by David Suzuki
What a marvellous place to grow up! You live in paradise. Your mom and dad are very careful to keep you from watching too much television and make sure that you are outside a lot. That is wonderful, and I love visiting and having you show Nana and me around. You already know so much about the place you live in, and you are so observant. I laughed when your nannai told me how she took you and Tiis clam digging on the beach below the ay Centre. When she called you over to see a starfish, you took a look and said, “That’s a pycnopodia. They are the fastest-moving starfish.” Your nannai was flabbergasted. “How did he know that?” she asked me. You are soaking up so many things. I love carrying you on my shoulders so that you can pick salmonberries or thimbleberries off the highest branches. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do that as I grow older and you grow bigger. And huckleberries! Mmm, aren’t they the best in pies?
A man from Tumbler Ridge, in northern Bc, gave me a cast of a fossilized dinosaur footprint found in the town. I was delighted to be able to give it to you because, like Cousin Tamo when he was a boy, you have developed a great interest in dinosaurs. “What do you think it is?” I asked, and you nonchalantly replied, “That must be a theropod footprint.” I was dumbstruck because that was exactly what was written on the label but you couldn’t read. “How did you know?” I sputtered. “Because it has three toes.” At least you didn’t add, “anybody knows that!”
Do you remember the night when the tide was low and we went digging clams? It was pretty muddy, and when I turned the light on you, your face and mouth were smeared with mud because you had your head right in the bucket playing with the clams. And when you and Tiis go out to catch prawns, your mom tells me, you both eat them raw as soon as they are in the bucket.
Thank you so much for asking for a treehouse in the woods behind your new home. When I was a teenager, I worked in construction, building houses, and I still love to hammer things together. Over the years, I have built treehouses for your mom and Auntie Sarika, in the dog-wood tree on our lot in Vancouver and in balsam trees on Quadra Island, where they spent many happy hours playing. I hope you enjoy the one I built with a lot of help from your dad.
Wasn’t that great last summer when we went to the west coast of Haida Gwaii, when the pink salmon were gathered in Bonanza Bay waiting for rain to swell the rivers so they could move up and spawn? They jammed the water, and everywhere we looked, there would be six or seven fish jumping in the air. Each time we cast out our fishing lines from shore, we would hook a fish, and so you caught your first salmon on a hook. Of course, every year you go to Copper Bay, where sockeye salmon are taken in nets and the whole family cuts them up to smoke and bottle. In your dad’s boat, you go fishing for halibut and spring salmon and set nets for those wonderful big Haida Gwaii crabs. I can’t wait to go up so that you can take me on your adventures. Yet when you visit us in Vancouver, you still want me to take you fishing for shiners! I’m so sorry we don’t have great places to fish like you do in Haida Gwaii.
You remind me so much of your auntie Sarika when she was a girl. She had so much patience and would spend hours on the seashore or in the woods just looking, and you are the same. I’ve watched you in a tidal pool with a dip net in hand, leaning over with your face close to the water—just looking. Suddenly, you dip the net and bring it up to see whether you caught a sculpin or a baby flounder. When we went to the creek by the public playground in Skidegate, I couldn’t believe how much time you spent trying to catch minnows, and then succeeding.
I hope you remember our trip to Mo’orea in Polynesia, though you were only four at the time. You told us the plants growing in the place we were staying were only the “hair,” that they communicate with each other underground. Nana and I were stunned. Where did you get that idea? And now, before Christmas, your mom says you commented that you couldn’t see how Santa could come since reindeer can’t fly. And you worried about how Santa could deliver presents when your house doesn’t have a chimney.
You are also learning about community. You’ve already been to pole raisings and feasts, and you celebrated receiving your first button blanket. It was so nice that your kindergarten class made personal cards for elders in the seniors’ home and then you got to deliver them to the people in person. That is what community is all about.
You are a thoughtful boy, and I know that more and more I will have to answer “I don’t know” to your many questions. But it will be fun trying to find the answer together. I get so much pleasure in watching your world expand before a very curious mind. Thank you for including me in your life.
{seventeen}
TIISAAN
HELLO MY SWEET TIISAAN,
Like Midori, you have an older brother to live up to, but you are a joy and delight in your own right. How wonderful it was when you came into this world with a full head of curly hair! And how I regret that when it was cut short, it never grew back with the curls again.
You will, I’m sure, have seen many pictures of you when you were still a baby, wearing what looked like a football helmet with the top cut off. That’s because as a baby you would lie on one side all the time, so a flatness developed on that side of your head. You always had a big head of hair, which covered any flatness, but your parents worried that if the flat part got bigger, it might cause a distortion in your face. So they took you to a specialist who fit you with a helmet that gently pushed against your head bones and moulded your head back into a round shape. You ended up wearing that contraption on your head twenty-two hours a day—yet you never complained. I think everyone was astonished at how good-natured you were, accepting that imposition with such aplomb. Of course, you also used that helmet as a battering ram to bang on the wall or hit your brother. You have always been so happy and are such a joy to us. And the helmet worked. Oh, you have a little flat spot, but then so do I, and mine is bigger.
