Started in 2017, the Indigenous Artist Spotlight series was created to foster greater awareness and understanding of the strength and diversity of Indigenous art available in Ontario and beyond.
This month, Ksenija Spasic interviewed accomplished Haida storyteller, educator, author and performer Kung Jaadee.
The header photo is by Kim Thé.
Instagram (@kungjaadee)
Order her books here.
Book Kung Jaadee through her agency here.
You have many talents. Besides being a performer, you are also a writer who has published five books. Could you tell us a bit about your books?
There is Raven’s Feast, which I perform in schools everywhere. There is Gifts From Raven which is a version of Raven’s Feast more suitable for younger audiences.
I have also created two primary textbooks: Indigenous Communities in Canada: Haida Nation. This is a compare-and-contrast book of Haida children in the ancestors’ time, and Haida children today. The lives of today’s Haida children are much more aligned with the lives of the ancestors. When I was a child, it wasn’t okay to be Indigenous. Haida children today speak our language better than I ever will. They are proud and they make me proud.
My other primary textbook is Haida Gwaii: We Are Home - it’s about how Haida Gwaii is a healing place for everyone who visits. I teach audiences we have healing places everywhere in our country.
My fifth children’s book is I Am Connected and it’s about my experience being born and raised on Haida Gwaii. It was published in January of this year, 2025 and is about my own experiences as a child. It encourages readers to reflect on what they do that makes them feel strong, makes them feel connected to the earth, to their ancestors. I ask them what they like to build.
I don’t usually read my books to school audiences, unless they’re very young, but I do show them my books to help them connect with me, as students often tell me they’ve read some of them. I am proud to say my latest book has been on the Best BC books list for several weeks now.
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What is the connection between music and story for you?
Songs are often part of my performance. I might sing a traditional song before or after I perform one of our legends. If I’m performing at a school, singing a song at the start of my presentation is a good way to help students focus and stop talking.
I formed a Haida singing group when my three children were quite young. I didn’t grow up learning our songs, but I wanted my children to really know their culture and be proud of who they are.
When I first started singing, I was so shy and held my throat so tight, the sounds were terrible. Eventually I decided, because the songs were from my ancestors’ time, and I wasn’t doing them justice, and I wasn’t helping to honour them by choking before I could get a note out, that something had to change. I loosened my throat muscles, and the sound flowed right out.
I once bribed a small group of Haidas with some tea and fried bread.
We’ve always called it fried bread, and though the term “fry bread” has come into use in our community, I insist it’s “fried bread.” For those who might not know, fried bread is a yeast-raised white flour dough that’s allowed to rise once, then punched down, divided into four large balls, covered and allowed to rest for twenty minutes. The dough is then divided into smaller pieces. You can let it rise again, but that’s optional. I fry those dough pieces in a shallow pan of olive oil, once on each side.
So, I told my Haida friends and relatives they couldn’t have any fried bread until we sang first. We struggled, but we all got to singing songs together, just with our kids around us. The goal was really to teach our little ones our songs.
Later, I started performing with my cousin, and we taught audiences about our two clans, teaching them the dance and the song for each clan.
I love singing during my performances. I always wish I had more time to sing.
You are from Haida Gwaii, but you have travelled the country for over 30 years telling stories. Are there any shared elements in the stories of Indigenous peoples across Canada?
Yes, I was born and raised on Haida Gwaii. My parents and my sister still live there. I’m also Squamish, and I’m living in Coast Salish territory, which is also my territory. I’m also Musqueam, Tseilwatuth, Hawaiian and Tlingit, as well as Haida.
I’m about to complete my thirty-first year of telling stories. The only places in our country I haven’t visited yet are: Nunavut Territory; Newfoundland & Labrador and New Brunswick, but I’m manifesting to get there too.
I believe every Indigenous Nation has a Trickster who spends their time trying to trick others from their food, or from something big and shiny. There are also many flood legends, or stories of how our world became the way it is, such as how the stars came to be.
I wish I could perform in every Indigenous community in Canada. Some of the legends I share are quite different from the local legends and I do what I can to bring the audience into my stories. Raven’s Feast teaches people they each have their own gifts, and they’re meant to practice them, to be shining lights, to help others see the gifts within which they are meant to share.
