Becoming Haida: My identity is more complicated than a status card

Filmmaker Heather Hatch is the director of Jaat Sdiihltl'lxa: Woman Who Returns. The short documentary follows Heather as she travels to visit her Nuni (grandmother) in Haida Gwaii, makes a traditional Haida blanket and is adopted into her clan.

My identity cannot be defined by paper, by others, by connection or disconnection. It is complex (as is everyone's). I am deeply rooted in my mother, my adopted father and our family; however, I am also deeply rooted in my Haida culture, my birth father and my Nuni.

”I felt like I didn’t belong.”

When my mother was 23 years old, she made the choice she thought best for her and her children: she left my birth father, who was from Haida Gwaii. I was adopted by her new husband and raised in Langley, BC. We later relocated to Millwoods, a neighbourhood on the southside of Edmonton.

Growing up, I thought I had been adopted by both my parents. My siblings and I all have different fathers; my eldest brother is descended from German heritage, while my younger brother is the spitting image of my adopted dad.

I didn't quite look the same as anyone. I felt like I didn’t belong.

It wasn't until I was a teenager that my mom assured me I was indeed her daughter. She also told me that my real father was Haida. I didn’t really know what that meant, but it felt like things were starting to fall into place: I was different. At the time, I was satisfied to know the truth.

When my Haida family discovered that their missing daughter had been found, they wrote me a letter expressing their wish to connect (this was before Facebook, the Internet and mobile phones).

At the time, I was only able to handle a relationship with my father. Our connection developed over the years and eventually grew into a strong bond.

Growing inquisitive about my Haida culture

In my early 20s, my Nuni invited me to stay with her in Haida Gwaii. I quit my job, hopped on a plane and travelled through northern BC to meet my family. I spent a year in Skidegate and was happy enough just to make connections with this side of my family.

I don't think I had a full understanding of the importance of my culture and heritage at this time, and I moved back to Edmonton. I had every intention of returning soon, but wasn't able to. I had moved back for the birth of my oldest brother's first child and my life in Edmonton was also important to me. 

After backpacking through Europe and many other countries, I landed at the University of Alberta, studying Philosophy and Middle Eastern/Asian culture. Perhaps this inspired me. As I grew older, I became more inquisitive about my own culture.

I visited my family in Haida Gwaii many times and began to delve into my Nuni’s life. She told me stories and wrote down some of her memories for me. I read all the literature I could get my hands on about the myths, history and art of the Haida culture. On my last trip, Elder Diane Brown talked to me about the Haida legends. I was awed and honoured that she would share this knowledge with me. I could finally make sense of the world I had read about.

On one of my stays in Haida Gwaii, I learned that my Nuni had lost her Native status after her second marriage, for "marrying a white man." Until 1985, if an Indian woman married a non-Indian man, she and the children of the marriage were denied Indian status. Nuni was able to get her status back after Bill C-31 passed in 1985, but after her ordeal, she was adamant that I get mine as well.

An arduous three-year application process followed. I had to find my original birth certificate, my adoption papers and many other legal documents. I'm happy to say I have my status card, and have had it for quite some time.

The journey to belonging

Over the years, I let people question my identity. They would ask questions like, “How can you identify as Haida when you grew up in Edmonton?”

Or make sweeping statements such as, "You don’t look native. Can I see your status card?" As if it were a badge of identity to be displayed on my arm; as if my status card, blue eyes or Blood Quantum were the answer to who I am.

I came from two different worlds and I had been disconnected from my roots for so long that I let other people's opinions define my identity. And that hurt.

I made Woman Who Returns because it was the only way I could answer these questions. I needed to be vulnerable enough to explore how I belonged within my own community. I had to understand that it wasn’t my fault I didn’t feel grounded in my own Haida Identity — it wasn’t ingrained in me from an early age. I had to make a concerted effort take ownership of it.

I feel like there are many other Indigenous people in my shoes, people who have lost touch with their families or their roots.

I wanted to show my journey on film because I know I’m not the only person to struggle with this. I hope that by demonstrating my own vulnerability and uncertainty, maybe another person will feel safe returning to their own heritage. Maybe they won’t feel so lost or naive, knowing someone has gone before them.

Even within my own intimate circle, I have Indigenous friends who don’t know where their community is, or how to get back to it. Sometimes they recall going to round dances with their grandmothers, but their families never talk about it.  

Returning seems too overwhelming.

I was lucky. I knew where I came from and I got to forge a relationship with my family. Not everyone who has experienced this disconnect has such readily-available answers — in fact, many can't even get their status cards.

All I can do is share my story and experience. When I set out to make this film, I did not know the impact it would have on me. I did not realize the healing it would bring to my Nuni, my mother and myself. Creating an homage to my heritage and my Nuni taught me so much more than how to make a blanket. It taught me a way to understand who I am.

Watch Woman Who Returns.