Sacred Yet Disrespected – The Story of Halkett Island

Sometimes, when something really captivates me, I forget to take a picture. Other times, I feel as though it would be disrespectful to take a picture of a place if I know that people hold it in reverence. The island I was floating beside when I first considered writing this post was an all-but-barren rock in a very developed area above Victoria, Canada’s upper harbour. It would not have gained my respect or even my attention had I not heard its story. But hear it I did, or at least a tantalizing tidbit, and therefore I couldn’t bring myself to record its image myself. (But as you’ll see below, I wasn’t above getting one online.)

How strange that something so uninviting and so unhappily situated could turn into blog fodder for me. But this is exactly the sort of thing that I like to write about. It’s hiding in plain sight. It’s uninspiring to the eye, but significant to history. It bears remembering.

I hesitate to call this place Halkett Island, because it’s a travesty that it was given that name. Some call it Deadman’s Island, but that’s a little too “Pirates of the Caribbean” for my taste. It deserves a better fate than reminding one of an animatronic Disney ride.

Long before Europeans barged right in like they owned the area, this island was a burial place for the lək̓ʷəŋən peoples. Some of the burials were below ground, but for the most part, as was their custom, they buried them above ground in canoes, boxes stacked one upon the other, or in tiny little sheds, with their most prized possessions beside them. Sometimes the boxes were fastened in the trees.

We know not what the indigenous people called the island. That has been lost to time. But Henry Kellett, captain of the HMS Herald, named the island in 1846 after the Halkett family, who had many family members who were prominent in the royal navy throughout the 18^th, 19^th, and 20^th centuries. The Halkett name graces several geographical features in British Columbia. (No one ever asked the permission of the original inhabitants when making these changes, of course.) After the naming, we first hear of the island in colonial records in 1850, and it starts showing up on maps in 1851.

In 1858 the local newspaper described the island as being full of burials, and mentioned that families mostly packed the bodies in flexed positions and piled all manner of possessions beside them. They also described canoes going there at twilight, and people lighting fires and making, basically, what sounded to the Europeans like a continual racket until after midnight. So clearly the island was still in active use at the time.

Then in 1867, either 2 or 4 boys, depending on which sources you believe, either swam out to the island and lit a fire to warm themselves, or canoed out and deliberately set the place ablaze. Either way, the fire raged all day, and every tree, shrub, and artifact was reduced to ash, leaving only charred skeletons behind. The natives removed those by the next day. By that time the tribes had been relocated, and authorities insisted that, due to a smallpox epidemic, they bury their dead underground on a reserve. One assumes that’s where these bones wound up. The island would never be the same again.

Why, why is it always boys who do so much to destroy heritage? It’s sickening. And all these boys got for their outrageous behavior was a day or two in jail and a total of $100 in fines, which were then given to the lək̓ʷəŋən peoples. It is said that they were quite happy to take it. Now, I’m sure they had been rendered destitute due to colonialism, so the money likely came in handy, but I still find that “happy” reaction rather hard to believe. Just another example of the whitewashing of history.

There’s a really beautiful watercolor of the boys destroying the island. It’s owned by the Royal BC Museum. I’m not including its likeness here because it has no right to be beautiful. It was an ugly act. These horrible boys do not deserve any immortality. That, and it’s copyrighted material. But you can see it here if the spirit moves you. It was created in 1958.

The island has burned several times since then, most recently in 1993. It has also changed status several times. In 1913 it formally became a reserve, but in 1924 it was cut away from the reserve. In order to protect it, it became an archeological site in 1964. Through a lawsuit, it was returned to the lək̓ʷəŋən peoples in 1993. (Interesting that that was the same year it last burned, but I’m not sure of the circumstances.)

So, as I sat in the little harbor ferry, floating beside this little island, contemplating how I would recount this story, I wondered how many of the thousands of tourists who drift past it each year fully appreciate what they see. The island was most likely much bigger when white men first encountered it. But by the late 1930’s, that waterway was used to float logs to the nearby lumber mills, and that activity most likely reduced the island’s size. Erosion and destruction of vegetation took its toll. Now, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was nothing but a shipping hazard. But it’s so much more.

This, of course, is not the only island which has been used as a First Nations burial ground (in fact there are thousands), and it’s not the only one that has been desecrated. People have stolen artifacts from many of them, and vandals abound. Even more shocking is the fact that the government has issued permits that have allowed people to develop these islands. There was a huge controversy in 2014 when someone bought Grace Islet and started building their retirement home right on top of the burial ground. Finally, after vociferous protests and fundraisers, he was bought out, but not before extensive framing had been erected, and untold number of construction workers had trampled over everything in sight.

Will the disrespect never cease? Apparently not. While doing research for this post, I came across these wedding photos that were taken on Halkett Island in 2015. My stomach lurched to look at them. I thought that perhaps the photographer was unaware of the fact that it had been an Indian Reserve for well over a decade at that point, so she did not realize that they were trespassing. Maybe she didn’t know it had been a burial ground, and they were desecrating it. Perhaps she didn’t comprehend that the paintball smoke grenades that they ignited to give the image a more ethereal look were reminiscent of the tragic fire.

But the photographer is based in Victoria. If she didn’t know, she should have. For what it’s worth, one glance at her website will attest to the fact that she is extremely talented. Her work is stunning. But that’s no excuse for taking such liberties.

It is a shame that I have to say this, but I will, because we are living in increasingly selfish times. Even if you yourself do not consider something sacred, if someone else does, it’s extremely discourteous to trespass, vandalize, or otherwise disrespect that thing. And if it is also protected by law, it’s a crime. It’s never a mistake to err on the side of common courtesy and basic human decency.

I wonder if the couple in those wedding photos is still married. I wonder if they know that these romantic images evoke some very complicated history. Talk about starting off on the wrong foot.