Content for Apple News or Article only

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

A coalition of Indigenous and non-Indigenous groups is taking the BC Energy Regulator to court this week, claiming the regulator bent its own rules to green-light construction of the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission (PRGT) pipeline. 

Skeena Watershed Conservation Coalition, Kispiox (Anspayaxw) band — a Gitxsan Nation elected government — and Kispiox Valley Community Association allege clearing work for the 800-kilometre pipeline began last August before a legally required assessment of the health of the land, water and wildlife was conducted. The pipeline will supply the planned Ksi Lisims liquefied natural gas (LNG) export project.

A four-day B.C. Supreme Court hearing begins tomorrow in Vancouver, after the groups filed for a judicial review last August.

“We have followed this project for over a decade now because it goes through some of the most critical salmon habitat [in the province],” Shannon McPhail, co-executive director of Skeena Watershed Conservation Coalition, told The Narwhal in an interview. “It’s going to impact water, it’s going to impact communities — all of these different issues were supposed to be assessed in a cumulative effects assessment.”

Shannon McPhail, co-executive director of Skeena Watershed Conservation Coalition, said her group and others are taking the BC Energy Regulator to court because they believe the regulator failed to uphold its legal responsibilities and is putting communities and ecosystems in danger. Photo: Marty Clemens / The Narwhal

The groups, represented by the environmental law charity Ecojustice, are arguing the BC Energy Regulator, a government agency largely funded by the oil and gas industry, changed the pipeline’s permit conditions to allow preliminary construction even though an assessment of the project’s entire footprint hadn’t been conducted. 

In an emailed response to questions, the BC Energy Regulator said, “These matters are currently the subject of court proceedings and the BC Energy Regulator’s position is recorded in our submissions.”

The pipeline will run from Treaty 8 nations’ territories in northeast B.C. to the proposed Ksi Lisims LNG terminal near the mouth of the Nass River and the Alaska border. It will cross more than 1,000 waterways, including major salmon-bearing rivers and tributaries. Until last year, when the route was changed, the pipeline was slated to terminate in Prince Rupert, B.C. 

The pipeline, formerly owned by TC Energy, the Calgary-based company that built the controversial Coastal GasLink pipeline, was originally approved in 2014. In 2019, the B.C. government granted TC Energy a five-year extension to its environmental assessment certificate, which was set to expire. 

In mid-2024, TC Energy sold the pipeline project to Texas-based Western LNG and the Nisg̱a’a Lisims Government. The Nisg̱a’a government and Western LNG also co-own the Ksi Lisims LNG export project which is currently undergoing an environmental assessment.

The pipeline’s environmental assessment certificate expired last November, which meant Western LNG and the Nisg̱a’a government had a limited window to get enough work done to secure a “substantially started” designation and lock in the project’s approval indefinitely. B.C. Environment Minister Tamara Davidson is expected to announce sometime this spring whether the government deems the PRGT pipeline is substantially started. 

The expiring environmental assessment was likely behind the haste, McPhail said. “So they were moving faster than they probably would have liked and as a result, what seems to have happened is that they missed a few of the steps.”

PRGT pipeline hit with warning letter for environmental violations

Kolin Sutherland Wilson, Kispiox band chief councillor, said in a statement the groups are in court because the decision to start building the pipeline “was not only hasty but also skirted legal requirements.” He said the regulator “ignored the broader impacts by using outdated information and only focusing on small sections of the project.”

The BC Energy Regulator previously told The Narwhal an effects assessment for a small section of the pipeline, known as section 5b, “was completed by the Nisg̱a’a Nation, with respect to cumulative effects on Nisg̱a’a Lands.” The regulator said the requirement to conduct an assessment is isolated to each section of the pipeline for which permits were issued, meaning the proponent isn’t required to assess the entire project as a whole. 

McPhail said the regulator’s statement contradicts the purpose of a cumulative effects assessment, which provides a holistic look at the impacts of past development, ecosystem health and the potential impacts of a proposed project in the context of development that could take place in the future.  

“We are a resource extraction region,” she explained. “We’re good at it and there is a good way to do it and there are ways that you just don’t do it. The BC Energy Regulator seems to be exemplifying what you don’t do — and that is hurry things through important processes like a cumulative effects assessment.”

“It directly impacts me, it impacts my kids, my community, my family — not to mention water and land,” she added. “We are socializing the costs and privatizing the profits. I’m tired of these major industries making billions of dollars on the backs of Indigenous people and on the backs of communities who have made a living here.” 

Wilson called for a complete and up-to-date assessment that takes into account the “true scale of potential harm” to communities like Kispiox, located 15 kilometres from the pipeline. “It’s crucial to ensure the safety and well-being of our communities against the very real threat of climate change.”

Updated on March 24, 2025, at 4:39 p.m. PT. This story was updated to include comment from the BC Energy Regulator that was received following publication.

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.

Go here to read our latest coverage of the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission pipeline.

Gitanyow Hereditary Chiefs are leading a new wave of pipeline opposition on their lands in northwestern Canada — four years after nation-wide protests shut down railways and roads in a failed bid to halt construction of the Coastal GasLink pipeline in British Columbia.

On Thursday, on a remote forest service road in northwest B.C., Gitanyow Simgiget (Hereditary Chiefs) burned a benefits agreement they signed with TC Energy 10 years ago in support of the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission (PRGT) pipeline, saying it will “make our ancestors happy.” The burning ceremony came after the chiefs, supported by dozens of youth from surrounding communities, closed their territories to all traffic related to the new pipeline and set up a blockade.

Construction of the 800-kilometre pipeline — which will ship mainly fracked gas from B.C.’s northeast to liquefied natural gas (LNG) export facilities on B.C.’s coast — is set to begin this weekend. If completed, the new pipeline would cross more than 1,000 waterways, including major salmon-bearing rivers and tributaries.

After closing the Nass Forest Service Road to all pipeline vehicles on Thursday, two chiefs of the Ganeda (Raven/Frog) Clan, Gamlakyeltxw Wil Marsden and Watakhayetsxw Deborah Good, set up a checkpoint where the road meets Highway 37, about 170 kilometres north of Terrace, B.C. The road is the shortest route to transport heavy equipment and supplies for a sprawling work camp being built to support pipeline construction.

“They’re trying to build a 1,000-man camp just down the road at Nass camp, and we’re here to tell them to go around,” Gamlakyeltxw said at the blockade before the agreement was burned. “They’re not welcome. And as far as we’re concerned, this pipeline needs a new environmental assessment.”

Gamlakyeltxw Wil Marsden said the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission pipeline project, approved a decade ago, needs a new environmental assessment.

The Prince Rupert Gas Transmission pipeline was approved by the B.C. government in 2014, based on environmental studies conducted in the early 2010s. Originally owned by TC Energy, the same company that built the Coastal GasLink pipeline, the project was recently sold to the Nisg̱a’a Lisims Government and Texas-based Western LNG. TC Energy declined to comment on the burning of the agreement or the blockade, instead referring The Narwhal to its website, which notes the company has “completed the sale of PRGT entities to Nisg̱a’a Nation and Western LNG.”

Opposition to northern B.C. pipeline intensifies as construction begins

The Nisg̱a’a government, Western LNG and Calgary-based Rockies LNG are partners in a proposed floating LNG facility, Ksi Lisims, set to become the province’s second largest LNG export project. The project, near the Nass River estuary close to the Alaskan border, is currently undergoing an environmental assessment and has not yet been approved by the B.C. government. 

As heavy equipment and construction traffic started crossing Gitanyow lands this week, the chiefs announced they no longer support the project, citing climate impacts and the environmental damage caused during construction of the Coastal GasLink pipeline. 

“I’m expecting a great-grandson in the next couple of months,” Watakhayetsxw said. “This is his land and I’m going to shout that to whoever can listen. And if we have to close Highway 37 to get that attention, we, the Ganeda, already agreed. [If] the time comes, we’ll shut down Highway 37.”

She described how large flat-bed trailers carrying construction equipment had thundered through their lands the previous night.

“Last night was the last straw, and I will die here if I have to,” she added.

‘Our rivers are drying up’

The Prince Rupert Gas Transmission pipeline will stretch 800 kilometres, from the Treaty 8 territories in B.C.’s northeast that have been heavily impacted by the fracking industry to the mouth of the Nass River on the Pacific coast. It will be more than 100 kilometres longer than the Coastal GasLink pipeline. 

The pipeline’s environmental assessment certificate is set to expire on Nov. 25, unless the provincial government deems the project to have “substantially started.” That designation is given by B.C.’s environment minister based on the amount of construction completed, financial costs and other factors. It means the pipeline’s environmental assessment certificate — required for the project to proceed — remains valid instead of expiring.

Three things you need to know about B.C.’s newest pipeline for the LNG export industry

The Nisg̱a’a Lisims Government, which supports the pipeline, has agreed pipeline construction can begin on Nisg̱a’a lands, which border Gitanyow territory. Construction begins today.

When the pipeline was first proposed in the early 2010s, some Gitxsan and Gitanyow Hereditary Chiefs signed contracts with TC Energy and the provincial government, outlining their support for the project and related infrastructure. The contracts detailed how the company would compensate the nations financially in return for permission to build the project through their lands. They also included clauses saying the nations’ leaders should suppress any opposition to the pipeline from community members, including on social media.

But youth say things have changed over the past decade — and that they didn’t have a say in the decision.

At an Aug. 19 youth-led community meeting in the Gitanmaax Hall on Gitxsan lax’yip (territory,) attended by dozens of young people, many spoke in opposition to the pipeline.  

Drew Harris, an event organizer who introduced herself as Wet’suwet’en on her mother’s side and Gitxsan on her father’s, said the prospect of another pipeline and increased fossil fuel expansion is frightening in the face of climate change. 

B.C. is on the cusp of the biggest fossil fuel expansion in the province’s history. LNG Canada — a liquefaction and export facility in Kitimat which will be supplied by Coastal GasLink — is set to begin shipping compressed gas to overseas markets later this year or early next year.

“The youth and future generations were left out of [the pipeline] conversations, and I’m scared for my future,” Harris said. “Our rivers are drying up. Our fish counts are going down. If we continue to contaminate our waters, pollute our air and deplete our food sources, where does that leave us?”

More than 300 community members gathered in Gitanmaax Hall on Aug. 19 to listen to youth talk about the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission pipeline and its potential impacts on their futures.

Patience Muldoe choked back tears as she addressed more than 300 community members seated in the hall.

Muldoe is Gitxsan and grew up on the land. She’s a young member of Wilp Gutginuxw and the Gisk’aast (Fireweed) Clan and a university student and researcher with Gitxsan Watershed Authority. Speaking at the youth-led meeting, she talked about her deep connection with the lax’yip.   

“I can’t even imagine a pipeline … ” She trailed off, her voice choked with emotion. “I can’t even imagine a pipeline going through the places where I shot my first moose, where I shot my first grouse.”

Building the pipeline would bring hundreds of workers to the territory, who would cut a wide swath through forests and wetlands rich in biodiversity and crawling with wildlife. 

Muldoe told community members how she had just come back from one of those rivers on the lax’yip, where she smudged and swam. 

“I wouldn’t even feel safe going on my territory,” she said. “Just let that sink in.”

Honrei Morgan, another organizer and a youth from Gitanyow, said the risks far outweigh any potential benefits the pipeline project could bring.

“I urge everyone here today, mostly the youth, to find whatever it is that will ignite that spark in you to try and protect our lands,” he said. “Because I can tell you right now, no matter how much money may be offered and how much economic growth can come from this pipeline, no sane person can go and be connected to the land and learn about all the great things that it can provide to us and want to destroy all of that and sign it all away to something as crazy as a pipeline.”

Honrei Morgan told around 300 community members he and his peers believe any potential financial benefits of pipeline construction on their lands are not worth the risks associated with expanding fossil fuel infrastructure.

Naxginkw Tara Marsden, a Gitanyow member from Wilp Gamlakyeltxw who works with the Gitanyow Hereditary Chiefs, said the decision to sign on to the project in 2014 was based on information available at the time. She questioned whether the Gitanyow were given all the data needed to make an informed decision. 

“How much information do we have? What is the information that’s available to us? Is it only what the company is telling us? Is it what the government’s telling us? Or is it our own science, our own data?”

Since signing the agreement, the Gitanyow have implemented extensive fish and wildlife programs, gathering vital data about habitat and impacts, including how climate change is affecting their lands and waters. Naxginkw said this makes all the difference. 

“We make decisions that affect so many people: people seven generations from now, people downstream, people upstream,” she said. “A billion-dollar cheque is not wealth — that will be gone. Investing in our young people and giving them a chance at a healthy future, that is wealth.”

‘Make our ancestors happy’

“You have to look at these young ones,” Watakhayetsxw said at the blockade Thursday evening. “That’s the reason I’m here. This land isn’t mine, it’s theirs.”

Gamlakyeltxw held up a handful of paper as he stood on the gravel road, his eyes shining. He explained how the agreement between the chiefs and TC Energy had come to be. 

“We were told that it was going to go through no matter what, and we said, if it’s going to go through, we’re going to do it right,” he said. 

He paused, looking at the agreement in his hands.

“I’m quite proud tonight to have you all here to witness burning this thing.”

After burning the agreement, Gamlakyeltxw said he felt the actions of youth who attended the community meeting made the ancestors happy.

Calling the youth to join him, Gamlakyeltxw acknowledged their strength and power.

“You don’t have an identity crisis like we do. You’re proud of who you are and that’s a good thing, and that’s something we didn’t have.”

He knelt and lit the first page. As the youth followed his lead, adding pages to a cardboard box, the flames quickly consumed the document. Gamlakyeltxw grinned as one community member commented: “This is a cultural burn.”

As the flames receded, leaving a pile of ashes on the road, Gamlakyeltxw reflected.

“We just want to make our ancestors happy. I know they’re very happy we’re 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.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and B.C. Premier David Eby beamed with praise as they celebrated the Haisla Nation in late June.

The northwest B.C. First Nation and its business partner, Pembina Pipelines Corp., had just announced a final investment decision on their proposed fossil fuel project — meaning construction will proceed.

Haisla Nation has a 51 per cent stake in the project, Cedar LNG, while Pembina controls the remaining share. The project consists of a new natural gas liquefaction plant in Kitimat, B.C., which will receive gas shipped from the province’s northeast through the Coastal GasLink pipeline and cool it to liquid form at -162 C, reducing its volume for export.

Calling it the “first project of its kind,” Haisla elected Chief Councillor Crystal Smith said the liquefied natural gas (LNG) project is “trailblazing a path” toward economic independence.

Haisla Nation’s elected Chief Councillor Crystal Smith said the Cedar LNG project is charting a path towards economic independence for her community. Photo: Cedar LNG

Eby and Trudeau appeared to agree.

“Cedar LNG is a shining example of how natural resource development should work in our province — in full partnership with First Nations and with the lowest emissions possible,” Eby said in a video.

Trudeau echoed those remarks, calling the project and partnership “a model for economic reconciliation.”

“The world is evolving,” he said, also in a video statement. “The way we get our energy is evolving. The way we do business is evolving. Everyone involved in this project saw this and you all saw the opportunities that come with it.”

As political leaders lauded the decision, another business executive, François Poirier, was also celebrating the announcement. Poirier is CEO of TC Energy, the Calgary-based fossil fuel giant that built the Coastal GasLink pipeline, which will supply fuel for the Cedar LNG project.

In a statement, Poirier said the partnership between a First Nation and a fossil fuel company had “redefined the future of energy development in North America.” 

“Through Indigenous-ownership, Cedar LNG will create opportunities that will support Indigenous and local communities in northern British Columbia and deliver benefits to the world by meeting global demand for more secure, affordable and sustainable energy,” Poirier said, calling the project a “transformative moment for Indigenous-led energy projects in Canada.”  

