There were times over the last five years, when Chief Russell Myers Ross wondered whether his dream of creating a solar farm would ever become a reality.

There were studies and more studies, funding applications, community discussions and back and forth talks with BC Hydro and the provincial government. Then there were little hitches, such as deciding on the Riverwest Sawmill site, 80-kilometres west of Williams Lake, and then discovering that one parcel was partially owned by another company.

“We had to find a way to make it 100 per cent our ownership … It took $80,000 to sort of buy them out,” Myers Ross said.

Once construction started, with apprentices from the six Tsilhqot’in communities learning the trade, the weather refused to cooperate, even though the Chilcotin is among B.C.’s top five solar hotspots. Instead of the expected sun, torrential rains brought monsoon conditions to the area in July as construction workers tried to lay cables in muddy trenches.

“You feel like it’s never going to be done,” said Myers Ross, vice-chair of Tsilhqot’in National Government and chief of Yunesit’in First Nation.

The Tsilhqot’in Solar Farm. Photo: EcoSmart

Project granted 25-year power purchase agreement with BC Hydro

Last month the 3,456 panel solar farm held its grand opening and is now waiting for BC Hydro to complete the hookup so power from the sun can flow into the grid. 

The Tsilhqot’in company that oversaw the project, Dandzen Development Corporation, has a 25-year electricity purchase agreement with BC Hydro. 

Susie Rieder, BC Hydro spokesperson said there is not yet a firm date for “completion of the interconnection process.”

The solar farm is one of five shovel-ready projects with “significant Indigenous Nations involvement” approved last year as part of a benefit agreement with BC Hydro. The program was suspended indefinitely when, following approval of the Site C dam on the Peace River, the province ordered BC Hydro to reconsider its power procurement policies.

Myers Ross is happy that the Tsilhqot’in project squeezed in under the wire and, even without the final connection and despite the construction challenges, he is breathing a sigh of relief. 

“This is a really rewarding one for me personally,” he told The Narwhal.

Chief Russell Myers Ross. Photo: Tsilhqot’in National Government / Facebook

“This is the first project to generate our own source of revenue for our Tsilhqot’in organization and the community, which is significant for our overall goal of self-sufficiency,” he said.

The solar farm, with panels lined in 216 sections on a two-hectare site, will provide 1.25 megawatts, creating 1,500 megawatt hours of power annually, which is enough to power about 135 homes.

The project is expected to generate about $175,000 a year in annual revenue.

“It’s not a big moneymaker. It is sort of modest, but it gets us on our way. It’s a big accomplishment and it is one of the first building blocks to getting revenue and being able to use the money where we want to allocate it, with no strings attached,” Myers Ross said.

Project entirely Indigenous owned and operated

The project is the largest solar farm of its kind in B.C. and the only one that is 100 per cent owned and operated by a First Nation.

The final result is “pretty impressive,” said Gabe Pukacz, a Yunesit’in councillor and construction manager for the project.

Specialists and companies familiar with solar installations, such as EcoSmart, were hired to help with technical aspects, but many of the skills were learned by the on-the-ground workers as the job progressed, Pukacz said.

“It was pretty good. The workers made life easy … All my labourers were Tsilhqot’in,” he said.

Now, everyone is waiting for the hookup. Pukacz said.

“It will be interesting to find out what the capabilities of producing power will be during the least efficient sunlight hours in November,” he said.

‘A huge economic win for our nation’

Chief Joe Alphonse, Tsilhqot’in National Government tribal chair, hopes the solar farm inspires other Indigenous communities — in Canada and around the world — to look at clean power opportunities.

“Energy and electricity has been lacking in the territory for a long time, despite one of the longest stretches of hydro in Canada, so we welcome the opportunity for business and to improve the well-being of our people,” Alphonse said in a news release.

Chief Joe Alphonse of the Tl’etinqox Nation stands outside the band office in Anaham, B.C. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

In B.C., Indigenous led solar projects include plans by the Upper Nicola Band for a huge solar farm on the Quilchena Reserve and the T’Souke First Nation on Vancouver Island that has been providing solar power to homes on the reserve for more than a decade.

Even with power expected to be generated by Site C, there is increasing evidence that more renewable energy sources will be needed as B.C. makes the transition to clean energy. A University of Victoria study, released this week, found that in order to electrify transportation, which produces one third of the province’s greenhouse gas emissions, the province will need to generate up to 60 per cent more electricity.

In a move in that direction, the provincial government announced this week that, as part of its CleanBC program, $16.5-million will be available to remote, diesel-dependent communities to help with capital costs of renewable electricity projects. Most of the communities eligible to apply for Renewable Energy for Remote Communities funds — which are available through Coast Funds and the Fraser Basin Council — are Indigenous and off-grid.

For the Tsilhqot’in and others living in the surrounding area, the solar farm will beef up the weak 250-kilometre power line that runs from Williams Lake to Tatla Lake, which has prevented some industries from locating to the area and has forced some businesses to partially rely on diesel generators.

Other projects may follow as the Tsilhqot’in Nation Government is currently creating a clean energy plan, looking at the territory and considering what might be available from micro-hydro, geothermal and biomass.

The push for economic independence comes in the wake of the 2014 landmark title case, when the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that the Tsilhqot’in hold Aboriginal title to about 1,750 square-kilometres of land.

