Summary

• British Columbia is home to the country’s longest-standing Indigenous Guardian program, the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, founded in 1982, and the province leads leads the way for national investment.
• Indigenous Guardian programs support conservation targets, create jobs in rural areas and have a high return on investment. 
• While programs across the country are seeing budgets slashed, Indigenous Guardians received an unexpected $230M investment by the federal government in March — but questions remain.

Ida Peter knew she had to apply to protect mule deer populations in Tsal’alh traditional territory, located in B.C.’s Central Interior, when B.C. first announced $8.9 million for Indigenous Guardians programs in 2023. 

“We have a really big concern about [them] in our territory because traditionally we’re known as the deer people,” Peter said. 

“I would say in the last 50 years the population of deer has declined drastically. Where we used to see hundreds of deer, now we’re lucky to see in those same areas maybe 10 or 20,” she said.

Mule deer are a significant species of concern in the Southern Interior region of the province, which means they are at risk of being endangered because of wildfires, resource extraction and human development.

Peter is an elected councillor in her nation, and manages the culture and heritage department. The Tsal’alh Guardians were born out of Peter’s proposal and are a small but mighty team of three who steward the territory.

It’s one of over 240 Indigenous Guardian initiatives that have been implemented across the country with the support of federal funding: an initial investment of $25 million to pilot Indigenous Guardians programs in 2018-2022 which was bolstered by an additional $100 million announced in 2021. But with both B.C. and federal guardian funding streams set to expire in 2026, Indigenous Guardians across the country were bracing for major cuts. 

That was until an announcement on Mar. 31. 

Katzie Territorial Guardian Mike Leon closes the gate at the entrance to Katzie territory and the Alouette River system, part of their nation’s traditional territory. The guardians work with BC Hydro on habitat enhancement for the river system. Photo: Isabella Falsetti / The Narwhal

To the surprise of many First Nations, Prime Minister Mark Carney’s government committed an additional $230 million into Indigenous Guardian programming, including for the creation of a new Arctic Indigenous Guardians Program. 

Though the announcement was welcomed by Indigenous communities, many are still wondering when those funds will begin flowing — and who will benefit from them.

Funding will be administered over the next five years, Emily Jackson from Environment and Climate Change Canada confirmed in an email to the Narwhal.

“Information on Indigenous priorities, including initiatives, eligibility, and timelines, will be shared as it becomes available.”

The Indigenous Guardian movement has deep roots in B.C.

Indigenous Guardians in British Columbia have led the way, implementing the longest-standing program in the country, which has been in operation since 1982: the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, established by volunteers.

Before B.C. or Canada began investing in these programs, Haida people took it upon themselves to steward their homelands. The goal was to preserve Gwaii Haanas village sites, according to the nation’s website. 

Indigenous Guardians Tim Lezard and Weston Roberds look off into sylix mountains in Penticton, B.C. Photo: kelsie kilawna / The Narwhal

“It was very common for looters to come to these sites and take artifacts that were very important to the living culture of the Haida Nation, the work done by these volunteers was incredibly important in preserving the village sites that are now protected,” it reads.

Now the Watchmen are funded by Parks Canada, one of four programs the department is supporting across Canada, with three of those programs based in B.C. The province is also home to the highest number of guardian programs funded last year.  

According to an economic analysis from Makeway, a national charity that supports conservation, and the CoEvaluation Lab, a Canadian organization that provides reporting and research support, Indigenous Guardian programs put between $1.43 to $5.37 back into the economy for every dollar invested. 

Another analysis by Social Ventures Australia, which examined a different selection of Indigenous Guardian programs in Canada, had similar findings. For every dollar invested, approximately $2.50 was generated for stakeholders. 

Those returns on investment come from employment outcomes, improved health and wellness, increased tax revenues and benefits to the environment.

For Dallas Smith, president of Nanwakolas Council, the thinking behind the programs has evolved.

“First it was about having eyes, ears and boots on the ground out there. But as we’ve started trying to build a conservation economy in the Great Bear Rainforest, we realized that there were other returns to be made, not only in helping us balance our conservation vision, but also [to] build sustainable economic development visions,” he told The Narwhal.

The council supports six member nations on B.C.’s South Coast and Vancouver Island in negotiations with government and industry. 

“Having the guardians in place whether we protect something or develop something has been monumental,” Smith said. 