While both Eby and Trudeau described the project as a “partnership” and a step toward reconciliation, TC Energy executives also discussed internally what this type of partnership means to them. The Narwhal has learned that in at least one case this included a conversation about how Indigenous communities and other stakeholders could be leveraged by fossil fuel companies as a “force multiplier” to increase the value of major projects and secure approvals from governments.

The Narwhal reviewed more than two hours of leaked recordings of internal TC Energy calls that took place in February and March and sent dozens of questions to the company and government about claims made by staffers working for the multinational energy corporation.

Inside the TC Energy Tower

On one of the recordings of internal calls obtained by The Narwhal, Natasha Westover, a TC Energy staffer based in Vancouver who manages the company’s external relations team in B.C., described the political landscape on the February call.

“I know at least from our provincial government here that that is going to be the narrative going forward,” she said. “Indigenous LNG is going to lead in terms of public narratives for our governments in getting these projects approved.”

She did not respond to The Narwhal’s questions prior to publication. 

TC Energy did not answer specific questions about comments made on the recordings and told The Narwhal some statements made by one of the employees on the calls were “inaccurate” and “portray a false impression” of how the company does business. 

Patrick Muttart, TC Energy’s senior vice-president of external relations, said the company works to build trust with communities and apologized to “all our partners, stakeholders and rights holders for any impact on our longstanding relationships.”

“For us to build and operate major infrastructure projects, we need to earn the support and trust of local people and local communities,” Muttart wrote in a statement provided to The Narwhal. “That is what governments, Indigenous communities and the public expect from us and it’s the right thing to do.”

‘They can’t use me and my people’: Ontario chief carefully eyes possible partnership with TC Energy

Days after The Narwhal first published details of TC Energy’s recorded meetings, Chief Greg Nadjiwon of Chippewas of Nawash Unceded First Nation in Ontario received a call from TC Energy officials. “They just called to make me aware that I’ll probably be contacted by The Narwhal about this,” he said in an interview. 

Saugeen Ojibway Nation, which includes Chippewas of Nawash and Saugeen First Nations, is currently deliberating offering a green light to another TC Energy project: a pumped storage and hydroelectric project in Meaford, Ont. Alongside TC Energy and energy officials, the nation has been informing their community members about the massive project to draw (or pump) nearly 7,000 Olympic-sized swimming pools worth of water in and out of Georgian Bay to generate and store electricity. 

TC Energy previously told The Narwhal the first people they approached about the project in 2019 was Saugeen Ojibway Nation. They’ve been talking ever since.

Chief Greg Nadjiwon of the Chippewas of Nawash says he wants three things from TC Energy and any organization proposing projects on his community’s territory: consideration, participation and compensation. Photo: Christopher Katsarov Luna / The Narwhal

The First Nation is conducting its own environmental assessment to understand the impacts the project may have on and around the bay. In this process, Nadjiwon said he has always been “careful,” acutely aware of historically tense and unbalanced relationships between energy companies and First Nations. But watching a surge of energy investments, he’s also trying to change this relationship to benefit his community. 

But to Nadjiwon, the leaked recording illustrates why he must walk even more carefully in this relationship. 

TC Energy’s history with some Indigenous communities is fraught. To construct its Coastal GasLink pipeline, the company secured agreements with elected First Nations governments in northern B.C. but did not get consent from Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs. 

Opposition from the chiefs and their supporters led to years of conflict, and police and Supreme Court intervention. Widespread solidarity protests in early 2020 shut down Canadian ports and railways for weeks.

RCMP enforcement of a B.C. Supreme Court injunction issued in favour of TC Energy’s Coastal GasLink pipeline project led to dozens of arrests and widespread solidarity actions in early 2020. Photo: Amber Bracken / The Narwhal

On the leaked recordings, Liam Iliffe — a TC Energy executive who resigned a few days after The Narwhal approached him in June for an interview — stressed the company’s success in building energy infrastructure hangs on Indigenous involvement. 

“All of this effort is for naught if there isn’t Indigenous support or at least Indigenous non-objection,” he said on a call in March. “A government of any stripe, in British Columbia particularly, is not going to push projects forward unless there’s Indigenous support.”

The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, legislated both federally and in B.C., affirms Indigenous people’s right to self-determination and to provide free, prior and informed consent to any development on their lands. In other words, companies are required by law to gain Indigenous consent before they start building.

Iliffe used the word “validators” when talking about how the company should create relationships, including with Indigenous communities, that serve the company’s goals. 

“As cabinets go and governments go and decision-makers go, we always have to make certain that we’re shoring that up and bringing validators through our relationships with communities, Indigenous people, Indigenous leaders and the general public to government to ensure that the government is confident that they can make the positive decisions without affecting their voter base, which drives a lot of decision-making,” he said.

Leaked TC Energy recording prompts B.C. to probe claims of outsized lobbying influence on government

Dave Forestell, previously a senior federal Conservative political staffer who served in former prime minister Stephen Harper’s government, said on the call that company executives need to ask themselves, “How do we make it in the government’s interest to do something?”

“You think first about what would encourage somebody to consent or ideally support and advocate for this project,” Forestell said. He added the goal is to find ways to get Indigenous support “while preserving, or ideally enhancing, the economics of the project.”

“To be clear, what I mean is when you have early Indigenous support on a project, de facto the economics of the project are enhanced because one of the single greatest risks we face as a company is regulatory delays.”

Forestell did not respond to an interview request and emailed questions from The Narwhal.

Muttart, TC Energy’s senior vice-president, said the company believes Indigenous communities should benefit from projects.

“We also believe the projects of the future should be built by Indigenous employees, serviced by Indigenous businesses and owned by Indigenous Nations,” he said in his emailed statement. “Reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples requires true participation in Canada’s resource economy.”

Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chief Na’moks told The Narwhal he believes First Nations leaders are sometimes used by fossil fuel companies to advance industry initiatives and suggested the comments on the recording are not surprising.

“When they start to refer to [Indigenous Peoples] as ‘validators’ they are taking the path of least resistance,” he said in an interview. He said fossil fuel companies are “targeting people that are in economic need,” thereby forcing First Nations into agreements. Once those agreements are secured, he said he has seen companies use Indigenous leaders to repeat industry talking points.

Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chief Na’moks said he has seen and heard First Nations leaders repeating oil and gas industry talking points. Photo: Nathan Denette / The Canadian Press

In the recording, Iliffe noted how TC Energy’s community outreach around the Meaford project in particular is paying off. “The tactics that we use to garner and gain support …  they work everywhere,” he said, providing examples also in B.C. “They’ve been used sometimes just to achieve non-objection … We find ourselves in places where often listening is the best tool so that we can adjust and align.” 

After hearing how Iliffe described Indigenous leaders as “validators” of energy projects, Nadjiwon said, “I don’t know the man, but he needs to validate all that.”

“This is our homeland. We want to be counted in. We want a place at the table, to be taken seriously. Not as validators.” 

Iliffe didn’t respond to The Narwhal’s questions asking for further context and clarification. But he told The Narwhal in a statement that some of his comments referred to events that did not actually happen. He did not confirm which parts of his comments were accurate.

TC Energy did not comment on the specifics of what Iliffe said about Indigenous engagement in Meaford. Since 2019, the company has sponsored bingo nights and information sessions with dinner for members of the First Nations. It has paid for bus tours to similar energy projects in Michigan and Massachusetts. It has also organized a boat tour of the bay and a visit to the project site. 

But Nadjiwon is clear: TC Energy has no influence over him, and he still trusts the company officials he has been speaking to, albeit with even more caution. 

“I’ve told them many times: they can’t use me and my people.”

Chief Greg Nadjiwon, Chippewas of Nawash Unceded First Nation

“If I didn’t, I’d walk away,” he said. “I’m not a partner of TC Energy. We’re working toward that. Maybe. But I’m sure they have a fear that there could be a bump in the road that isn’t capable of being resolved … They’re under the microscope with Indigenous people, and they know that.”

“I’ve told them many times: they can’t use me and my people,” he added. “If there’s one bad apple on the tree, you don’t cut down the whole tree.”

TC Energy executive says Indigenous support is a ‘force multiplier’ for fossil fuel projects

B.C. is poised for the biggest fossil fuel boom in the province’s history. The BC NDP government, elected in 2017, has continually promoted the liquefied natural gas export industry, championing the LNG Canada project and offering billions of dollars in subsidies to some of the most profitable multinational oil and gas companies in the world. LNG Canada, a consortium of five multinational oil and gas companies, including Shell, will be the first liquefied natural gas export project in the country when it begins commercial operations next year in Kitimat.

For more than a decade, successive B.C. governments and oil and gas companies have been working to create a liquefied natural gas export industry. The LNG Canada project in Kitimat, B.C., will be the first to send shipments of the fossil fuel overseas in 2025. Photo: Marty Clemens / The Narwhal

Chief Smith, with the Haisla Nation, has long been a vocal supporter of the liquefied natural gas sector. She is a member of several organizations advocating for LNG development and worked to secure financial benefits for her community from the LNG Canada facility. 

In January, addressing attendees at the annual BC Natural Resources Forum in Prince George, B.C., she explained how those benefits and advancing the Cedar LNG project start to address an economic imbalance between settlers and Indigenous Peoples.

“Something I’m profoundly impacted by is our ability to fund the programs that really connect our people to their culture and our language, a language that has virtually disappeared in my generation,” she said. “We are reigniting our potential through culture and language and that is perhaps the most powerful thing of all.”

Smith did not respond to an interview request from The Narwhal.

An unidentifiable speaker on the leaked audio from TC Energy’s February call said Indigenous support for the liquefied natural gas sector is not unanimous in B.C. 

TC Energy recently completed construction of the Coastal GasLink pipeline and is getting ready to start building its Prince Rupert Gas Transmission project, a 800-kilometre pipeline the company is in the process of selling to the Nisga’a Nation. TC Energy secured agreements with some First Nations governments along the route of the pipeline when it first sought — and received — provincial approval in 2014, but not all communities are supportive.

TC Energy finished building the Coastal GasLink pipeline in late 2023. Construction is set to start on its Prince Rupert Gas Transmission project in August 2024, pending completion of sale to the Nisga’a Nation. Map: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

The unidentified speaker said U.S. President Joe Biden’s pause on liquefied natural gas exports was rippling into communities in British Columbia and asked Edward Burrier, a former White House staffer who is now TC Energy’s director of public policy, for advice.

“I support the B.C. team and so obviously we’re in the thick of it with LNG,” the speaker said. “As we go out and start to talk to nations again about the … Prince Rupert natural gas transmission line, we’re really having, in some instances, having problems getting traction with the nations. I think you’re bang on when you say the pause in the States is going to spur on, you know, give more power to people that don’t want to talk to us.”

Frustrated with government, Gitxsan Hereditary Chiefs wavering on support for B.C. pipeline

Burrier characterized Indigenous involvement in fossil fuel development as a competitive edge industry can use to advance projects, describing his observations from the LNG 2023 conference that was hosted in Vancouver.

“Every CEO sits up there and talks about these LNG projects around the world and they all sound the same. But then Chief Crystal got up and said, ‘I’m with Haisla Nation and we used to have to manage poverty, now we have to figure out how to manage wealth.’ ” 

“That’s the force multiplier, to use one of the words of the hour, that we have on our side.”

Burrier did not respond to The Narwhal’s questions about his comments and the recordings.

— With files from Mike De Souza

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.

Few social networking platforms are known for inspiring positive social change these days, but an Inuit-developed app is helping Indigenous communities from Alaska to Greenland advance their self-determination. Named SIKU after the Inuktitut word for “sea ice,” the app allows communities in the North to pull together traditional knowledge and scientific data to track changes in the environment, keep tabs on local wild foods and make decisions about how to manage wildlife — all while controlling how the information is shared.

A group of Inuit Elders and hunters from Sanikiluaq, Nvt., came up with the idea for SIKU more than a decade ago to document and understand the changing sea ice they were witnessing in southeastern Hudson Bay. The group turned to the local nonprofit Arctic Eider Society to develop a web-based platform where hunters in nearby coastal communities could upload photos and videos and share knowledge. Contributors began using the portal in 2015 to log water temperature and salinity data, note observations of important wildlife species — such as beluga and common eider ducks — and track the flow of contaminants through the food web.

Over the years, SIKU has evolved, and recently, the Elders saw that the platform could help address a familiar challenge: sharing knowledge with younger people who often have their noses in their phones. In 2019, SIKU relaunched as a full-fledged social network — a platform where members can post photos and notes about wildlife sightings, hunts, sea ice conditions and more. The app operates in multiple languages, such as Inuktitut, Cree, Innu and Greenlandic, and includes maps with traditional place names. Since early 2024, over 25,000 people from at least 120 communities have made more than 75,000 posts on SIKU.

Members’ photos demonstrate the breadth and bounty of northern foods: they show plump bags of berries sitting on the tundra, clusters of sea urchins nestled on smooth gray stones and boxes of fresh Arctic char placed in the snow. They depict harp seals, ringed seals, ptarmigan, beluga, common eider and neat rows of colorful eggs laid out next to smiling kids. The posts tell stories of hunting and traveling, the impacts of climate change and industrial activity, and the migrations, diets and illnesses of local animals. In effect, SIKU captures everyday Indigenous life in a rapidly changing landscape.

Traditionally, Inuit communities shared this information orally. “We have lived in the environment for centuries. We know about the wildlife,” says Lucassie Arragutainaq, a manager at the Sanikiluaq Hunters and Trappers Association and cofounder of the Arctic Eider Society. Yet industry representatives and government scientists have a long history of dismissing Indigenous knowledge and making decisions based on sparse environmental data collected during irregular, short-term studies. Now armed with SIKU, northerners are documenting information “in a way that [other] people will understand,” Arragutainaq says.

The app is also equipped with useful tools for life on the ice, including weather reports, sea ice forecasts and other critical safety information. Hunters and harvesters can use their phones’ GPS to track their routes and geolocate each post and photo. “When I go out on the land with family, we go a long distance, and the SIKU app can show which area we are in. It’s precise,” says Karen Nanook, who lives in Taloyoak, Nvt.

In June 2023, for instance, Nanook was heading home across the frozen ocean after an ice fishing trip when a rift appeared to open in the ice beneath one of her sled’s runners. “I thought the sled was going to fall in,” she says. But clear ice was covering the crack, and the sled stayed upright. After her close call, Nanook snapped a photo, tagged it as a “dangerous ice observation,” and posted it to SIKU to warn others.

The data held in SIKU is robust and up to date, and communities are already using the app to inform important decisions. In 2021, for example, Elders in Sanikiluaq were worried the local reindeer population had thinned, so the Hunters and Trappers Association used SIKU to survey hunters and look at recent reported harvest rates. The analysis led the association to temporarily close the hunt to relieve pressure on the population and to reintroduce hunting slowly once the number of reindeer increased. This decision shows how Inuit can use the technology in combination with traditional wildlife management, says Arragutainaq. Today, the community is also using SIKU data to guide the development of the Qikiqtait Protected Area around the Belcher Islands, where Sanikiluaq is located.

SIKU has become the main tool for other research projects, too. “Having the people who are already the eyes and ears of the land use the platform to share that information will revolutionize the way we make decisions,” says Stephanie Varty, a wildlife management biologist at the Eeyou Marine Region Wildlife Board in the traditional territory of the Crees of Eeyou Istchee, in James Bay, Que.

Varty says trappers and land users from Eeyou Istchee’s five coastal communities — Waskaganish, Eastmain, Wemindji, Chisasibi and Whapmagoostui — will soon use SIKU to document climate change in their region. They’ll also log observations and hunting stories, which will help the communities assess the environmental impacts of future development projects, including a proposed deep-sea port that would allow mining companies to access lithium and other minerals in the region.

Northern Indigenous communities are showing southerners that Traditional Knowledge should be taken seriously. “When Inuit knowledge is mobilized into graphs and diagrams, that [information] can’t be ignored and written off as anecdotal stories,” says Joel Heath, the executive director and cofounder of the Arctic Eider Society.

