Diversifying cultural representation in architecture extends a sense of belonging to communities that have long been hidden. Reanna McKay tells us how Indigenous urban design and place markers are rolling back centuries of exclusion in the Canadian city of Winnipeg and explains how traditional knowledge holds the secrets to building sustainable cities for a better future.
Cities these days feature a lot of the same materials consistent with the post-colonial era: concrete, steel, and glass. These are often cited as high carbon emitters.
But what if there was an alternative – a way to build to the same – even better – structural standards, but in a way that’s more in tune with nature?
Sustainable Knowledge
Indigenous architecture is exactly that. Supply chains were limited for communities in the (much longer) pre-colonial era, so populations the world over became experts in building from nearby resources.
Many came to be stewards of the natural world. In a practice known as regenerative construction, they would take only what was needed, allow nature to restore itself, and build in such a way that it was not damaging to the environment.
Sounds idyllic. But this knowledge has not been lost, and these are not dead practices.
Intergenerational Knowledge
As a child, Reanna McKay loved to help her grandfather – a trapper and commercial fisherman – build cabins by hand in their community along Reindeer Lake shore in northern Manitoba, Canada. “He would source the logs from another island and bring it back by boat, and then I would strip off the bark. That was my first introduction to architecture, but that also led to a natural process of working in wood.”
The gentle and deep-rooted connection to the earth from my childhood is still instilled within me, and it has shaped my values.
Even at this early age, Reanna was inspired to pursue a career as an architect. When she got to university, however, it suddenly became apparent how few Indigenous people and people of colour join the profession. She believes that there are currently only around 30 practicing Indigenous architects in Canada.
So, while the knowledge survives, rarely is it seen in the built environment of modern cities. Reanna is changing that.

Benefits of Indigenous Architecture
“Tansi, sîpihkosiw anaskani iskwêw nisithîkâson, kisipakamak nitocin.”
Our CityChanger introduces herself by her true name in Ininimowin (the Cree language) – as Blue Blanket Women, from Where the Water Ends, her home community known in English as Barren Lands First Nation, in northern Manitoba.
This hints at the strong role of nature in her identity.
Reanna often gives talks in schools, where she uses examples of traditional structures from Turtle Island – an Indigenous term for North America – that we might all be familiar with to explain what Indigenous architecture is like.
They include “a tipi, a wigwam, a longhouse, an igloo”, she says, which are constructed from wood, vegetation, animal skins, rocks, and other local materials that are adapted to or created by local conditions and people. This makes them well suited to the regional climate, providing some comfort for occupants – in a way that concrete-based building envelopes fail.
People in our communities are so knowledgeable in terms of construction. We know what types of materials work best within the climate.
Non-Indigenous urban planners and architects who design in Indigenous communities “don’t use the local knowledge and ask people what works best,” Reanna observes, adding that it’s one reason why modern buildings “deteriorate very, very quickly”.
It may not be known whether Indigenous knowledge derives from people’s relationship to the land, or whether the reverse is true, but that connection to nature and ancestral lands runs strong.
‘Wahkohtowin’ in Ininimowin means everything is related and everything has a relationship, Reanna, a nihithaw iskwew, or Woodlands Cree woman, explains. “Everything is a relative. Everything around me is living and breathing. The trees are talking to each other. The ground is breathing beneath me. Everything is interconnected within a certain space.”
What is Indigenous Architecture?
It can be difficult to define the term Indigenous architecture, Reanna admits, but that symbiotic connection to nature features heavily.
It is also grounded in community and spatial identity, Reanna points out. Designs include or make references to the languages, traditions, beliefs, ceremonies, and practices that Indigenous communities “dealt with on a daily basis”, what they “spoke about, and what is important to them”.
As an activist, educator, and architectural intern, Reanna puts considerable energy into making sure this becomes a mainstream feature in today’s cities.
“I primarily work, live, and play in Treaty One territory, also known as Winnipeg,” Reanna tells us. “Winnipeg is very significant because it has one of the largest Indigenous populations in all of Canada.”
Not that it’s particularly visible in the built environment. But that’s changing.

