I learned quite a bit of our history from the elders of the community. They all had stories about the history of the Nisg̱a’a. Like the story of Txeemsim, who came to the headwaters of Lisims and made a food basket of the river.

I was sent away to residential school, from 1947 to 1950. There were 30 of us from the Nass Valley. We stayed on the same side of the school and spoke our language to each other whenever we had the chance. I didn’t learn a damn thing at that school. They put me to work on the farm from 5 o’clock in the morning to 12. From 1 o’clock to 3 o’clock I was in class, then from 4 o’clock to about 7 I was milking cows. And I had to chop wood for the principal’s stove.

After school, I worked in the fishing industry before it collapsed, then logging, then road construction. When I moved back home in the late 1950s, people were still fluent in Nisg̱a’a. I got elected to council and served three terms. During negotiations for the Nisg̱a’a Treaty, we went all the way to Ottawa. In my last term, the treaty was signed in Vancouver.

It’s important that young people know our stories and learn to speak our language. In Nisg̱a’a, there are a lot of words that are deep and meaningful. In Nisga’a, you don’t just speak on any subject, you speak to the welfare of the community. Our language was overwhelmed because the younger people went away to school. Yes, some of our people had to learn to speak English, but in the end English overtook our language. Now we run our own school.

My daughter is starting to teach the youngest children in Nisg̱a’a. She’s been working with her mother, my wife Verna, on a dictionary that has over 5,000 Nisg̱a’a words. So yes, I do have hope that the language will live on after I’m gone.