The ingenuity of SIKU is how it weaves together all kinds of insights about life in the North and supports community-driven research. “It’s part science and part Inuit knowledge,” says Arragutainaq. “It can work both ways, instead of one dominating the other.”

This article first appeared in Hakai Magazine and is republished here with permission. Read more stories like this at hakaimagazine.com.

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.

On Jan. 26, Environment and Climate Change Canada made the kind of announcement usually met by widespread approval: $12.8 million toward 27 “Indigenous-led natural climate solutions” across Canada. 

It was the latest move by the federal government to support Indigenous conservation, a key pillar of achieving its goal of protecting 30 per cent of the lands and waters in Canada by 2030. More than $1.6 billion in federal commitments have been made to Indigenous-led conservation since 2018.

“In the spirit of reconciliation, the Government of Canada is committed to supporting the leadership of Indigenous Peoples to help conserve ecosystems, protect Indigenous cultures and develop sustainable economies for our collective future generations,” the announcement read. 

But among the 27 funding recipients, one has sparked a furious response, particularly from First Nations in Ontario: the Métis Nation of Ontario, which received $1.33 million for “acquiring 40 hectares of wetlands for long-term conservation” as well as “the development of a Métis culture and language camp that will focus on land-based education.” It’s the largest grant by far in this funding round, and the only one awarded to a Métis project.  

In its press release about the grant, the Métis Nation of Ontario affirmed its mandate to “protect and preserve the land and waters within our homelands for future generations” and says by funding its project, the government is “supporting the Métis Nation of Ontario in doing just that.”

According to the Métis Nation of Ontario, its conservation project in southern Ontario is intended to help reconnect its members to the land: “In rapidly urbanizing areas, such as the Greater Golden Horseshoe where the Sofgardé la Tèr Project is located, it is becoming increasingly difficult for Métis citizens to access land.” Photo: Katherine Cheng / The Narwhal

The problem? None of the province’s recognized First Nations believe the Métis Nation of Ontario has any claim to their homelands. On Jan. 30, the Chiefs of Ontario, which supports the province’s 133 First Nations in their assertions of sovereignty and jurisdiction, released a response to the funding announcement that read, in part, “As the Chiefs of Ontario have stated countless times, First Nations in the Ontario region have long opposed illegitimate Métis rights assertions in their Ancestral and Treaty territories.” First Nations have been especially unsettled since the introduction of federal Bill C-53 last year: if it passes, the bill would recognize Métis governments in Ontario, Saskatchewan and Alberta, opening the door to treaty negotiations and other rights. 

Funding Indigenous-led conservation has been a popular endeavour for the federal government in recent years: a win-win arrangement that protects the environment and honours Indigenous stewardship of lands and waters. But amid an unsettled national landscape of conflicting, evolving claims, these partnerships to care for the land — and designate its caregivers — carry loaded political weight. 

Who are the Métis? 

Métis is a French word, meaning “mixed.” The Métis Nation originated in southern Manitoba’s Red River Valley, where French settlers and First Nations people formed a distinct nation with its own language, Michif, and traditions that continue to define and represent their culture. 

They’re one of the three Indigenous Peoples recognized in the Constitution Act, along with First Nations and Inuit, with rights under section 35 of the act. However, the act did not clearly define what those rights entail, nor who the Métis are. 

“Having mixed blood is not the only thing required to be a part of our nation,” Will Goodon, minister of housing for the Manitoba Métis Federation, told The Narwhal in an interview. “We’re like any other nation. We have our ancestors, our political action, our language, our food, dance, music, clothing.”

Goodon stresses that being Métis is more distinct than just having a First Nations ancestor or being multi-racial. “If your father is Swedish and your mother is Nisg̱a’a, why would you want to give away all the cool aspects of those two cultures and become something completely different? Neither of those cultures plays the fiddle or dances the jig.” 

The Métis Nation of Ontario was created as a non-profit organization in 1993 to represent Métis people in the province, and in February 2023 it was recognized federally as an Indigenous government body for more than 20,000 members.

Will Goodon, minister of housing for the Manitoba Métis Federation, has spoken out strongly against Bill C-53 and the membership practices of the Métis Nation of Ontario. Photo: Supplied by Will Goodon

The organization has been instrumental in advancing federal recognition of Métis rights. In 1993, it funded the first major legal case regarding Métis rights, centred on two Métis hunters named Steve and Roddy Powley from Sault Ste. Marie, Ont., who were charged for hunting a moose without a licence. The Powleys argued they were exercising their constitutionally protected right to hunt. 

In 2003, the Supreme Court ruled in their favour, and in the process affirmed the rights of Métis community members in the Sault Ste. Marie region. It also created a 10-part “Powley test”, which included three factors for determining if an individual had Métis rights under section 35: self-identification as Métis, ancestral connections to a historic Métis community and current membership in a contemporary Métis community. In other words, it’s not enough to simply identify as Métis on the basis of an Indigenous ancestor — Powley also considers the legitimacy of the community being claimed.

The Powley case gave a sudden tangible value to a Métis identity and, since 2003, a number of organizations claiming to represent Métis communities have sprung up. Though many have filed for federal recognition of their communities, none have successfully met the Powley test. There has also been a dramatic increase in the number of people identifying as Métis, particularly in the eastern provinces. In 2021, 624,220 people self-identified as Métis on the Canadian census, an increase of more than 60 per cent since 2006; more than one in five live in Ontario. 

While many have verified ancestral connections and are restoring relationships severed by colonialism, others have seized on a distant ancestor in order to claim what they see as rightful benefits. The label “Métis” has come to be used both by those who trace their heritage to the Red River, and those who are expanding the definition to encompass anyone with some Indigenous ancestry.

As more people lay claim to Métis identity and rights, defining who and what they are becomes more urgent. And many view funding by the federal government, even if it’s tied to conservation, as support for contentious and unsettled claims. 

In 1993, the Métis Nation of Ontario funded the first major legal case regarding Métis rights, centred on two Métis hunters named Steve (seen here) and Roddy Powley from Sault Ste. Marie, Ont. In validating their right to hunt, the process also affirmed the rights of Métis community members in the region. Photo: Jonathan Hayward / The Canadian Press

Margaret Froh disagrees. Froh has been president of the Métis Nation of Ontario since 2016, and is a strong voice for rights in the province. “We’ve been known as the ‘forgotten people’ in this country, that’s part of our history,” she says. “We are making progress. We’ve taken on these battles, like the Powley case — which marked its 20th anniversary in September. But it has been a slow process.” 

In an interview with The Narwhal, Froh expressed disappointment over the response to the grant, underscoring her members’ commitment to addressing climate change. She acknowledged many Métis Nation of Ontario members do not have the ancestral ties to Ontario communities that would grant them land rights — including herself, since she is from Saskatchewan. She says her organization’s plan to purchase private lands with federal funding is not an assertion of rights, but about the collective responsibility to protect land, even when that land doesn’t traditionally belong to you. 

“That concept of stewardship — it’s wonderful if you can do that work in the territory from which you hail traditionally, but our people are doing that work everywhere that they live,” she says, pointing to a water Guardians training program and water-monitoring initiatives as examples of the organization’s efforts. “And we are working to try and empower more and more awareness around water and support citizens in taking an active hands-on approach as stewards.” 

But First Nations in Ontario say no matter how the province or the federal government positions these moves, recognition of any Indigenous community in Canada is always about the land. 

“One of our chief arguments has always been, Bill C-53 as its been presented to us is not about land. How many times have we been told that? ‘It’s not about land.’ The government is telling us over and over it’s not about land — and yet they’re giving $1.3 million to the same group to buy land,” Jason Batise, a Matachewan First Nation member and executive director of Wabun Tribal Council says.

Regardless of intent, by funding the acquisition of land in Ontario, Environment and Climate Change Canada has dumped fuel on the fiery conflict that was already blazing between the Métis Nation of Ontario and the 133 First Nations in the province.

Sault Ste. Marie, Ont., was the first location of a historic Métis community, affirmed by the province following a court case over hunting rights. Photo: Christopher Katsarov Luna / The Narwhal

What do Métis rights mean for Ontario First Nations?

For years, First Nations leaders in Ontario have raised concerns over efforts by the Métis Nation of Ontario to lay claim to their homelands. In 2017, the Ontario government and the Métis Nation of Ontario released a map of “six historic Métis communities,” in addition to the Sault Ste. Marie community affirmed by Powley. At the time, the province stressed the identification of these communities did not determine “who in Ontario is Métis or who holds Métis rights, nor define Métis harvesting areas or territories.” 

For Veldon Coburn, an associate professor at McGill University and a member of Pikwàkanagàn First Nation, the announcement of Ontario’s six new communities came as a shock. “There is one [Métis community] right on our territory, and it happens to be the territory in which we’re negotiating the modern treaty,” Coburn says. Pikwàkanagàn, whose reserve is just outside of Ottawa, initiated a treaty process in 1983, which was accepted by the provincial government in 1991 and by the federal government in 1992. 

Coburn says the Crown wants the treaty to be finalized by the end of 2024. “The Crown has told us, “We’ve negotiated for 32 years, we want it done,” he says. “Then all of a sudden they’re like, ‘Well, but there’s also a new Indigenous people on your territory.’ We’re like, wait, what? No, there has never been another people on our territory.”

In her conversation with The Narwhal, Froh only cited the Sault Ste. Marie community when discussing Métis rights in the province, but says there is “a long history of relationships between Métis and First Nations” all across the country. While she says many of the organization’s members are from recognized Métis communities in western Canada, the majority identify their ancestry as originating in Ontario, without connections to the Red River Valley. Ontario First Nations argue that their ancestors have been appropriated and recast as Métis, to substantiate the existence of historic communities that they say never existed. 

Left: The Métis Nation of Ontario map of harvesting territories, which reflect the locations of historic communities claimed by the organization and extend across much of the province. Right: There are more than 30 regional offices for the Métis Nation of Ontario. Maps: Métis Nation of Ontario

The necessity of Red River links have become a point of contention between groups claiming Métis belonging. In September 2021, the Manitoba Métis Federation left the Métis National Council after disagreements over membership criteria. According to the Winnipeg Sun, the federation alleged the council was granting membership to “people with invalid or questionable claims to Red River Métis citizenship.” Last October, the national council was ordered by the Ontario Superior Court of Justice to pay the Manitoba federation more than $200,000 in legal costs amid an ongoing legal dispute, a conflict that underscores the complicated and contentious nature of claims to Métis identity. 

But Canada’s march towards recognizing distinct Métis communities without ties to the Red River Valley has continued in ways First Nations say threaten their sovereign and territorial rights. In 2023, Minister of Crown-Indigenous Relations Gary Anandasangaree introduced Bill C-53 which would mean federal recognition of Métis governments outside of Manitoba. 

Anandasangaree has insisted the bill will not impact First Nations rights, telling a parliamentary committee in November that “C-53 is essentially a recognition of the governance of the Métis of Ontario. It does not in any way deal with harvesting rights. It does not deal with land rights.” The bill is set to pass in the House of Commons after a committee report was presented on Feb. 8.

Froh told The Narwhal the bill is about self-government and self-determination. “It’s about how we govern ourselves, and really importantly, how we take care of our children. That is the scope of self-government agreements. There is no land component. That being said, I fully support the concept of protecting land, and of land stewardship being important for all Indigenous Peoples.” 

Yet First Nations remain skeptical, and vocally opposed to the basis of the legislation. 

On Jan. 19, a week before the conservation funding announcement, the Anishinabek Nation, which represents 39 First Nations in Ontario, released a statement that read, in part, “There are no historic Métis communities in Anishinaabe territories and therefore any [Métis Nation of Ontario] self-government agreement involving lands and resources discussions or processes is illegitimate.” A statement published by Six Nations of the Grand River earlier in January reads, in part, “Canada is not the holder of rights and titles in our territories and does not have the authority to create new section 35 rights-holding entities with ‘jurisdiction’ in our territories without consulting First Nations.”

More than one First Nation is challenging Métis Nation of Ontario claims in court. The Algonquins of Ontario, which represents 10 Algonquin communities, have filed suit against the Ontario government for failing to consult with them before recognizing Métis harvesting rights on their lands. The Métis Nation of Ontario filed for dismissal, but in August 2023, the Ontario Court of Appeal ruled in favour of the Algonquins of Ontario, finding they had grounds to file the case. For Coburn, the victory underscored that the question is one of rights. 

President of the Métis National Council Cassidy Caron, left, looks on as Minister of Crown-Indigenous Relations Gary Anandasangaree delivers opening remarks at a January 2024 meeting. Anandasangaree says Bill C-53 will not impact First Nations rights, telling a parliamentary committee it is “essentially a recognition of the governance of the Métis of Ontario. It does not in any way deal with harvesting rights. It does not deal with land rights.” Photo: Adrian Wyld / The Canadian Press

“The Ontario Court of Appeal said, in their decision, what [Algonquins] are doing is not challenging the existence of another Indigenous people. It’s challenging the existence of them being Indigenous to your territory, and them having territorial rights and title,” he says. The court decision also acknowledged that while Powley established Métis rights, there is still an “open question” of how to reconcile Indigenous Rights that come into conflict with one another. 

In March 2023, Wabun Tribal Council filed a court case to block the Métis Nation of Ontario’s self-government agreement. The council represents six northern Ontario First Nations, including Matachewan First Nation: in November 2022, Matachewan Chief Alex Batisse wrote in a Toronto Star editorial that his nation was “shocked to learn that Ontario and Canada had taken steps toward recognizing a new ‘historic Métis community’ within our territory.” The chief says the government’s move had led to a group called the Abitibi Inland Historic Métis Community “demanding rights on lands that we are adding to our reserve.” 

Jason Batise was also baffled by the announcement. “Chief Alvin Fiddler said it best,” Batise says, referring to the Grand Chief of Nishnawbe Aski Nation, an umbrella group of 49 northern Ontario nations. “He said, ‘We would have known those people. We would have seen their fires, we would have met them on our homelands.’ ” 

The problem of ancestors

Even before the “historic communities” announcement, Wabun Tribal Council had commissioned scholar Darryl Leroux to research the ancestry claims of Métis Nation of Ontario members in the Abitibi-Inland settlement. Proving the existence of a defined community of Métis ancestors is a key part of the “Powley test,” in order to affirm legal rights. Powley requires Métis settlements be established prior to “European control” of a region; in its own report, the Métis Nation of Ontario says Métis servants are documented in Abitibi region records from 1790 onward, after the North West Company set up a trading post.

Leroux, a professor at the University of Ottawa, has studied the growing number of self-identified Métis people in Canada and is author of the 2019 book Distorted Descent: White Claims to Indigenous Identity. In his paper for Wabun, Leroux wrote the Métis Nation of Ontario has claimed ancestors who belonged to First Nations, and who never identified themselves as Métis among their ancestors. 

Leroux found mixed-race people in the region were historically viewed as Anishinaabe, descendants of a First Nation, not Métis — a position still held by Chief Shelly Moore-Frappier of Temagami First Nation. 

“They are using some of our own people in their records as root ancestors,” Moore-Frappier says. A November statement her nation submitted to the House of Commons regarding Bill C-53 noted the Métis Nation of Ontario had depicted Moore-Frappier’s ancestors in its marketing materials.

“In 2019, they used a picture of my family: my great-grandfather, my great-grandmother, and my great-great grandfather and great-great grandmother. And they were calling them Métis,” Moore-Frappier says. “Never were they ever — never did they understand themselves as Métis. They were always Teme-Augama Anishnabai.”

Temagami First Nation Chief Shelly Moore-Frappier has vocally taken issue with the Métis Nation of Ontario’s use of First Nations members as root ancestors for Métis claims. Her own grandparents and great-grandparents have been pictured in the Métis organization’s marketing materials. Photo: Heidi Jobson

According to Temagami’s statement, federal Indian agents declared mixed-race community members, including Turner, as “half-breeds” in order to remove them from the band list. “The [Métis Nation of Ontario] has conflated “half-breeds” with “Métis” contrary to Teme-Augama Anishnabai law and governance and even contrary to established jurisprudence in R v. Powley,” the statement writes. 