Hidden Heritage
Like so many other buildings throughout Canada, the 655,000-square-foot Hudson’s Bay Company building in downtown Winnipeg, Canada, was constructed in a colonial aesthetic.
Opened in 1926, it came more than 250 years after the company was founded to hunt and trade furs, which intrinsically links its history with the policy of displacement from the early 1800s affecting the region’s Indigenous communities.
“We were forcibly disrupted from our lands,” Reanna explains. “We were put within parcels called ‘reserves‘ for First Nations people and forcibly told to stay.”
It was part of a wider programme of cultural suppression: “We weren’t able to speak our language or practice our ceremonies.” Gender roles, too, changed in line with the male dominance of colonial European values. “Within Indigenous culture or in ceremonies, women are described as being the leaders of the community. We are seen as the life givers, water carriers, and the ceremony people.”
Either physically or by diluting strong connections to their culture, this was all an attempt to keep Indigenous populations hidden. It was also the rationale behind Canada’s residential schools, where First Nations, Inuit, and Métis ‘stolen children’ were sent away from their families to assimilate into the invasive culture, a policy that only ended in 1996.
Wins in Winnipeg
Today this exclusion is reflected in the absence of Indigenous cultures in the fabric of built urban environments, a fact that the Wehwehneh Bahgahkinahgohn project aims to rectify.
Meaning ‘it is visible’ in Anishinaabemowin, this project is turning the Hudson’s Bay building into an Indigenous hub.
Reanna, who will qualify as an architect in 2025, works on the project as an intern with Number Ten Architectural Group in collaboration with the newest owners of the building, Southern Chiefs Organization (SCO).
“The local community of downtown Winnipeg is primarily Indigenous centric, and so it’s providing support for those communities. The entire facility will have anything from residential to assisted living to museums to ceremony space to education facilities and daycare and office spaces.”
But it will be more than a place where people can access the services or practice their traditions. In order to nurture a true sense of belonging, Indigenous heritage and the connection to nature is represented in the very architecture: Wehwehneh Bahgahkinahgohn offers “a public space that honours our lands and waters in an atrium illuminated by skylights and the soaring sky above”, states the SCO website.
“We are reclaiming this colonialist building and reimagining it within Indigenous perspectives,” Reanna adds. “I’m very proud to be part of it.”

Emotional Labour & Creating Allies
Belonging is a consistent theme in our conversation with Reanna.
Whereas sustainability and environmental design were part of her family for generations, her peers at university could not quite grasp her connection to the natural world.
“For some people, the closest thing that they could connect to is a cabin that their family owns.”
As one of the only Indigenous people in her architecture course, it was a lonely experience. That was exacerbated by well-meaning but exhausting enquiries into her culture and community practices, which Reanna would invest hours to explain.
“It comes from having to be the only [Indigenous] person in the room. Usually, if an Indigenous topic comes up, everyone looks at me, as if to ask: ‘What do you think about this?’”
This emotional labour has contributed to Reanna skirting on the verges of burnout. That, and overt discrimination: “I still battle with this today,” she tells us. “I look at a lot of public feedback and 99 per cent of it is complete racism. They say, ‘Why should our history be removed?’”
Which adds fuel to the fire of intergenerational trauma – the guilt triggered in descendants of survivors who harbour the same strong bonds to their ancestral lands.
As an Indigenous person in architecture, I feel like I always have to advocate for myself. I have to work a little bit harder than the people around me.
No Longer Hidden
Without interventions, the situation wouldn’t change, Reanna realised.

