Leaving Home
With rising settler colonial pressures, such as concerns around socioeconomic wellbeing and displacement from traditional lands, urban life was on the horizon for our people, and many would leave the familiarity of reserve life and migrate to the city in the late 1940s. In my mom’s case, she left home to seek employment, much to the fear and angst of my grandmother.Yet, my mom, Euphemia Stager, had big aspirations and youthful energy and eagerly moved across borders as a young woman. First, she moved from Mount Currie to Vancouver and worked as a chambermaid in a Gastown hotel. Our people also used to work in the fields in those years, picking berries, picking hops. So she went, and she ended up in Seattle working as a waitress, and that’s where she met my father.
empowered, adaptation, mobility, survival, settler colonialism
Across the Pacific
1920s American imperialism created uncertainty for young people in the Philippines, leading many Filipino men to emigrate to America in the hopes of a better life. The youngest of a dozen siblings, my father identified as the “black sheep” of his family and was drawn to the lure of better opportunities in the West. Despite his father’s objections, these circumstances prompted him to take the sea voyage that would mould his life forever. He, too, sought other lands and meaningful work.My father, Salvador Reyes Tirazona, had come across the Pacific on a steamship from Kalibo in the Philippines in 1927. In those times, the Filipino “boys,” as my father called them, would often start working in the fields of California or secure jobs as houseboys for celebrities or rich folk. They would then migrate up the West Coast to Alaska fish canneries during the harvesting season, with stopovers in cities like Seattle. That’s how he met my mother; they met in that cafe, and that’s how I came to be.
migration, social aspiration, mobility, empire
I have 4 tongues, my grandma says. Mount Currie, Líl’wat… Mount Currie was where her husband, my grandfather, was from. She was from Líl’wat. My father’s Filipino, but I’m American, so my grandma always used to say, I have four tongues. You can hear it when I talk because people kind of question,
“Where are you from?”
My Nootka* Man
The year was 1973 when I met Arnold James, or Zorro as he was known at the time. We shared pitchers of loganberry wine, played pool, and the rest became our history. It was the period of the Red Power movement. We wore bandanas, braids, and attended rallies protesting John Wayne (who had come to town) and challenged the way he portrayed “Indians” in his movies.In our small talk, Arn spoke fondly about Yuquot (also known as Friendly Cove). His early days in Yuquot were the best of times and the worst of times. When he told stories of the way things were, I could sense the love he had for his family and feel the love he had for his community. This bond melded our lives.
connection, encounter, representation, protest, activism, memory
Yakaap
Sharing is an integral part of my belief system. I was raised in a racially blended family, and the sharing of meals in both Filipino/Asian and Indigenous cultures is an important practice in community, and family life. Witnessing my grandmother give the bounty of her garden, kitchen, and pocketbook to her community laid the groundwork for my shared history and values.At the 1994 Yuquot Summerfest, Arnold and I adopted Sal and Jamie into our family. It was then that Chiefs Ambrose Maquinna, Jerry Jack, and Max Savey honored me with the name Yakaap. My namesake was known for her hospitality and generosity, and strikingly, means “hug” or “embrace” in Tagalog. I was honored to receive that name, and it made me feel very welcome in the Mowachaht-Muchalaht community that I now call home.
sharing, food, welcome, naming
Next: from Zazilkwa, the swirling eddies in the Líl’wat River