The name Saanich is almost impossible to avoid if you live in this part of the world.
The name appears on maps, road signs, businesses, and organizations: the District of Saanich, the District of Central Saanich, and the District of North Saanich. It also appears on the Saanich Peninsula, Saanich Inlet, Saanich Peninsula Hospital, School District 63 — Saanich, the Saanich Police Department, and Saanich Commonwealth Place. The name appears on businesses, schools, community organizations, sports associations, charities, and public institutions. For most people, “Saanich” is simply part of the landscape.
But have you ever stopped to ask a very simple question?
Where did the name Saanich come from?
It did not begin with a municipality.
It did not begin on a colonial map.
It was not created to describe a peninsula.
The word Saanich is an English rendering of a much older name: W̱SÁNEĆ (wh-say-nuch).
And to understand that name, we need to begin with one of our oldest teachings.
How We Became W̱SÁNEĆ
The Legend of ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ tells us that, in the beginning, it was the Creator’s “XÁLS” teaching to look after Mother Earth.
The animals, the birds, the trees and the salmon — even the wind — were, and still are, people.
This understanding is important. Human beings were not placed above or outside the rest of creation.
We existed within a world of relationships, and those relationships carried responsibilities.
For many years, our ancestors followed the teachings of XÁLS. There was a long period of happiness, abundance and plentiful food.
Eventually, however, people began to forget. They began to move away from the teachings that had guided their relationships with one another and with their relatives in the natural world.
XÁLS told the people that a Great Flood and purification time was coming and gave them a warning:
“You prepare yourselves.”
Some listened.
They constructed huge cedar canoes and prepared a long, strong cedar rope. They gathered food and their possessions. Soon, the waters began to rise, and they loaded everything into their canoes.
Others did not heed the teachings. They were unprepared, and the rising waters washed them away as their canoes were destroyed.
Those who had listened paddled toward the highest mountain nearby. The water continued to rise. The people reached the mountain and tied their canoes with the cedar rope to an arbutus tree at its summit.
Soon, even the tops of the trees disappeared beneath the water. The people were frightened. They prayed to XÁLS and asked that their lives be spared.
After many days, a crow came and landed on the bow of a canoe. The crow carried a stick and spoke to the people. The crow had brought good news.
In the distance, a mountain was beginning to emerge from the water.
One of the men saw it, pointed toward it, and said:
“NI QENNET TŦE W̱SÁNEĆ.”
“Look at what is emerging.”
That moment is at the heart of our name.
As the water receded, the cedar rope held strong and kept the canoes in place until the people could safely leave the mountain.
Before leaving the mountain that had sheltered them, the survivors gathered around the great coil of cedar rope and gave thanks.
They said that from then on the mountain would be called ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱— the Place of Refuge.
And they said:
“We will be called the W̱SÁNEĆ.”
The Emerging People.
XÁLS heard their prayers and said the people would not be punished by flood again.
The people who survived are the ancestors of the W̱SÁNEĆ people today. Their descendants established winter villages at W̱SÍKEM (Tseycum, “Place of Clay”), W̱JOȽEȽP (Tsartlip, “Land of Maples”), SȾÁUTW̱(Tsawout, “Houses on the Hill”), and BOḰEĆEN (Pauquachin, “Land of Cliffs and Bluffs”).This is our heritage.
More Than an Origin Story
The Legend of ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ explains how our people came to carry the name W̱SÁNEĆ. But it is much more than a story about the origin of a name.
The story begins with a responsibility:
Look after Mother Earth.
It reminds us that human beings exist within a larger world of relationships. The animals, birds, trees, salmon, water and even the wind are not simply resources available for human use.
They are part of creation. They are part of us. And our relationship with them carries obligations.
The story also teaches us about listening. The people were warned. Some listened and prepared.
Others did not.
Those who survived did not survive through individual strength alone. Cedar provided the rope. The arbutus tree held the canoes. The mountain provided refuge. The crow brought good news.
And when the people knew they had survived, they gathered together and gave thanks.
That is important. Giving thanks.
Our name therefore carries much more than a location on a map. It carries a story of survival, gratitude,
relationship and responsibility.
Our people understand this history as reaching back through countless generations. The story continues to be shared today when W̱SÁNEĆ people teach our children and when we meet with governments, institutions and visitors to explain who we are and our relationship with this place and the non-human people who live here.
That makes what happened to the name much more recently especially interesting.
How W̱SÁNEĆ Became “Saanich”
Thousands of years after our ancestors began calling themselves W̱SÁNEĆ, newcomers arrived in our
territory.
They heard our name spoken in SENĆOŦEN, the W̱SÁNEĆ language. But SENĆOŦEN contains sounds
that English speakers did not easily reproduce. So newcomers wrote down what they thought they
heard.
