Making Space, Not Taking It: A Coach’s Reflection being in the consulting/helping space.

When I first read the headlines about Thomas King – that the celebrated author of The Inconvenient Indian has acknowledged he has no Cherokee ancestry after a lifetime of identifying as Indigenous – I felt a knot in my stomach. The Guardian+1

Not because I’m personally close to his work (though like many Canadians, I’ve used his books as a doorway into understanding Indigenous histories), but because of what this moment exposes about people like me: white settlers who make our living in the “helping” professions – coaching, consulting, leadership development – in a country still shaped by ongoing colonization.

And because I’m not just a settler. I’m a gay white male settler, which means I know something about marginalization in one part of my identity and a lot about unearned advantage in others. That mix can make it very easy to overestimate how “safe” or “aligned” I am to enter spaces that are not mine.

What Thomas King’s revelation surfaces for settlers

The facts, as reported, are fairly straightforward. King says he grew up with a family story that his grandfather was Cherokee. Recent genealogical work by the Tribal Alliance Against Frauds found no Cherokee ancestry on either side of his family; he says he accepts those findings and plans to return at least one award given specifically for Indigenous achievement, while maintaining that he never intended to mislead. The Guardian+1

The reactions have not been straightforward.

• Some point to the enormous influence his writing has had in bringing non-Indigenous readers into contact with Indigenous issues and stories.
• Many in the indigenous community are sharing they have known for years.
• Others see this as another instance in a long pattern of non-Indigenous people occupying Indigenous space, receiving Indigenous-specific awards, and shaping how the public understands “Indigenous experience” without actually belonging to an Indigenous people. This sits within a broader conversation about “pretendians” – non-Indigenous individuals who claim Indigenous identity and benefit from it in academia, arts, and public life.Wikipedia+1

Both realities can be true at once: the work may have mattered, and harm may still have been done – especially to Indigenous writers whose books weren’t published, funded, or taught because the space was already taken.

For those of us who are settlers in the coaching and consulting world, this is a mirror we shouldn’t look away from.

The reconciliation “industry” and people like me

Since the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action, reconciliation has become a growth market. There is now – and I use this term deliberately – a reconciliation industry: courses, certificates, keynotes, “Truth and Reconciliation” retreats, cultural awareness toolkits, all available for purchase. Indigenous scholars and organizers have critiqued how this industry can dilute or commodify the hard work of decolonization, and how it can be dominated by non-Indigenous organizations and experts. Reconsidering Canada+2Alberta Advantage Podcast+2

I’ve watched a similar pattern in my own field:

• Non-Indigenous consultants winning large contracts to design “Indigenous engagement strategies” and “reconciliation roadmaps.”linkedin.com
• Corporate training calendars filled with sessions on Indigenous topics delivered entirely by settler facilitators.
• Settler-led firms branding themselves as reconciliation partners while Indigenous businesses struggle to get in the room.

To be very clear about my own practice: I steer clear of taking on any work that is framed as Indigenous content, reconciliation training, or Indigenous engagement. When those opportunities come my way, I refer clients to Indigenous colleagues whose authority and lived experience actually qualify them to lead that work.

That’s a line I’m committed to.

But King’s story pushes me to ask: is “steering clear” enough? Or can it also become a comfortable way to avoid the deeper questions about how I, as a gay white male coach and consultant, still profit from and participate in systems shaped by colonization?

Owning where I sit

Here’s where I sit in this dialogue:

• I am not Indigenous. My roots are European. I live and work on Indigenous lands in what is now referred to as Canada.
• I am white and male, which means institutions are pre-disposed to see me as credible, neutral, “professional,” and safe. People like me are very often the default choice when organizations look for help – including on topics where we should not be centred.
• I am also gay, and that part of my identity has certainly shaped how I move in the world – I know something about being othered and unsafe in certain spaces. But it does not cancel out the power that comes with whiteness, maleness, education, and economic security.

That mix makes it dangerously easy for coaches to tell themselves: I’m one of the good ones. I care. I’ve read the books. I’m trauma-informed. I can hold this space.

Thomas King’s case reminds me that good intentions, personal stories, and even decades of valuable work do not erase the structural questions:

• Whose voices were trusted and funded?
• Who got to become the “go-to” expert?
• Who was displaced, or never given a chance, because the space was already full?

These are questions about systems, not just individuals.

What is our role as settlers in reconciliation work?

There is a role for non-Indigenous people in reconciliation. The TRC is explicit: reconciliation is about changing relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, addressing past and ongoing harms, and taking action for a different future. bccampus.ca+1

Other guidance is equally clear:

• Indigenous voices and leadership must drive work about Indigenous histories, knowledge systems, and cultural safety; allies can support, but cannot determine what is culturally appropriate. ncime.ca+1
• Respectful engagement for non-Indigenous allies starts with taking responsibility for our own learning, not placing the burden on Indigenous colleagues, and recognizing that our role is to uplift Indigenous voices, not replace them. Queen's University+2Community Living BC+2

So what does that look like in a coaching and consulting context?

