Names and the White Possessive: Information for Creatives

In her 2015 work, The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty, Aileen Moreton-Robinson (Goenpul from Minjerribah, Quandamooka FN) explores the way in which white nation-states (Australia, Canada, the United States, New Zealand) use racial logics to disrupt Indigenous territorial sovereignty explicitly through structures of colonial territorial possession. “The white possessive” is not simply the claiming of Indigenous lands and resources, but also expands to include all aspects of Indigenous lifeways, including our names. Essentially, the white possessive renders everything – EVERYTHING – as “property” in various ways, resulting in a sense of entitlement to all aspects of existence. What we often call cultural appropriation is simply an expression of this white possessiveness – a belief that for example, all knowledge and cultural expressions should be available to the individual who wants them, and that they can be stripped of their embedded meaning and commodified at will. This stark individualism is at odds with the reciprocal relationality that underpins many Indigenous Peoples’ worldviews.

In 2018, I wrote an article for CBC called “Giving my Children Cree Names is a Powerful Act of Reclamation.” I had been very hesitant to pen the piece, because as I explained in the article itself, I was worried that once I put my children’s names out there, people were going to feel entitled to simply taking those names and using them for whatever they wanted.

Well, that is exactly what happened, despite the fact I explicitly said, “I want to stress that these names [of Indigenous people] are not merely pretty sounding, or up for grabs.” Recently it came to my attention that there is an Indigenous-produced mini-series called Shadow of the Rougarou, wherein the protagonist’s name is my daughter’s – sâkowêw. I then found more examples of people taking her name, like this British company that produces game figures. When I reached out to them about this after I initially wrote this piece, the response was awesome. They removed her name and were very receptive to the information I presented. However, there is still an “equity scenario” that uses both my name and my daughter’s name (assigning me a number of illnesses) to make a point about the discrimination that Indigenous people often face when accessing health-care. (Kudos on addressing that particular issue, all points rescinded for not once considering whether it is appropriate to use my daughter’s name this way. And after I complained through their website, they got ride of my name and instead used Pat, but kept my daughter’s name.)

I was shocked, and most likely, if you are reading this, you have no idea why. So let me break it down for you.

First, in the article I wrote, I made a few important points you should be aware of.

1. A major tool of colonization was the deliberate erasure of Indigenous naming practices
2. Indigenous naming practices are diverse and in many cases reflect specific responsibilities/cultural norms (so are more than simply names)
3. The Truth and Reconciliations Commission Call to Action 17 explicitly calls upon all levels of government to facilitate the reclamation of Indigenous names – but so far the process has been hindered by a refusal to allow “special characters” in Indigenous languages

Common names versus singular names

My two youngest children have nêhiyawêwin/Cree names, as nêhiyawêwin is one of the languages spoken in my Métis community of manitow-sâkahikan (Lac Ste. Anne). The youngest is wâpanacâhkos, which means dawn-star, or Venus. This is a name that has become fairly common in Métis/Cree families, so many people will hold this name. Other common names for girls are Tanis/Tawnis/Dawnis, all variations of the nêhiyawêwin kinship term nitânis, which means “my daughter.” More fairly common names for Métis or Cree children include various spellings of snow (kôna), wind (yôtin), rain (kimiwan), gift (mêkiwin), etc.

However, when I named my second youngest, it was with a specific naming practice in mind – I had recently learned that long ago, in our community and in surrounding First Nations communities, there were not the equivalent of thirty thrillion John Smiths running around, all with the same name. Certain names were singular in a living generation – meaning they would only be held by one living person at a time. Now, among Métis, the “singular” name was often listed as a nickname, or “dit” (called) on records. Among my own ancestors, there are multiple examples of grandfathers and sons and grandsons all sharing the same name (Louis Loyer), which can be incredibly confusing, until their singular name is taken into account (sometimes a French name, often a nêhiyawêwin one). Among nêhiyawak, those French names and surnames were less common, and the singular name was all. It was very, very uncommon for more than one person to share the same name, and some names will never be re-used.

