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He’s an award-winning Indigenous entrepreneur, a passionate proponent of the cyclical economy, a high-school dropout and recovering alcoholic, and disarmingly frank on all counts.
Meet Aaron Joe.
In the past year, Aaron has won a number of prestigious awards, from Indigenous organizations and also from Business in Vancouver and Ernst & Young.
However.
There is one accolade he received which wasn’t written up in the media, which wasn’t institutional recognition, which mattered a whole lot.
That small story is a precise articulation of what intergenerational trauma repair actually looks like from the inside.
Aaron’s growing up story isn’t unique amongst indigenous people in Canada. It’s archetypal. He was a mixed-heritage kid growing up on the rez in what was a noticeably racist town.
25 years ago, while evading capture by 4 police cars, he probably didn’t picture where he’d be at 50. Or if he did, it sure wasn’t “award winning entrepreneur and inspiration”. It was a different time.
He refuses the victim frame without denying the injury. Victimhood, however, was a lesson learned at home.
Operating in both worlds, he became a chameleon of sorts, passing as white in town and code-switching back to indigenous on the rez. That ability served him well and became a competitive advantage that shaped who he is as an entrepreneur.
Aaron’s take is that a place at the economic table is worth more than any symbolic reconciliation, that the antidote to dependency or victimhood isn’t just willpower, it’s economic agency, equity and the dignity of a pay cheque.
That’s not to say that starting a business isn’t fraught with pitfalls, particularly when you come from a place where business savvy isn’t assumed, and equity doesn’t exist.
He’s particularly incensed by what he calls “The Indigenous Business”, buttressed by predatory consultants who step in to “help”, write grant applications and then keep 90% of the proceeds, perpetuating victimhood and making money off the backs of indigenous people who don’t understand the game.
He started his business, Salish Soils, with his brother and his wife. Initially his brother was the only one getting paid. Today the business is a model of values-based production, where the company makes money off the inputs, compostable and green waste, and then makes money on the outputs as well. Salish Soils employs more than 30 people full time on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia and is a model which multiple communities are looking to as a way of managing our non-stop production of waste, while giving back to the land base.
The company’s expansion is inevitable but Aaron is confident he’ll know when he’s grown enough. “It could be much larger, but I also love a quality of life. I like having a good life and right now, I’ve got that space.”
Beyond being comfortable, he finds himself in a position of significant influence where it matters most to him: giving young people growing up on the rez, under the “ambition ceiling”, a tangible, close-to-home example of what’s possible.
Advice? Sure, he’s got some.
The musical selection today is what Aaron would choose as his “walk-on” song.
Until next time, be in service to your family, your community and yourself. It’s just a shot away.
By Joanna PirosHe’s an award-winning Indigenous entrepreneur, a passionate proponent of the cyclical economy, a high-school dropout and recovering alcoholic, and disarmingly frank on all counts.
Meet Aaron Joe.
In the past year, Aaron has won a number of prestigious awards, from Indigenous organizations and also from Business in Vancouver and Ernst & Young.
However.
There is one accolade he received which wasn’t written up in the media, which wasn’t institutional recognition, which mattered a whole lot.
That small story is a precise articulation of what intergenerational trauma repair actually looks like from the inside.
Aaron’s growing up story isn’t unique amongst indigenous people in Canada. It’s archetypal. He was a mixed-heritage kid growing up on the rez in what was a noticeably racist town.
25 years ago, while evading capture by 4 police cars, he probably didn’t picture where he’d be at 50. Or if he did, it sure wasn’t “award winning entrepreneur and inspiration”. It was a different time.
He refuses the victim frame without denying the injury. Victimhood, however, was a lesson learned at home.
Operating in both worlds, he became a chameleon of sorts, passing as white in town and code-switching back to indigenous on the rez. That ability served him well and became a competitive advantage that shaped who he is as an entrepreneur.
Aaron’s take is that a place at the economic table is worth more than any symbolic reconciliation, that the antidote to dependency or victimhood isn’t just willpower, it’s economic agency, equity and the dignity of a pay cheque.
That’s not to say that starting a business isn’t fraught with pitfalls, particularly when you come from a place where business savvy isn’t assumed, and equity doesn’t exist.
He’s particularly incensed by what he calls “The Indigenous Business”, buttressed by predatory consultants who step in to “help”, write grant applications and then keep 90% of the proceeds, perpetuating victimhood and making money off the backs of indigenous people who don’t understand the game.
He started his business, Salish Soils, with his brother and his wife. Initially his brother was the only one getting paid. Today the business is a model of values-based production, where the company makes money off the inputs, compostable and green waste, and then makes money on the outputs as well. Salish Soils employs more than 30 people full time on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia and is a model which multiple communities are looking to as a way of managing our non-stop production of waste, while giving back to the land base.
The company’s expansion is inevitable but Aaron is confident he’ll know when he’s grown enough. “It could be much larger, but I also love a quality of life. I like having a good life and right now, I’ve got that space.”
Beyond being comfortable, he finds himself in a position of significant influence where it matters most to him: giving young people growing up on the rez, under the “ambition ceiling”, a tangible, close-to-home example of what’s possible.
Advice? Sure, he’s got some.
The musical selection today is what Aaron would choose as his “walk-on” song.
Until next time, be in service to your family, your community and yourself. It’s just a shot away.