When asked about Moore-Frappier’s comments, Froh says, “I think the fact that First Nations and Métis today share some ancestors really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. I mean, that’s the reality of the Métis — that we’re descended from First Nations and European ancestors.” Among First Nations and many Métis, this is a controversial claim: while historical records identify many mixed-race First Nations descendants as “halfbreeds” or “métis”, that is not the sole criteria for membership in the Métis Nation, nor is self-identification on the basis of a First Nations ancestor.

Froh did agree that land rights are tied, for Indigenous people, to homelands. “So if your question is, does someone get to take their rights and make assertions to land where they don’t have that tie? The answer to that, in this country, is no. That is not what the law says.” Yet some members of her organization have made those assertions, including one who began building a hunting cabin on Teme-Augama Anishnabai territory in 2018. It’s one of several incidents First Nations members who spoke to The Narwhal cited as examples of what they see as a pattern of attempting to stake land claims despite the absence of legally established rights. 

Rights for Indigenous people are recognized by their nations through kinship, and by the federal government through the Indian Act. Batise argues the federal government hasn’t applied the same scrutiny to the Métis Nation of Ontario membership list that it does to people seeking Indian status. To qualify for First Nations status under the Indian Act, individuals must prove they have at least one parent who is a registered member of a recognized nation. The application process can take up to two years and is the same across the country. 

Billions have been made on Robinson Huron Treaty lands. First Nations could finally get a fair share

In comparison, provincial Métis governments maintain separate registries with different qualification procedures. In March 2023, the Métis Nation of Ontario voted to purge 5,400 people — around 18 per cent of its members — who had been granted membership despite incomplete documentation. In November, Minister Anandasangaree told the parliamentary committee he was satisfied with the Métis registry systems in the wake of this purge. If Bill C-53 passes, Métis Nation of Ontario will have full authority over their membership.

Testimony given at a parliamentary committee by a senior assistant deputy minister in the Crown-Indigenous Relations Department suggests that the federal government has not verified any of the six newly recognized communities identified by the Métis Nation of Ontario according to the Powley test. In December, the federal government said it had not verified the legitimacy of those communities during reviews of Bill C-53, despite the concerns many First Nations leaders have raised about their legitimacy. (Froh has said that it is “simply wrong” to suggest that Canada has not verified the credibility of the Métis Nation of Ontario registry.)

For Moore-Frappier, the perceived double standard is a slap in the face. Starting in the 1970s, Teme-Augama Anishnabai fought heated battles over logging on the territory it calls n’Dakimenan, organizing blockades after Ontario approved a road in 1988. In 1991, the Supreme Court ruled the nation had ceded its lands in the 1850 Robinson-Huron Treaty — which Temagami vigorously disputed signing — nullifying temporary protections on the land.

Temagami First Nation members and supporters blockaded forestry roads in 1989 to prevent clearcuts of old growth forest. In 1991, the Supreme Court ruled the nation had ceded its lands in the 1850 Robinson-Huron Treaty — which Temagami vigorously disputed signing — nullifying temporary protections on the land. Photos: Hap Wilson

“When we went to court [with] the Supreme Court of Canada and they unilaterally adhered us to the Robinson-Huron Treaty, we had to prove who we were and our connection to this land,” Moore-Frappier told The Narwhal. “We provided material culture, we provided our dialect and how distinct it was, our chief at the time had to sit on the stand and have the Crown grill them on the paternity of our members and citizens. We had to go through all these litmus tests to prove who we were and how we belonged there.” 

Crucially, Moore-Frappier adds, Teme-Augama Anishnabai did not bring a list of its members that have official federal Indian status to court. She says their nation has long acknowledged all of its mixed-race members and anyone living with them. “We’ve always maintained that we always took care of our own, and the only Indigenous people to our territory are us, Teme-Augama Anishnabai.” 

“So there is no question of Métis in our territory, because we naturalized everyone who was here as Teme-Augama Anishnabai.”

What will the Métis Nation of Ontario do with its grant?

According to the Environment and Climate Change Canada website, the Indigenous-led Natural Climate Solutions program provides funding to “Indigenous Nations, communities, governments and representative organizations.” Under the 10-year program, $76.9 million has been allocated to Indigenous Peoples, a commitment which “further supports the Government of Canada’s commitment to Reconciliation.”

The latest round of funding was directed to Indigenous initiatives that aim to “conserve, restore and enhance land management of wetlands, peatlands and grasslands to store and capture carbon while benefiting biodiversity, climate resiliency and human well-being.”

In a quote included in Environment and Climate Change Canada’s announcement of the funding, the Métis Nation of Ontario shared its purpose: “To protect and preserve the land and waters within our homelands for future generations.” 

Margaret Froh has been president of the Métis Nation of Ontario since 2016, and is a strong voice for rights in the province. Photo: Sean Kilpatrick / The Canadian Press

The statement also said, “In rapidly urbanizing areas, such as the Greater Golden Horseshoe where the Sofgardé la Tèr Project is located, it is becoming increasingly difficult for Métis citizens to access land.” Multiple First Nations have Treaty Rights in the part of southern Ontario referred to as the Greater Golden Horseshoe, including Six Nations of the Grand River, Mississaugas of the Credit, Mississaugas of Scugog Island, Chippewas of Georgina Island, Hiawatha, Curve Lake and Alderville. The newly identified Georgian Bay Historic Métis Community is the only one located near the Greater Golden Horseshoe.

Froh told The Narwhal the precise location of the wetlands has not been settled because the group is still “a ways away” from finalizing the purchase, but says the Métis Nation of Ontario is looking at “an area that falls within a territory where there is a historic Métis presence.” By email, Environment and Climate Change Canada told The Narwhal “Applicants must provide a map of the area where they plan to conduct the work laid out in their application. [Métis Nation of Ontario] provided a map with their application, as requested.”

Many First Nations treaties cover the Greater Golden Horseshoe, the area that rings around Toronto, where the Métis Nation of Ontario is proposing a conservation project. Map: Government of Ontario

When asked if the Métis Nation of Ontario plans to consult with First Nations whose homelands surround the wetlands, Froh replied, “We’ll have to think about that a bit more.” There is no duty to consult, she emphasized, because the lands are private. “But certainly some of the things that we have talked about, as we’re talking about these [climate change] initiatives, is how wonderful it would be if we could work with other Indigenous Peoples in those territories to have the land accessible in some way.” 

For Batise, the distinction between private and Crown land is meaningless, and the duty to consult is paramount. “Private lands mean nothing to the First Nations when public projects are involved,” he told The Narwhal by email. “Métis Nation of Ontario and Canada have embarked on a land-based exercise with a self-proclaimed ‘Métis government’ who, in our view, have no rights to land-based initiatives under that moniker.”

Conservation, rights and reconciliation

Froh says Métis communities have been around “for a very long time,” pointing again to the Supreme Court recognition of the Sault Ste. Marie settlement as having emerged in the mid-17th century.

Indigenous-led conservation funding has been positioned by the federal government as an act of reconciliation, one that recognizes and affirms the historic presence of Indigenous people on the land. To date, more than 100 Indigenous communities have received federal funding to acquire or protect land. 

“Indigenous Peoples in Canada have been environmental stewards of their traditional land, ice and water, and are the original leaders in sustainable development and natural resource management. That is why the Government of Canada is committed to working in partnership with First Nations, Inuit and Métis to support Indigenous leadership in conservation,” reads one recent announcement. Many of the federal government’s initiatives on Indigenous-led conservation have reinforced Indigenous governance and sovereignty over their territories, such as Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas and Indigenous Guardians programs.

Despite that emphasis on historical stewardship over ancestral homelands, Environment and Climate Change Canada told The Narwhal simple land purchases, which are eligible for Indigenous-led natural climate solutions funding, “do not relate to or impact land claims.” 

“Funding supports First Nations, Inuit and Métis Nations, communities and organizations to build capacity and to undertake on-the-ground activities for ecological restoration, improved land management and conservation,” Environment and Climate Change Canada wrote in an email to The Narwhal. “The criteria used to select [Indigenous-led natural climate solutions] projects do not involve rights determination, nor does eligibility require a credible claim to land-related rights.” 

Métis Nation of Ontario has also been consulted by government and industry on development projects, something First Nations leaders see as an inherent contradiction. 

Shelly Moore-Frappier calls Bill C-53 a double standard for recognizing Métis claims when Temagami First Nation has had to go to great lengths to establish their connection to the land, under flawed agreements like the Robinson-Huron Treaty, which stretches from Parry Sound to Sudbury, and North Bay to Sault Ste. Marie along the shores of Lake Huron. Photo: Jeff Dixon / The Narwhal

In 2021, Windspeaker reported that the federal Nuclear Waste Management Organization consulted with Métis Nation of Ontario in 2021 over a proposed waste storage site. In the story, Jesse Fieldwebster, manager of the lands, resources and consultations branch of the Métis Nation of Ontario, said his group received funding for “Traditional Knowledge studies” from the organization. And in 2022, Generation Mining and the Métis Nation of Ontario announced a consultation agreement for the Marathon Palladium Copper Project in northwest Ontario, focused on “establishing a mutually beneficial relationship, engagement, participation and social and economic opportunities.”

“If it’s not about land, then why do we have to consult them on resource projects?” Batise asks.

Moore-Frappier raises a similar concern, pointing to the intent of Bill C-53 to lay the groundwork for negotiating treaties. “How can you make a treaty without land?” she says. “There is no nation, to have a nation you need land.” 

For Moore-Frappier, that contradiction demonstrates a lack of understanding on behalf of the Canadian government.

She says First Nations have land rights because of their long history, which ties their identity to a specific place, something she says the Métis Nation of Ontario is lacking. “Because as I understand myself as an Indigenous person, it’s both our connection to land and kin. And they don’t have that connection to land. We make decisions, and we have that right because we’ve been here for thousands of years — not 150.” 

“There is no one in Ontario, except First Nations, with rights to land,” Moore-Frappier says. “When you start to use the term ‘Indigenous,’ it becomes, you know, we have to deal with everybody.”

“To me, it’s liberal feel-good reconciliation, in regards to trying to do right by Indigenous,” she adds. “But they don’t understand the legacies and the people who are actually tied to the land.”

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.

First Nations leaders say they have been waiting nearly three months for a private asphalt company to clean up an early December oil spill reported in Hope, B.C., near the Fraser River on Stó:lō land.

Nearly two months after the incident, on Feb. 2, a manager from the enforcement division of B.C.’s Ministry of Environment and Climate Change issued warnings to a director of the company, Keywest Asphalt, that they could face up to six months in prison and a fine of up to $300,000 if convicted of violating the province’s Environmental Management Act.

In one warning letter, dated Jan. 29, the ministry alleged the company was violating the act and had not taken sufficient actions to clean up the spill, despite being directed to do so in December.

The spill was triggered by a landslide that knocked over a tanker truck container on the slope of the company’s rock quarry, impacting prime sturgeon habitat, according to Takoda Castonguay, community support assistant with the Emergency Planning Secretariat, an organization supporting rapid response for 31 Coast Salish First Nations.

The apparent delays in cleanup response are now threatening the start of sturgeon season, which First Nations leaders say begins on Feb. 28 as the fish return to the river.  That’s the same day  the company’s permit to access the riverbed under Fisheries and Oceans Canada regulations is also slated to expire. The B.C. Ministry of Environment and Climate Change Strategy told The Narwhal permits expire at the end of February due to spring thaw that will cause the river to rise, and said the permit can be extended.

Sources told The Narwhal the landslide happened between Dec. 5 and 6. The ministry of environment told The Narwhal it was observed on Dec. 6 by a CN Rail employee, who reported it on Dec. 7 through the public spill reporting line. According to provincial documents the company reported the spill on Dec 7. First Nations leaders and community responders say they were told by Keywest and a remediation company that a response would take two weeks.

But the cleanup did not begin in earnest until Feb. 23, almost three months later, according to the sources. They say it remains unclear how much oil spilled or may have leached into the groundwater.

Officials from the company did not respond to requests for comment from The Narwhal.

According to the First Nations leaders, the container stopped partway down the slope, but landslide debris spilled on the Canadian National Railway (CN Rail) and reached the river. Castonguay — who said he has been leading calls between local First Nations, the province and the company — says the maximum estimate for the spill was about 2,000 litres.

Tyrone McNeil, Stó:lō Tribal Council president and Tribal Chief and chair of the Emergency Planning Secretariat, said things have been moving at “a snail’s pace.”

He said it took two weeks to get the first geotechnical report from the environmental company Keywest (also referred to in company documents as Key-West Asphalt (333) Ltd and Key-West Asphalt Products) hired. “Considering that it shut down CN Railway, considering there’s oil on the land, considering there’s deleterious material in the water, that was about 10 days later than I expected,” he said.

Janice Parsey, director of intergovernmental affairs for Seabird Island Band, said she and others have been stressed thinking about the channel starting to fill in with spring freshet. The cleanup has been delayed numerous times. 

“The window is really closing in,” Parsey said.

A view of the tanker truck container, which was knocked over by a landslide and spilled its contents on the slope. First Nations leaders are concerned about the cleanup response, and worry about oil leaching into the ground and impacting sturgeon habitat. Photo: Emergency Planning Secretariat

Entire Fraser River spill response has been ‘messy’

On Feb. 13, the Tiyt Tribe, which consists of Chawathil First Nation, Shxw’owhamel First Nation, Peters Band, Popkum First Nation, Union Bar, Sq’ewa:lxw First Nation, Yale First Nation and Seabird Island, declared a state of emergency. They notified Minister of Environment and Climate Change Strategy George Heyman and Minister of Emergency Management and Climate Readiness Bowinn Ma.

In a letter to the ministers, the leaders said they had been on daily update calls organized by the Emergency Planning Secretariat and “on each call there was indication the cleanup would occur the following day, this still has not occurred.”

They urged the ministers to use emergency measures in the Environmental Management Act to expedite the cleanup, instead of leaving it up to Keywest and the firm it hired. 

“For some reason, it’s not taken seriously,” Chief Jim Harris of Seabird Island Band said in an interview.” He said the ministries involved seemed to be “passing off responsibility.”

Leaders told The Narwhal that Keywest had switched environmental remediation companies, which caused some delay, including the new company needing to do its own geotechnical report.

The environment ministry confirmed work was delayed due to slope stability concerns, which necessitated a geotechnical report in advance of cleanup and restoration. “Worker safety is paramount and geotechnical work is complicated requiring qualified professionals and it was completed near the end of January,” a spokesperson told The Narwhal.

Castonguay and First Nations leaders told The Narwhal that Keywest also cited weather as a reason for delays, because the work can’t be done in the rain, even though it’s been an uncharacteristically dry winter. Castonguay said that often, the remediation experts Keywest hired have not been present on phone calls and so leaders aren’t getting the details they’re looking for. 

Sally Hope, councillor for Seabird Island Band, said it’s been “a messy process.” The company has been given deadlines they haven’t met, she said. And the whole time, she worried about each rainfall pushing the unknown amount of oil into the ground.

“It gets really frustrating that the enforcement is not there,” she said.

The provincial ministries of environment, mines, and emergency preparedness all have roles to play. As well, the landslide crossed Crown land, bringing CN Rail and Fisheries and Oceans Canada into the mix — making the whole thing “a bit convoluted,” McNeil said.

CN Rail confirmed it cleared debris off the track “as it posed a safety risk.” 

“However, the debris remained on CN property and our crews are coordinating with Keywest contractors and government officials on their clean up activities in the area,” Tyler Banick, manager of public affairs at CN Rail, told The Narwhal in an email.

“We can’t have regulators tripping over themselves without anybody even having an inclination to want to take the lead,” Castonguay said. “I don’t like to give outs to the responsible party for just how crazy this has gone. But I do think if our regulators can’t decide who’s in charge and navigate all of the different regulations, they have to understand — how can we expect the responsible party to understand that?”