For me, it’s evolving into a few commitments:

1. I don’t teach what is not mine to teach

I will not brand myself as an expert on Indigenous history, law, ceremony, or “Indigenous ways of knowing.” Those belong to Indigenous peoples and communities.

If a client asks for that, my answer is: “That’s not my lane. Let me recommend Indigenous partners who can lead this work, and I can stay in support where appropriate.”

2. I do teach what is mine to teach – and I make the colonial context explicit

Where I do have legitimacy is in working with leaders on:

• Power and privilege
• Systems thinking
• Organizational culture and accountability
• How they show up as managers, coaches, and decision-makers

In those spaces, I can and should name colonization as part of the system we’re all operating in – and encourage non-Indigenous leaders to understand their responsibilities under the TRC Calls to Action, UNDRIP, and local Indigenous rights frameworks – without pretending to speak for Indigenous peoples.

3. I follow Indigenous leadership, not just Indigenous content

If reconciliation is on the agenda, I ask:

• Who is leading this strategy?
• Which Indigenous communities, nations, or organizations are involved – and on whose terms?
• Are Indigenous facilitators, scholars, or Elders being paid, credited, and given decision-making authority?

If the answer is “we were hoping you could handle that,” then my role is to say no and suggest a different architecture.

4. I pay attention to where the money goes

Contracts, speaking fees, curriculum development – all of this is revenue.

If settlers like me continue to receive most of the revenue for “reconciliation-related” work, then we are participating in the same pattern that allowed non-Indigenous people to build entire careers on Indigenous identity or Indigenous subject matter.

I’m asking myself harder questions now, such as:

• Am I prepared to step aside from opportunities where an Indigenous-led firm should be at the centre?
• Am I using my relationships to actively redirect work and dollars to Indigenous colleagues?
• When I am brought in alongside Indigenous partners, am I clear that I’m in a supporting, not starring, role?

5. I accept that discomfort and criticism are part of the work

As settlers, we don’t get to decide when Indigenous people are “being too harsh” in their responses to identity fraud or to the reconciliation industry. For many, this isn’t an abstract debate; it’s about real losses – jobs, funding, cultural space, safety.

If my first response to criticism is defensiveness – “But I’ve done so much good work!” – then I’ve missed the point.

So what do I do with Thomas King, personally?

I don’t have a neat answer.

His books are intertwined with my own learning and with the learning of countless students and readers. At the same time, I can’t ignore that, for decades, he was positioned – in course syllabi, media, awards – as a leading Indigenous voice who now says he is not, in fact, Indigenous. Winnipeg Free Press+1

What I can do is let his story sharpen my questions about my profession:

• Where am I being invited to play the “safe” settler expert because it feels easier for institutions than engaging with Indigenous-led critique and leadership?
• When organizations ask me to help them “do reconciliation,” am I honest about what I can offer – and what must be contracted elsewhere?
• How might I be unintentionally gatekeeping, even while telling myself I’m being helpful?

An invitation, not a conclusion

I’m not writing this as someone who has figured it out. I’m writing as a gay white male coach and consultant trying to sit more honestly with where I stand in all of this. And I am writing it as I observe many in my field who have build a brand around supporting the indigenous community, and this event has me wondering whether that is a pattern that should be re-visited.

I’m clear on a few things:

• I will keep referring Indigenous-focused work to Indigenous colleagues, and resist the temptation to “stretch” my mandate into areas that aren’t mine.
• I will keep deepening my own education as a settler, not to claim expertise, but so that I can show up more responsibly with other non-Indigenous leaders.
• I will keep asking where contracts, decision-making power, and visibility can be shifted from settlers like me to Indigenous people and organizations.

Beyond that, I’m mostly sitting with questions – and I want to hold those questions in community rather than in isolation:

• If you are Indigenous, how do you see the role of settler coaches and consultants in reconciliation and decolonization – if any?
• If you are a fellow settler in this field, where are you drawing your own lines around what you will and won’t do?
• And for all of us: how do we make sure that “doing the work” doesn’t just become another way settlers build careers and brands, while the underlying power structures remain intact?

I don’t think Thomas King’s revelation is just a literary scandal. I think it’s a moment of reckoning for anyone who benefits from being seen as a “voice” on issues rooted in histories we did not live.

My hope is that, this time, settlers in my field won’t look away. Instead, we might use the discomfort as an invitation to step back where we should, step up where it’s appropriate, and – above all – make more room for Indigenous leadership, on Indigenous terms.