First Nations are closing B.C. parks. Should you be mad?

Even if you’ve never visited Joffre Lakes, about an hour north of Whistler, B.C., you have probably seen its famous turquoise waters on social media. In 2019, BC Parks reported nearly 200,000 annual visitors, an increase of 222 per cent since 2010 (incidentally, the year Instagram was released). 

The surge of daytrippers and campers has been accompanied by an increase in impacts: vegetation trampled, garbage left behind, congested roads and trails. 

In April, BC Parks and the Lil’wat and N’quatqua First Nations announced Joffre Lakes Park, or Pipi7íyekw in the Lil’wat language, would be closed from April 25 to May 16. Other temporary closures have since been announced — two weeks in June, and two full months beginning on August 22 — to allow members of the First Nations “to reconnect to their land and culture, while also providing time for the land to rest from human impacts,” according to a May 16 release by Lil’wat. These temporary closures, which the nation calls “reconnection periods,” began in 2023.

The closures, along with another in Vancouver Island’s Juan de Fuca Park by the Pacheedaht First Nation, have sparked a backlash among some British Columbians. 

A headline in the National Post reads, “Non-Indigenous visitors being turned away from public parks.” On X, a North Vancouver resident called the closures “a concerning precedent” and described the previous closures as a “unilateral” decision that “the nations had no legal authority” to enact. 

This is inaccurate — as evidenced by BC Parks’ statements, the closures are not unilateral — but this distorted framing has been further exaggerated by Dallas Brodie, an MLA who was recently ejected from the Conservative BC caucus for mocking residential school survivors. On X, Brodie shared the post and added, “There are over 1,000 provincial parks in B.C. And the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act (DRIPA) could make access to every one of them dependent upon your racial status.” 

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In a video posted to X, Brodie calls DRIPA “the most racist and radical law in B.C. history,” which is quite the claim when one considers the Indian Act, the historic Chinese Exclusion Act and B.C.’s notorious history of racist land covenants. Encouraging British Columbians to oppose it, Brodie claimed DRIPA is “the reason parks are being closed to the non-Indigenous public.” 

Like a trash can on a popular park trail, these statements are overflowing with rank misinformation. DRIPA, which was passed into provincial law almost six years ago, is a framework that requires the province to bring B.C. laws into alignment with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples — including the recognition of title, and ensuring nations can benefit from their lands and natural resources. By engaging with First Nations, BC Parks is upholding this provincial responsibility.

But these temporary closures are not based on racial status or Indigeneity; rather, they are specific to the First Nations whose unceded territory was seized to create a park. I’m Indigenous, but I can’t visit Joffre Lakes during the closures, because I’m not a member of Lil’wat or N’quatqua. And while these recent park closures do have something to do with Indigenous Rights in B.C., there is a lot more to them — and good reason for everyone in B.C., including non-Indigenous park enthusiasts, to get on board. 

Why close the parks? 

Across B.C., provincial parks are buckling under the strain of public enthusiasm. There were 20.8 million parks visitors across the province from 2013 to 2014; a decade later, that figure had grown by nearly 30 per cent to just over 27 million. Not all parks can absorb these swelling numbers of visitors; like Joffre, many are impacted by crowding, congestion and environmental damage. 

BC Parks, a division within the provincial Ministry of Environment and Parks, is responsible for outdoor recreation and managing natural spaces. While ensuring residents and visitors of B.C. can hike, camp, boat and fish, it is also responsible for protecting more than 14 million hectares of land — almost 15 per cent of the province. That requires balancing the desires of present visitors with the interests of future generations — which is to say, making sure we don’t Instagram our prettiest lakes into ecological collapse. 

In 2020, B.C. introduced day passes at many of the most popular parks during the peak seasons, including Joffre Lakes, which required visitors to reserve a free pass in advance of their trip. An online feedback survey found 60 per cent of respondents still felt the trails were too crowded.

The majority of respondents agreed that too many people negatively impact park ecosystems, as well as the experience of visiting a park. As any driver stuck in traffic will tell you, it’s all these other cars who are the problem! 

But there is an additional consideration. B.C. has more than 200 First Nations, who have ancient relationships and rights to their territories. Ensuring that the members of these nations can engage in their constitutionally protected rights to hunt, fish and harvest is a duty of the Crown — a duty that extends to BC Parks. 

When parks are so popular that the only way to uphold this right is to temporarily close them, that suggests the closure is in everyone’s interest. Parks are attractions, true, but they’re not like arcades or theme parks. They are fragile, dynamic and alive. These spaces need a break if we want to enjoy them in the future, too. 

How did parks become ‘public land,’ anyway? The answer won’t surprise you! 