McNeil wants to see a system overhaul — including changing how the province relies on the responsible company to hire a remediation company. As good as the remediation company may be, they wind up beholden to their client that’s hired them, he argued. Instead of only relying on the responsible party and the consultants they’ve hired, he wants to see third-party experts, or more capacity with the province or First Nations to get experts on the grounds themselves. 

A report from the auditor general of British Columbia, released on Tuesday, identified “shortcomings and deficiencies” in the province’s response to hazardous spills. 

The auditor general found B.C. lacks a provincial-level plan for responding to major spills, does not consistently notify First Nations, and had about $13.9 million of spill-related costs outstanding at the end of February 2023.

The ministry of environment told The Narwhal that through B.C.’s public interest bonding strategy, they are “working to ensure owners of high-risk industrial projects have the financial resources in place so that they – not British Columbians – pay the full costs of environmental cleanup, even if their projects are abandoned.”

When asked about community concerns regarding shortcomings in the spill response, the ministry of environment responded that B.C.’s emergency response system is guided by “the polluter pays principle,” and emphasized Keywest is responsible for restoration while B.C.’s role is to ensure remediation is completed.

An aeriel view of the rock quarry and the path of the landslide, which occurred in early December, knocked a tanker truck container down the slope and spilled its contents into the ground near the Herrling Channel. Photo: Emergency Planning Secretariat

The Herrling Channel in the Fraser River. Photo: Emergency Planning Secretariat

‘Indigenous governments need to be included’

Leaders are left demanding better responses for future emergencies.

“People seem to be either passing the buck or, or just saying they can’t do anything. And it’s very disturbing.” Eddie Gardner, councillor for Sqwá First Nation, told The Narwhal. He said the situation sheds light on preventing mistakes in the future.

“A greater involvement of Indigenous governments need to be included in the regulations and the response,” he said.

Jeanie Kay-Moreno, executive assistant for Chawathil First Nation, said the spill response was “really disappointing.”

“It seems like they’re waiting for the weather to start and the water to come up and just to take it away,” she said. “It seems like ‘hurry up and wait.’ And it’s hurtful to see that happen.”

She brought up her ancestors’ saying, s’ólh témèxw te ikw’el’ó. xólhmet te mékw’stám it kewlát — “this is our land, we have to take care of everything that belongs to us.”

Sturgeon have drastically declined

In the 1990s, Stó:lō fishers began to notice sturgeon decline, and self-imposed a moratorium on fishing. 

“Sturgeon are a traditional food for our people. They have a medicine in them, in the backbone,” Hope said. “For at least three decades we haven’t been able to harvest those and pass those teachings down to our young ones.”

Multiple factors, including climate change, low water and sedimentation are all impacting sturgeon. 

The Herrling Channel, where the landslide took place, is prime sturgeon spawning habitat, McNeil explained. Sturgeon lay their eggs at the deep part of the channel, and the eggs attach to big rocks. As they grow, they hide under the rocks from predators, he said. The habitat is already being impacted by other factors, like logging practices. Mature trees stabilize soil and retain water. With fewer mature trees, rivers are rushing and scooping up more gravel along the way, which is carried down river. 

“The influx of gravel literally buries the sturgeon,” McNeil said. The freshly developed larvae that were safe under the big rock are buried in gravel and unable to drift downstream and grow to their next life phase. He fears the additional damage from the landslide makes the situation for sturgeon even more serious.

McNeil said he’s pushing to have the lower Fraser River population of white sturgeon listed as endangered under the federal Species At Risk Act, and halt the sports fishery to allow them to rebuild.

The federal government is less likely to protect an at-risk fish if people like to eat it

“The number one priority right now has to be stabilizing the population,” he said.

Castonguay said they “desperately” need an after-action review of how this cleanup was handled, which McNeil said he will be coordinating.

“I think the initial response could have been done faster if everybody had been on the same page, a sense of unified command could have been put in place,” Castonguay said.

“My main takeaway is that we need a cleaner approach … The main issue right now is getting all the parties to communicate better.”

Updated Feb. 28, 2024, at 3:45 p.m. PT: This story was updated to include a statement from the B.C. Ministry of Environment and Climate Change Strategy.

Updated Mar. 6, 2:50 p.m. PT: This story was updated with Jeanie Kay-Moreno’s current job title. She was previously a councillor with Chawathil First Nation and is currently an executive assistant.

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.

The Brooks home will never be like it was before the 2021 floods in British Columbia. Two years ago, extreme rain filled the Similkameen and Tulameen rivers. Water burst over the banks through a dike and flooded siblings Dian and Danie’s property just outside of Princeton. The two rushed to save their animals and waited for two days in the second level of their home before a rescue boat came.  

As Dian watched their homemade furniture bob in the deluge, she remembers thinking, “There goes our house. There goes everything that we have worked for our lives. We have just lost everything.” With help from volunteers, some funding from government and insurance they have since repaired some of the damage and are back inside. 

But the two pensioners are still waiting on the provincial government to respond to their appeals for more help. “We have no money. As it is, we’re broke. We will be paying for this for the rest of our lives,” Dian told The Narwhal.

Southern B.C. was hit by its first atmospheric river of the season last week, a fitting backdrop as the province debates how to address emergencies and disasters. The proposed Emergency and Disaster Management Act will define how citizens and communities across B.C. are — or are not — supported by the government when disaster strikes, Chad Pacholik, a disaster risk manager told The Narwhal.

The bill has seen years of engagement and delays and getting to the vote stage to implement the law could still take weeks, or longer. The province’s ombudsperson is also calling for urgent action to improve support for long-term evacuees after another summer of record-breaking wildfires. The hope is this bill will help address decades of government inaction as climate change increases the number and severity of disasters faced by people across the province. 

But some experts in emergency management say key elements are missing that would ensure the legislation is clear, easy to implement, properly acknowledges First Nations and supports enough capacity within communities to implement changes. 

“Quite literally, lives could depend on the framework and the law that’s being discussed here today. Communities depend on us, as well, to get this right,” Shirley Bond, BC United MLA for Prince George-Valemount, said last week in the legislature, as the proposal saw days of debate. “Time is of the essence.”

Dian and Danie Brooks are still working on repairs after their home just outside of Princeton, B.C., was hit by floodwaters in November 2021. Photo: Jen Osborne

Bowinn Ma, minister of emergency management and climate readiness, introduced the act on Oct. 3. The 122-page draft is a significant update from the previous 12-page Emergency Program Act, which was last updated in the 1990s. It recognizes First Nations’ inherent rights, aims to address modern risks like COVID-19 and climate change and acknowledges the importance of risk reduction, mitigation and preparedness along with response and recovery. There is also a clause that sets the act to be reviewed within five years.

“This legislation formally recognizes the rights of First Nations as decision-makers in emergency management,” Ma said as the bill was introduced. “The Emergency and Disaster Management Act moves towards a holistic four-phase approach of mitigation, preparation, response and recovery.” It requires climate risk assessments and updates the concept of what an emergency is, “to reflect modern realities.” 

Changes “will hopefully prove to be a step in the right direction,” Robert Phillips, First Nations Summit political executive said in a press release. The First Nations-led group supports nations in treaty negotiations. “It will be imperative that this new legislation results in strong government-to-government relationships with First Nations in all aspects of emergency management, premised on acknowledgement and respect for First Nations’ title and jurisdiction within their respective territories.”

Step in the right direction, but not far enough 

If done right, new legislation could help improve how displaced people are supported after major disasters, Tyrone McNeil, chair of the Emergency Planning Secretariat, Stó:lō Tribal Council president and Tribal Chief, told The Narwhal. But as it stands, the current draft of the bill is “disappointing.” 

McNeil, a member of Seabird Island Band, wants to see evacuee programs modelled after the United Nations Sphere Project, a humanitarian aid program better designed to address long-term disaster displacement. The province’s current program is “designed for an apartment building in Vancouver burning and people vacating for a week or two and they are rehomed,” McNeil said.

Indigenous people in B.C. are more likely to experience evacuations than non-Indigenous people, according to an analysis in The Tyee. In part, this is because colonizers forced First Nations onto reserves, government-created tracts of land that are often in spots prone to risks and hazards and don’t have enough protection, such as dikes to minimize flooding. The Indian Act also undermined the ability of First Nations to self-govern and make decisions for the safety of their communities. 

Tyrone McNeil, Stó:lō Tribal Council Chief and chair of the First Nations Emergency Planning Secretariat, pushed for more transparent consultation on the draft versions of the emergency preparedness bill before it was presented to legislature. Photo: Jesse Winter / The Narwhal

“The stress of evacuation, the stress of multiple evacuations by certain people is going to significantly impact their health over time,” McNeil said. A humanitarian approach would also encompass spirituality, how to take care of Elders and dietary needs. “Let’s be proactive and let’s invest early on.” 

While the draft recognizes First Nations’ inherent right of self-government and lawmaking in relation to emergency management, McNeil isn’t satisfied. “It’s a prescriptive piece of legislation that doesn’t fully incorporate our rightful place in emergency management,” McNeil said. 

In particular, McNeil is concerned about clause 162 which says that, in cases of conflict, the Emergency and Disaster Management Act prevails over all other provincial acts and regulations. McNeil worries this clause could be interpreted to mean this act supersedes B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act. 

“Our rights and title are not properly placed and recognized and respected,” in the current draft McNeil said.

Community capacity is an issue 

Capacity is crucial as communities grapple with the growing frequency and intensity of disasters. That means having enough paid, trained professionals to handle everything from mitigation to recovery, providing access to standardized emergency management training, ensuring smaller municipalities and regional districts have enough funding and aren’t overly reliant on volunteers.

Frontline delivery of emergency evacuee support is done “overwhelmingly by volunteers,” B.C.’s ombudsperson Jay Chalke said at a press conference. His office reviewed the province’s response to the 2021 wildfires and atmospheric rivers. “We heard about people who were working 15, 16, 17 hours a day, seven days a week for months on end as volunteers … this model cannot be sustained.” 

Most local governments are already having trouble meeting current requirements, disaster risk manager Pacholik told The Narwhal. The new legislation adds “a lot more things to the plate, and we don’t have a lot more trained, experienced people to be able to take on those tasks.” 

Pacholik worked with local governments and Emergency Management B.C. when the legislation was still being developed and currently consults with First Nations and local governments to help them navigate disaster preparation, response and recovery. 

He said the new proposed act puts a lot more on local governments and First Nations, Pacholik said. “I think there’s going to be some struggles to try and keep up.” 

Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw lost a third of its structures in the Bush Creek East fire this summer. People in the area were forced out of their communities for weeks as wildland firefighters tried to get the wildfire under control. Photo: Mike Graeme / The Narwhal

While it’s a positive step that the act puts a greater emphasis on consultation and co-ordination, some First Nations already lacking capacity will now have multiple entities approaching them to maintain this requirement, Pacholik said. Consultation and co-ordination will, “undoubtedly lead to stronger emergency management and disaster risk management. But all takes time.”

The bill needs to enable First Nations to build capacity in a sustainable fashion, McNeil said. He’s called for government funding to be dispersed faster, more community access to professional support and incentives for people to take on advanced degrees and training.

Pacholik said the act does strengthen some opportunities for collaboration: it makes it easier for two or more local authorities or Indigenous government bodies to work together on certain requirements like preparing a risk assessment or emergency management plans. And overall, he thinks the bill is more inclusive and comprehensive than past legislation, Pacholik said. 

But while it has a stronger legal lens, he feels that many might struggle with the application of the bill if it becomes legislation in its current state. “It’s very aspirational language,” that envisions a world where disaster risk-reduction is prioritized and well-resourced and good relationships exist between all parties that need to work together. “That is going to take some work in some areas of the province to get there.”

Language matters 

The draft is too complicated and should be put into plain language, emergency management professional Tarina Colledge said, so that it can be understood and applied by people who aren’t academics or policy experts. “Reading through it sends you in circles as you follow various references to different sections and pages.” 

In her 17 years of experience working on public safety with local government, Colledge has worked in British Columbia and Alberta and has been deployed to disasters in New Brunswick, Texas and Washington.

Words matter and terminology needs to be consistent, Colledge told The Narwhal. The act, for example, doesn’t define what a “disaster” is, instead referring to the old act for a definition. “How can you have an emergency disaster management act that doesn’t have disasters?” Colledge asked, adding that a clear definition is fundamentally necessary to ensure a clear understanding of what actions need to be taken when. 

Clear alerting systems are important to ensure people know when to prepare for a possible evacuation. Many alerting systems across the province require residents to opt-in to receive messages by text. Photo: Mike Graeme / The Narwhal

It’s a confusing oversight as there already is common terminology established by Public Safety Canada, Colledge said. The federal department defines an “emergency” as a “present or imminent event that requires prompt co-ordination” like a neighbourhood fire that is growing out of control. A “disaster” is when a phenomenon “exceeds or overwhelms the community’s ability to cope” such as a major wildfire requiring evacuation.

She’s also concerned that the terms “critical incident,” “incident,” “emergency” and “disaster” are used interchangeably. Unclear definitions can lead to public safety issues down the road, Colledge said, because in a disaster, people on the frontlines need a common understanding to reduce miscommunication. It would be like changing the names of the tools in an operating room. “Your gurney is not a gurney, your scalpel is not a scalpel.”

Opposition parties respond to proposed Emergency and Disaster Management Act

During debate about the proposal, official opposition members from BC United said they were encouraged the government is acknowledging past issues but expressed concerns that this legislation falls short. 

“There certainly is a need for clarity on the disaster and emergency management response. I’m not convinced that this bill provides that clarity,” MLA for West Vancouver-Sea to Sky Jordan Sturdy said.

The next step for the bill is a committee hearing where MLAs will ask questions, suggest changes and present a revised version for a vote. The House will then vote on the updated version and either send it back to committee for further changes or have further debate. A final vote by the members of the legislative assembly is needed before the bill is made into law. 

Bowinn Ma, minister of emergency management and climate readiness (centre), met with emergency volunteers, fire chief, crews and evacuees this summer as wildfires hit Central Okanagan. Six firefighters were killed in the province’s record-breaking wildfire season. Photo: Province of British Columbia / Flickr

“We have to really think about how do we get these big government machines to be more human-scaled, more oriented towards community and able to operate in a more effective and nimble way when there are real disasters that strike,” Sonia Furstenau, leader of the B.C. Green Party, told The Narwhal. Furstenau said she is looking forward to discussing the bill further and finding out if local authorities and First Nations have enough capacity, resources and authority to drive significant change.

McNeil is hopeful more changes will be made in the committee phase. He wants to see clear acknowledgement of Indigenous Rights, mechanisms for funding and language that encourages greater innovation and resilience. “We really need to enable and support innovation,” McNeil said. “Particularly when it speaks to climate resilience and nature-based solutions, because those are the two long-term solutions on any disaster, whether it be floods, fires, tsunami, sea-level rise … resilience is the best way forward.”

Alongside the legislation, the B.C. government is also creating an emergencies task force. This group is made up of 14 experts in emergency and wildfire management and will “begin work immediately and provide action-oriented recommendations on enhancing emergency preparedness and response in advance of the 2024 wildfire season.”

‘It’s past time’

While politicians debate legislation, flood survivors like Dian Brooks are still living in damaged homes, waiting for answers from government programs meant to help evacuees. After the 2021 atmospheric river events, she and her brother applied for funds through the province’s Disaster Financial Assistance program, which provides financial support to people who suffer “sudden, unexpected and uninsurable losses” as a result of an extreme weather event. Only disasters listed by the province are eligible. 

After months of navigating applications, assessments, site visits and paperwork, the Brookses received about $12,000 from their insurance, which the province’s program required them to spend before applying for any other assistance. They eventually received about $51,000 from Disaster Financial Assistance, far from what they say was needed. The siblings have since appealed the amount but still haven’t received a decision from the government. There is currently no required timeline for appeal decisions: as of February 2023, Emergency Management BC received 182 appeal requests for the atmospheric river events and had completed just 12 requests. It upheld the original decision in all appeals.