I also teach every audience to love themselves. I remind audiences they have tens of thousands of ancestors who love them always, that they should hug and tell themselves every day, “I love me,” for as long as they live. When I give this ‘homework,’ I explain that we are meant to love ourselves because our Creator has made us perfect as we are.
What is it like to be an audience member at one of your performances? I know you have performed in many different ways to many different groups, so feel free to choose a particular event you loved and use it to give us a sense of the experience.
My absolute favourite performance was one I did many years ago now, for an all-Indigenous audience. I had a lot of fun with them. I told the original legends of our Trickster/Creator, Raven doing silly things. The room was full of laughter. I do use humour often, regardless of the audience, especially if I’m telling one of my personal stories, or some of my peoples’ history. When the content is challenging, I break it up with humour.
When I’m at a school, I bring in young students’ attention by proximity; I move close to where they are and I tell the story directly to them. Occasionally, I whisper to them that they need to listen. I use my languages, Squamish Snichim, and Xaad Kil to regain their attention as well. I also teach my languages to the audience throughout the presentation, then ‘test’ them by asking later what something means. All in good fun.
I show the audience my regalia, my traditional clothing, and I explain what each piece means. I talk about how my friends made my regalia for me. One Haida friend did the designs on my vest and my dancing apron, and another sewed the regalia and made it beautiful. I explain that I don’t know how to sew. That’s not my gift. Storytelling is my gift.
I teach how Xaad Kil, Haida language is a linguistic isolate, and there are only twenty-one fluent speakers left in the world. I’m not one of them, but I speak my language everyday, even to myself. And the language is coming back: there is now instruction for babies, toddlers, their guardians, and for students from preschool to grade twelve. Parents are also learning our language, and speaking it with their children at home. We had our first Ph.D. student give her defence completely in Xaad Kil. I shared this in my school presentations during my recent Ontario tour.
How was your tour of Ontario? Any favourite venues or moments during your time on tour?
My two Ontario tours were great! I enjoyed most of my shows, but my favourites were with Aurora Cultural Centre, because after doing a presentation for an audience of kids, I did workshops with grade 4 classes. It was great to work with them all as one large group, teaching them the raven song and dance, then the eagle song and dance. If time permitted, I taught them the gaagiit (wild man) song and dance too.
At the very end of my second tour, I was with a group of special needs students telling stories, drumming and singing songs for them. I had fun doing that.
Adding the song and dance-teaching workshops to the story-telling performances means getting to spend more time with students which is great for building a stronger connection with them.
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In your bio on Pebble Star Artists, you say “storytelling chose me.” What do you mean by this?
I was bullied in my school, in Masset, Tlaga Awtlaas from Kindergarten to grade seven. I was attending an armed forces school. The Canadian armed forces built a communications station in our community, and they built their own grocery store, recreation centre and school. When I started Kindergarten, I was bullied by settler students in my classroom. Only my cousin didn’t participate in that. The teachers and parents were ‘warned’ about us before they were posted to our community of Masset. They were all told lies about us as Indigenous people. I don’t share what they said because I don’t wish to give any more power to those awful things. I only wish to give power to positive words. I wish to give more power to the word ‘love.’
Those students bullied me every day in groups of two or more, never one on one. Once I was in grade three, one hundred students chased me around at lunch recess and only two older cousins stepped between me and that mass of students to stop them from pulverizing me.
The settler teachers believed those lies, and they believed we deserved that mistreatment. I grew silent, and I learned to hate myself for being who I was. I wished I were born different; Italian, Greek, anything except for an Indigenous person. Once I was in high school, I stopped talking to most people, and I was really ashamed of who I was. I recall reading in my social studies textbook that we were savages. My shame further grew. I somehow graduated, and, at my graduation ceremony, my great grandmother walked onto the stage to hand me my button robe that she made for me. She was eighty-six years old at the time, and it took her six months to sew the buttons and the sequins on by hand. She didn’t tell me she was making it. She has over a hundred grandchildren, and I’m fortunate to be one of her eldest great-grandchildren, because she couldn’t possibly make button robes for everyone.
I started attending college and university. I got married and I had three kids. Once my eldest son started kindergarten, I knew I no longer had permission to be ashamed, because my children would learn to hate themselves, too. I wanted my children to be proud of themselves. I was granted permission to tell stories in my son’s Kindergarten class, and I told them about my great grandmother making the robe. My son’s peers were silent. Then they looked at my son and told him, “You are so lucky.” My son sat up taller, and his smile was from ear to ear. I remember thinking, “That’s why I have to do this. I have to do this for him.”