sâkowêw’s name is singular. It is not common at all. It is a very unique name and was chosen to be so. I also want to clarify that this is her legal name, not a spiritual name which is something I would never, ever share in public. When people use her legal name, it is not at all equivalent to using my extremely common name, Chelsea. There are millions of Chelseas around the world and throughout time. So what people are doing, is searching “Métis or Cree baby names,” coming across the article I wrote wherein I explicitly express that folks should not be claiming Indigenous names for themselves or their projects – and engaging in white possessiveness by taking it. Even if they are not themselves white.

To be very, very clear – it is not believable for even a second that any of the people who have used my daughter’s name came upon that name independently. If you haven’t already searched her name, know that it first showed up when I used her name in a video game I created, and when I wrote the article about it. I also tucked a specific translation into the description of the name that is not available on the online Cree dictionary, precisely so I could track its use that way. It absolutely defies belief that any non-fluent speaker of nêhiyawêwin would somehow magically come up with that specific phrase AND that they would think to use it as a name unless they had seen it already used that way. And yet this is the claim that is already being made.

Naming Practices: what to be aware of in your creative works

Obviously, I have absolutely no power to prevent people from taking my daughter’s name. The kind of responsibility I am gesturing to has no legal standing in colonial law, nor would I invoke it if it did, as I’d still be upholding and appealing to a system that only understands Indigenous lifeways through the lens of property. However, as Indigenous Peoples continue to engage in the reclamation of our lifeways, we must also learn about the responsibilities that come along with the work we want to engage in. We have the right to assert our own legal orders with respect to all aspects of our lifeways and that very much includes our names.

If you are a creative, particularly an Indigenous one, then you likely already understand that you have certain responsibilities to your community, and to other Indigenous communities if you are portraying them in your work. Indigenous Peoples are not a monolith and our cultural practices vary greatly, even internally within our own Nations. There is a huge area of “not knowing what you don’t know.” So let’s get into an area that I am seeing being overlooked a lot lately in creative works: names.

Kanien’kehá:ka naming practices

As Kahente Horn-Miller explains, among the Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk): “when a person passes on, the name is taken back by the clan to be bestowed upon another baby. If there is another child given the same name as a living person, it is the responsibility of the family and clan to approach the family of that child with a basket and “take back the name.”

She describes how her daughter’s singular name is “unique within our community and the world and it is understood that no one else shall bear it.” Yet a filmmaker decided to use this singular name in a script without permission. Kahente Horn-Miller has found both her name, and her sister’s name, in three works of fiction. This is a violation of cultural sovereignty and an act of white possession.

Please read her entire article, “You May Have Stolen and Mined Our Lands, But You Will Not Steal and Mine Our Names,” as she touches on everything I am feeling here about finding my daughter’s name being used the way it has been.

Inuit naming practices

As with many Indigenous Peoples, Inuit traditionally use kinship terms with one another rather than given names – this is true among Métis and Cree as well. That practice was deliberately interfered with, but is something that many Indigenous Nations are trying to reclaim along with our languages. However, Inuit naming practices are also quite unique.

In this article, “How Inuit Honour the Tradition of Naming, and Spirits Who Pass On,” it is explained that “traditional names can carry great responsibility, with the belief that children can share physical and personality traits with their namesakes.” The practice is deeper than simply seeing similarities: “a person never really dies, their spirit is passed on to a child.” There are certain protocols around passing on names in different communities: “in Kugluktuk, Nunavut, it’s believed that when a person dies, their spirit should have time to rest and cross over, and their name should also be given time to rest before being reborn in someone else. So don’t name the children after someone right away. You allow that person’s spirit to pass for about a year before you use that name again.”

If you have ever watched the incredible film, Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner, this aspect of naming is very confusing at parts of the film, as a child is called husband – but once you are familiar with why this is, it makes sense.