The same day disaster legislation was introduced this month, B.C.’s ombudsperson Jay Chalke released a report detailing the failures in government response to the heat dome, wildfires and floods in 2021. It focused on the two main programs designated to help evacuees facing everything from an apartment fire to major wildfires and flooding — Disaster Financial Assistance and Emergency Support Services — and found that neither program has been adequately adapted as major disasters increase in frequency and intensity.

The community of Merritt, B.C., had to evacuate as unprecedented amounts of rainfall triggered landslides and devastating flooding in November 2021. Approximately 7,000 people evacuated and many had to stay in hotels for months. Photo: Ian Willms / The Narwhal

Chalke found the programs are “outdated, under-resourced, inaccessible and poorly communicated.” His team surveyed almost 500 British Columbians affected by floods and fires. Many of them echoed Brooks’ experience of delays, bureaucracy, long waits and lack of clear communication. Chalke called on the government “to take urgent action to better support people who are increasingly being displaced from their homes due to climate-related disasters.”

Chalke also raised serious concerns about inequity in support delivery. The current “one-size-fits-all approach” of these programs “unfairly creates barriers for people to access the supports they need.” The report detailed evacuees’ long waits for decisions about their aid requests, and described the government’s communication as limited and confusing. 

It also criticized leaders for ignoring years of warnings, going back to 2003, that B.C’s systems were not set up for disasters that force people out of their homes for weeks or months. “Successive leaders in government have, so far, failed to respond to clear direction for improvement in the province’s disaster response programs and capacities,” reads the ombudsperson’s report.

Brooks agreed the government’s delay was unacceptable. “It’s past time,” Brooks told The Narwhal. Past governments haven’t followed through on their promises “because they don’t have to. That’s the thing that bothers me. There’s money spent to make these reports … and they get shelved. Nothing happens.” 

The ombudsperson made 20 recommendations on how to improve the province’s Disaster Financial Assistance and Emergency Support Services. 

These include more capacity to handle applications, better recognition for front-line volunteers, accessible reception centres and flexible and responsive support for all evacuees. Chalke also called for a plan to help people facing long-term displacement, greater capacity building and funding for First Nations and a policy to reassess insurance availability across the province. 

Chalke also called for changes to be implemented over the next two years. At a press conference following the report’s release, he acknowledged that new legislation could take years to see changes on the ground. “What can’t wait is a comprehensive plan to respond to people who are displaced from their homes for long periods,” he said. 

Dian Brooks is grateful she and her brother, and all their animals, made it out of the 2021 floods alive. But there is still frustration with government inaction to protect their home from flooding, the slow response and ongoing recovery. Photo: Jen Osborne

Minister Ma told The Narwhal the province wasn’t surprised by the recommendations and has accepted all of them. “We’ve already done a lot of work over the last few years to try to address or progress on addressing these concerns,” Ma said. “And there will still be work to do moving forward as well.” 

The province is transitioning to an online registration system in an attempt to provide assistance faster: it will send evacuees relief through e-transfers, instead of requiring them to stand in line, fill out paperwork and wait for vouchers. There have also been changes to the Disaster Financial Assistance program to expand farm owner and small business eligibility.

The new legislation “speaks to our desire to no longer focus solely on response to emergencies,” Ma told The Narwhal. We need to “get ahead and be better at preparing for mitigating the impacts of disasters before they happen.” The draft will evolve over the next few weeks as it makes its way through the legislative process. When implemented, it will still take years for related regulations to be developed.  

Brooks says she refuses to be defeated and is grateful that her brother and her as well as their animals made it out safely. But the to-do list of repairs feels relentless from the roof, fencing, field repairs, front deck and walkway. “We are not beggars at the gate. This is taxpayers’ money,” Brooks said. She estimates they still have about $150,000 of work to go. “I’m angry at our government because I think that they have a very large part in this … There’s stuff they can do about this. They’re just not doing it.”

Editor’s note: The ombudsperson’s report findings echo those in The Tyee’s Bracing for Disasters series, reported by Francesca Fionda in collaboration with the Climate Disaster Project. Both found people are being evacuated in B.C. for weeks, not just days, and government support has not adapted to the climate crisis. You can read Diane Brooks’ first-hand account of the flooding 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.

This story is part of Nourish, a series about how First Nations are fuelling their people with sustainably harvested, healthy and culturally safe foods amid a changing climate

Earlier this summer, Lisa Kenoras visited Adams Lake in Secwepemc territory for the first time — a deep, cool lake in the arid Interior of British Columbia. She wore moccasins that she created with her grandmother, a gift and keepsake for graduating university. 

Her boss and mentor, Dawn Morrison, brought her to the mountains to see the territory. The two Secwepemc women are trying to build community access to healthy and traditional foods. Kenoras recalls her first big meal with Morrison: fresh vegetables with elk, deer and bison meat.

“I looked at Dawn and I was like, this is medicine,” she says. “This is pure food that’s nourishing who I am.”

Kenoras recently returned after living away, and is reconnecting with family and community she hasn’t seen in years — and with the land.

“Dawn says, ‘This is Adams Lake.’ And I was like, wow, I’m home,” she says. “That was my welcome home.”

But just a month later, part of the area they visited went up in flames. The Bush Creek East fire is one of the fastest moving fires in B.C. history. It grew almost six times in size over 12 hours on Aug. 18, from 7,000 hectares to 41,000 hectares. It burned through the lower portion of Adams Lake, singeing its entire southern shoreline and destroying more than 200 homes in Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw (Little Shuswap Indian Band) and the Columbia Shuswap Regional District. 

The Racetrac gas station in the Skwlāx community east of Kamloops, B.C., was burned to the ground by the Bush Creek wildfire.

As of Sept. 12, the fire continues to burn at 43,192 hectares, the size of roughly 80 football fields, according to the BC Wildfire Service. It has been mostly contained, but still risks becoming more active again due to warm, dry conditions. But the burn has moved away from human structures, leaving a wake of charred forest — and food.

“I’m still processing it. There’s a sense of loss,” Kenoras tells The Narwhal at a community garden on Neskonlith Reserve 1, about a 20-minute drive from Adams Lake, still under evacuation alert from the fire. Smoke hung heavy between the mountains but sun broke through over the garden, which remained unscathed.

Kenoras and Morrison are dedicated to increasing Indigenous food sovereignty, in Secwepemcúl’ecw (Secwepemc territory) and beyond. They work on the garden and pass on harvesting and preserving techniques to community members.

Dawn Morrison (right) chats with Lisa Kenoras (centre) and her brother Bryan Dennis (left), deciding what to do with a surplus of veggies harvested from the Cwelcwelt Kuk (We Are Well) Garden near Chase, B.C. They have been distributing food to wildfire evacuees.

A history of being removed from the land and constricted to reserves, away from hunting and harvesting grounds, and children being removed from families who could pass on knowledge about traditional foods and practices, is a root cause of food insecurity, Kenoras says. Now, climate change is risking that food security even further.

Fire is a natural part of this landscape but it’s become more destructive. Scientists have attributed this partly to drier, hotter summers caused by climate change. Other factors include poor forestry management and the suppression of Indigenous stewardship, including cultural burns, which First Nations use to manage fire fuel. The combination of these factors increases the likelihood of destructive, fast-moving and unpredictable fires.

“Our people have been marginalized onto these reserves. And then because of climate change, they’re being burnt out,” Kenoras says. “So, who’s responsible for that?”

Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw lost 31 homes and 85 structures total in the Bush Creek East fire — a third of all of its structures.

Secwepemc community lost one third of structures

The Cwelcwelt Kuc “We are Well” garden is just a 25-minute drive south of Adams Lake, in Chase, B.C. Morrison mentors staff and community members in growing organic vegetables for the community. Their initiatives expand beyond gardening to restoring habitat such as the elk bedding nearby, an area where elk are covered from predators to rest. Their initiatives also include advocating for protection of “Indigenous foodlands” and food sovereignty policy and raising money for food initiatives. They take people onto the territory, and support hunters, fishers, farmers and gatherers. She says it’s far more than just gardening — it’s about working towards “social, cultural and ecological systems change.”

Amid the fires, Morrison was eager to harvest some vegetables from the Cwelcwelt Kuc Garden. The smoke and wildfires kept her team out of the garden for days, and she knew some food was ready to be picked and shared. She got a large bin and a sharp knife and began to harvest cauliflower, broccoli, cucumbers and kale. The garden is lush green amid the brown grass and smoky horizon, and is dotted with signs in Secwepemctsin (the Secwepemc language). 

Dawn Morrison teaches elements of food sovereignty to community members. She says her goal is getting people out to the mountains harvesting their own foods.

Morrison is the founder of the Working Group on Indigenous Food Sovereignty and has been working on food sovereignty for 18 years, sitting on several food security and food sovereignty committees. The working group also launched a garden in East Vancouver to serve the urban Indigenous community. Indigenous food sovereignty is her passion, thinking of how to ensure there are strong food systems the next generation can rely on 10 or 20 years down the line — but at moments like this, the immediate needs of people are her first concern.

Morrison’s cousin, Kenny Tomma, built his home in Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw by hand. A fisher and hunter, his freezer is usually full of food like elk, bison and salmon that he and a local Secwepemc group of hunters share with the community. His home was a community hub, storing food and equipment for the food sovereignty working group, including a trailer of hunting camp equipment that took years to acquire. He loves providing food for his family, Morrison says. He makes grave markers for the community cemetery, and was just at community member Janice Billy’s house helping her cut grass weeks before the fire. “He helps a lot of people,” Billy says.

On Aug. 18, he lost it all. The Bush Creek East fire destroyed a third of the structures in the Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw. A total of 85 structures were destroyed, and 31 were homes — including Tomma’s. As the buildings burned, so did a lot of food the community depends on. 

“Winter’s coming, and everybody who lost their freezers don’t have food for this winter,” Morrison says. 

Morrison launched a GoFundMe campaign to help Tomma. Together, they are taking inventory of everything he and the food sovereignty working group lost and raising funds to replace food storage and equipment — while also trying to address immediate food needs when so much has been lost.

In addition to vegetables, the Cwelcwelt Kuc Garden grows medicine plants and helps people get back to the land for harvesting and hunting.

Morrison says many lower income people rely on traditional foods in the face of high grocery costs. One 2019 study found 48 per cent of all First Nations households in Canada are food insecure. 

While the Neskonlith Band is only under evacuation alert, their close neighbours and relatives, Adams Lake Indian Band and Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw, went under evacuation order. Kenoras’ 15-year-old brother, Bryan Dennis, volunteered for seven days straight, day and night, at the Splatsin Community Centre, which was receiving evacuees. 

“It’s saddening,” Dennis says. “Leaving the place you grew up and coming back to it being burned down, and just ashes — where do you go from there? When I see evacuees, I feel for them.” 

He didn’t want to leave. He says he was glad he could help “make them feel safe.”

“Little warrior,” Kenoras says with a big smile. “I’m so proud of you.” He beams back at his sister.

He says he’s also thinking of the animals injured, displaced or lacking food.

“This is their territory,” he says. “All of a sudden, there’s a raging fire around them.” 

He’s also noticed the river being unusually low, and thinks of the impact of warm water on fish. Climate change is creating inhospitable conditions for all the living beings that call this place home.

Fifteen-year-old Bryan Dennis volunteered for seven straight days and nights at Splatsin Community Centre in Enderby, B.C., which converted to a wildfire evacuees shelter.

Maintaining a small garden surrounded by industry

Many Secwepemc people still depend on grocery stores for their regular food. The vulnerabilities of this flare up during disasters, such as when roads to First Nations on the Lower Mainland were blocked in the catastrophic 2021 floods, or more remote communities felt the stress of disrupted supply chains during the onset of COVID-19 in 2020. 

Morrison says infrastructure upgrades and equipment are needed to build up self-sufficiency around food. She wants to erect a walk-in cooler and freezer at the garden, but there is no BC Hydro service to the land yet. The Neskonlith and Adams Lake bands also used to have an efficient shared irrigation system, but it was damaged in 2003 wildfires and never repaired. She says the lack of infrastructure makes it difficult for other people in the community to grow food. At the garden, they’ve dug a well and a pond and installed a fire pump. They do what they can to garden sustainably and use as little water as possible. 

The Thompson River east of Kamloops, B.C., reached one of its lowest points in recent history this year. Meanwhile, a historic drought continues to grip the province.

First Nations have always cultivated food by working within ecosystems, but this wasn’t done through ranches or farms.    

“Agriculture isn’t our traditional way,” she says. “It’s something that was brought in through colonization, but we’ve adopted it and we just need to find ways to minimize the amount of work we do here so we can be up in the mountains.” The food they grow here supplements their goals of bringing people hunting and berry-picking, harvesting foods and medicines from the forest floor.

The provincial government funded a number of First Nations food sovereignty projects in May 2023, including in Syilx and Secwepemc territory in the Okanagan. Adams Lake Indian Band received $71,250 for knowledge-transfer activities like processing, canning and dehydrating. The Okanagan Indian Band received $80,000 to provide culturally safe and affordable food, support cultural activities and build a kitchen, pantry, cooking pit and root cellars.

Many Indigenous Peoples have programs focused on self-sufficiency when it comes to food. Tk’emlups te Secwepemc developed an Indigenous Food Sovereignty program after COVID-19. The Community Futures Development Corporation of Central Interior First Nations hosts the Kweseltken Market in Kamloops that highlights Indigenous creators and food growers. 

Morrison believes these programs are important, especially because they offer an alternative to the industrial agriculture that’s so pervasive in this region. 

A 2023 report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change emphasized the need to change agriculture, including cutting emissions, reducing water use and waste.

A farmers field is irrigated with sprinklers below a sky hazy with wildfire smoke in Chase, B.C. Dawn Morrison says different water policies are needed as the province experiences one of its worst droughts in recent history.

“Look around here. Who is being favoured in this system?” Morrison says. “Industrial agriculture is generating revenue off of our land, and we’re not getting a cent, and they’re taking a lot of water at a time of drought.”

“It’s our land, and we just have to sit and watch.”

Food sovereignty is preservation in many ways

Just down the hill from the garden, Janice Billy stands at her kitchen table with her two daughters in her log home with rich brown walls and natural light pouring in. The table is covered in peaches, and they’re working in an assembly line to can them. The walls are dotted with antlers and a full bear skin from one of her husband’s hunts. Billy and her husband are extremely self-sufficient, with a vegetable garden and a fruit orchard. She is a master at preserving foods and her husband fishes and hunts. She is teaching her daughters some of her skills, and also volunteers at the Cwelcwelt Kuc garden and teaches Secwepemctsin.

Right away, she brings up her need to build a fire-proof cellar. She mentions not hearing much about Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw when she was listening to the news, despite the devastation in the community. Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw was already experiencing a housing shortage, and losing 31 homes in a wildfire made things worse, she says.

Janice Billy (right) cans fresh peaches for winter with her daughters in the Neskonlith Secwepemc community east of Kamloops, B.C. Billy says language, culture and values are integral to food sovereignty.

Revitalizing traditional food practices — whether harvesting food or preserving it — goes hand in hand with revitalizing the other things lost in residential school, including speaking the language, she says. She says food sovereignty means being able to go out on the land, singing the berry picking song as you pick, and the deer song as you hunt. And the most central thing, she says, is protecting the land and water and all the foods they carry.

“It’s not just learning the words of those foods, but it’s learning the values that go with it,” she says. “You just take what you need, you don’t destroy anything, you make offerings. It’s all those connections to the food and the language that goes with it.”

Janice Billy’s apple orchard is one of the many ways her and her husband are food secure, combining modern practices like canning with traditional practices like hunting and harvesting.

