When Giants Fall: Reflecting on the Closure of the Hudson’s Bay Company

A friend posted a photo the other day—the Hudson’s Bay store on Queen Street in Toronto, closed and empty.

Her caption read: “This makes me sad.”

I didn’t feel sadness, at least not personally. I don’t have memories of shopping at the Bay or strong ties to the brand. The only thing I really remember are the Christmas windows—those whimsical holiday displays I’d stop to admire while passing by.

But something about her post stayed with me. It stirred a different kind of feeling—curiosity.

Curiosity about what this moment might mean to others.

And especially, what it might mean to Indigenous peoples across this land.

Because the Hudson’s Bay Company wasn’t just a department store. It was a giant—a colonial, economic, and cultural force. And now, it has quietly closed its doors across Canada.

A Company Older Than the Country

The HBC was founded in 1670—350 years ago. That’s two centuries before women could vote. Before Canada was a nation.

But it didn’t just sell goods—it sold the myth of ownership.

Backed by a royal charter, HBC claimed sovereignty over vast territories known as Rupert’s Land, without consultation or consent from the Indigenous nations who had stewarded those lands for generations.

In 1869, it sold that land to the Canadian government for £300,000.

No reparations. No agreements. Just business.

This wasn’t just commerce—it was colonization wrapped in commerce.

For Indigenous Peoples, an Unfinished Story

I can’t speak for Indigenous communities. But I can wonder. I can listen.

And I wonder if the closing of HBC evokes a wide range of feelings—relief, grief, indifference, even a sense of incompletion.

Because while the doors may be shut, the legacy remains open:

The land never returned.

The profits never repaid.

The truths never fully told.

HBC’s outposts were often the first colonial structures on Indigenous land.

They facilitated not only trade, but dependency. They disrupted ecosystems, economies, and ways of life.

And now, as this giant falls, I wonder: does it fall with dignity, with humility? Or just silence?

To Others, the Loss of a Familiar Name

For many Canadians, the Bay represents something more mundane but still meaningful:

Shopping trips with parents, winter coats and wedding registries, the nostalgia of holidays past.

Its closure may feel like the end of an era—a vanishing of something that once made our cities feel familiar.

There’s no wrong way to feel.

There’s just honest feeling.

What If This Is a Threshold?

What happens when a giant falls?

We can either rush to fill the space it leaves behind… or we can pause. Reflect. Grieve. Tell the truth.

What if those now-empty buildings became Indigenous-run healing centres? Or land-back hubs? Or truth and reconciliation spaces?

What if, instead of letting the Bay vanish quietly, we used its ending as a starting place?

A Moment to Honour All That Arises

I didn’t grow up with a strong connection to the Hudson’s Bay Company. But I do believe moments like this matter. They give us a chance to see what we’ve inherited, what we’ve ignored, and what we’re still carrying.

To those who mourn this closure—your memories are real.

To those who call for justice—your voices matter.

To those who feel conflicted or unsure—your questions are sacred.

When giants fall, we have a rare chance to ask:

What systems are we ready to let go of?

And what truths are we ready to rebuild from?

A Personal Note

As a white-presenting woman of Mohawk descent, this moment invites both reflection and responsibility. I did not grow up fully connected to my Indigenous roots—this has been a more recent and ongoing journey of remembering, reclaiming, and listening. I write this not as someone who speaks for all Indigenous peoples, but as someone learning to hear and honour the voices of my ancestors. The closing of the Hudson’s Bay Company feels like more than a retail story—it touches something older, something that lives in the land and in the legacy many of us are still working to understand. I offer this reflection with humility, gratitude, and a deep commitment to truth.