. Learning the histories, languages, and protocols of the Indigenous peoples on both the land I grew up on as well as currently occupy is an evolving process. Currently, I’ve been striving to integrate Indigenous perspectives into my daily life. By learning and using traditional place names like PKOLS for the nearby mountain or míqən (“warmed by the sun”) for what is known as Beacon Hill Park, and kwl-uchun (“spring salmon place”) for the Sooke Potholes. These practices, though small, represent a larger effort to disrupt colonial narratives and honor the land’s original stewards. Similarly, my understanding of positionality, privilege, and allyship continues to deepen. Indigenous studies has taught me the distinction between “settler” and “colonizer”. While “settler” may seem less charged, it does not absolve individuals of their responsibility to address the legacies of colonization. As a settler, I recognize that my presence on these lands comes with the obligation to educate myself about the traditional peoples, place names, and histories of the territories I occupy. The notion of radical allyship, actively supporting Indigenous sovereignty while acknowledging systemic inequities, resonates strongly with me.
My responsibilities toward decolonization extend beyond academic spaces. Inspired by movements like Land Back, Black Lives Matter, and Palestinian Resistance I aim to support Indigenous-led initiatives through advocacy, financial contributions, and by amplifying Indigenous voices. This responsibility extends to my work with Parks Canada, where I strive to bridge the gap between conservation goals and Indigenous rights. By using my existing relationships with the community and establishing formal relationships with local bands and Nations, I hope to challenge colonial frameworks and advocate for more inclusive practices. Trust is not granted freely but earned through consistent action and accountability. However, relationality also means understanding when it is not my place to engage or lead. I understand the importance of amplifying Indigenous voices as leaders in their fields rather than positioning myself as an equal advocate. This principle guides my interactions in class discussions, community events, and advocacy work.
Looking ahead, I aim to continue exploring the intersections of gender, race, and colonialism through my studies and community work. I hope to contribute to the dismantling of colonial systems by advocating for policy changes, supporting Indigenous-led initiatives, and fostering cross-cultural understanding. My goal is to honor the teachings I have received throughout my life while acknowledging the privilege and responsibility that come with my settler identity. As I continue my studies, I am committed to fostering meaningful relationships with both the land and Indigenous communities. This includes learning from Indigenous perspectives, challenging biases, and integrating Indigenous methodologies into my academic work. Self-location is an ongoing process that requires honesty, humility, and accountability. While I grew up surrounded by Indigenous practices and teachings, my identity as a settler means that I must navigate these spaces with care and respect. My name, “Kovalaq,” carries the personal and cultural significance of my time living within the Inuit community of Taloyaok. While it connects me to the land and people of my early childhood, I am mindful of the responsibilities that come with this name. I aspire to engage with Inuit communities and traditions in a meaningful way, ensuring that my connection is grounded in respect and reciprocity rather than appropriation. By situating myself within the context of my upbringing, academic pursuits, and community engagement, I hope to contribute meaningfully to the work of decolonization and allyship. I cannot change the harms of my ancestors, but I can strive to be an active participant in creating a more equitable future, grounded in respect for the land and its original caretakers.