‘Our huge, huge challenge is to provide that capacity’

More than an hour’s drive north of Billy’s home, Fred Fortier has the radio playing in his hothouse, where food plants like bell peppers and strawberries climb toward the ceiling. He has hundreds of onions hanging just outside, which local kids braided into long strands for him. Across his property, he has a cold room, a shed and hundreds of plants between the hothouse and the ground outside it.

Fortier, who is Secwepemc and Nlaka’pamux, posted some free squash to Facebook the other day. Billy took a couple and says they were huge — “I used them for three different funerals.”  

Fortier shows off his pumpkins — “never seen pumpkins this yellow in August”; potatoes — “mix fresh pine in the soil, the scab goes away”; garlic — “the kids planted 3,500 in two hours” and zucchinis — “could have entered the fall fair.”

But he doesn’t enter the fall fair anymore — “no competition,” Fortier says with a little grin.

Fred Fortier eats strawberries he grew in his hothouse on Secwepemc territory in Chu Chua, B.C. Fortier says First Nations need designated food sovereignty co-ordinators to focus on the task of building up capacity for communities to be self-sufficient with food.

Fortier runs Uncle Freddie’s Hothouse and Nursery in Chu Chua, B.C., and has gardened for 50 years and taught kids about regenerative agriculture for 35 years. He doesn’t use pesticides on his farm and rotates the many crops he grows there. He also builds traditional dip nets. He likes trading his produce and products, versus selling. 

“Wildfires, doesn’t matter where, impact us as gardeners,” he says, resting in the shade with a mug of homebrewed kombucha. At a critical time for pollination, bees can get lost in the smoke, he says — “they can’t find their way home at nighttime.”

Fortier often works with the Simpcw First Nation, where he’s a member, and is an advisor to the minister of agriculture and the First Nations Health Authority. He says more people need to be taught to grow food and hunt. And in order to make that food accessible, he wants to see a food processing hub built that food growers in the area can use to preserve their foods, either to sell or to give away. Otherwise, lots of produce is wasted, he says, and it’s difficult for growers to build or access food processing facilities or certified kitchens.

Fortier inspects his storage room, which holds thousands of garlic. He has a deal with a neighbour who freeze-dries the garlic so it doesn’t go to waste.

One of the most important things he says he’s noticed is that First Nations need a designated food sovereignty co-ordinator to help get local food production and processing off the ground. It’s too big of a job to do off the side of someone’s desk.

“If there’s no food sovereignty co-ordinator, it doesn’t get done,” he says.

“That’s our huge, huge challenge is to provide that capacity … Without the capacity, we rely on other people.” 

Fortier is helping teach a three-week course at Thompson Rivers University on food sovereignty, which is geared toward preparing people for food sovereignty jobs and teaches regenerative agriculture. It uses low-emission, sustainable practices that focus on topsoil regeneration, as opposed to industrial agriculture which has higher emissions and erodes topsoil ten times faster than it can be replenished.

For Fortier, education and training in regenerative agriculture is key. He challenges anyone who doubts the practice to do it their own way, and then watch his. Not only does he say regenerative agriculture is more productive — he has to do less work. 

“If you’re going to be a gardener, be a lazy gardener,” he says (a T-shirt waiting to happen). 

Fortier at his garden where he grows potatoes, squash, beans, cucumber, sunflowers and fall rye, to name a few. He mixes up his crops instead of monocropping.

A 2020 study found regenerative farms were 78 per cent more profitable than conventional ones. The high-quality soil boosts productivity, and stores more carbon in the soil than other methods. According to the United Nations Environment Programme, more than 90 per cent of crop varieties have been wiped out in the past century, whereas regenerative practices emphasize biodiversity.

There’s still a long way to go — people need money to build up infrastructure and access training, he says. To him, Indigenous food sovereignty isn’t about finding a way to succeed in the conventional market, it’s about building up local access and trade. “We need to hook up our own trade system back,” he says.

Fortier brews his own kombucha, made with birch sap. He also makes medicines using ingredients like balsamroot, devils club, arnica and bear grease, treating maladies like arthritis.

At an individual level, he says people will have to change techniques to better use water and create shade. And lastly, he sees passing these practices to youth as the solution.

“Youth are really interested now,” he says. “They’re saying, ‘OK, if I want to eat, I gotta grow some food.’ The kids are more aware of where their food comes from … I’m seeing more and more young people every year coming to workshops, working with older people in the gardens, there’s this trade of knowledge between them.”

Back to the land through food sovereignty

Morrison sees food sovereignty as a “social justice issue at heart.” She emphasizes social issues are closely connected with people’s capacity to feed themselves and their family, and “we can’t have food security without housing security.” 

People on social assistance often have to rely on food programs for healthier options, she says, noting it’s not ideal.

Fortier agrees, saying food programs are a band-aid, and while they may address short-term needs, they do not amount to food sovereignty. If a program relies on bringing in food from outside the territory, it’s not self-sufficient, he says. 

“That’s not a food sovereignty strategy, that’s just running a food bank,” he says.

Dawn Morrison believes food sovereignty is a “social justice issue at heart.” She’s working to protect the garden and community from future wildfires.

And as the fire that tore through Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw proved, a cache of food or an outside supply is only as safe from disaster as physical structures are. The ability to access and produce more is the only fail safe — and keeps people fed and healthy as they get back to the land.

Like Billy, Kenoras believes food sovereignty and social issues alike are about getting people back to the land.

“Even though our whole backyard could be filled with medicines and traditional foods, there is that gap in knowledge because of colonialism,” she says. “Indigenous food sovereignty is being able to fill those missing gaps so people can be self-sufficient in who they are.”

“Once you get them back to the land, they’re standing in their sovereign power.”

The Narwhal’s series, Nourish, is made possible with support from the Real Estate Foundation of BC. As per our editorial independence policy, no foundation or outside organization has editorial input into our stories.

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.

The mood was sombre at a Wet’suwet’en camp and village site near the confluence of Ts’elkay Kwe (Lamprey Creek) and Wedzin Kwa (Morice River) in the early afternoon on March 29. A group of Wet’suwet’en chiefs, community members, land defenders and their supporters wrapped up a debriefing meeting after five people were arrested and taken off the territory by the RCMP. Then someone cracked a joke and the mood lightened.

“It must annoy them to hear us laughing,” Dinï ze’ (Hereditary Chief) Na’moks chuckled.

That morning, land defenders at the camp watched as a convoy of RCMP vehicles pulled up outside the fenced-off area, according to community members. More than a dozen officers filed through the gates and said they were there to conduct a search, under a warrant issued by the B.C. courts, land defenders told The Narwhal.

“I’m going to ask everyone to leave the area so we can conduct a safe search,” an officer said, according to video footage shared with The Narwhal. “Anyone who refuses to leave the area will be arrested for obstruction,” he added, handing out copies of the warrant. “I’m not going to tell you guys 17 times that you need to leave, so …”

“We need to talk to our lawyer,” one land defender interrupted.

“No, that’s not how this works,” the officer replied.

The land defender insisted they should be given 15 minutes to talk to their lawyer to confirm the warrant was “legit” but the officer said police were not required to provide any time. Staff Sergeant Kris Clark, senior media relations officer with the RCMP, told The Narwhal there was no obligation to provide access to legal counsel prior to the search. After a few seconds and a brief back-and-forth exchange, several officers moved in and started the arrests.

Among those arrested and taken to the Houston, B.C., RCMP detachment was Jocey Alec, daughter of Dinï ze’ (Hereditary Chief) Woos. Several hours later, after being released, she showed The Narwhal her wrists, marked and bruised from the zip tie handcuffs. She said the arresting officer initially put them on too tight, making her hands go numb. Another land defender said they were punched in the head while on the ground, and showed a bruise on their right temple.

Clark, with the RCMP’s media relations, said he was unable to speak to specific allegations but noted there are processes available for those who wish to file a complaint. According to an RCMP statement, four individuals were arrested for refusing to cooperate with police direction and one for attempting to prevent officers from executing the warrant.

“Any allegations of misconduct by the RCMP are taken seriously and will be investigated fully,” Clark told The Narwhal in an email. “I can say that the search and arrests were captured on video which will constitute part of the disclosure for court purposes.”

A land defender alleges a bruise to their head was sustained during arrest. Photo: Matt Simmons / The Narwhal

‘No such thing as Crown land’

The area, about 50 kilometres south of Houston, B.C., has been the site of numerous clashes between Wet’suwet’en land defenders, police and industry workers building the Coastal GasLink pipeline. 

The pipeline is being built to connect shale gas sources in the province’s northeast with two liquefaction and export facilities in Kitimat — LNG Canada and Cedar LNG. It crosses about 190 kilometres of Wet’suwet’en territory. Five of six elected band councils signed agreements with the company and the province in support of the project but the hereditary leadership remains opposed. RCMP have made nearly 100 arrests over the past four years, during conflicts related to the pipeline project.

According to the RCMP statement published following the March 29 arrests, the search was related to an incident that had happened a few days earlier, in which local police received a complaint from a Coastal GasLink security worker. The worker alleged a group of individuals wearing masks and camouflage “fired flares and gained access to the work vehicle when the worker left the area because of the intimidation” at just before midnight on March 26. The police statement added, “these persons allegedly poured liquid onto the vehicle and stole a chainsaw from the truck bed.”

TC Energy, the pipeline operator, declined an interview request and referred The Narwhal to the RCMP for more information.

“We are thankful that no one was injured during this incident,” a TC Energy media spokesperson wrote in an emailed statement. “We will continue to cooperate with the Houston RCMP in their investigation of this and, as always, will prioritize the safety of our work crews and the communities around us.”

The search warrant, issued for theft under $5,000, noted the courts agreed with a Houston RCMP officer that a chainsaw, “olive drab coloured masks” and a pair of “coyote brown fatigues” had been stolen and there were reasonable grounds to believe those items would be found in the Gidimt’en camp. 

Na’moks said he was not previously aware of the March 26 incident and questioned why anyone associated with the Gidimt’en camp would have cause to steal equipment, noting the camp is outfitted with numerous tools.

“Why would anyone here steal a chainsaw?” he asked, pointing to a line of chainsaws in an outbuilding.

The RCMP did not indicate whether they had retrieved any of the items during the search.

“The results of the search are subject to the investigation and no further details are being released at this time,” Clark wrote.

According to the wording of the search warrant, the Gidimt’en camp is on “Crown land.”

To Dinï ze’ (Hereditary Chief) Gisday’wa, who drove out to the location when arrests were underway, it’s a moot point.  

“There’s no such thing as Crown land in Canada,” he told The Narwhal in an interview. “It belongs to us, the Natives.” 

In 1997, the Supreme Court of Canada affirmed the Wet’suwet’en never gave up their Rights and Title to the territory in a landmark case called Delgamuukw-Gisdaywa.

The Gidimt’en camp and village site was referred to as “Crown land” in a search warrant authorizing police access to the area. RCMP were trying to locate allegedly stolen items, including a chainsaw. Dinï ze’ Na’moks noted the camp is well-equipped with tools, including several chainsaws. Photos: Matt Simmons / The Narwhal

Unlike previous RCMP raids on Wet’suwet’en territory, the enforcing officers were a mix of local police and members of the force’s Community-Industry Response Group, commonly called C-IRG. The C-IRG is a special B.C. unit set up in 2017 to police opposition to industrial projects like Coastal GasLink. In 2019, the B.C. Supreme Court issued an injunction against anyone impeding construction of the pipeline, which set the stage for much of the police enforcement to date.

However, the search and arrests were not an enforcement of the injunction. 

The Civilian Review and Complaints Commission, a federal watchdog agency responsible for responding to allegations of police misconduct, recently launched a systemic review of C-IRG, including an examination of whether its actions are in line with standards and expectations of provincial and federal Indigenous Rights legislation. A spokesperson with the RCMP told the CBC the force is working cooperatively with the commission to make sure it has “comprehensive access and a fulsome understanding of the C-IRG’s policies, procedures, practices, guidelines, training and deployments.”

Adam Olsen (SȾHENEP), a Green party representative and member of Tsartlip First Nation (WJOȽEȽP), questioned Mike Farnworth, B.C. Minister of Public Safety, about the RCMP unit in the Legislative Assembly shortly after the arrests were made. In his question, he referenced a recent government decision to allocate an additional $36 million to the task force. 

“Right now, this crew is rolling, and the minister knows this, on Indigenous people in their own territories, as we speak,” he said. “The extent of the human rights abuses and violations of Indigenous Peoples on their own lands by this unit has not yet fully come to light. How does this government justify giving a controversial RCMP unit tens of millions of dollars, and will this B.C. NDP government stand this militarized police unit down while they’re under this investigation?”

Farnworth said the police have a job to do.

“It costs money to do that. We have to pay for the costs of the policing that takes place in the course of the enforcement of these injunctions,” Farnworth said.

RCMP enforcement in contravention of UNDRIP: Indigenous leaders

The RCMP operations were quickly condemned by human rights advocates and Indigenous leaders.

“Under the governance of their Hereditary Chiefs, the Wet’suwet’en are standing in the way of the largest fracking project in Canadian history — today’s raid constitutes a federal response to Indigenous defense of their land against this fracking project,” Grand Chief Stewart Phillip, president of the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs, said in a statement. 

“The rights of Indigenous Peoples to live free of violence and intimidation in their own homelands must never be subjugated to the interests of fossil fuel companies.”

K̓áwáziɫ Marilyn Slett, elected Chief councillor of the Heiltsuk Tribal Council, noted the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples visited Canada in February and met with Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs and land defenders, including Woos’ daughter.

“His preliminary report after the visit raised the exact concerns that we have raised again and again — that the criminalization of Indigenous human rights defenders is rampant and must be stopped,” she said in a statement. “Today’s raid is in contravention of the [United Nations] Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples which both Canada and B.C. have passed legislation to implement, and is a gross display of the ongoing supremacy of the colonial military industrial complex.”

A Wet’suwet’en land defender films an RCMP vehicle assigned to the force’s Community-Industry Response Group, shortly after police arrested five land defenders. Photo: Matt Simmons / The Narwhal

Sleydo’ Molly Wickham, spokesperson for the Gidimt’en camp, said the police actions reflect a long history of injustice to Indigenous Peoples. 

“The constant threat of violence and criminalization for merely existing on our own lands must have been what our ancestors felt when Indian agents and RCMP were burning us out of our homes as late as the ‘50s in our area,” she said in a statement.

Gisday’wa frowned when asked how he felt about the police enforcement.

“What they’re doing out here, they’re just doing that to bully the people here, the land protectors — it’s not right. This is our own land.”

All five land defenders were released from custody and told to appear in court in July.

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.

Eight different groups will have the chance to weigh in on the fate of B.C.’s mining system this April. In a recent decision, the B.C. Supreme Court allowed groups representing Indigenous communities, human rights, environmental advocacy and the mining industry to present statements in a precedent-setting legal challenge to the province’s mineral tenure system. 

The B.C. Supreme Court will be deciding whether or not the way the province permits mining exploration is “unconstitutional.” The exploration process being challenged is called the “free-entry system” and it has its roots in B.C.’s gold rush era. 

The current system allows anyone to stake a mineral claim without consulting Indigenous communities or private landowners. Anyone age 18 or older can go online, review a map of the province and make a mineral claim with a few clicks on an available plot of land. A claim holder can then access the land for exploration and development. 

Kendra Johnston, president of the Association for Mineral Exploration B.C., previously told the Narwhal that only one in 10,000 exploration projects will ever become a mine.

But claims alone can prevent Indigenous communities from protecting an area. Gitxaała Nation and Ehattesaht First Nation are leading the challenge against the B.C. government, arguing that the current free-entry system does not align with the government’s duty to consult with First Nations and has impacted their rights and title to the land.

The current system is “a relic of colonization,” Union of BC Indian Chiefs Grand Chief Stewart Phillip said to a crowded room of supporters and media in mid-December. “In this day and age, somebody can huddle over their keyboard in a dark basement and file a claim to tens of thousands of acres of Indigenous lands without any consultation whatsoever; without any notification,” Stewart said ahead of court hearings.

