Graphic courtesy of the Native Students Union.
Placenames and the history of areas are important to know and respect on Indigenous land. You never know what you may pick up without the proper knowledge or respect for the earth beneath your feet (remember: what goes around, comes around).
The history of míqәn (Beacon Hill Park), pronounced MEE-qan, starts with the Indigenous people of the ‘Salish Sea basin,’ which stretches from the coasts of Kwak̓wala territory to Chemakum, Tawaduq, and Lushootseed lands.
This corner of Salish islands and coasts were some of the most densely populated areas pre-contact.
Tucked inside this exuberant sea basin, the lək’wəŋən stewarded the land of míqәn, which roughly translates to ‘‘a place to warm your belly’’ and acted as a place of defensive refuge, food, and burial sites (yes, there are graves at Beacon Hill).
Defensive refuges were located at Finlayson Point, Holland Point, and Clover Point. It’s presumed these refuges were used to defend against outsiders who could’ve been settlers or other Indigenous groups.
Foods were (and still are) regularly harvested in the area, including the native plant kwetlal or ‘Camas,’ which are a popular food source once used for trade throughout the sea basin, along with razor clams and oolichan oil.
The burial sites in míqәn have a more controversial history.
There’s a story set in Finlayson Point, and it may have occurred during the 1700s after the height of a smallpox epidemic. It speaks of a split in the lək’wəŋən community where some fled to the hills to escape the disease, while others packed up winter supplies and moved to a fort nearby.
When those who fled returned to the Finlayson area after winter, they discovered every body of those who stayed behind. There were no survivors. They took their post-mortem community members and buried them in stone cairns in míqәn, some still visible today.
Burial cairns are made of loose stone, placed circularly in two rings, with the friend who passed resting in the middle, encased in smaller rock and gravel. Many of these cairns are over 1 000 years old and historically unsubtle in their visibility, unlike today.
The thousands of burial cairns spoke to the density of the Salish population and was evidential of the lands’ true millennia-long caretakers.
In 1850, (60 years after George Vancouver entered the region in 1792), Chief Factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company and the first Governor of the Colony of British Columbia James Douglas set his sights on the prosperity the island generously offered its respectful inhabitants.
Shortly after his arrival, so-called Victoria’s development shifted gears. Land was dished out and developed, involving rigorous construction and land surveying which led to settlers quickly discovering the burial cairns, unafraid to open them up like treasure chests.
Discovering bones at rest, they made haste to create discussion on what to do with the findings with Douglas and landowners who decided the least they could do is consult the people who put them there.
I just lied to you… did you believe me for a second though?
Instead, and in full truth, any burial cairns deemed in the way of exercising colonial property rights were dug up. Consequently, coastal ancestors were put on display in museums, early Victorians’ humble abodes, and business walls as decorations or sold as display items overseas to other Western admirers of the ‘ancient indian.’
The cairns left today have loose protection by the City of Victoria and it’s no longer trendy to show-off an ‘‘indian skull’’ inside settler establishments, however the history remains.
Areas such as Uplands and Oak Bay were also built atop of cairns; homeowners still find and dig up bones.
Reckoning with míqәn’s story while strolling through the park leaves a twisting feeling in my chest. Don’t get me wrong, míqәn is beautiful, but what I know (and now you too) taints my admiration for its colonially-distorted attractiveness.
It’s symbolic of the continued disruption of lək’wəŋən caretaking and life.
Beacon Hill Park makes me uncomfortable, and if you still don’t understand: imagine somebody dancing on the graves in Ross Bay Cemetery, ripping up the tombstones while muttering insults on the names they belong to, building shelter out of the stolen stone, and inviting the entire extended family to come and do the same.
Don’t forget to imagine the bones they’ll discover when collecting said tombstones, of which they’ll hang next to their door for the admiration of their guests, who will marvel at the scene.