Okay, some might argue: close the parks temporarily. But why do First Nations get to shut other people out? Isn’t that racist? 

It’s actually hard to separate racism from public parks, but that has nothing to do with these recent closures. Canada’s majestic national and provincial parks inspire many people to proclaim proudly about “our public spaces” and “our land” — but thousands of years before Canada even existed, these lands had other caretakers. Many parks that have been selected and preserved for their stunning views or natural wonders were also recognized as special by First Nations, who were exiled from these spaces in order to purify them for a non-Indigenous public. Banff, Canada’s first national park, dates back to 1885; the oldest provincial park in B.C. was established in 1911. But for thousands of years before that, Indigenous Peoples were living in these places — not just dropping in for an annual hike or long weekend camping trip. 

As Kwantlen journalist Robert Jago writes in The Walrus, these parks and others across Canada were created by forcing the Indigenous residents out. Jago quotes George Stewart, who supervised the creation of Banff and served as its first superintendent, who said of Indigenous people, “Their destruction of the game and depredations among the ornamental trees make their too frequent visits to the park a matter of great concern.” Mounted police were stationed to keep Indigenous people out; by the 20th century, they were only welcome during Banff Indian Days for the entertainment of tourists.

Across Canada, homes, traplines and camps were destroyed to create an image of untouched wilderness for settlers to enjoy. Pacheedaht once had a village above Botanical Beach; their 24-hour closure is a brief reconnection with a place that sustained them for generations, before it became a tourist destination.

From Pacific Rim on Vancouver Island to the red beaches of Prince Edward Island, we’ve been encouraged to think that these spaces exist for the pleasure and pride of Canadians. In his throne speech on May 27, King Charles said “nature is core to Canada’s identity” and asserted the government would protect it through “the creation of new national parks, national urban parks, marine protected areas and other conservation initiatives.” 

But the national mythology that was built alongside Canada’s most famous parks has historically viewed Indigenous people as pests, interlopers who spoiled the serenity of a leafy grove or pristine beach by actually engaging with the land and water. It’s easy to forget these spectacular places aren’t just Instagram backgrounds; they have other histories and meanings, too. 

How much are you really paying for, and what do you deserve in return? 

There are presently 1,050 provincial parks, ecological reserves, recreation areas, conservancies and recreation areas in B.C., encompassing around 15 per cent of the province. The B.C. budget for 2025 to 2026 estimates nearly $95 billion in spending, with just over $101 million for conservation and recreation. That includes everything from ecosystem restoration and wildfire prevention to maintaining trails and park facilities. Let’s pretend for a minute that the burden is distributed equally: you could say each of the 4.3 million people in B.C. who filed taxes in 2023 is contributing around $23.49 of the parks budget, or about two cents per park.

But of course, not all funding for parks comes from taxes. The Parks Enhancement Fund generates revenue through donations, camping permits, day passes and other user fees. In 2024, BC Parks brought in $29,612,454 from 27,017,596 visitors. The B.C. Parks license plate program — for nature lovers who find bumper stickers declassé — netted more than $11 million in revenue between April 2023 and March 2024. So, it’s possible the average British Columbian is contributing even less than a couple cents per park. (The Ministry of Environment and Parks could not provide answers to The Narwhal’s questions about parks funding by publication time.)

Shrunken down to the scale of a few pennies, I think many British Columbians have their priorities all wrong. Parks are not commodities, though if they were, it’s clear that all of us derive a lot more value from them than we pay for. But it’s a perilously myopic perspective to imagine the value of a wondrous natural space is derived mainly from being able to access it on demand. First Nations worldviews emphasize both rights and responsibilities; the places that sustain us are also ours to care for. 

Across Canada, parks preserve fragile slivers of once-vast and interconnected ecosystems: ecologists say less than three per cent of high productivity old-growth forests remain in B.C.; 99 per cent of tall-grass prairies and 65 per cent of Atlantic coastal marshes have also disappeared. But even these protected areas are endangered by human activity, which has increased to unsustainable levels in many places. B.C. isn’t the only province trying to balance the desires of visitors with the needs of the land and the rights of Indigenous Peoples, but in partnership with First Nations, they have arrived at a promising potential solution. 

Brodie’s warning that any of B.C.’s thousand-plus parks could also restrict visitor access in the future should be seen as a warning, but not the way she intends. We are threatening the survival of the places we love so much, one hike and selfie at a time. It’s long past time we stop thinking about what we deserve from the Earth, and start thinking about what it deserves from us. These temporary returns to a slower pace and a renewed relationship between First Nations and their homelands can begin to show everyone what that might look like.