Union of BC Indian Chiefs Grand Chief Stewart Phillip supports the Gitxaała legal challenge. “This represents hope,” he said. Photo: Jimmy Jeong / The Narwhal

The Union of BC Indian Chiefs was part of one of the groups requesting intervenor status mid-December. An intervenor is a group or individual allowed to make legal arguments in a case other than the individual or group who brought the case forward. The court must give permission for an intervenor to submit its position and can impose limitations on how that position is presented.

In December, eight groups representing 19 different First Nations, Indigenous organizations, human rights and environmental groups as well as mineral exploration and the mining industry were seeking intervenor status. On Jan. 6, the court decided all eight groups have the right to intervene.

Sm’ooygit Nees Hiwaas (Matthew Hill), Gitxaała Hereditary Chief launched this case in October 2021. Chief Simon John of Ehattesaht First Nation launched a similar petition in June 2022. The two cases joined last September. Gitxaała seeks a declaration that the Crown failed to meet their duty to consult with their leadership as required by B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act, they want multiple claims in their territory to be quashed and the online mineral and title system suspended in their territory.

One mining exploration company will be intervening in support of Gitxaała: First Tellurium Corp., an exploration junior with a mineral project outside of Smithers. “We believe going forward, the [United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples]’s fundamental proposition of free, prior and informed consent must be at the heart of mineral exploration and mining tenures in British Columbia,” Tony Fogarassy, Chairperson of First Tellurium said at a press conference before the court hearings.

But not all exploration companies agree. A group made up of the Association for Mineral Exploration, the Mining Association of British Columbia and the Prospectors and Developers Association of Canada will be intervening to lobby against changing the free-entry system. 

“Any significant disruption” to the improvements and collaborative work currently underway to align with B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act, “poses a risk to investors in existing mines and proposed exploration work,” Michael Goehring, president and CEO of the Mining Association of British Columbia, said in an affidavit. He also expressed concerns that changing the system would cause short-term impact to small communities across the province and long-term economic impact to the “viability of the mining industry.”

Eight groups representing First Nations, Indigenous organizations, human rights and environmental groups as well as mineral exploration and the mining industry asked the court to have a say in this case, requesting “intervenor status.” On Jan. 6, the court decided all eight groups will have that right. Photo: Jimmy Jeong / The Narwhal

‘We decided to take a stand’: Gitxaała leadership

After a long day of court hearings in December, Gitxaała leadership, allied nations and mining justice advocates met for a fundraising event to help cover the legal costs of the case. This is a “once-in-a-generation chance to strike down gold-rush era laws that violate rights and desecrate Indigenous lands and waters,” read the invite from West Coast Environmental Law BC Mining Law Reform, Gitxaala Nation and Respecting Aboriginal Values and Environmental Needs, a charity that raises money for Indigenous legal challenges.

In front of a room of supporters, Hill shared how overwhelming mining damage has been for his people. In 2015, Yellow Giant mine discharged tailings and effluent into waterways, wetlands and forest of Banks Island, in Gitxaała territory approximately 60 kilometres southwest of Prince Rupert, part of the Great Bear Rainforest. The provincial government ordered a shut-down of the site the same year. “The damage is severe, it’s almost non-repairable. For a few years, our people couldn’t harvest their food in that area because of the tailings discharge, into the ocean, right into the harvest bed,” Hill previously told The Narwhal.

Hill shared childhood memories of digging up giant clams and feeling connected to the land. He wants to ensure his people’s land and way of life is protected for future generations.

“When we realized claims were in the middle of our territory we decided to take a stand,” Hill said. 

The Gitanyow will be intervening in support of the Gitxaała. The First Nation declared its territory in northwest B.C. a protected area in 2021 in an attempt to protect critical salmon spawning habitat from claims and potential mining projects. But the claims on the land remain and removing them might require the province to compensate claim holders. Naxginkw (Tara Marsden), wilp sustainability director for the Gitanyow Hereditary Chiefs said that the government has estimated it could cost between four and $7 million to compensate tenure holders on their territory. 

“The shell game the mining industry is playing with Indigenous lands and taxpayer dollars needs to be overhauled,” Marsden said at the fundraising event. 

In 2021, the Gitanyow announced immediate protection of 54,000 hectares of land and water in Gitanyow territory, in northwest B.C., including Strohn Creek. Photo: Ryan Dickie / The Narwhal

The government is currently considering revisions to the Mineral Tenure Act and in his most recent mandate letter to Josie Osborne, Minister of Energy, Mines and Low Carbon Innovation, Premier David Eby asked that “the co-development of a modernized Mineral Tenure Act with First Nations and Indigenous organizations, in alignment with the [Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act] Action Plan commitment” be prioritized.

The court will decide the fate of the province’s free-mining system after a seven-day hearing in April. If it decides to immediately strike down the current system, the Crown argues there would be a policy vacuum for an “income-generating industry” as the province is not prepared to implement an alternative system to dictate how claims would be made or what the duty to consult would look like.

However, if there is a delay in implementation, the Gitxaała lawyers argue there could be a “claim-staking-free-for-all.” Miners will try and stake as many claims as possible before the process is changed and a duty to consult is required.

For Grand Chief Stewart Phillip this case is an opportunity for progressive change in the province. “This represents hope,” he said.

Updated Jan. 17, 2023, at 9:57 a.m. PT: This article has been updated to clarify Michael Goehring’s title. He is president and CEO of the Mining Association of British Columbia not the president of the Association for Mineral Exploration as previously stated.

Updated Jan. April 6, 2023, at 4:56 p.m. PT: This article has been updated to clarify the remedies that Gitxaała is seeking in the case.

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.

Ever since the Doug Ford government proposed its massive, sweeping housing bill, Indigenous chiefs and organizations across Ontario have been urgently reminding the Progressive Conservatives of their legal duty to consult them before making any decisions about land use.

Despite these reminders, consultation didn’t happen, and Ford’s caucus passed the More Homes Built Faster Act, or Bill 23, on Nov. 28 — a move being blasted as a blatant violation of Indigenous Rights. The government is “respectfully advised that development cannot proceed without full recognition of the rights of our Nations,” Nishnawbe Aski Nation Grand Chief Derek said in a statement released hours after the bill’s passage.

He wasn’t the only Indigenous leader to express his opposition. In the days before the bill became law, the Chiefs of Ontario, a group representing First Nations across the province, put out a statement calling it “unacceptable and an abuse of power” for the Ford government to make unilateral changes to how development projects in Ontario are approved without engaging First Nations. 

The Haudenosaunee Development Institute, on behalf of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy Chiefs Council, also wrote to Ontario’s assistant deputy minister of housing before the bill passed. In stating its opposition, the institute said the legislation “will significantly impair, infringe and interfere with the established and constitutionally protected rights and interest of the Haudenosaunee.” 

“At this point we have nothing from your government or the Crown which would indicate that it has undertaken any contemplation or consideration of established Haudenosaunee rights and interests with respect to [Bill 23],” said the letter from Aaron Detlor, a lawyer for the development institute, which protects Haudenosaunee jurisdiction in regards to development on its territories. 

“We would respectfully suggest that the failure to engage in a good faith treaty-based discussion related to accommodations would likely render the proposals unlawful.”

Letter to Municipal Affairs and Housing Minister Steve Clark from the Haudenosaunee Development Institute, on behalf of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy Chiefs Council

The day after the bill was passed, Municipal Affairs and Housing Minister Steve Clark admitted the government did not consult with First Nations beforehand, in response to questions from the political newsletter Queen’s Park Today in a media briefing. “We’re looking forward to conversations with our Indigenous partners,” Clark said. He seemed to punt at least some of the responsibility to municipalities, saying they “also have a role to deal with our Indigenous Partners.” 

“We acknowledge … we have an obligation to continue the consultation with our partners,” he said. “We will continue the conversation.”

Municipal Affairs and Housing Minister Steve Clark said the government is “looking forward” to consultations on Bill 23 with Indigenous communities. Photo: Government of Ontario / Flickr

Ford government knew Indigenous communities’ response to Bill 23 could be ‘negative’

The obligation to consult Indigenous communities on decisions affecting their territories is enshrined in Canada’s constitution. And internal documents have shown the Ford government knew Indigenous communities’ response to its bill would likely be negative well before it passed. In early November, The Narwhal received and reported on a leaked 117-page cabinet document that showed an extensive list of concerns shared with Ontario’s 30 ministers ahead of the tabling of the bill. 

Almost every section of the document anticipates and outlines Indigenous communities’ response to the many changes listed in the bill — and almost every anticipated response is “negative” or “critical.”  

Take one government proposal detailed in the leaked document to launch a “high-level consultation” on the whole bill: the document said “Indigenous communities may be negative due to possible implications on treaty and Aboriginal rights (wetlands and natural heritage).”

“Indigenous communities: will be critical of reduced protections and provincial oversight”

One of the conclusions in a 117-page leaked document about Bill 23 written for Ford’s cabinet and shared with The Narwhal

Bill 23 makes multiple changes to the municipal planning process, giving towns and cities greater responsibility for reviewing and approving development plans while reducing financial and administrative support. The leaked document noted this would mean “Indigenous partners with treaty rights in affected areas will react negatively to changing relationships,” as well as to monitoring and consulting on an increased volume of development applications without an increase in resources. 

The government has also removed some of the powers municipalities had to regulate sustainable  development — the document noted this would probably create concerns among Indigeneous communities “that their cultural heritage may not be well captured.” The gutting of conservation authorities and weakening of wetland protections was also highlighted as a key concern for Indigenous communities, due to the “reduced scope of protections for wetlands and watercourses.” 

The Ford government has said Bill 23’s sweeping changes are necessary to speed up housing construction in Ontario. “Indigenous communities: will be critical of reduced protections and provincial oversight,” the document noted. 

Chief Kelly LaRocca of Mississaugas of Scugog Island First Nation told The Narwhal she’s not surprised by the details of the internal document or Clark’s comments. 

“This government’s violation of Indigenous Rights is nothing new,” said LaRocca, who sent a letter on behalf of her own First Nation on Nov. 17.

Indigenous communities say every parcel of land impacted by Doug Ford’s Bill 23 is Indigenous land and cannot be developed without proper consultation. Photo: Sean Marshall / Flickr

Ford government has a history of avoiding Indigenous consultation

This is not the first time the Ford government has either avoided consulting with Indigenous groups about development or shifted the responsibility onto local governments. Prior to Bill 23, a number of First Nations in Ontario had opposed the Ford government’s unprecedented use of minister’s zoning orders, or MZOs, a controversial provincial planning tool that allows the municipal affairs and housing minister to rezone land to fast-track development and overrule municipal decisions. 

In 2021, LaRocca’s community was one of a number of groups raising concerns about a minister’s zoning order issued in an attempt to speedily build an Amazon warehouse in the protected Duffins Creek watershed, near her nation. Although the order was revoked and the project cancelled, most of the wetland was recently cleared and tilled anyway. 

That same year, as reported by the Toronto Star, a group of First Nations launched legal action against the province for issuing a minister’s zoning order for a warehouse in Cambridge, Ont. One of the opposing communities was Six Nations of the Grand River, a Haudenosaunee community: after the legal action was launched, Clark’s office rebuked Cambridge’s mayor for not consulting them before asking for the order. 

In addition to the constitution, the government’s duty to consult Indigenous Peoples about land use is enshrined in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: while Canada recognized the declaration in 2021, the Ford government has still not officially recognized it in the legislature. 

The Lower Duffins Creek wetland, near the Mississaugas of Scugog Island First Nation, is supposed to be protected from development but may be impacted by Ford’s Bill 23. Like all the wetlands in Ontario, it acts as a natural sponge during floods. Photo: Toronto and Region Conservation Authority

The federal government has already warned the Ford government about upholding the duty to consult: documents obtained by The Narwhal show that after conversations with Six Nations and Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation, the Trudeau government told the Ford government in 2021 that insufficient consultation on Highway 413 could result in an intervention and delay the project for years. 

The federal government was also brought into a development dispute between Six Nations, Ontario and the municipality of Caledonia in 2020, when members of the Haudenosaunee communities resisted a housing development at a land defence dubbed 1492 Land Back Lane. 

In August of that year, both Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Premier Ford addressed the standoff: according to APTN, Trudeau said “all orders of government have the responsibilities toward [reconciliation],”, while Ford called himself “a strong believer in collaboration, in sitting down, communicating.” 

Later that year, Ontario’s Indigenous Affairs ministry told the Toronto Star it was willing to participate in “federally led” discussions about the standoff, which lasted about a year and involved a court injunction aimed at dismantling the land defence camp, as well as police raids and arrests. The housing project was eventually cancelled. 

Chief Kelly LaRocca of Mississaugas of Scugog Island First Nation says the Ford government’s lack of consultation on Bill 23 is “nothing new” and “smacks of disrespect for Indigenous Rights.” Photo provided by Kelly LaRocca

Despite prior friction over Indigenous consultation and its advance warning about the failures of Bill 23, the Ford government has gone ahead with its legislation. 

LaRocca said she was not invited to any formal consultation, despite her vocal opposition to the bill and repeated request for discussions. “As we now know from Minister Clark directly, the government did not intend to consult with Indigenous communities.”

“Bill 23 impacts Indigenous lands, treaty commitments and rights on multiple levels,” LaRocca said, adding First Nations have a right to manage their territories, natural resources and environment. “The government’s decision to pass Bill 23, knowing that consultation had not taken place, suggests a wanton disregard for our constitutionally protected rights.”

“Reconciliation is about trust,” she added. “Seeing the government so blatantly ignoring the duty to consult smacks of disrespect for Indigenous Rights and the basic democratic processes intended to serve every citizen.” 

In its letter, the Chiefs of Ontario anticipated Clark’s statement that Indigenous consultation could be done by municipalities, writing, “The Government of Ontario can no longer avoid its duty to consult with First Nations by delegating responsibilities and obligations to municipalities, developers and project proponents.” 

Kahentiio Maracle, team coordinator at the Haudenosaunee Development Institute and a member of the Bear Clan from Tyendinaga Mohawk territory, said the government was being “unfair” in making unilateral decisions to develop “land that was never owned in the beginning.” Photo: Fatima Syed / The Narwhal

Environmental impacts of development also a concern for Indigenous groups

In its letter on behalf of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy Chiefs Council, the Haudenosaunee Development Institute bluntly reminded Ontario’s assistant deputy minister of housing of how the government was forced to revoke its zoning order for the Amazon warehouse in Pickering, as well as of its duty to respect Indigenous jurisdiction. 

“We’re on land that was never owned in the beginning, so it’s unfair of them to say they’re ripping up things, that they’re going to dig the land up and make money of it,” Kahentiio Maracle, team coordinator at the institute and a member of the Bear Clan from Tyendinaga Mohawk territory, told The Narwhal.

As well as Indigenous Rights, the institute’s letter spoke to the overlapping environmental impact of the bill’s sweeping changes. “The impairment and infringement that could arise from your proposed plans are particularly significant if and when the cumulative impacts are considered and contemplated,” the letter said. Detlor, the lawyer who wrote the letter, told The Narwhal the institute is giving the government one more week to respond before they “examine their options.”

“Every single parcel of land impacted by Bill 23 in Indigenous land,” he said. “The government is prioritizing development over sacred and solemn promises.”

LaRocca said the impacts of Bill 23 will be far reaching for First Nations across Ontario. She has growing concerns about the loss of major natural spaces like Lake Scugog, the Oak Ridges Moraine and the Carruthers Creek watershed, all of which act as natural safeguards against flooding and which are already under threat. Bill 23 removes or weakens many of the remaining regulations that protect those areas.

“Paving over this land will speed up this decline, and expose us more to the adverse consequences of climate change,” LaRocca said. “Planning decisions must balance the need for growth with responsible, evidence-based environmental protections and mitigation strategies — a position of which we have ensured the government is made aware.”

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.