You and your brother are such stunners, and I try to imagine you together when you are older and just knock-ing people out with your good looks. And you’ve got those unusual blue eyes, because as you know, Asians and Haida have brown eyes, and it’s genes from Europe that result in blue ones. The combination of Haida, Japanese, and English genes has produced a wonderful result! But just because you are good-looking and people ogle you, don’t let it go to your head and start thinking you’re hot stuff.
The acquisition of language is a fascinating process to watch. Your brother is quite proficient, and although you understand both English and Haida, you haven’t yet come out with the proficiency with words that your brother has. I can see that you understand us completely and have a clear idea of what you want to say, but a lot is still Tiisaan language. But I know you will become as fluent as your brother, and I can’t wait to hear you jabbering in Haida.
The challenge for you will be to carve out your own interests and desires. You have always wanted to copy whatever Ganhlaans does. I hated one of the earliest words you began to use: “mine.” I can’t tell you how many fights I had to intervene in because you were clinging to a toy or a bit of wood or even a piece of junk and yelling “mine.” Of course, Ganhi always wanted something simply because you had it first. I kept trying to inculcate the notions of “ours” and “share,” which I hope will kick in at some point.
You have always responded very strongly to music, especially music with a good beat. You get up and start dancing to Haida drumming and you love to beat the drum, so I have great hopes that you will learn traditional drumming and dancing, which is so important to Haida culture. Ganhi is quite shy in public, but you are a real show-off. I know you will take the lead at feasts and celebrations.
You and your brother are so loved by your parents, your grandparents, and your Haida community, and you are fortunate to be growing up in the confidence of that love and support. There will be times when you are sad, lonely, or upset, when you will be able to draw on that love.
My dear, sweet Tiisaan, how Nana and I wish we could shield you and your brother, Ganhlaans, f
rom hurt that will come during your lives. I’ve emphasized the love that you are enveloped in from family because that is your shield, your armour against ignorance and bigotry. It pains me to tell you that despite the enormous increase in appreciation of and respect for First Nations in Canada, there is still a great deal of prejudice that will be directed at you. Some people resent what they feel is undeserved support from their tax dollars on reserves, in paying less taxation, in unwarranted claims to land, and so on. Others point to alcoholism, disproportionate numbers in prison, or welfare costs without regard to the historical and social causes of many of these problems and as if the accusations apply to all First Nations people.
Your family will buffer you against the pain of any encounters you will have with people who are ignorant and don’t know what they are talking about. Know that you are a fine human being who has the love and support of the people who matter. Much of bigotry is based on sheer ignorance. Because we look different from Caucasians (a difference that has a genetic basis), people make a leap to assuming that differences in ability, intelligence, and behaviour are similarly determined by genes. That’s why, when Canada went to war with Japan in 1942, many Canadians feared people like me and my parents because we looked like the enemy—we were Japanese.
The first time I went to Japan, in 1969, I suddenly felt as if I’d disappeared when I looked at the reflections in a window on the street. Everyone around looked just like me and I had a hard time finding me in the crowd. That’s when I realized a lot of my sense of identity was based on looking different in a white society. We may look alike, but the minute I have a conversation with a Japanese person from Japan, a yawning gulf opens up between us because my history is Canadian and British, my music is Beethoven and Gordon Lightfoot, my literature is Shakespeare and Margaret Atwood. That’s why some of us refer to ourselves as “bananas”—we’re yellow on the outside but white inside.
Your mother had a friend she’d known from primary through high school. Years later, after getting married, your parents met her at a party. At some point, everyone was sitting around chatting and this friend casually mentioned “lazy Indians who are always drunk,” but then realized your father is Haida. She tried vainly to apologize to Jud for what she had said, but the words had slipped easily and thoughtlessly from her mouth and illustrated both insensitivity and prejudice. You will have such experiences, but don’t let them in any way shake your sense of self-worth.
But Tiis, you are so fortunate in having such a strong supportive family, and that gives you a responsibility to look out for others who might not be so lucky. Bigots who make judgments of others on the basis of religious, ethnic, or gender differences must be confronted. People may no longer express prejudice against you or other indigenous people but focus instead on Muslims or transgendered people—those bigots must be exposed for what they are because they can turn on you in a second.
Whatever you ultimately decide to do, do it with the gusto I’ve seen in you as a boy. Go for it, and don’t worry about whether you’ll succeed. Just do it to the best of your ability.
{eighteen}
RYO
MY PRECIOUS NEWEST GRANDCHILD,
Your mother was born while I was filming the biggest series I’ve ever done, A Planet for the Taking. Three crews were filming in different parts of the world, and I would fly from one to the other to do my “stand-ups” on location. We had slotted in a three-week period when I could be home with Nana for the birth, but during that period the due date came and went without any sign of a baby. As the days rolled by, I began to get desperate calls from India, from Africa, from Europe: “Where the hell are you? We’re getting ready to shoot your stand-ups.” Sarika was born weeks late, so I only got to hold her for a day and a half before I left for India. I met up with Nana and your mother several weeks later in England.
