The Politics of Naming Within Kayanręhstì·yu·

Reform and change are concepts not usually associated with traditional Indigenous governing bodies, yet they are integral to the structure of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy as understood within Kayanręhstì·yu·, or the Great Law of Peace. The message of Kayanręhstì·yu· was brought forward at a time of societal dysregulation, and established a governing structure that continues to unite all Six Nations of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy together today: the Mohawk Nation, the Oneida Nation, the Onondaga Nation, the Cayuga Nation, the Tuscarora Nation, and the Seneca Nation.

Although the governing realities faced by individual Nations and communities within the Confederacy differ based on location, history, external pressures, environment, and more, our ability to effectively communicate with one another is essential to building and maintaining peace, both internally and externally. In order to maintain these relationships, we must bridge the gaps in varied language usage through time and in new formats. As a result, language becomes a political act: Haudenosaunee voices are heard and carried forward by Clan Mothers and then amplified by our speakers and Chiefs. As political leaders, our Clan Mothers carry the responsibility of naming from the birth of a new baby to the naming of title holders in our clans. The practice of naming is tied to a politic of language, time, governance, community, and memory. 

As a citizen of the Tuscarora Nation, member of the Turtle Clan and lifelong language learner, much of my work focuses on understanding, supporting, and strengthening traditional governance within the Confederacy, including our languages. I am currently writing my dissertation on the transition from physical to digital archives, and how undisturbed and unquestioned metadata carries forward legacies that do not reflect traditional governance protocols nor prioritize the use of our languages.

I am co-primary investigator for the Haudenosaunee Archive, Resource, and Knowledge Portal (HARK), hosted at the University at Buffalo, I work with a team through the complexities of building a digital archive that centers Haudenosaunee ways of being. However, in establishing the metadata for our archival materials, several questions arose around naming choices on the site: Are we going to continue to use common names for the purposes of external legibility, or is it time to embrace names within our own languages? As a digital project, what spelling(s) are we going to use for searchability?

For my research I created a chart of Haudenosaunee common community names and Nation names in each of the six Haudenosaunee languages utilizing the contemporary usage of IPA diacritics. My intention is for this chart to be useful for immediate use in digital spaces: texting, emails, metadata production, etc. For example, to conduct research on my Nation, Tuscarora, “Tuscarora Nation,” “Ska-roo-reh,” Skarù·ręʔ,” “Haudenosaunee,” “Tuskarora” are all correct depending on the context and intention of the work. However, in most archives, websites, and directories, the searchable terms and metadata do not include space for languages other than English, the use of diacritics, or multiple spellings of words.

Another example is the complexities surrounding name changes or name stagnation traceable in the commonly used name of the Confederacy, Haudenosaunee. The spelling and usage of “Haudenosaunee” derives from the Seneca language, however, the current orthography or spelling system of the Seneca language preferences Hodinöhsö:ni' over Haudenosaunee. Although the shift in spelling and diacritics is significant for the digital realities of searchability, the shift to “Haudenosaunee” in the 19th century from “Iroquois” marks the drastic difference in meaning between “Iroquois” and “Hodinöhsö:ni'.” One translation of Hodinöhsö:ni' may be understood as “people of the longhouse,” but another interpretation is in reference to the house or the rafters of a house and their ability to extend and make the house longer. Therefore, the name of the Hodinöhsö:ni' Confederacy reflects the ideology that there is space for growth, change, and reform. 

Another example of this spelling shift is of “Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’” within Cayuga homelands. Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’ is how Cayuga people refer to their Nation in the Cayuga language. In 2012, the Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’ were in the process of resettling their territory on the north end of Cayuga Lake. My mother, Dr. Jolene Rickard—Tuscarora Nation, Turtle Clan, Associate Professor at Cornell University and former director of the American Indian and Indigenous Studies Program—created the video installation “Fight For the Line” in response to the ways Haudenosaunee homelands are marked by settler signs and the kind of marking or signage that we have created within our communities to reclaim space. A three-channel tiling video of these signs and markers are projected over a physical roadside sign that was made to look like a New York State territory marker that reads, “Gayogohó:nǫ’ Odǫhwęjá:de’ Cayuga Territories.”

Twelve years later, in August 2024, we had a conversation reflecting on her piece “Fight For the Line,” which was recently acquired by the Minneapolis Institute of Art. The intergenerational dialogue on the history and impact of “Fight for the Line” demonstrates how embracing and visualizing our languages can shift the consciousness of a community. This conversation was lightly edited for clarity.

Mia McKie: Your work reminds me of the ongoing conversations around our dinner table on what it means as Tuscarora people to live and work within Cayuga homelands.

Jolene Rickard: I thought it was important for the [roadside] sign to look like a town marker and my initial plan was to install the sign outside of the museum, in the dirt, the clay, with the projection over top of it on the outside museum wall. I was given logistical reasons as to why that would not work, but I’ve always wondered if there were other reasons to not mark the [Cornell] campus as Haudenosaunee and specifically Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’ land. And I know that within our communities there is a desire to learn our languages and although I was not familiar with the Cayuga language at the time, I felt that it was essential to include the way that Cayuga people refer to their Nation in their own language, which is where our collaboration on this project began.  

McKie: At the time, I was focused on Skaruręʔkę́·haʔ, the Tuscarora language, and your question made me think about how each nation refers to itself within its own languages. That eventually encouraged me to make a chart for Confederacy usage representing a snapshot of our current orthographies or spelling systems, understanding that they may change again as our language continues to grow and shift in time. Even though I was a student at Cornell, studying and learning on Cayuga homelands for almost four years, this project represented the first time that I remember using Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’. Now, when I’m back in Cayuga homelands, I see and hear Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’ all over the place! Can you talk about that transition over the past decade? 

Rickard: I felt strongly that the Cayuga language needed to be taught at Cornell. I saw a possibility of this when my husband—your dad, Tim McKie—began learning the Cayuga language from Steve Henhawk, who had recently returned to the homelands. As a first language Cayuga speaker, Steve has worked with me amidst all the administrative battles to teach several Cayuga language classes both within the university and within community spaces, physically and digitally. Within five years of introducing the first Cayuga language class, the entire region knows that the Cayuga refer to themselves as Gayogo̱hó:nǫ’. It may not seem like a lot, but if you think about your own Nation or where you live; do you know how the Indigenous peoples of that place refer to themselves? 

McKie: Well, my desire in making the chart of our nation names was to do just that. It serves as a reference point for those who are learning and as a copy and paste model for those of us trying to keep up with the latest orthographies in our texting, writing, and digital lives. For me, it marks a specific moment in time, as do the language charts and work that came before. Our languages change and grow with us, which requires us to revisit our older works to see what has transformed since that time.