While the $230 million announcement came as a welcome surprise, with no clear guidelines about where the funding is going, and with B.C.’s funding still set to expire, staff at some programs are concerned.

“Some [guardian programs] have models that have trust funds … where we’re able to back the guardian program up with some foundational funding that we’re able to live off the interest of,” Smith said. 

“For some of the other guardian programs that are in development … I bet there’s definitely some concern out there about where the next set of funding comes from to get through the next season.” 

Meanwhile, the federal government and various provinces, including B.C. and Ontario, passed bills that faced First Nation opposition last year, among them Bills 14 and 15 in B.C., Bill 5 in Ontario and federal Bill C-5, all of which critics have said privilege industry over Indigenous rights and consultation.

Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation guardian Joe Louie-Elley on the Big Tree Trail on Meares Island, near Tofino in 2021. Photo: Melissa Renwick / The Narwhal

Long term funded is needed to sustain programs

Indigenous Guardians protect the land and natural resources across Canada, maintaining the ecosystem for everyone, while contributing to local economies, businesses and relationships that allow industry into Indigenous territory. 

“The people of this territory would like to see the environment better protected for future generations, so that in generations to come, they’re able to go out and harvest berries and get the meat and fish they need,” Peter said. 

In her nation, interest in becoming a guardian is growing, with renewed funding needed to continue the program. 

“Long-term funding makes it all happen. It takes away the anxiety of chasing grant after grant … being able to secure long term stable funding gives you the ability to plan around it and invest in it,” Smith said. 

Funding gaps, even temporary ones, could undermine the investment and benefits in guardian programs.

And while loss of employment is a huge harm, disruptions in Indigenous Guardian funding can have deadly consequences for the environment.

For example, programs like the Wuikinuxv Guardian Watchmen monitor coastal waters for spills, mitigating risk from industry and acting as a first responder for the environment. 

“Too many people want First Nations to either protect everything or develop everything, they don’t understand the balance we’re trying to reach. The guardians are a living example of creating balance,” said Smith.

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Summary

• Indigenous women in B.C. are leading projects and organizations committed to mitigating wildfire risk and restoring traditional practices. 
• Cultural burns are making a comeback in the province, thanks to years of advocacy from Indigenous firekeepers.
• First Nations women in the province’s Interior are decolonizing fire management through their work.

In 2017 Jaci Gilbert was 12 years old when she was evacuated from Tsq’escen’ First Nation because of a wildfire. Four years later, more wildfires impacted her community, located in B.C.’s central interior, prompting some Elders to be evacuated to the Lower Mainland.

Gilbert, who is Secwépemc and Tsilhqot’in, volunteered both at the emergency operations centre during the partial evacuation in 2021, and as a fire camp logistics assistant near 100 Mile House during those fires.

“After being involved in the emergency operations centre I caught the bug of wanting to do emergency and wildfire management,” Gilbert told The Narwhal.

Gilbert works for First Nations Emergency Services Society as a cultural and prescribed fire specialist. She is part of a cohort of First Nations women in B.C. who are leading the way in wildfire management in their communities — demonstrating leadership and stewardship as blazes continue each year.

Being a young person, and a woman, Gilbert struggled to get into the field of emergency management, but reaching out to organizations and women in the field is a good place to start, she said.

“Youth have been managing emergencies in their personal lives for a long time, especially Indigenous youth, so using these skills I developed on reserve I’m able to handle [emergencies] well, whereas with a typical office or customer service job I don’t handle [those] very well,” Gilbert said.

“We’re seeing a shift in dynamics. I’m noticing a lot more Indigenous women in fire research and in the fire community.”

Indigenous firefighters bring cultural knowledge to their work

Sheresa Brown, a Nlaka’pamux woman from Lytton First Nation, has been involved with fire since firefighting in high school. Brown works as a field technician and archaeological monitor with Nlaka’pamux Nation Tribal Council, specializing in protecting cultural heritage values.

After her hometown Lytton, B.C., was devastated by fire in 2021, Brown evacuated to Merritt and was looking for a job when she called her former boss from the BC Wildfire Service. 

Back on the frontlines, Brown noticed a crew member cut down a culturally modified tree in Vernon, commonly referred to as a CMT, to clear a pathway for a hose. 

“[First Nations] make that [symbol on the tree] so they can come back to harvest the sap, they can use it to make different types of medicines. And it was a very utilized tree that just got cut down,” Brown told The Narwhal.

She recommended scanning for culturally modified trees before clearing to her crew lead, who received it well. A year later Brown was deployed on another fire near Lytton, teaching BC Wildfire Service crews about the land’s cultural values.

She said she’s willing to take people on the land if they are willing to learn and be respectful, noting that sometimes people do not know they are in a culturally significant area, especially when firefighters are deployed from another province or country. 

“I know if a man can do it, I can do it too, and probably even better,” Brown said, reflecting on her experience being a First Nations woman in the fire industry.

Bringing back cultural burns

Brown and Gilbert are carrying the torch lit by trailblazers in the field like Leona Antoine, who has 30 years of experience. Antoine is a Nlaka’pamux woman who is no stranger to cultural burning or firefighting. 

Leona Antoine is director and chair of the Salish Fire Keepers Society, a non-profit organization founded in 2016, advocating for cultural burns to be revitalized in B.C. Photo: Aaron Hemens / IndigiNews

She practices traditional burning, is a registered forest technologist, a Type 1 (or first-response) firefighter with the BC Wildfire Service, and is a board director and chair of the Salish Fire Keepers Society. 

When Antoine’s firefighting journey with the BC Wildfire Service began in the early 2000s, she was one of few women on a 20-person unit crew. 

“Because there were no women on the crews before, they didn’t know how to have a woman around,” Antoine told The Narwhal.  

“It took probably about a month for the crew to get used to women being on the crew. You know, putting all the women’s posters and magazines away,” she said. 

Although men on the crew were initially uncomfortable around women, and had to be taught boundaries, “I broke those barriers,” she said. 

Another barrier at the time was getting the province and general public to see the value of cultural burning. B.C. was the first province in Canada to ban the practice in 1874.

After a year of devastating fire in 2017, and following the release of a report Addressing the New Normal: 21st Century Disaster Management in British Columbia in 2018, cultural burns started being taken more seriously by the province, with official amendments to the Wildfire Act in B.C. to support the practice taking effect in 2024.

This is work that the Salish Fire Keepers Society has been advocating for since its inception in 2016. The non-profit is made up of Interior Salish nations who experience some of Canada’s hottest wildfires, and promotes the restoration of cultural burning practices.

Over 100 people gathered in Kamloops, B.C., on March 17 and 18 for the Salish Fire Keepers Society spring gathering, discussing all things fire ahead of this year’s wildfire season. Photo: Aaron Hemens / IndigiNews

Gilbert contributed to a cultural burning guide, Workbook to Create a Cultural Burn Pathway, made in partnership with the Indigenous Leadership Initiative. 

“As I’ve become more involved with emergency and wildfire management, cultural burning comes up a lot, especially as an Indigenous person that’s interested in Indigenous solutions to modern problems,” she said. 

First Nations Emergency Services Society is an emergency management non-profit organization in B.C. “We were initially created as a result of a lot of Indigenous deaths related to structural fires,” Gilbert said during her presentation at the Salish Fire Keepers Society gathering in Kamloops on Mar. 17. 

The workbook guides readers through different considerations when planning a cultural burn, and was created through a series of community interviews by Amy Cardinal Christianson and Natasha Caverley.

“My role in [its] creation has been trying to make sure that it’s accessible for First Nations. I’m not much on the technical side, I’m … looking at the art and how that can help tell the story for people without strong English backgrounds,” she said.

During the March 2026 gathering, Antoine and the rest of the society’s board gifted each guest speaker with sweetgrass and sage, two traditional medicines among many First Nation cultures across Canada. 

There were many women in attendance, underscoring how things are beginning to shift.

This is an initiative she championed. “We are taught by our Elders when you ask for information or stories, you validate their teachings and what … they have taught. You honour them with medicine,” she said.

Prioritizing traditional protocols, ceremony, and medicine at this year’s fire gathering is an example of how Antoine brings balance to the fire space.

Not only has she broken down barriers for women to come after her, she also creates opportunities for those in the fire industry to connect, heal, and share knowledge – work that can be forgotten for those in the heat of fire. 

Antoine said “we’re in fire dependent ecosystems, the land needs fire.”

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This story is part of Generating Futures, a series from The Narwhal exploring clean energy sovereignty among B.C. First Nations.

Summary

• Directional gatherings hosted by Indigenous Clean Energy strengthen relationships for Indigenous energy leaders across Canada.
• Indigenous communities are central to Canada’s energy transition, and renewable projects on reserves and traditional territories quadrupled between 2009 and 2020.
• Five gatherings hosted across Canada brought approximately 200 people together in different regions.

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When most people think of an energy conference in Canada, they probably imagine people dressed in suits, seated in rows of chairs under fluorescent lighting, looking at a PowerPoint presentation. 

Well, not this gathering. 

Indigenous Clean Energy’s directional gatherings are a special place in the energy industry. They prioritize wellness, time on the land with local Indigenous Elders and connecting with one another outside of panels or breakout sessions.

“For me it’s super important to make sure that we bring [wellness] forward, and make it normal for people when they are attending gatherings,” organizer Danika Crow told The Narwhal.

“With wellness you gotta make sure people are healthy, right? To focus on and build clean energy projects, [wellness] is one of our goals out of these gatherings,” she said.

Crow, who is from Big Grassy River First Nation in northwestern Ontario, is the wellness and gatherings manager for Indigenous Clean Energy, a non-profit organization that delivers capacity-building programs for Indigenous people and communities across Canada who are looking to develop energy projects.

“Past cohorts wanted more connection to the land, and more culture, so I think that’s what we brought them with the directional gatherings. Taking the whole day to … build connections with each other on the land, and to learn about the different territories we’re on and their culture,” Crow said.

Elder Dave Bodaly, a member of Snuneymuxw First Nation on Vancouver Island, shared teachings about the land with Indigenous Clean Energy directional gathering participants. Photo: Lina Forero / Indigenous Clean Energy

Indigenous Clean Energy has hosted gatherings in five directions: Iqaluit, representing the north, Fredericton, representing the east, Manitoulin Island, Ont., representing the south, Nanaimo, B.C., representing the west, and Whitecap Dakota First Nation in Saskatchewan representing central Canada.

The gatherings reflect the growing visibility of Indigenous people in Canada’s energy transition. More than 90 per cent of privately owned clean energy projects in B.C., known as independent power producer projects, have Indigenous participation, either through full ownership, as equity partners or through royalty agreements.

And B.C. is not alone.

In northeast B.C., fresh food is scarce. This First Nation hopes geothermal energy could change that

On its website, the federal government says “renewable energy projects on traditional Indigenous territory or reserve lands increased steadily since the 1970s, and more than quadrupled from 2009 to 2020.” 

Indigenous values a core part of directional gatherings, programming

At the Nanaimo gathering in late February, the days began with a smudging ceremony, a common practice for First Nations people, where traditional medicines are burned to create smoke that cleanses the energy of anything it touches. 

Crow says when Indigenous Clean Energy began looking for venues to host directional gatherings, it focused on Indigenous-owned spaces to ensure smudging could be part of programming, as many businesses do not permit smoke inside of their buildings.

Another unique cultural consideration was spending the entire first day of the gathering on the land with local Elder Dave Bodaly.

Bodaly, a member of Snuneymuxw First Nation on Vancouver Island, took participants to old village sites while sharing teachings about the land, traditional medicines and local animals.

“For our participants from the West Coast, [we wanted to] remind them of all the tools they have in their own region,” Crow said, noting that spending time on the land and in community can offer something not found in books. 

Prioritizing time on and teachings about the land is important to Indigenous Clean Energy. Photo: Lina Forero / Indigenous Clean Energy

That sentiment holds true for Dakota Marsden, a participant at the Nanaimo directional gathering who has attended numerous Indigenous Clean Energy events in the past.

“I saw this program with Indigenous Clean Energy and I didn’t have any idea what to expect. It was called Generation Power. … I was part of the first cohort and started learning about what clean energy could be,” Marsden told The Narwhal. The Generation Power program employs Indigenous youth from across Canada in the energy sector, lasting from three to nine months, and paired with mentors in the field. 

‘It is possible’: this tiny First Nation’s big renewable energy strategy

She says what keeps her coming back to these events are the networking opportunities and the heavy emphasis on mentorship. Marsden travels to gatherings with her son Hawk, who turns two years old this month. 

“I find that Indigenous organizations are more open to little ones coming, right? I did start taking Hawk quite young into these spaces: he was two months old.”

Dakota Marsden’s son, Hawk, began attending Indigenous Clean Energy events when he was just two months old, including a gathering jointly hosted by SevenGen Energy and Student Energy in Iqaluit. Photo: Michel Albert / SevenGen Energy

“In the beginning I didn’t see any other babies, it was just Hawk. … At this gathering I saw a lot more babies and children. It was very nice to see that they’re being included in these gatherings and capacity-building programs,” she said. 

Participants find community at directional gatherings

Five years after the initial launch of the Generation Power program, Marsden still attends events all over the country with Indigenous Clean Energy, strengthening relationships and creating new ones. At the Nanaimo gathering, her only criticism was that she wanted more dedicated time to hear about everyone’s energy projects.

Marsden is employed as the lands manager in her nation, Pinaymootang First Nation in Manitoba, so she is used to energy projects coming across her desk. 

So far, her nation has installed level three electric-vehicle chargers — the fastest available — and solar panels at the local conference centre. The nation has also submitted a proposal to Manitoba Hydro to answer a call for 600 megawatts of wind-generated power. 

Marsden was initially not sure about clean energy, but the guidance and mentorship provided through Indigenous Clean Energy programming has been crucial in her journey.

Participants from across B.C. and Canada gathered for two days in Nanaimo, spending the first day on the land and the second day in clean energy themed break out sessions. Photo: Lina Forero / Indigenous Clean Energy

She is one example of many who return to and find community at these events, as confirmed by the organization’s director of energy and climate Freddie Campbell, who is Michif from Ktunaxa Kinbasket territory in B.C., with her Métis family name coming from Lac La Biche, Alta. 

“We wanted to offer another opportunity to gather and really open that space for folks to have these conversations about what people are experiencing in their regions in terms of energy needs, gaps and future dreams,” Campbell told The Narwhal, emphasizing the importance of land-based programming. 

“It can be easy to get caught up or distracted in the colonial system that we are existing in, so I think that taking that time on the land really allows us to get back to that space of connection, to come together and dream about systems that are our own,” she said. 

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In Lytton, B.C., Meghan Fandrich holds a burned doorknob, the only piece left of her once-booming cafe that was a cultural hub for the community. Later, she walks through sage bushes with her daughter, reminiscing about her childhood near the Fraser River — and the smell of burning sage filling the air during the 2021 fire that devastated her village.

This is just one of the emotional scenes displaying Canadian climate disasters in the documentary EMERGENCE: Women in the Storm. It’s evocative for anyone who has ever smelled sage burn — or who feared for friends and family during the 2021 Lytton fire, which led to two deaths and saw 32,000 people evacuated.

Premiering at the annual Victoria, B.C. film festival in early February, EMERGENCE is the most recent documentary by filmmaking duo Nova Ami and Velcrow Ripper.

It’s is a snapshot of the lives of girls and women from across British Columbia and Yellowknife who are first responders, field experts, community leaders and have experienced a disaster caused by extreme weather. Despite being disproportionately impacted by climate change because of their gender, age or location, all are making a big impact in their communities. 

In their new documentary, filmmakers Nova Ami and Velcrow Ripper highlight the work of women and girls, who are disproportionately impacted by the climate crisis but underrepresented in coverage of it. Photo: Grant Baldwin / Nicola Pender PR

Over a cup of coffee and with a bit of nerves before the premiere, Ami and Ripper explained to The Narwhal that the documentary’s name is a play on the word “emergency,” and represents women emerging from a disaster, delivering messages of hope. 

The filmmakers’ goal was to bring the voices of girls and women to the forefront of the climate change conversation, since they are often are underrepresented in news and media coverage.

In September 2025, the United Nations updated a gender equality in media report, which found that “women make up half of the global population, yet just a quarter of those who are seen or heard in the news. This statistic has barely changed in the last 15 years, with a mere nine-point change in 30 years.” 

After years of filming, Ami said confidently that women are first responders in the home — caring for the most vulnerable in emergencies and disasters. Her observation is supported by another United Nations report, from 2022, which found “the adverse effects of drought, floods, hurricanes, extreme rainfall events and sea level rise are often felt more keenly by women than men as a result of systemic gender discrimination and societal expectations related to gender roles.” 

