Xwesultun Raven Borsey is a graduate student in cultural anthropology at Western Washington University, where as an undergraduate he won the 2024 Outstanding Student Award. He is Young Tribal Leader and Culture Keeper at Children of the Setting Sun Productions. He is also a carver. Along with his twin, Free Borsey, he was recently awarded the Bullitt Prize by Washington Conservation Action. He and Free will be using these funds to bring back the Lummi Youth Canoe Family as a nonprofit organization dedicated to canoe journeys and cultural education.
Ey’Skweyel, Xwesultun tse ne sna. Che Xwelemi sen, che We Wai Kai sen. Lhaq’temish Siam, Hy’she’qe. Good day. My government name is Raven Borsey. My traditional name is Xwesultun. It means Evening Star. I am Lummi and I am We Wai Kai First Nations. I am Lhaq’temish; we are survivors of the great flood. Thank you, good people!

Photo by Julie Trimingham
You and your twin, Free, are working to bring the Lummi Youth Canoe Family back in full force. How did you get involved with paddling and canoe journeys?
I used to hang out at the Lummi Youth Academy all the time with my twin. It was our sanctuary. Darrell Hillaire actually started the Academy back in the day. He runs CSSP now, where we work. I remember this really high-energy guy came in one day to the Academy and gave a presentation about canoe journeys and legendary paddles and next thing you know, three months later, I was on his canoe. Shout out to the late Justin Finkbonner—he brought all of us into that canoe, and he taught us how to be leaders. We must have been 13 when we went on our first paddle.
I remember when Justin first put me in the skipper seat. It was scary. We were surrounded by five-foot waves. We had built a sail, all of us kids with Justin. We had a tarp and some small trees that we had cut down, we built a boom, a post, we folded the tarp into a quarter section, it caught wind, and we were sailing at five knots with no one paddling. We’re jumping the waves. I did three full circles, which you don’t want to do in five-foot waves. We’re taking in the water, the crew screaming, Justin’s laughing. Finally, I had a moment where I was able to slow down in my mind and realize, if you don’t do this now, you’re not going to get this opportunity again. It was really hard to get control of the canoe going in that left-hand spin, but I did it, I just hit the brakes. We straightened out, and I got going. Then my brother got put in the skipper’s seat, did the same thing. We got tried in the fire and we came out of it.
What’s it like when you’re out on the water in a canoe?
Imagine you’re waking up at 3 a.m. to catch the tide; if you miss that tide in the morning, you could get stuck on the tide flats. But who wants to wake up at three in the morning, especially when you were at protocol last night till 11,12, dancing—everyone knows those jams are fun. So, you get up at three and maybe you’re mad about it, but you get out, and that water is flat as glass, slack tide. Peaceful. The sun’s coming up, summertime. The other canoes around you are paddling quiet, and all you hear is the paddles dipping, subtly dipping into the water and pooling and some water droplets trickling. And those moments right there are when you’re in that spiritual mode.
Fast forward a few hours later and the crew is starting to wake up, starting to get bored, so me and my brother, we developed games on our canoe, different paddling strokes, paddling techniques that will create certain sounds. Some of them sound like drums, and we can sing to it. Some of them sound like chants, like a sports team. Our people were never quiet. There’s always been singing, always laughter, always chanting.
What’s it like being a twin?
I don’t know how I would be here without a twin, without my twin. I wish my daughter had a twin. I wish everybody had a twin, because that is your best friend. That is your everything. Disagree or agree, you have each other’s back. A lot of why I’m able to write off a lot of the traumas that I went through in the past is because my twin was there, he went through it too. Now we’re both in a good place, and what got us here is each other.
Are there any sayings or teachings that you hold close?
One thing we say is that we’re always learning. Nobody knows anything. An elder will get up and say, I’m still learning, I’m always learning, I’ll be learning the rest of my life, and I still won’t know nothing. That’s where we need to be at. We need to have humility. Our world is not perfect. Indigenous, non-Indigenous—we need to come together and find a way forward. It’s not going to be perfect, but we’re always learning.
Since Time Immemorial is a recurring series featuring community members whose families have been here since time immemorial. The ancestral knowledge carried by Lhaq’temish, Nooksack, and other Coast Salish peoples is knowledge about how to live in our shared home in a good, life-sustaining way. We live in a time when we need to restore our relationship with Mother Earth and with one another. We are grateful for these stories, told in the words of each featured individual.
Julie Trimingham is grateful to make her home on traditional Lhaq’temish territory, and to work for the
Sacred Lands Conservancy (sacredsea.org), an Indigenous-led 501c3 nonprofit organization,
dedicated to protecting the life, culture, and sanctity of the Salish Sea.