Historical records contain numerous attempts to represent the name — variations including “Saugtch,” “Sanch,” “Sonatch,” “Sandish,” “Sanutch,” “Eusanich” and “Sanetch” — before Saanich eventually became standardized. Historical research describes Saanich as an anglicization of the Indigenous
name.
This distinction is important.
W̱SÁNEĆ is not the Indigenous translation of Saanich.
Saanich is an English rendering of W̱SÁNEĆ.
W̱SÁNEĆ came first.
The People came first.
The language came first.
The story came first.
Over time, however, that relationship became almost reversed in the public imagination.
“Saanich” became familiar. Tseycum, Tsartlip, Tsawout and Pauquachin became familiar.
W̱SÁNEĆ became something many people had to be reintroduced to — even some of our own people.
A Name Connected to a Homeland
W̱SÁNEĆ is also not simply an old name for what is now called the Saanich Peninsula.
Our homeland extends beyond today’s municipal boundaries, and beyond the boundaries of our remaining reserve lands.
W̱SÁNEĆ families are related to the Peninsula, the surrounding islands and the saltwater that connects them. Historical research records villages, reef-net fishing locations, hunting and gathering areas, travel routes, burial places and culturally important locations throughout the Gulf Islands, San Juan Islands and parts of the Mainland on both sides of the more recent Canada–United States border.
But a name on a map can only show part of that story.
Our ancestors knew these places because they lived with them. Places had names because people knew them and connected them to families. Waters were understood because generations travelled upon them. Fishing grounds were known and cared for because families depended upon them. Plants were known and cared for because they provided food and medicine.
The land and water were not simply commodities or resources. They were relationships. And those relationships carried responsibilities.
Our language, SENĆOŦEN, carries these relationships and responsibilities within it.
In our language teaching, ÁLEṈENEȻ speaks to one’s homeplace, homelands and territory, but it does not speak only to the land. It also refers to the people — human and non-human — who live here, the social and spiritual structures, the environments and habitats, and the teachings that allow us to live in relationship.
There is also the expression in SENĆOŦEN:
Ć,ÁȽE SEN.
I belong here.
In English, this statement can conjure warmth and comfort, acceptance and ease. But in SENĆOŦEN, there is a difference between simply residing somewhere and belonging in relationship with that place.
Belonging involves knowing.
Belonging involves caring.
And belonging carries responsibility.
The New Name Stayed While the Land Changed
There is a striking contradiction in the history that followed.
As colonial settlement expanded throughout W̱SÁNEĆ territory, lands were surveyed, property boundaries were imposed, municipalities were created, and new systems of government assumed authority over lands and waters W̱SÁNEĆ people had lived with and cared for over countless generations.
At the same time, settler society adopted an English version of our name.
Saanich.
The name appeared on maps.
Then governments.
Then roads.
Then institutions.
Then businesses.
Eventually, something remarkable happened: the name became widely known, while the story behind the name became largely unknown.
The Douglas Treaties of 1852 are also part of this history. W̱SÁNEĆ ancestors met with James Douglas in W̱SÁNEĆ ALEṈENEȻ. W̱SÁNEĆ oral histories tell us that
these agreements were not understood as the sale of our homeland. They arose from disputes between W̱SÁNEĆ people and the newcomers and were understood as establishing peace and a new relationship between our People and the settlers.
The written English text tells a very different story. Historical research shows that the treaty form used by Douglas was not present when names were first placed on the documents. A written form arrived later and was added to the sheets. That English text purported to transfer the land to the newcomers while reserving village sites and enclosed fields and recognizing that W̱SÁNEĆ people could hunt over unoccupied lands and carry on our fisheries “as formerly.”
W̱SÁNEĆ oral history has carried a different understanding through the generations: Douglas’ Word was a promise of peace and relationship — not an agreement by our ancestors to surrender their homeland.
The history that followed did not always reflect even the promises set out in the English text. Research concerning Tsartlip, for example, documents serious issues surrounding lands that were to have been protected as colonial surveying and settlement expanded. Colonial laws and regulations also increasingly restricted W̱SÁNEĆ fishing and hunting, while the amount of land considered “unoccupied” steadily diminished.
But W̱SÁNEĆ people did not disappear.
Our relationship with the territory did not disappear.
Our Treaty did not disappear.
And our name did not disappear.
Instead, Saanich became deeply embedded in the identity of the society that developed around us.
Saanich Is Everywhere
Today, the reach of the name is extraordinary.
Three municipal governments carry it: Saanich, Central Saanich and North Saanich.
It identifies the Saanich Peninsula, Saanich Inlet, Saanich Peninsula Hospital and School District 63 — Saanich. It appears on roads and public facilities. It is carried by businesses, charities, community organizations, sports associations and other institutions.
The English rendering of an ancient Indigenous name has become one of the dominant geographic identifiers of this region.
There can be something positive in that. Our name survived.
But it is also something we should think carefully about.
How did the name become so familiar while knowledge of the People behind it became so invisible?