In 2014, the year you were born, I was taking another big trip called the Blue Dot Tour, a seven-week bus trip from Newfoundland to Vancouver to get Canadians to support enshrining the right to a healthy environment in our constitution. The date you were scheduled to be born was October 1 (incidentally, your mother’s PhD thesis was due by September 30, which was cutting things a bit tight). I left for Newfoundland on September 20, so we knew that unless you came ten days late, I wouldn’t be there for your birth. In fact, I was in Saint John, New Brunswick, in the east, when your mother went into labour, and I kept calling throughout the evening to see how things were going. As I talked to Nana, I could hear your mother groaning in the background.
You finally arrived, a big boy, healthy in every way, but I didn’t get to see or hold you in my arms until ten days later, when I flew back west for two and a half days just to meet you. I apologized to your mother for my absence during your birth, but she said, “The Blue Dot Tour is about my son’s future, so it’s okay.” And she was right.
Your parents are deeply concerned about the state of the world and your future. As you know, your father has learned about his indigenous background in the last few years. His father, your other grandfather, died all too young before your parents were married. He was a Métis, a person of mixed indigenous and European blood. He was a lawyer and played a big role in getting the return of Kwakwaka’wakw regalia and artifacts from museums in other countries back to Alert Bay, just off of Vancouver Island. In appreciation, he was honoured by being given a very powerful name. When Sarika and Chris were married, a large group of people from Alert Bay came to the wedding and passed Chris’s father’s name on to Chris. It’s a huge honour and responsibility for Chris, and I know you will become part of the Alert Bay community, because he wants to keep close ties with them. That gives me great comfort, because like your cousins, Ganhi and Tiis, those cultural ties with First Nations will shape your relationship with nature and the planet.
As a professional rafting and kayaking guide, your father is acutely aware of how lucky we are to live in British Columbia. He will regale you with wonderful stories of his encounters with grizzly bears, wolves, moose, and so many other animals in the wild. I know he will take you on trips as soon as you are old enough. But Chris also knows that these wilderness areas are threatened by climate change, which is melting the glaciers at an alarming rate, as well as by clear-cut logging, roads, and mining.
Your mother has always loved the ocean. As a child, she would always be the first to discover or observe things. She loved to find the smallest creatures—crabs, sculpins, starfish—and like your cousin Ganhlaans, she had incredible persistence, wading into pools or wandering beaches and forest trails for hours, just looking and collecting. She was the first in the family to find porcelain crabs, flat animals under tidal rocks that often had one bigger claw and long antennae. She knew where to go to find salamanders and had the patience to find and catch beautiful nudi-branchs. And she is the most patient and successful fisher of all of us.
So your parents are great role models. You will grow up loving the outdoors as you learn to kayak and canoe with your dad and as you accompany your mom on field trips for her work in marine biology. They are both avid camp-ers too, so you will learn to love the ocean and rivers and lakes and to care about their perilous state. And because you and your cousins love nature, I know you will become warriors fighting to protect the things you love.
I also know you will grow up with Ganhlaans and Tiisaan, two wonderful cousins. Oh man, the three of you as teenagers walking down a street—what a powerful image! I know you’ll visit them in Haida Gwaii often, because Nana and I have a little suite built next to their house, and we will be up there often. I hope you will sleep over in the treehouse I built for Ganhi and Tiis in the forest beside their house. And you will have fights with them, because that’s what happens with people you love. But if someone picks on one of the three of you, the other two will be there to stick up for him.
I know you will grow up on the water—your father wanted to name you after a river but had a difficult time choosing a name he liked. After a month
without giving you a name, your mom said, “Chris, make up your mind—I like Ryo.” Your name is the Spanish word for river (though in Spanish it is spelled “rio”), and they gave you Chilko as a second name, after the great river in the Bc interior. A bonus is that in Japanese, Ryo means “dragon,” a powerful metaphor to inspire you. What a beautiful name! But it sure took your parents a long time to choose it.
Ryo, I promise you, as I have promised all your cousins, that I will try as hard as I can to work for your future. I’m just one person, but I’m your bompa and will do everything I can to live up to what you expect of me. When I reach the end of my life, I hope I will be able to hug you and look you in the eye as I tell you, “I did the best I could.”
{nineteen}
FINAL WORDS
MY BEAUTIFUL, PRECIOUS GRANDCHILDREN,
In these letters, I have tried to tell you something about my history, my experiences, and my thinking that may help you understand your grandpa a little better—what has motivated me and what I have tried to do in my life. I hope you know I’ve never tried to interfere with your lives or dictate anything to you. I have such great faith in your parents, whom I love and respect as your role models. In the end, I think we all provide guidance by the way we live, not by words or lectures.
Perhaps, then, the best guide to defining who we are, what we represent, what values we hold is our track record over time. As Severn said in her speech at Rio in 1992, quoting me, “You are what you do, not what you say.” Although these are words, I hope these letters will provide a track record of my ideas and actions. But I would like to end with some advice or suggestions that you might consider in your lives.