Decolonizing Turtle Island: More Than a Name, It’s a Paradigm Shift
Turtle Island. For millennia, this resonant name has been used by numerous Indigenous nations, including the Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee, to refer to the landmass now commonly known as North America. It is a name steeped in creation stories, spiritual significance, and a profound, reciprocal relationship between humans and the earth. Yet, the mere adoption of this beautiful name by non-Indigenous people, while seemingly an act of acknowledgement, risks becoming a superficial gesture if it isn’t accompanied by a fundamental decolonization of thought, action, and land relations. Decolonizing the concept of Turtle Island means moving beyond a linguistic preference; it demands a radical paradigm shift that challenges settler colonialism’s very foundations and re-centers Indigenous sovereignty, knowledge, and stewardship.
The story of Turtle Island, as told by many Indigenous peoples, speaks of a great flood, and how a muskrat or beaver, diving deep, brought up mud that was placed on the back of a giant turtle, eventually forming the land. This narrative is not merely a myth; it is a foundational epistemology, a blueprint for understanding one’s place in the cosmos. It posits land not as inert property to be exploited, but as a living relative, a provider, a sacred trust. This worldview stands in stark contrast to the European colonial perspective that arrived with Columbus and subsequent waves of invaders: a perspective rooted in the Doctrine of Discovery, terra nullius (empty land), and the divine right to conquer and extract.
The imposition of "North America," "Canada," and "the United States" was no mere cartographic convenience. It was an act of linguistic and cultural violence, a deliberate erasure designed to sever Indigenous peoples from their ancestral territories, their identities, and their complex systems of governance and knowledge. These colonial names represent a worldview that sees land as a commodity, a resource to be owned, divided, bought, sold, and exploited for profit. The borderlines drawn across Turtle Island are artificial constructs that tear through ancestral territories, separating families, disrupting trade routes, and ignoring the inherent sovereignty of Indigenous nations.
In recent years, the term "Turtle Island" has gained increasing traction in academic circles, activist movements, and even popular culture as a gesture of respect and decolonial intent. However, without a deeper engagement with what that name truly signifies, its usage can inadvertently become a form of "settler innocence" or even tokenism. Simply saying "Turtle Island" while continuing to uphold colonial land ownership, resource extraction, and political structures is akin to painting over a wound without treating the infection. As Indigenous scholars Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang famously asserted in their seminal essay "Decolonization is Not a Metaphor," genuine decolonization requires the repatriation of Indigenous land and life. It is not a symbolic gesture; it is a material struggle for justice.
So, what does it truly mean to decolonize the concept of Turtle Island? It begins with acknowledging and respecting the inherent sovereignty of Indigenous nations. This goes beyond land acknowledgements, which, while a starting point, can often be performative if not followed by concrete action. Genuine acknowledgement requires understanding that Indigenous peoples never ceded their land, that treaties were often broken or misinterpreted, and that their governance systems predate and often surpass the democratic ideals of settler states. It means supporting Indigenous self-determination, recognizing their laws, and upholding their jurisdiction over their traditional territories.
Decolonizing Turtle Island also necessitates a profound re-evaluation of our relationship with the land itself. The Indigenous understanding of land as kin, not commodity, stands in stark contrast to the extractive ethos of settler colonialism. For centuries, Indigenous peoples have practiced sustainable land management, stewarding diverse ecosystems, cultivating biodiverse food systems, and developing intricate knowledge of flora, fauna, and waterways. Their traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) offers vital solutions to the pressing environmental crises facing the planet today, from climate change to biodiversity loss. To decolonize Turtle Island is to listen to and uplift these ancient, yet acutely relevant, forms of stewardship, and to advocate for the cessation of destructive resource extraction projects that desecrate sacred lands and waterways. Consider the ongoing struggles against pipelines like Line 3 or the Wet’suwet’en fight against Coastal GasLink – these are not just environmental protests; they are assertions of Indigenous sovereignty over their ancestral territories, a practical enactment of the Turtle Island worldview.
Furthermore, decolonizing the concept involves confronting the historical and ongoing violence inflicted upon Indigenous peoples. The residential school system in Canada and boarding schools in the United States, designed to "kill the Indian in the child," were direct manifestations of the colonial project to erase Indigenous identity and claim the land. The systemic violence continues today, evident in the crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit People (MMIWG2S+), the disproportionate rates of Indigenous incarceration, and the ongoing impacts of poverty and discrimination. Decolonizing Turtle Island means actively dismantling these systems of oppression, advocating for justice for victims, and supporting Indigenous-led initiatives for healing and self-determination.
For non-Indigenous people, decolonizing the concept of Turtle Island means more than just acknowledging Indigenous place names or feeling guilt. It means active, informed allyship. It involves educating oneself about the true history of colonialism, including the specific histories of the Indigenous nations whose lands one occupies. It requires listening to Indigenous voices, amplifying their concerns, and stepping aside to allow Indigenous leadership to guide the way forward. It demands a critical examination of the privileges gained through settler colonialism and a willingness to challenge the systems that perpetuate injustice. This could mean advocating for Land Back initiatives, supporting Indigenous businesses, learning Indigenous languages, or engaging in treaty education.
The concept of "Land Back" is central to this decolonial project. It is not simply about returning every parcel of land, but about restoring Indigenous control, governance, and spiritual connection to their territories. It encompasses diverse approaches, from co-management agreements and conservation easements to outright land transfers. The Land Back movement recognizes that true reconciliation is impossible without addressing the foundational injustice of land dispossession. As Nick Estes, a citizen of the Lower Brule Sioux Tribe and co-founder of The Red Nation, states, "Decolonization is not just about returning land, it’s about returning the relationships that sustained those lands."
Decolonizing Turtle Island is not an endpoint; it is an ongoing process, a continuous journey of learning, unlearning, and re-learning. It is about understanding that the land beneath our feet has a name far older and richer than those imposed by colonial powers, a name that carries with it an entire civilization’s worth of wisdom, responsibility, and interconnectedness. By embracing the true meaning of Turtle Island, we commit to a future where Indigenous sovereignty is respected, their knowledge systems are valued, and the land is treated not as a resource to be plundered, but as the sacred source of life that sustains us all. This shift in consciousness and action is not just beneficial for Indigenous peoples; it is essential for the health and survival of all who call this beautiful, ancient land home. It is time to truly listen to the heartbeat of Turtle Island.