Sḵwx̱wú7mesh naming practices

Ancestral names in the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish Nation) “are cultural property carried by families and their blood descendants which are given from one generation to another.” They can be associated with specific responsibilities, and are subject to traditional inheritance laws, they are not shared, and there are specific cultural protocols surrounding the giving of these names and where they are to be used.

What does this all mean for the creative?

When you choose an Indigenous name for a character in your work, you may be importing more baggage than you could have ever anticipated. Indigenous creatives are often held to higher standards in this regard than non-Indigenous ones, because our communities WILL come for us when we mess things up! Non-Indigenous people will not necessarily face the same level of accountability – but if you are trying to include Indigenous perspectives in your work, there is certainly a responsibility there that you do it correctly and respectfully. It will not be enough to fall back on the tired legalism “this is a work of fiction and characters in it are not based on any real persons living or dead and any similarities are a coincidence.” No – when you take a singular name like the ones in the traditions I have mentioned, you cannot simply strip it it of its context and “fictionalize it.” There is literally no way to actually accomplish that.

It is understandable that you want to ensure naming conventions in your creative work are as authentic as possible – but you need to understand that the importance of names is culturally specific. Taking a name you find online, because an Indigenous person has had it printed somewhere, is not a generalized act like looking up baby names for the year 2022 – you may be invoking a specific cultural property that comes along with specific responsibilities within a collective.

I became aware of this issue when I wrote a graphic novel chapter in This Place: 150 Years Retold. I wanted to include the perspective of an Afro-Indigenous Two-Spirit Kanien’kehá:ka who grew up in the child welfare system. I quickly discovered that it would be wildly inappropriate for me to use a name for my character that only one person alive today has. How could I invoke that person’s name when it is so wrapped up in their personal and cultural essence, just because I was creating a fictionalized piece? Might as well name her Anne Violet George Of 123 Alabaster Way Havre Montana Born To Carl George And Janice Wright – it’s that specific.

So instead I found a very common name, Wári (pronounced Walee), a Kanien’kehá:ka version of the name Mary. It fit the character perfectly – she was culturally displaced by colonial policies, but her mother (also a 60s scoop survivor) had made an effort to provide her with a name in the language. This is a step in the ongoing reclamation efforts Indigenous Nations are making as we seek to restore our more varied and deeply-rooted naming practices. That’s what names like Tanis, Koona, Mekiwin, and so on are as well. They are beautiful, in an Indigenous language, but not linked to a specific reciprocal responsibility held by the person so named.

Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should

I received response from the writer/director I reached out to regarding the use of my daughter’s name – one that hopefully will result in future actions that reflect that complexities I’ve outlined here. I know these discussions can be fraught, and I have no idea how the name came to find its way into that script – it could have been someone else’s research. I don’t assign malice to this, merely ignorance, and I know that some of you reading this will still thing I’m making a mountain out of a molehill out of a belief that names are public property. (If so, please interrogate that white possessiveness I referred to at the beginning of this piece.) As Indigenous Peoples continue to reclaim our traditional naming practices, this issue – among others – is something all creatives will need to remain attentive to.

I can already anticipate another very tired argument: “Chelsea, you claim that it’s white possessiveness to commodify something as property, yet here you are asserting ownership rights to names, har har, gotcha!” In fact, I am asserting Indigenous sovereignty, and because I am speaking to you in English, some of these issues can only be made legible through the paradigm of property – specifically intellectual and cultural property. That does not correctly reflect the naming practices I have referred to, however, so keep that in mind.

I’m not even certain I would have said no, if I’d been asked about her name being used this way – after all when I told her about it, my girl was excited that a strong Métis character shares her name. I suspect that people will continue to use and take her name (I haven’t even listed all the uses I’ve seen, but let’s just say that if you have assigned yourself this name because you think it’s beautiful – which is it – that is not okay) and there is little I can do to stop it, except spread this awareness.

kinanâskomitinâwâw for listening, and hopefully learning something new today.