This page brings together two powerful voices navigating identity, belonging, and resilience. An Indigenous student shares artwork rooted in hope — a testament to the strength of communities reclaiming teachings, land, and connection to Turtle Island. Alongside it, a faculty member reflects on the quiet calculations behind naming oneself in academic spaces, and the emotional cost of being asked to prove identity. Together, these pieces invite us to consider what it truly means to make room — not just for presence, but for dignity, truth, and future generations.

Where There Is Hope, There Is LIfe

Sylvia, one of the students we spoke to in this project, shared in this clip “it is a human thing. I should be treated like a human and not the way you think I am. When people have that sense of wanting to listen without respect to situations like that and feel sorry for me and not change, that is not acceptable. Because people have had these lived experiences and they don’t want your sympathy. They want change. Because none of this that happened should have ever happened”.

Below you will see original artwork by Sylvia titled “Where there is hope, there is life” and the story behind what inspired her art.

“Where there is hope, there is life.”

Is the title of this triptych I painted.

This painting was inspired by a trip I had taken to Parliament Hill where I would be able to advocate and address indigenous issues for Indigenous students faced in university. standing up for the inclusion and belonging of indigenous peoples.

In the paintings the gold represented hope, the hope that is in the revitalization of culture, hope for our children and our voice, to be seen as equals.

The black represents trials, struggles, residential schools, colonialism, and anything that would get in the way of an indigenous person being themselves authentically, the inequality, exclusion of indigenous, and the eraser.

The salmon eggs represent resilience, future, abundance, renewal, prosperity and culture, land connection, connection to Mother Earth and the great Spirit and Our future children.

I feel connected to the salmon, because out of thousands and thousands of eggs that are born or hatched, despite the big ocean, no matter what the egg goes through. The salmon always find their way home, to their roots, to start all over again for the future and drive to overcome.

The resilience of indigenous people today, despite the past, we are still here, still strong, finding our way back home for future generations. Taking back our power, taking back our teachings, taking back our Land and connection to Turtle Island.

When the Document Believes Me Before the Room Does

The meeting starts before the slides do. Someone references recent headlines about identity and says, “It’s frustrating how ‘pretendians’ have started to infiltrate universities.” A couple more names are mentioned. Then: “Justin, thoughts?”

My heartbeat ticks loud in my ears. In half a second I do the math: if I push back, the meeting becomes about me; if I stay silent, the comment hangs as truth. I choose a third path.

“I’m a registered member of the Sapotaweyak Cree Nation.”

I leave it there. The air shifts. We move on. She can own her words; I don’t need to perform proof. I live in the in-between, often not read as white, not read as Indigenous and the cost of every response is different. Some days the cost is invisibility. Some days it’s becoming the lesson.

I didn’t always say anything. In my first job at a mining company, I chose not to disclose. I wanted to be “just the analyst,” because disclosure felt like a career risk. Silence bought me a kind of safety, and it cost me belonging. I wasn’t exposed to some harms in my family’s story, but I also missed ceremony and connection that could have rooted me. Later, when I began naming who I am, a new pattern showed up: my HR form believed me before the room did.

After the meeting, a few private thank-yous arrive. A few people avoid eye contact. I recognize the balance sheet I keep running in my head: energy, risk, dignity, impact.

My grandmother once told people she was Spanish. It kept her safe. I carry that history with respect, and choose a different strategy. I name myself, and I set terms for how we work together: believe what is shared, don’t ask people to verify identity on demand, and follow local protocol so decisions and benefits are shared. That’s how we make room.

By Justin Molander, Faculty

Justin is an Indigenous Canadian from the Sapotaweyak Cree Nation and has an Honours Bachelor of Business Administration Degree and is a Chartered Professional Accountant, Certified Management Accountant and Instructor at KPU. He has more than 20 years of experience spanning from financial analysis and market research to financing high growth, capital intensive companies in a broad range of industries.