And perhaps there is an even more important question:
What does it mean to carry the name of a People?
If Your Organization Carries the Name
This is not an argument that governments, hospitals, schools, organizations or businesses should stop using the name Saanich.
It is an invitation to understand what you are carrying.
Imagine a local business that has had “Saanich” in its name for 30 years. Perhaps the owners never knew where the word originated.
There is little value in making them feel guilty about that. There is much greater value in creating curiosity.
Whose name have we been carrying?
What is the story behind it?
Who are the W̱SÁNEĆ People today?
The same questions can be asked of much larger institutions.
If you are elected to a government carrying the Saanich name, shouldn’t knowing the origin of that name and its People be part of understanding the place you govern?
If you work for a school district carrying the name, shouldn’t students have the opportunity to learn its story?
If a hospital carries the name, could W̱SÁNEĆ language, history and presence be meaningfully reflected within that institution?
If a business benefits from the identity associated with Saanich, could learning about and supporting W̱SÁNEĆ be part of being a good neighbour?
These are not accusations. They are opportunities.
Because responsibility does not have to mean guilt.
Responsibility can, and should, mean what it has always meant: relationship.
It can mean learning how to pronounce W̱SÁNEĆ. It can mean learning the SENĆOŦEN names of some of the places around us. It can mean understanding the Douglas Treaties. It can mean supporting the survival and revitalization of SENĆOŦEN. It can mean developing meaningful relationships with W̱SÁNEĆ communities.
And it can mean recognizing that caring for these lands and waters is not separate from the story of the name being carried.
If You Call This Place Home
That responsibility does not belong only to institutions with Saanich written on their signs.
There is also something important about knowing the history of the place you call home.
People have come to this territory from across Canada and around the world. Others come from families that have lived here for several generations.
Everyone should be able to develop their own meaningful relationship with the place where they live.
But calling somewhere home also carries a responsibility to learn something about that home so that we can properly care for it.
Who lived here before the municipalities?
What language was spoken here?
What are the original names of the places around us?
What agreements were made?
What happened to the lands and waters?
Who are the Indigenous People who remain here?
And what responsibilities do they continue to carry?
Knowing those things does not need to make anyone feel less at home. By understanding your home more deeply, you are building a relationship.
The same is true of territorial acknowledgements.
Acknowledgement matters. But it should be an introduction rather than a conclusion.
If we begin a meeting by saying that we are gathering in W̱SÁNEĆ territory, the next question should become:
What does that actually mean?
A Story That Still Has Something to Teach Us
This brings us back to ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱.
The story of our name begins with people being taught to look after Mother Earth.
It tells of what happens when those teachings are forgotten. It tells of people being warned. It tells of those who listened and prepared.
It tells of cedar, arbutus, mountain, crow and water all having a place within the survival of our ancestors. And it tells of people gathering afterward to give thanks.
Those teachings remain remarkably relevant.
Today we speak about environmental stewardship, sustainability, climate change, habitat restoration and biodiversity. W̱SÁNEĆ people participate in those contemporary conversations.
But the underlying idea is much older:
Human beings cannot separate our well-being from the well-being of the natural world.
The health of the water matters.
The health of the salmon matters.
The health of the forests matters.
The health of the other beings with whom we share this territory matters.
And our relationship with all of them matters.
That is not simply environmental policy for W̱SÁNEĆ. It is part of an ancient responsibility.
The Next Time You See “Saanich”
The next time you see Saanich written on a road sign, municipal building, hospital, school or business, consider what stands behind those seven English letters.
Behind Saanich is W̱SÁNEĆ.
Behind W̱SÁNEĆ is a story.
Behind that story is a People.
A language.
A homeland.
A Treaty relationship that has not been honoured.
And teachings that continue today.
Our oral history tells of ancestors who listened when XÁLS warned that the Great Flood was coming.
They listened.
They prepared.
They travelled to the mountain.
They secured their canoes with cedar rope to an arbutus tree.
They prayed.
They worked in relationship with their non-human relatives.
They survived.
They gathered and gave thanks.
A crow arrived with good news. Then a mountain began to emerge in the distance.
“NI QENNET TŦE W̱SÁNEĆ.”
“Look at what is emerging.”
They named the mountain ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱— the Place of Refuge.
And they gave themselves a name:
W̱SÁNEĆ — The Emerging People.
Thousands of years later, an English rendering of that name still surrounds us: Saanich.
If your government, school, hospital, organization or business carries that name, know its story.
If this is the place you call home, learn its history.
And if that knowledge changes the way you understand this place, perhaps allow it to change the way you care for it as well.
Because a name can tell us where we are. But it can also teach us something about how we might live here — with gratitude, relationship and responsibility to the lands, waters and beings that sustain us.
At the beginning of the story is a lesson that remains as relevant now as it was for our ancestors:
Look after Mother Earth.
And once you know the story, you will see that this teaching is written, right there, in the name: