2025 Indigenous editorial fellow Savannah Ridley is nominated for two awards this year: emerging excellence at the Digital Publishing Awards, and the Journalists for Human Rights / Canadian Association of Journalists Emerging Indigenous Journalist Award. While at The Narwhal, Savannah focused on editing and fact-checking, but she did some reporting too — including this excellent piece on the AI data centre boom in Canada, which raises massive questions about how drought-stricken regions will cope.— Michelle Cyca, bureau chief, conservation and fellowshipsIt was announced last December that a data centre more than 32 times the size of the current largest data centre in the world has its sights on a drought-stricken region in Alberta.  

Chief Sheldon Sunshine of Sturgeon Lake Cree Nation first heard about the $70-billion data centre campus proposed right next door in a press release. 

Sunshine was surprised, as his nation had not been consulted on the proposal. Looking back through his inbox, he found an overlooked email from just a few days prior to the announcement, bearing a subject line with the name “O’Leary.”

That email referred to Kevin O’Leary, also known as “Mr. Wonderful” of Shark Tank and Dragon’s Den fame. It was a message detailing O’Leary Venture’s plans for a data centre campus called Wonder Valley in the Greenview Industrial Gateway, an industrial development just over 500 kilometres from Edmonton, within Sturgeon Lake Cree Nation’s traditional territory and adjacent to their reserve.

Data centres are what make artificial intelligence (AI) dreams and nightmares come to life. Inside are tall rectangles twinkling with coloured lights — servers piled atop each other like bookshelves. These hardware blocks are the computational machines running complex equations required for AI. The harder they work, the hotter they get. Today, the most common way to cool these centres is by evaporative systems that usher hot air through wet pads, requiring significant water consumption as evaporated moisture is not recycled. Exactly how much water these centres need varies based on climate and size, but a 2021 report estimated a medium-sized data centre uses 1.13 million litres of water daily — roughly the amount used by 5,000 Canadians in that same day.

And O’Leary’s data centre proposal is far from middling. It seems that between filming a movie with Timothee Chalamet and flying south to Mar-A-Lago with Alberta Premier Danielle Smith to meet with U.S. President Donald Trump, O’Leary has also planned to build the world’s largest data centre. He’s doing it on drought-stricken Treaty 8 territory — and has yet to consult First Nations, according to Sunshine.

Claiming there had been zero notice or consultation from either the province or the municipality, Sturgeon Lake Cree Nation issued an open cease and desist letter to Smith this past January. 

Sturgeon Lake Cree Nation isn’t the only community surprised to find a data centre looming on the horizon. Across Canada, many data centres are proposed — and many, like Wonder Valley, are in regions afflicted by drought. As Canada embraces the data centre boom, many questions about the planning and impacts of these data centres linger — and answers are hard to come by.

Drought and data centres are on a collision course

The Peace River is at the centre of the largest watershed in Alberta, stretching west into British Columbia. At the time of publishing, the Alberta side of the watershed is experiencing 12 water shortage advisories across various basins, while on the B.C. side the drought levels range from abnormally dry to moderately severe.

These are not new drought conditions, either. The Peace River watershed has experienced drought at varying levels since 2022. Within it, Greenview has faced drought since spring 2024. 

This last July, the municipality declared an agricultural disaster for their livestock industry citing “worsening drought conditions, persistent moisture shortages and significant grasshopper infestations.” 

“We urge all levels of government and the public to understand the gravity of the situation and to support the agricultural community through this difficult time,” Tyler Olsen, a reeve from the municipality of Greenview, said at the time. “Our producers are the backbone of not only our local economy, but also Alberta’s and Canada’s, and they need our full support now more than ever.” 

Later, in the very same meeting where the agricultural disaster was declared, Coun. Dale Smith brought forth the motion to amend the sale to O’Leary Ventures to include an additional 1,926 acres of municipal land. 

O’Leary Ventures CEO Paul Palandjian has said Wonder Valley will need more than 8,000 acres of land.

Olsen told The Narwhal the sale has not gone through just yet, citing that deals of this size take time to complete. He said there’s no concern that a data centre of Wonder Valley’s size would worsen the state of the “two, three years ongoing” drought that caused the municipality to issue an agricultural emergency declaration. He believes the drought has more to do with a lack of rainfall. 

“It’s two completely different topics,” Olsen said. However, a data centre could massively increase the amount of water drawn from that limited supply. 

But it’s difficult to definitively say how much water a data centre of this magnitude would suck up for two reasons. 

One, because it’s never been done before — the world’s largest data centre is only roughly 245 acres — and two, AI is developing so fast that by the time you collect the information to contextualize the scale of water use, it will already be outdated, according to experts. 

Dr. Tushar Sharma is a computer science professor at Dalhousie University who’s been researching the feasibility of sustainable AI and software engineering. 

Sharma explains that eight months ago, ChatGPT was receiving around 10 million prompts per day worldwide. Recently, the amount of prompts per day hasn’t just doubled, tripled or even sextupled. Not even close. 

It has multiplied by 250 to 2.5 billion prompts. 

“This is crazy,” Sharma said. 

And that was two months ago. 

As data centres proliferate, impacts are hard to estimate

Calculations of how much water a ChatGPT prompt uses also vary by the size and complexity of the prompt. The greater and more complex the question is, the server running the model must run greater and more complex calculations to determine its answer. 

Like anyone who’s ever owned an old laptop knows, the more you ask it to do, the hotter it gets. Sharma explains that when a server heats up, the data centre housing it must cool it down to keep it functioning — water is the cheapest way to do so. 

South of the border, the Meta Newton data centre in Georgia (now renamed to Stanton Springs) that soaked up all the water in the area — leaving nothing but orange sludge to run from nearby Newton County residents’ taps — was only around 57 acres.

If Wonder Valley is completed, it will be more than 140 times the size of the Newton data centre. 

However, the effects of data centre resource drainage are not restricted to nearby faucets; their presence can be felt much farther away, in the wallets of everyday folks. 

Earlier this year, the New York Times reported that the increased pressure on energy grids from data centres is causing whatever hydro is left to increase in price. Due to this manufactured scarcity, electricity bills for U.S. residents are expected to rise by an average of eight per cent.

AI regulation is not a popular term in government either. 

Evan Solomon originated the role of AI and digital innovation minister last May under Prime Minister Mark Carney. 

In his first speech as the new minister, Solomon said the federal government would not “over-index” on AI regulation and would instead be setting its sights on data protection. 

Solomon likened AI innovation to a “bucking bronco” that he doesn’t intend to throw a saddle on with regulation, but rather ensure that it “doesn’t kick people in the face” by misusing their data or breaching their privacy. 

The federal branch is not the only level of government excited by the new market. 

Alberta Technology and Innovation Minister Nate Glubish voiced the province’s intent to become an international leader in data centre infrastructure, eyeing more than 19 gigawatts worth of proposals this past summer. These centres, Glubish said, could make use of stranded oil and gas assets within the province.

Governments are enthusiastic about data centres, but their long-term costs and benefits are still uncertain

Politicians like Glubish and Ontario Energy Minister Stephen Lecce often say that data centres are job creators. University of Waterloo computer science professor Martin Karsten isn’t convinced. 

Karsten says it does not take very many technicians to ensure a data centre is running smoothly. If anything, the construction of the data centre will be a larger job creator than a fully operational data centre, which largely relies on automation. 

A Meta report on the Stanton Springs data centre underscores this reality. The report notes that just over 200 jobs will be “supported once [construction is] completed,” whilst also boasting that 1,300 skilled trade workers will be working on the construction of the facility. 

If data centres aren’t huge long-term job creators, are they beneficial for generating tax income? 

Ian Mondrow, a partner at law firm Gowling WLG specializing in energy regulation and policy, doesn’t think this is the answer either. 

Doug Ford’s government in Ontario is currently trying to pass Bill 40, the Protect Ontario by Securing Affordable Energy for Generations Act, which includes amendments to the Electricity Act that would give the province the power to be picky about which data centres they allow to connect to the power grid. The bill currently states that only projects that cultivate “economic growth” will be allowed access in an effort to keep energy affordable. However, the bill also introduces new provincial power to subsidize the cost of connecting data centres to the power grids.

Mondrow explained that these subsidies could be funded from electricity ratepayers — anyone with a power bill — or through taxes. 

Whether Ontarians could see an increase in their hydro bills or their taxes is largely up to a formula to be calculated by the Ontario Energy Board. 

The Ontario Energy Board declined to comment for this story.

Mondrow thinks that other than a fear of missing out on the latest tech boom, the likeliest reason why data centres are pulling focus is because of greater importance being placed on data sovereignty, especially given the current global trade climate.

Data centres are not just the synthetic synapses of AI: they can also be cloud storage facilities. 

If the location of the data centre is different from where the data was created, this is called data residency. The physical location of the data centre determines what laws and regulations the data is subjected to, but so does ownership and operations. This can be problematic because it can leave Canadian data vulnerable to being accessed by foreign governments who invest in Canadian data centres. 

A new analysis by the Investigative Journalism Foundation found that 84 of Canada’s 283 total data centres are owned by American companies. Under U.S. laws, American companies can be compelled to hand over data stored in Canada. 

What we do know is that despite the murky benefits of data centres, they are surely on their way, and not just Kevin O’Leary’s.

Bell Canada has plans to build six new AI data centres in British Columbia in the next couple years. 

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.

Staccato IV beeps and electrical whirs disrupted the worried air of Chris Wemigwans’s son’s quarantined hospital room in Sudbury, Ont. 

It was 2017, and Wemigwans’s 14-year-old son had spent the past week being poked and prodded to determine what illness was ravaging his growing body. Every test only muddied potential diagnoses, but all signs pointed to meningitis. 

“My son was on death watch,” Wemigwans said.

It wasn’t until a spinal tap ruled out meningeal swelling that doctors realized what Wemigwans’s son was afflicted with: group C streptococcus. It’s a bacteria that can be transmitted from animals to humans through the respiratory tract, digestive system or skin and can cause serious infections including necrotizing fasciitis, better known as flesh-eating disease. 

Wemigwans thought back to the previous week’s activities. Looking at his son’s inflamed patches of skin, he remembered. 

Wemigwans’s son was playing manhunt in the bush of their home in Aundeck Omni Kaning First Nation when he stumbled across shrubs of poison ivy and broke out in a rash. Later that day, as he’d done countless summers before, he went for a swim in the nearby north channel of Lake Huron — the community’s popular local beach.

Wemigwans had just begun working in water treatment at the community’s plant. Aundeck Omni Kaning has a reserve with just under 300 residents on Manitoulin Island, 120 kilometres southwest of Sudbury. 

Wemigwans suspects poor water quality in the channel that day caused his son’s hospitalization, but with an absence of timely water testing, he can’t say for sure.

“That shouldn’t happen. Our water should never be that dirty,” Wemigwans, whose son has since recovered, told The Narwhal. 

Despite having just begun working in water treatment at the community’s plant, Wemigwans took it upon himself to routinely test the recreational water around Aundeck Omni Kaning.     

“I wouldn’t want that to happen to anybody else,” Wemigwans said.

Water treatment operators are often unsung heroes tasked with the enormous responsibility of ensuring the communities they serve are engaging with safe, clean water. But Wemigwans also knows firsthand how precarious that protection is for many First Nations, including his own, where he has been the only water treatment operator for over the last three years. In Toronto, by contrast, this duty was shared by over 700 people in 2021. 

Water treatment plants understaffed across Ontario First Nations

Many Canadians are familiar with the crisis of long-term drinking water advisories in Indigenous communities across Canada. Notably, former prime minister Justin Trudeau promised to eliminate all advisories by 2021, but dozens persist in various communities — and some have lasted for years. Some also deal with wastewater contamination, which makes local fish and game unsafe to eat and increases health risks, like the infection contracted by Wemigwans’s son. The causes are complex, including infrastructure deficits and inadequate funding. But staffing the facilities that treat water, removing contaminants and bacteria, is a big piece of the puzzle. 

Across Ontario there are 340 wastewater treatment plants and 423 drinking water treatment plants as of 2018.

In Aundeck Omni Kaning, there’s just one drinking water treatment plant and it’s an entirely one man show. Wemigwans is responsible for any and all repairs, operating control systems, conducting chemical and bacterial tests and collecting water samples from surrounding lakes. He is also the only set of eyes on any and all documented operational data. 

Wemigwans says he doesn’t get sick, but if he’s ever under the weather, he’ll just come in anyways. 

“There’s no one here to infect,” said Wemigwans — and it’s not like he has much choice. 

Wemigwans is entitled to four weeks of time off. However, to use his vacation time, he must coordinate with the United Chiefs and Councils of Mnidoo Mnising’s technical services department in advance.

The tribal council’s water hub is a team of three people who are responsible for covering staffing gaps and assisting with intensive repairs for all of their six member nations, including Aundeck Omni Kaning. 

This delicate staffing dance is not a new problem. In fact, the current water operator capacity situation with the tribal council is actually quite an improvement from where they started over a decade ago. 

While there is no available data on the staffing shortage for water treatment plants on reserves, the issue is pervasive. Kevin Debassige, technical services manager for the United Chiefs and Councils of Mnidoo Mnising, said that leadership has been looking for pathways to build staffing capacity since 2014. 

“Before we started this, we pretty much only had one operator at every plant,” said Debassige.

In 2018, a partnership between United Chiefs and Councils of Mnidoo Mnising and Water First, a non-profit organization, launched to provide 10 Indigenous youth with the opportunity to graduate from a 15-month water internship program, where they’d learn the trade and obtain certification to work as operators in their communities. 

So far, 65 interns have graduated from Water First programs, which has partnered with First Nations from across Ontario and Manitoba. Next year, 10 more certified water operators will graduate into the workforce, with another internship cohort kicking off this past summer. 

However, the field is still struggling to drum up interest to meet the needs of every community. 

Dan Clark, the lead water hub operator for the tribal council, says older people he’s spoken to have expressed concerns about all of the exams and training required to receive certification, while the 24/7 on-call nature of the job, especially in communities where they would be the sole operator, seems to be a big deterrent across all age cohorts. 

However, Clark thinks a large impediment is that water treatment operation is not recognized by Skilled Trades Ontario. Clark said that recognition by the province as a skilled trade would boost awareness of the profession as a career path and potentially improve wages.

As it stands, Indigenous Services Canada says they provide financial support for “the day-to-day costs to operate and maintain water systems,” including “training and certification of water and wastewater operators” and for “ongoing operator support and retention.”

However, Ray Moreau, the infrastructure specialist for the tribal council, says government funding is “restrictive,” forcing Indigenous communities to fully cover the wages for any operators they employ in their plants.

Indigenous programs, including water treatment, risk defunding

There’s another problem on the horizon: Indigenous Services Canada funding may soon be gutted.

Last July, a leaked letter by Finance Minister François-Philippe Champagne revealed all cabinet ministers had been directed to “bring forward ambitious savings proposals to spend less on the day-to-day running of government, and invest more in building a strong, united Canadian economy.”

It was later confirmed the federal government is looking for $25 billion in budget cuts to fund Prime Minister Mark Carney’s Trump-extracted promise to double military expenditure, as well as offset income tax cuts for the “middle class.” 

While the Liberal government has not officially stated their intended budgetary victims, a Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives report predicts that the Caveman Steak from Carney’s soon-to-be-slaughtered cash cow will come from “programs delivered to Indigenous Peoples” estimated at “$4.51 billion a year by 2028-29,” with Indigenous Services Canada bearing the brunt of the thrashing. 

On the flip side, the First Nations Clean Water Act has made its way back on the table. Bill C-61 looks to “recognize and affirm the inherent right of First Nations to self-government in relation to water, source water, drinking water, wastewater and related infrastructure on, in and under First Nation lands”— something Canada signed onto with the United Nations 13 years ago, but has so far failed to deliver.

The bill was halted when Trudeau prorogued Parliament to resign at the start of the year, but has since returned to the legislative floor — to mixed reactions. 

Alberta and Ontario have been very vocal in their opposition to the bill, citing concerns that focusing on water protection in Indigenous communities would hinder provincial economic goals. While the provinces haven’t stated what specific projects they’re referencing in their opposition, Alberta and Ontario have notably set their sights on hoovering up as many data centre contracts as they can. 

As of last year, Ontario is leading Alberta by 83 data centres. However, if quality is weighted heavier than quantity, Alberta may pull ahead with Kevin O’Leary’s proposal for the largest data centre in the world on Treaty 8 land, a region that’s endured severe drought lasting several years.

However, some critics worry the bill is largely symbolic, as it doesn’t include any projects to increase drinking water accessibility other than the commitment to “make best efforts to provide adequate and sustainable funding for water services on First Nation lands,” Deborah McGregor, a professor and Canada Research Chair for Indigenous Environmental Justice at York University’s Osgoode Hall Law School, told The Narwhal.

She said that C-61 is a solid step forward, but that it may not be able to compete with all the federal backward steps like Indigenous Services Canada budget cuts and Bill C-5.

“You’re having all this investment and trying to protect drinking water, but then at the same time, you’re opening up a whole bunch of First Nations land to resource extraction, which contaminates the water,” McGregor said.

“Like, what do you think is going to happen?”

C-61 seems to have learned from the mistakes of the 2013 Safe Drinking Water for First Nations Act, McGregor explains, a process that did not adequately consult Indigenous communities about what would best serve them. In Bill C-61, it’s unclear whether the nations who need the most help with their water infrastructure — remote communities — will receive it.

Many First Nations still under boil-water advisories

Unlike the member nations of the United Chiefs and Councils of Mnidoo Mnising, or the First Nations supported by the Ontario First Nations Technical Services Corporation, remote Indigenous communities are a special case because their locale forces them to be dependent on the federal government. When their water infrastructure fails them, they must wait for the government to act.    

Neskantaga First Nation, a community with a similar number of members living on reserve as Aundeck Omni Kaning, has been waiting for 30 years and counting, living under the longest boil-water advisory in the country. The advisory was issued just two years after the nation’s water treatment plant opened in 1993, when tests showed high levels of harmful chemicals. 

Similarly, Attawapiskat First Nation, whose number of on-reserve members is more than six times that of Aundeck Omni Kaning, also has a water treatment plant, but the amount of necessary repairs have piled up over time. Six years ago, the nation declared a drinking water crisis when testing showed high levels of harmful chemicals leaching from their ailing treatment plant, though residents say that Attawapiskat’s water has been undrinkable for much longer than six years. 

McGregor is unsure whether Carney’s regime is prepared to craft equitable solutions to improve the material conditions in remote communities. 

“[There’s] a lack of working with the people to make sure that you’re not taking a techno fix that works in a southern First Nation and popping it up north and calling it a day,”  McGregor said.

As Bill C-61 wends through Parliament, 40 Ontario communities are currently under boil-water advisories: 28 long-term and 14 short-term as of Sept. 16. 

In Aundeck Omni Kaning, Wemigwans is enjoying some company at his treatment plant for the first time in years: a fellow community member has joined him as a Water First intern.

When his intern graduates from the program, they will become a permanent water operator at the band’s plant and will eventually take over Wemigwans’s position when he retires.

With billions of dollars in budget cuts hanging in the balance, it’s unclear how programs like Water First will be affected. 

In the meantime, Wemigwans is looking forward to not being the lone protector between his community and waterborne illness — and more flexibility with his schedule.   

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.

Leah Gazan, member of Parliament for Winnipeg Centre, is not one to back down without a fight. 

Since her election to the House of Commons in 2019, Gazan has called out the federal government’s failure to stop the ongoing genocide against Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls and Two-Spirit people and urged the federal government to implement a Red Dress Alert system that would send Amber Alert-style notifications to surrounding areas when an Indigenous woman, girl or Two-Spirit person is abducted. 

Last September, Gazan also tabled a bill that would criminalize residential school denialism. “If the government is serious about reconciliation, then they need to protect survivors and their families from hate,” Gazan, a member of Wood Mountain Lakota Nation and the descendant of Holocaust survivors, has said.

Gazan has hung onto her fearlessness — and her position — through three election cycles, and she’s only getting started. Her latest battle is against the federal government’s recently passed Bill C-5, one of several controversial environmental laws with a pentagonal moniker that has popped up since the April election.

So, how does a tough, tested MP connect with the natural world outside the House of Commons? Below, she shares the places (and plants) that keep her grounded, including the waterfalls at her favourite campsite.

This interview has been condensed and edited for length and clarity — all opinions are the subject’s own.

What’s the most awe-inspiring natural sight you’ve witnessed between the Pacific, Atlantic, 49th parallel and Hudson Bay, i.e. Canada?

I love road trips and I’ve travelled by car from coast to coast. The drive along the St. Lawrence is spectacular, but going west through the mountains is just such a miracle to see mountains like that, especially coming from the Prairies. 

But then the Prairies have their own kind of secret beauty that nobody talks about. Like my community of Wood Mountain Lakota Nation in Saskatchewan is actually a valley, and it’s really hilly. Everybody thinks Saskatchewan is totally flat, but if you go into the Cypress Hills, it’s almost desert-like in the fall, and there’s cacti that actually grow out of the mountain tops. It’s so quiet and it has this very rich history. That’s where, for example, Sitting Bull had his last sun dance before he was slaughtered by the American army at the time. You can feel that energy, but it’s also so beautiful. So I have to say my nation.

What is the most awe-inspiring natural site you’ve seen outside of Canada? 

Well, I’ve been all over the world, and I think I would say Greece. It was so long ago I think there were still dinosaurs and palm trees, but I drove around Greek islands like Santorini around that area on a dirt bike, and the water is so blue and all the buildings are white, and it was just breathtaking. I was lucky. I went before it was a touristy place. I stayed in a place right by the beach, and it was $8 a night. That’s how old I am.

Think of three iconic Canadian animals and choose one each to kiss, marry and kill.

Okay, so iconic is my dog — my little Yorkie, Miss Lily. And I kiss her every day, and she’s iconic. She travels with me everywhere and she’s never without me for more than a couple of hours. She’s 18 and she’s still in good shape. 

I’m not really a killer, but I do like fish. I would say a fish. How about a walleye? Because I killed a walleye once. That’s the only animal I’ve ever killed. I actually caught a walleye, and I had deep pain about killing the walleye. It was tough, but I did eat it. I killed it and I ate it. 

To marry — I think a horse, because there’s a companionship. You can travel together. But Miss Lily, that’s the one I would kiss, for sure. 

Name a person or a group doing something meaningful for the environment that you think everyone should know about. 

Not necessarily a group, but frontline climate champions. There’s just so many organizations, but one that has been really good, in terms of having an intersectional lens with Indigenous Rights, is Manitoba’s Climate Action Team. 

Who is a person or group you think could help mitigate the climate crisis if they really wanted to?

I don’t think it’s beholden on one person. I’m a long-time climate activist, I’m a member of Parliament, and I think it’s beholden on all of us that make decisions — that are making laws. We just saw Prime Minister Mark Carney pass Bill C-5 that weakens environmental assessment, and the Conservatives voted along with them. 

You know, I’m 53 and I’ve seen in my lifetime the impacts of the climate emergency, but it’s younger people that are really going to have to deal with the crisis, and their voices and Indigenous Peoples who are on the frontline of the climate emergency, often in these decisions, are excluded. So I think it is irresponsible at this point to pass any laws without centering the importance of protecting the environment.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Leah Gazan (@leahgazanmp)

Outdoor cats. Yes or no?

Yes, because that’s who they are. How tragic it would be to be a cat and never go outside, right? They need to be their true selves, living their best lives.

Tell us about a time that you changed your mind about something environmental or otherwise.

I’ve never changed my mind — I’m always right. Just kidding.  

I was in the 80s generation — you’d get a lunch and you threw everything out, and that was the best lunch. We got rid of Tupperware. We just contaminated the Earth. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of my understanding around this kind of waste culture. Whether it’s food or things that we need, we need to be more conscious in everything we do. You know, making sure that we’re recycling all the time, not having any food waste. I’ve grown from the 80s to now. Thinking back when I was a kid, the best lunches were the juice boxes, right? And now I look at that and I just think it’s a dumpster fire for the Earth.

And what about a time you’ve tried to change someone else’s mind about something environmental or otherwise?

Now that I’m older, to be honest, it’s less about trying to change people’s minds as it is about trying to understand where people are at and try to bring them along. Like, I sit in the House of Commons where some elected officials are climate denialists, and some people you can’t convince for whatever reason. I try to understand where that belief comes from, particularly opposing beliefs that are based in science, and then ask questions that allow people to think and then come along. I think it’s about listening more attentively, actively figuring out where people are at and trying to bring them along.

Rocky Mountains, or Great Lakes?

Great Lakes. I love water. I love the sound of water, and I love the forest.

Researchers at Yale University, the France-based Women’s Forum for the Economy and Society and other institutions have found women tend to be more concerned about climate change than men. Why do you think that is? 

Well, if I look at our traditional teachings, as an Indigenous person, we refer to the Earth as our mother and our life-giver. For people who identify as a life-giver, I think there’s that natural connection, because Earth is life-giving, and you have to nurture that life for your own survival. And I think there’s that natural connection, yeah.

If you could dip a toe off Canada’s coastline, which ocean would it be in?

Pacific. I just haven’t been in that part of the Earth for a while.

What’s a beautiful or useful thing you’ve owned for a really long time?

I have a plant obsession. I live in a condo, and I have more than 50 plants. I’ve had my mom’s plant for about over 20 years and it’s still living. In fact, I’m on my way to the store to get more soil, because I replanted it a little bit today. Can you believe that plant’s been alive for over 20 years?

It’s a pothos, one of those hanging plants. It almost died, and then I brought it back to life. I cut off stems, and I stuck them in water, and I let it grow tons of roots and then replanted it. Now it has a plant baby because I have a separate plant that I’ve grown with my mom’s plant. So new generations — a multi-generational pothos plant. 

What is the farthest north that you’ve ever been? And what did you do there? 

The Yukon and I visited my sister. I love the Yukon — it’s so beautiful. But I had to sleep in the basement because it was summertime and the sun was out all the time. I had to sleep with light covers on my window so I could sleep at night. It’s really disorienting. 

If you could ask one person alive or dead their thoughts on climate change, who would it be?

My mom. She was a really wise, thoughtful person.

What’s one way that you interact with the natural world on a daily basis?

With my plants, I know when they’ve grown a leaf. I keep that kind of close eye on my plants as it connects me with the Earth, especially in an urban environment. I go for walks and stuff like that, but it’s not like life-giving. My plants are life-giving in an urban jungle.

I talk to my plants. I say, ‘Hello, little plant. I see you growing a leaf.’ I think they feel your energy because it’s a life form. I feel devastated when somebody cuts a tree down because it’s like, how long did it take for them to grow and then you cut it down? People don’t see it as life. 

Smoked salmon, or maple syrup?

Smoked salmon. No, I take it back — maple syrup because you can make sweet smoked salmon with maple syrup. I make the best chili with maple syrup and cakes — maple syrup is more versatile than smoked salmon.

Who in your life has had the greatest impact on your connection to nature?

My partner Romeo, because he was born in the boreal forest.

And whose relationship to nature would you like to have an impact on?

My son, because he grew up in the city, and I feel like he needs to spend time on the land, in the bush — away from an urban environment.

Camping, yes or no?

Yes. My favourite camping spot close to my house is Rushing River or Sioux Lookout in northern Ontario. I like Sioux Lookout because it’s quiet. It’s not that touristy. It’s not that busy. And I like Rushing River because I like the falls there, and I have good memories from when I was young, like going down the falls and camping with friends. It was fun. I probably wouldn’t do it now, because I’d be worried that I would break my bones or something.

Would you rather be invited to Victoria and David Beckham’s Muskoka cottage, or Harry and Meghan Sussex’s B.C. escape?

Neither. But if I had to, I would say David Beckham and Victoria. At least we could talk about soccer. I’m not a monarchist.

Enjoying the Moose Questionnaire? Read more from the series here.

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.

Get the inside scoop on The Narwhal’s environment and climate reporting by signing up for our free newsletter.

Donny Sutherland’s childhood was defined by the countless hours he spent playing manhunt and other playground games in Constance Lake First Nation. As soon as school let out, Sutherland and his buddies would race into the lush medley of poplar, pine and spruce, rolicking through the brush, sweat and laughter filling the air. 

But in 2021, a life-threatening fungal infection swept through his community, claiming five lives and sickening many others, including Sutherland’s brothers. Blastomycosis is a pulmonary illness caused by a fungus that grows in moist areas, particularly soil or decaying vegetation. The exact origins of the blastomyces have yet to be identified, and a paranoia lingers among the members of Constance Lake First Nation like a sliver embedded deep below the skin. 

Sutherland shares a common hypothesis with many of his community’s members, that rotting wood left by industry is the host of the fungal outbreak. 

For Sutherland, the sickness that plagues his community is a symbol of the devastation that unbridled industry can bring — and an omen for what’s to come if Bill 5, the newest bill from the Ford regime, is passed into law. 

Quietly announced amongst the political hullabaloo in the last days before the federal election, the Protect Ontario by Unleashing Our Economy Act contains a number of proposals that have alarmed environmental scientists and First Nations. Among them is flattening the Endangered Species Act by repealing mandatory protective measures in exchange for discretionary treatment by the province. 

One section of the bill that contains massive legislative change is enacting the Special Economic Zones Act. This proposed law will consolidate absolute power to the province for “designated projects” within certain geographic areas. In layman’s terms, as long as a project can be argued as a monetary benefit or necessary for the province, the Ford government can exempt industry from both provincial and municipal laws. The act makes zero mention of the province’s constitutional duty to consult with Indigenous nations — a deafening silence some say could side-step Indigenous Rights completely.

“They only care about one thing and one thing only, and that’s money,” Sutherland said. “They don’t think any further than that.” 

Mining Minister Stephen Lecce talks Bill 5 in Thunder Bay

In addition to the environmental concerns it raises, Bill 5 is also vague about the circumstances in which the province can act with impunity. Constance O’Connor, a director at Wildlife Conservation Society Canada, is highly concerned by the lack of specificity in what kinds of laws can be bypassed. As it stands, Bill 5 would grant the provincial government the ability to ignore labour as well as health and safety laws, O’Connor explained, putting fair wages and safe working conditions at risk.

“It just seems to be a blank cheque,” O’Connor said. 

“There’s no precedent for this kind of exemption in Canada, and the potential for corruption is huge.”

On April 25, Ontario Minister of Energy and Mines Stephen Lecce held a press conference in Thunder Bay, Ont., to talk about Bill 5. Set up in a garage, six men in hard hats, reflective vests and steel-toe boots stoically stood in the back with a Canadian flag hung prominently above their heads. Beyond the men, tucked in among the naked trees, were RPM Drilling’s crimson trucks.

Rebecca Thompson, the vice-president of public affairs at Alamos Gold, the mayor of Thunder Bay, Ken Boshcoff and the MPP for Thunder Bay–Atikokan, Kevin Holland, all stood in front of the workwear-fitted men as Lecce stepped up to a podium fitted with a “Protect Ontario” sign. 

While Lecce reiterated the province’s commitment to meaningfully consult First Nations, turning to look upon two chiefs standing off-screen, he continued with the need for Bill 5 under the current economic threats from the U.S.

“It’s about building for the future. It’s about creating a system that works better for us here in Canada,” Lecce said. 

Rather than taking the hatchet to existing legislation, some say the Ontario government should instead focus on a better strategy to fulfill its duty to consult. 

Advocate concerned Bill 5 removes duty to consult First Nations 

Unlike British Columbia, Ontario has not passed legislation to enact the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), which compels governments to ensure mining claims are secured and developed with respect for natural laws and the prior informed consent of Indigenous communities.  

As Jamie Kneen, a co-founder of MiningWatch Canada, explained, the provincial government currently notifies an Indigenous nation about any permits companies have applied for on their territories. Following the alert is a 30-day period for community questions and pushback. In practice, Kneen said the province issues First Nations band offices an endless stream of permit documents, making it logistically impossible to carefully consider each one. If the nation fails to reply to any one of the notices in the pileup of permits within 30 days, “then they just keep going.”

Rick Cheechoo has firsthand experience with this form of government consultation and the struggle to respond in the allotted time. Cheechoo was an elected Moose Cree First Nations councillor for 12 years and has been a member of the nation’s land and resource secretariat since 2002. In addition to the sheer volume, Cheechoo said meaningful engagement is not a quick process that can always be completed in 30 days. Once a permit is received, nations are tasked with their own community consultation process to identify who could be affected by the proposed mining activity, consulting with knowledge keepers to research possible mining impacts and scoping out the land identified in the permit.

A single notice can take four non-consecutive weeks to meaningfully engage with, and Cheechoo said Moose Cree usually receives four new permits every month. The nation is constantly playing catch-up, and as a result, he said it was largely up to the mining companies’ discretion to respectfully work alongside Indigenous communities. In instances where they have not, Cheechoo says the government has not stepped in. While he emphasized that he was speaking as an individual and not a representative of the Moose Cree government, he added that many community members share his concerns.

“We’re not against development. We are for things to be right — to be done properly,” Cheechoo said. 

If Bill 5 passes into law, it is unclear what changes to the consultation process will take place. While the current procedure is flawed, said Kerrie Blaise, the founder of Legal Advocates for Nature’s Defence, it’s still valuable as a mechanism that informs Indigenous communities about developments on their land, at the very least, according to Blaise. 

“This is not discrete in any way. This is a blatant ‘We don’t care about your voice. You don’t need to participate. We’re going to create a law where industry trumps everything,’ ” Blaise said.

Bill 5 and the Ring of Fire

Bill 5 has already passed second reading. While currently being reviewed by a standing committee before advancing to a third reading, the bill will remain open for public comment until May 17. With a majority Conservative government, it has few barriers to becoming legislation, and when it does, it could spell major changes for the Ring of Fire.

The region, named for the crescent shape of valuable mineral deposits, covers about 5,000 square kilometres in the northern part of Ontario within Treaty 9 territory. It’s been the site of conflict between Ford’s government, which has promised to tap its resources, and several First Nations there who have pushed back. 

The bill does not specifically deem the Ring of Fire as a special economic zone, but much of the government’s discussions of the new legislation have centred around the area. Lecce specifically mentioned the Ring of Fire in his press conference in Thunder Bay, and the James Bay Lowlands that sprawl across the mineral-rich region have received significant attention since the inauguration of U.S. President Donald Trump and the Canadian federal election. 

The Ring of Fire is located along two main waterways, the Ekwan and the Attawapiskat rivers. Despite the rivers’ ability to transfer pollutants to neighbouring communities like a carcinogenic superhighway, Ford has said it is “ridiculous” to consult with First Nations hundreds of kilometres away from the mining district. But Blaise said these communities will bear the brunt of the ecological damage and will likely have zero notice of its arrival. 

“Those changes take time for toxins to build up in the environment. So I would really worry at that point if you’re seeing the contamination, when did it happen? Is it ongoing? Is it reversible?” she said.

The Narwhal reached out to the Ontario Ministry of Economic Development, Job Creation and Trade, the Ministry of Energy and Mines, the Ministry of Environment, Conservation and Parks, the Ministry of Indigenous Affairs and First Nations Economic Reconciliation, the Ministry of Natural Resources and the attorney general’s office. None of them responded to requests for comment. 

Attawapiskat is still reeling from industrial pollution

Downstream from the Ring of Fire, Attawapiskat cannot afford to endure any more ecological hardship. Attawapiskat has not had clean drinking water for decades, teetering between states of emergency due to high levels of chemicals that have been shown to increase the risk of cancer. 

Michel Koostachin has lived with this water crisis for as long as he can remember. He’s seen many people in his community pass away from cancer, including his own father. With chemicals linked to cancer already present in his community’s water supply, Koostachin is terrified of what could happen if the province starts mining the deposit of chromite in the Ring of Fire and smelting it in place.

Chromium-6, also known as hexavalent chromium, is a byproduct of smelting chromite, a key component of stainless steel. This carcinogenic chemical is linked to a motley crew of ailments that can manifest in every major biological system in the human body. Chromium-6 was also the contaminant that leaked from a Pacific Gas & Electric wastewater pond into the drinking water in Hinkley, California, the case behind the film Erin Brockovich. A chromite refinery plant that was promised to bring hundreds of full-time jobs to Sault St. Marie, Ont., was halted indefinitely after facing fierce backlash from the community.

Friends of the Attawapiskat River, an Indigenous grassroots organization founded by Koostachin, declared land protections over the Ring of Fire in February, citing the risks of chromite mining and smelting as part of its motive in a community workshop. The group hoped to drum up enough attention to the damage mining could bring to Treaty 9 communities to encourage the province to rethink its plans for the region. Now with Bill 5 on the table, the ecological fate of the James Bay Lowlands hangs even higher in the balance.

“Anything that’s contaminated you can’t touch, you can’t eat, right? So Ontario is using the economic spin to justify, but it’s an attack on our nature,” Koostachin said.

“It’s an attack on our Indigenous Rights.” 

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.