All the school’s teachers lined up outside his classroom and asked when I was coming into their classes. I was still very ashamed, and shy, so I told them I wasn’t doing that. They insisted and I made it into each of their classes. Those teachers shared my name and number with other teachers, in other schools, and other districts. My cousin called me up at the last minute and invited me to perform with him. My uncle called me up and tricked me into performing for his audience of over a hundred people. I was really upset with him for that. I didn’t tell him though, because he was my kaa, my maternal uncle.
I fought against telling stories for a while, until I gave up and accepted it. It felt like the stories were dragging me into this job, as I fought against it. I said to myself, “No, I won’t tell stories,” and the stories responded with, “Oh yes, you will do this.” The stories chose me.
I had a moment with this same uncle many years later. I invited him to a presentation; he arrived and asked me when it was going to start, and I replied that it ended 20 minutes before. We laughed together. I called my uncle over to me, and I let him know I was giving him a gift. He called his friend over to witness what I was doing. I told him how upset I was when he tricked me into performing for his audience many years ago. I was fuming at the time. Then I thanked him for giving me a beautiful life, by doing this. It took me twenty years to realize that storytelling not only helped my kids; storytelling helped me. I’m not completely healed; I’m a work in progress, but it was storytelling that has been healing me. I gave him a warm wool sweater, as he always worked outside, whether he was carving a totem pole, or doing sacred ceremonies. I am grateful he taught me how to tell stories, how to use a voice that imitated Raven, our Trickster. He taught me many songs. I think it’ll be five years since he died this October. He’s left a big, gaping hole in our family.
I tell audiences the stories speak through me. I don’t know exactly what I’ll share, until I’m standing in front of the audience. The stories tell me what to say, not in my ear, but in my spirit, in my heart. A couple of times I didn’t want to share something and they insisted, so I would say what needed to be said.
The songs have their own spirits, too and they decide which one is going to be sung. I have spent a lot of time introducing a song only to sing a completely different song altogether. Though most audiences don’t understand what I’m singing, because I sing in one of my languages, I translate for them. They need to know the meaning of what I sing.
You helped break a Guinness World Record this year! Please tell us all about it.
I travelled to Morocco for the Marrakech International Storytelling Festival in mid January this year (2025). I visited several schools, telling stories to Moroccan students of all ages, teaching them about Indigenous peoples in our country, how we are the original peoples of the land. I shared much with them, including how settlers are quite racist against us, but through storytelling.
At the same time, one hundred storytellers from thirty-three countries were helping to set the Guinness World Record for longest, nonstop storytelling. I was the only Indigenous person from Canada, but there were a few other Canadians. There were many Indigenous Moroccan storytellers performing in their native languages.
I performed two short sets, and it was really stressful. Guinness had a list of rules we had to follow in order for this World Record to be set. I was really worried I was going to mess up and accidentally break a rule. I imagined Guinness officials saying, “well, you would have set the record, but Kung Jaadee broke that rule.” Luckily, that didn’t actually happen.
Guinness congratulated us on setting the record at our final dinner together. It was an amazing evening with many joyous people. The food was delicious. I bought myself a traditional Moroccan outfit, and I danced much of the evening.
I recently learned that Scholastic is writing a book, featuring people in our country, including me! They’re writing a page about me and the Guinness World Record. I’m grateful I had this opportunity in Marrakech. The storytelling festival will happen again and, though I didn’t receive a travel grant to attend it, I will figure out a way to fundraise and get myself there in two years.
I don’t usually get to attend storytelling festivals. A great one that used to exist was in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. It was an International storytelling festival and it was a lot of fun. The Toronto Storytelling Festival was on during my second Ontario tour, but by then I had caught a really bad cold from Kindergarten students, and I couldn’t go anywhere that whole weekend.
I would like to attend the Scottish Storytelling Festival. I heard it’s quite difficult to get into. Maybe one day.
Haw’aa, U Siyam, thank you in both my languages.
Thank you, Kung Jaadee! How lucky are we to learn about your life, your art about the history and cultures that nourish them. Thank you so much.
Instagram (@kungjaadee)
Order her books here.
Book Kung Jaadee through her agency here.