As temperatures spike, so do reports of domestic violence in Canada

“We were looking for something new and fresh to add to the conversation,” Ami said. The two have created independent films together for more than a decade — their other climate change documentaries include 2018’s multiple award-winning Metamorphosis and 2024’s Incandescence, about wildfire season in the Okanagan. 

When Ami told Ripper that creating climate change films was burning her out, Ripper suggested a different framing. 

“Velcrow said ‘What if we focused on women,’ and I thought ‘Okay, now I can see myself getting into this.’ It’s a new way to explore this topic for us,” Ami said. 

The duo came up with the idea in 2020 while travelling the world searching for stories about disaster recovery. But, as Ripper said, “by the time 2021 rolled around, it was clear that the climate emergency was coming to us.”

B.C. experienced disaster after disaster in 2021: a life-taking heat dome and extreme wildfire season in the summer, followed by atmospheric rivers and flooding that fall. Ami and Ripper decided to cover disasters closer to home, finding stories by word of mouth. 

They filmed across the province and up into the Northwest Territories, talking to a wide range of people, from emergency physician Courtney Howard to high school student Kar-Hei Ng, who attended an all-girls firefighting camp, anticipating her future dealing with the climate crisis.

Kar-Hei Ng at Camp Ignite in Vancouver, B.C. The immersive all-girls summer camp offers high school students lessons with local fire departments. Photo: Nova Ami and Velcrow Ripper

Ami and Ripper hope to spark inspiration in viewers to prepare themselves for climate change, not just in B.C. or Canada, but worldwide. 

“I’ve learned to really appreciate moments of beauty and wonder, to really see and feel them, because everything you take for granted can just disappear. These climate events are going to be affecting more and more of us. I think we will survive it because we feel connection, community, love and support,” Fandrich expresses near the end of the film.

EMERGENCE: Women in the Storm screens Feb. 21 in Hope, B.C., Feb. 25 in Vancouver, and Feb. 28 on Salt Spring Island. It will also be aired April 7 on the Knowledge Network. 

The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for our free weekly dose of independent journalism.

In the first few weeks of 2026, B.C. approved two mines and signed a significant critical minerals agreement with other provinces and territories. At the same time, Premier David Eby is doubling down on his desire to change the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act (DRIPA), after a court ruling in December agreed with two First Nations’ claim that B.C.’s mineral claim staking regime did not fulfill the government’s obligations to consult with First Nations.  

The premier is not being shy about what he wants. 

“We will be the economic engine of the new economy that we are building here as Canadians,” Eby said in Prince George, B.C., on Jan. 21.

‘Extremely offensive’: B.C. premier’s plans to change Indigenous Rights law met with frustration

The push to fast-track critical mineral mines in the province has some residents of the northwest asking questions. B.C. is unable to process critical minerals, apart from aluminum, so anything mined will need to be sent to China or Japan or elsewhere to be processed, Nikki Skuce told The Narwhal in an interview.

Skuce directs Northern Confluence, based out of Smithers, B.C., which focuses on protecting watersheds for salmon and reforming mining practices to be more sustainable and aligned with Indigenous Rights.

“The term critical mineral itself holds really well because it creates a sense of urgency,” she said, adding B.C. does not track where mined resources from the province go, or what they are used for when they reach their final destinations — though they are sometimes used to make military weapons.

“I think if people understood that the mined materials in their territory and backyard were going to make bombs dropped on Gaza, or F35s for military defence that are sourced from the United States, they might give pause and go another direction,” she said.

Other questions remain about the possible effects of amending the Declaration Act on the mining industry in B.C. — and the economic benefits promised.

B.C.’s mining push and the critical minerals agenda

The Western Canadian Critical Minerals Strategy was signed on Jan. 25 by B.C., Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Yukon, Northwest Territories and Nunavut stating that signatories are looking to strengthen Western and Northern Canada by becoming “a preferred global supplier of responsibly sourced critical minerals.” 

These seven provinces and territories are rich in critical minerals, with B.C. housing 16 of the 34 minerals and metals identified by the Canadian government. 

On the Government of Canada website, it says critical minerals “are used in a wide range of essential products ranging from mobile phones and solar panels to electric vehicle batteries, medical devices and defence applications.”