Sure enough, she started to feel less alone in 2021, after co-founding the Indigenous Design and Planning Student Association – adding to Reanna’s achievements that were recognised with her being named the 2023 Youth-First Nations Indspire Award Laureate.
Still active today, it aims to boost the inclusion of Indigenous students in architecture but also provide a network of support, mentorship, collaboration. Membership boasts undergraduates, community Elders, and even some of Reanna’s former clients.
“I turn to my mentors if I’m having an ethical issue, or if I don’t know how to handle a certain Indigenous community, or I’m having problems within my own professional career in terms of being an Indigenous person, or just to talk about ceremony or our families.”
It’s an exceptionally useful resource because, of course, Indigenous communities are not homogenous.
“I am Cree. I don’t know anything about the Nisga’a or the Squamish of the West Coast. I still have to do my due diligence. I still have to do my research. I still have to engage. I still have to talk to people.”
Education as a Change-Maker
To save others just some of the trauma Reanna has endured, she has helped put together and instruct on a master’s course at University of Manitoba that teaches the concepts of Indigenous design.
Titled ‘Being a Good Relative: An Indigenous Approach to the Architectural Process’, it aims to promote Indigenous practices into the mindsets of up-and-coming architects of all backgrounds, creating a wave of allies who, it is hoped, will also advocate for the inclusion of Indigenous representation in design.
These allies are essential for creating a landscape of inclusion and representation when intergenerational trauma holds back so many young Indigenous people from careers like architecture, law, and healthcare, Reanna explains. “Some people don’t even graduate high school because of their circumstances.”
There’s a lot of odds that are stacked up against my population. Even going to school is a big feat within itself.
Historic Markers
Although she knows how necessary it is to advocate for Indigenous representation, Reanna feels the pressure. Often, she’s pushing ahead alone, and against great forces.
In Winnipeg, though, there seems to be some willingness officials to enact change – they just need expertise of Indigenous communities to achieve it.
Hence, Reanna sits as the Manitoba Director on the Royal Architecture Institute of Canada Board of Directors, as well as “many local advocacy boards within the city”. This includes the Welcoming Winnipeg Committee, which assesses applications for the change of place names to honour Indigenous figures and for “creating historical markers to represent Indigenous perspectives and histories”.
It’s the first scheme of its kind in the country – a commitment from the city council of Winnipeg to acknowledge centuries of exclusion. They adopted the Welcoming Winnipeg: Reconciling our History Policy to officially recognise Indigenous communities within the city.
“It came out of a citywide public engagement from people that craved Indigenous perspectives,” Reanna explains. “It came from the Indigenous population directly saying that we want our language represented.”
Nominations are fielded from citizens and are progressed if they can argue impact for the community.
There has been a lack of suggestions from the Indigenous community itself though; a predictable reaction from those used to not being heard.
The committee plans to overcome this by working more closely with local Indigenous organisations to raise awareness and interest. But that’s not to say the idea has fallen flat.
Theodore Niizhotay Fontaine Park
One notable success is the renaming of Wellington Park as Theodore Niizhotay Fontaine Park. This honours “a significant local Elder who advocated for unveiling the [stories of survivors from] Assiniboia Residential School, which is located in the centre of Winnipeg,” Reanna explains, and to remember the many who succumbed to assimilation.
“I was very fortunate to offer some opening remarks, and I met his wife,” Reanna recalls of the ceremony announcing the name change. “I remember this moment vividly: she gave me tobacco and a tobacco pouch. Tobacco is significant: it’s a symbol of respect within Indigenous communities. Then she offered a sweet grass pin and said, ‘This was Theodore’s, and I want you to have it’. I still have it right next to my desk.”

Principles of Indigenous Design
Reanna was given another ceremonial name recently.
‘Ogechitaakwe’ means ‘warrior woman’. Given the fight she has taken on to raise awareness of and help overturn centuries of colonial oppression and the architectural status quo, this seems fitting.
What keeps her going is a selfless vision of better cities for everyone.
“I always think about how this space would feel for me when I was a kid, or when I was in high school, in early university. And that is a constant reminder of the work. Yes, the emotional labour is challenging, but there is a benefit for the people that come after me in the future generations.”
As part of her degree thesis, Reanna developed seven guiding design principles. These may serve as a good practice reference to all architects, just as they are still “constant reminders to guide my practice”, she admits. The last point, to design with the heart, seems most important as she reflects.
“I always lead my practice very selflessly. I don’t need an award-winning project or anything like that. I just need something that works for my community.”

Knock-on Effects
That certainly seems to be the case for downtown Winnipeg. Since the transformation of the Hudson’s Bay building, there’s a renewed sense a belonging and anticipation of more change – for the better.
“There’s this natural bleeding out happening from this building. That gets me very excited because this representation is expanding. This community is expanding, we’re having a larger voice, and people are very supportive.”
Realistically, there is a long way to go before Indigenous architecture is mainstream, but as practitioners learn the ropes and understand the social and environmental benefits – and as municipalities realise this helps them meet their targets – Indigenous representation will start gathering momentum.
“They have become too comfortable in the way that architecture and urban design has been happening. We are seen as people that are disrupting that. We are the challengers to try to make that change.”