We are Dënezhu, the people of this land.

We are Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the people of this river following the ways Tsà’ Wëzhè traveled and remembering his journey and the living inheritance he left us – Tr’ëhudè, our way of life and our law. We are Dënezhu, the people of this land, salmon people and caribou people, weather-watchers and story people.

Ours is a constitution of stories and promises, a promise to listen to the land, a promise to act humbly and show gratitude for the gifts that sustain us, a promise to take care of each other. The promises Tsà’ Wëzhè made in the long-ago times are the core of our identity as Dënezhu, the source of our wealth, the reason we endure, and the root of our kinship with the land and our animal relatives, those with fur or fins or feathers, leaves or needles or berries or flowers, two legs or four legs, more legs or none, who taught us how to survive, but also how to live. These promises are happy obligations because when we look after our relatives, they look after us.

Tsà’ Wëzhè used his wits to make the world safe for us, so we live Tr’ëhudè to protect the balance he made, still telling the stories that bind us to this land, and keeping our promises so the animals keep theirs – for all the generations yet to be born.

That is what we mean when we say we are Dënezhu, the people of this land. That is what it means to be Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the people of this river.