The designs on their ceremonial robes reveal a single image, alive and full of motion, flowing across their backs: herring, swimming in the pattern of a double helix, the symbol for DNA. It signifies the deep ancestral relationship the Tlingit people have to the herring, one that tribal member and ethnobiologist Vivian Yéilk’ Mork describes as, “Older than the Roman empire. Older than the pyramids by thousands of years.”
“Our relationship with our herring relatives, the ocean, and this place,” says Louise Brady, elder and leader of the Herring Protectors, “goes so far beyond anything that capitalism understands. It is rooted in thousands of years of being in one place and developing a close, loving, respectful relationship to the land, the oceans, and all of our relatives.”
In a moment in which herring have been overfished into scarcity, the Herring Protectors are restoring that relationship between the land and humans in Alaska with an innovative approach: inviting people of all walks of life to attend a traditional Tlingit potlatch ceremony on one day, and the meeting of the state Board of Fish the next. Why would ceremony matter, not just to Native people but to all people, in the fight to protect the environment? In 1904 the Governor of Alaska outlawed the centuries-old potlatch ceremony, which was often most exuberant following the harvesting of herring eggs in the spring.
There’s something profoundly dangerous to the colonial and capitalist project about people remembering that sharing is an alternative to greed. That is why the potlatch ceremony posed a threat—it was a reminder. In bringing it back, the Herring Protectors are inviting people to remember. Ceremony is an essential component of good strategy, not to the exclusion of other forms of organizing or advocacy for environmental justice, but as the starting point and the center of gravity.
The Herring Protectors also know how unsuccessful their organizing was without it. Louis remembers just how painful it was to bring beloved elders like Mr. Jacob to testify at the Board of Fish. Looking at the lectern in front of him he found three lights—a green one when you are allowed to speak, a yellow one which appeared after two minutes, and a red one that flashed at the three-minute mark, when your time is up.
There’s something profoundly dangerous to the colonial and capitalist project about people remembering that sharing is an alternative to greed. That is why the potlatch ceremony posed a threat—it was a reminder. In bringing it back, the Herring Protectors are inviting people to remember. Ceremony is an essential component of good strategy, not to the exclusion of other forms of organizing or advocacy for environmental justice, but as the starting point and the center of gravity.
The Herring Protectors also know how unsuccessful their organizing was without it. Louis remembers just how painful it was to bring beloved elders like Mr. Jacob to testify at the Board of Fish. Looking at the lectern in front of him he found three lights—a green one when you are allowed to speak, a yellow one which appeared after two minutes, and a red one that flashed at the three-minute mark, when your time is up.
Holding their first Yaaw Koo.éex' (potlatch), the day before the next Board of Fish meeting, was a way of breaking free. Over 100 people attended, including tribal members from across the state, non-Native allies, and even members of the Board of Fish. The Tligit had the time to speak and educate everyone about the history and significance of the herring. Fishermen like 92-year-old Herman Davis shared their boyhood memories of joyful herring harvests and what disrupted them, like the time the federal government burned down his family’s smokehouse. “We built it back up and then they burned it down again. They were trying to destroy us.”
The grief of the Tlingit people runs deep. When the colonizers stole their hunting and fishing rights, and their land, they watched their beloved herring dwindle to almost nothing, and saw gentle ways overtaken by violence.
The Tlingit harvest herring eggs by placing the young hemlock branches along the shoreline and waiting for the female herring to lay their eggs among the leaves and swim off to finish their life cycle. Commercial fishers catch thousands of herring in massive nets, killing and discarding the males, slicing open the bellies of the females to pull out the sac of eggs, and either throwing the gutted fish back in the ocean to die or grinding them up for animal food.
The Herring Protectors’ potlatch was a place where people could grieve and heal. Together they ate traditional Eenwu (spirit food). They sang the nearly forgotten traditional songs, and performed the old dances, breathing life back into them as a new generation of young people learned these ancient arts. The day after the ceremony a large crowd went over to the Board of Fish to push for change. The second Koo.éex' drew 150 people, and the third 500 – now with Native people travelling from across the U.S. to join.
The road from ceremony to structural change can be a long one. The Herring Protectors are still in early days as an organization, but glimmers of change are already showing. The Board of Fish has increased the public comment time and improved the tenor towards Tlingit people at its meetings. More board members are attending the Yaaw Koo.éex'. More and more Native people and allies are travelling from across the state to participate.
The Tlingit harvest herring eggs by placing the young hemlock branches along the shoreline and waiting for the female herring to lay their eggs among the leaves and swim off to finish their life cycle. Commercial fishers catch thousands of herring in massive nets, killing and discarding the males, slicing open the bellies of the females to pull out the sac of eggs, and either throwing the gutted fish back in the ocean to die or grinding them up for animal food.
The Herring Protectors’ potlatch was a place where people could grieve and heal. Together they ate traditional Eenwu (spirit food). They sang the nearly forgotten traditional songs, and performed the old dances, breathing life back into them as a new generation of young people learned these ancient arts. The day after the ceremony a large crowd went over to the Board of Fish to push for change. The second Koo.éex' drew 150 people, and the third 500 – now with Native people travelling from across the U.S. to join.
The road from ceremony to structural change can be a long one. The Herring Protectors are still in early days as an organization, but glimmers of change are already showing. The Board of Fish has increased the public comment time and improved the tenor towards Tlingit people at its meetings. More board members are attending the Yaaw Koo.éex'. More and more Native people and allies are travelling from across the state to participate.
Louis says, “We have raised the awareness of indigenous rights at the state and local level, and increased communication between the native and non-native community. A couple was so inspired by the way that we build communities they gifted us land on an island and we purchased a building that will serve as our home office, storefront, and meeting space. In a time when people are hungry for community, we are creating a pathway to unity.”
Slowly and surely, the Herring Protector’s vision of a generous and sustainable Alaska is coming into view.
By: Vanessa Priya Daniel, Author/Donor Advisor
Learn more about the Herring Protectors.
Louis says, “We have raised the awareness of indigenous rights at the state and local level, and increased communication between the native and non-native community. A couple was so inspired by the way that we build communities they gifted us land on an island and we purchased a building that will serve as our home office, storefront, and meeting space. In a time when people are hungry for community, we are creating a pathway to unity.”
Slowly and surely, the Herring Protector’s vision of a generous and sustainable Alaska is coming into view.
By: Vanessa Priya Daniel, Author/Donor Advisor
Learn more about the Herring Protectors.