The push to mine these critical minerals has been heightened by tariffs threats from the United States, with Prime Minister Mark Carney using “shovels in the ground” language since being elected to office in April. The B.C. mine on Carney’s list of projects to fast-track is the expansion of the Red Chris mine in the province’s northwest. 

Meanwhile, Eby has a list of his own which includes Red Chris and 17 other projects, two of which were approved in January. 

Gitxaała Nation and the Ehattesaht First Nation challenged B.C.’s mineral tenure system in court. In December 2025, the B.C. Court of Appeal ruled the province’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act has legal force. Photo: Jimmy Jeong / The Narwhal

Mount Milligan, a gold-copper mine in northeastern B.C., is extending operations until 2035, Eby announced in Prince George on Jan. 21. The fast-tracked permits received the go-ahead from B.C.’s Environmental Assessment Office — a process that some Indigenous people are warning others about. 

Surrounding Mount Milligan are 18 reserves that make up the Nak’azdli Whut’en First Nation led by Chief Colleen Erickson. In a news release on the nation’s website, it says the environmental assessment process in B.C. has been undermined because the province “retroactively approved unpermitted water discharges” by releasing sulphur into neighbouring lakes. 

The release states discharge permits were not part of the original certificate and members of the nation are concerned about local fish populations and health because high levels of sulphur are toxic to aquatic organisms. 

Meanwhile, in Tahltan territory in northwestern B.C., the former Eskay Creek mine is in the process of reopening to produce gold and silver. The B.C. government released the news on Jan. 25 — four days after the Mount Milligan announcement.

Eskay Creek became the first consent-based agreement for a mining project, under Section 7 of the Declaration Act, after the nation voted in favour of the project last December.

Controversial B.C. gold and silver mine in Tahltan territory faces make-or-break vote

Merle Alexander, a First Nations lawyer in B.C. who helped develop DRIPA, told The Narwhal in an interview that even when Indigenous people “co-develop the rules, if [the government] doesn’t like it, they just change it,” regarding recent conversations about revising the act this spring.

He congratulated the Tahltan on their Section 7 agreement with B.C., noting that DRIPA works for the government when it comes to obtaining critical minerals.

“They lean into DRIPA when it works in their favour and then reject it when they have judicial losses,” he said, noting that most mines in B.C. are approved without consent-based agreements with First Nations, and that most B.C. mines face First Nation opposition despite getting approved, using the Highland Valley Copper mine expansion near Kamloops as an example.

How fast can we go here?

When it comes to speeding up industry and legislation timelines in B.C., Skuce said the way the province approaches rare earth elements, through the Mineral Tenure Act, needed reform long before the Declaration Act came into effect.

“The Mineral Tenure Act is a colonial hangover. Since 1859 it has allowed prospectors priority use of the land and free entry into everywhere,” she said.

Skuce finds it “really disappointing” that B.C. seems to be focused on amending DRIPA instead of updating the Mineral Tenure Act.

Nikki Skuce is the director of Northern Confluence, which focuses, in part, on reforming mining practices to be more sustainable and aligned with Indigenous Rights. She’s also one of the co-chairs of the BC Mining Law Reform and believes the province’s current Mineral Tenure Act is “a colonial hangover.” Photo: Marty Clemens / The Narwhal

Though economic prosperity is the most cited reason for fast-tracking major infrastructure projects in B.C. and Canada, studies are still looking into the validity of those claims. 

According to an October 2025 report out of the University of British Columbia, mines in B.C. overpromise and under-deliver on economic benefits and project timelines — with little means to hold the industry accountable to their forecasted targets.

Although gaps in the data limited a comprehensive audit, the report found mines in B.C. underperformed compared to expectations, based on the available information. Forty per cent of mines in the dataset closed temporarily at least once.

Regulatory issues are often cited in delayed or failing mining projects, but the report found the most commonly cited reason for mines closing or being delayed in B.C. is economic constraints — not regulations. 

As the Eby government prepares to release its budget Tuesday, the premier’s recent comments about appealing the Gitxaała decision and amending DRIPA are top of mind for many.

Updated on Feb. 17, 2025, at 12:33 p.m. PT: This story has been updated to clarify that critical minerals mined in B.C. are sent to China, Japan and elsewhere to be processed. It has also been updated to state that critical minerals are sometimes used to create military weapons, not often as previously reported.

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