The Tsilhqot’in solar farm on the former site of the Riverwest Sawmill, 80-kilometres west of Williams Lake. Photo: Kai Nagata

Other economic development projects under consideration include boosting tourism in Xeni Gwet’in, a mobile concrete batch plant to help with housing and infrastructure construction and a chip mill.

The need to look for new avenues of revenue that fit with Indigenous culture and traditions has been underlined by the Tsilhqot’in in light of crashing caribou populations, lack of salmon and hunting restrictions on moose following the 2017 wildfires that saw wildlife populations reduced or moving to other areas.

“The solar farm is a huge economic win for our nation,” Alphonse said.

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.

Editor’s note: On Thursday, May 14, 2020 the Supreme Court of Canada rejected an appeal by Taseko Mines in a decision many say is the end of the New Prosperity mine.

It’s early morning, the loons are calling into the silence of the Nemiah Valley and the glacial blue waters of Chilko Lake are cold. Very cold.

The brand-new, 21-foot Highfield boat, bought by Xeni Gwet’in First Nation to enforce Tsilhqot’in laws on Chilko Lake, docks at the pebble beach on a small island and Chief Jimmy Lulua dives in.

Where the road through the Nemiah Valley in Tsilhqot’in territory ends, Chilko Lake begins. The mountains that rise from its shores offer a stark contrast to the open landscape of the Xeni Gwet’in traditional territory. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

A quick dry-off and Lulua is ready to give a history lesson.

“We have always owned this land. Everywhere you look belongs to us. The land is who we are as Tsilhqot’in people. We say we are people of the river, people of the blue water,” he said.

“This is not B.C., this is not Canada. The jurisdiction is ours,” he said.

Grass glows in a Nemiah Valley field backlit by the rising sun. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Chief Jimmy Lulua of the Xeni Gwet’in was elected in a 2018 landslide victory and is continuing the band’s decades-long fight against Taseko Mines’ proposed New Prosperity Mine at Fish Lake. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Neither is it the Wild West, Lulua emphasized and, Tsilhqot’in communities are working quickly to figure out how to control activities in a vast territory that, for the first time in Canadian history, has been legally acknowledged as belonging to Indigenous people who have used the land for thousands of years.

In a precedent-setting 2014 decision, the Supreme Court of Canada unanimously ruled that the Tsilhqot’in Nation held Aboriginal title to almost 1,800 kilometres of land in central B.C., southwest of Williams Lake. The title land covers the Nemiah Valley and stretches north into the Brittany Triangle, along the Chilko River and part of Chilko Lake. That means the Tsilhqot’in Nation, made up of six communities including Xeni Gwet’in, has the right to exclusive use and control of the land.

In 2014 the Tsilhqot’in won a 25-year legal battle when the Supreme Court of Canada ruled the nation held Aboriginal title to almost 1,800 kilometres of land in central B.C. A larger area has been legally declared as a place where Tsilqot’in have rights to hunt, trap, fish and trade. Taseko Mines’ proposed New Prosperity mine is within this larger rights area, and also within an area the Tsilqot’in delcared as a tribal park in 2014. Map: Dezine Studio / The Narwhal

A larger area claimed by the First Nation, including Dasiqox Tribal Park, has been legally declared as Tsilhqot’in rights land, giving the right to hunt, trap, fish and trade. But, it remains a grey area where rules can be unclear.

The rights land includes Fish Lake, known as Teztan Biny, an area of profound cultural and spiritual significance, and ground zero for an almost 30-year fight against Taseko Mines Ltd. That fight is reigniting as the mining company pushes to conduct extensive explorations while the Tsilhqot’in Nation remains adamant that Taseko equipment will not be allowed into the territory.

“Fish Lake is our most sacred area and it’s a burial ground. It’s our highest level of church in non-native terms,” Lulua said.

“What would happen if I went to Williams Lake and said I need to look through those graves because there’s probably jewelry or something there and I want to make money?”

Teztan Biny, or Fish Lake, located high in the Chilcotin Plateau near the Nemiah Valley, has been at the epicentre of a standoff between the Tsilhqot’in First Nation and Taseko Mines for almost three decades. Despite two rejections by the federal government the company continues to attempt to push forward with exploratory drilling around the lake. Photo: Jeffrey Gibbs / Tsilhqot’in national government

Taseko’s plans to build the New Prosperity mine to access a large copper and gold deposit has twice been rejected by the federal government, but — on Christy Clark’s last day in office — when Tsilhqot’in communities were on wildfire evacuation, the province granted an exploration permit to the company.

That permit, upheld by the courts, gives Taseko the go-ahead to build 76 kilometres of roads and trails, 122 geotechnical drill sites, 367 trench or pit tests, 20 kilometres of seismic lines and a 50-person work camp. It expires July 2020, but Taseko could apply for an extension.

The Tsilhqot’in Nation was caught in the crossfire as Clark left the NDP with a grenade, said Chief Joe Alphonse, Tsilhqot’in national government chairman.

Chief Joe Alphonse of the Tl’etinqox Nation stands outside the band office in Anaham, B.C. Alphonse has been outspoken in his criticism of the Taseko proposal to build New Prosperity Mine at Teztan Biny or Fish Lake. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

“They were doing a little favour for their friends on their last day in office. That’s corruption,” he said.

The bottom line is the mine cannot be built without federal approval and Tsilhqot’in people are adamant the exploration is not going to happen, Alphonse said.

‘Companies have to adapt’

Tsilhqot’in are not opposed to development, provided it is the right project, in the right place, with consultation from the get-go and fair profit-sharing, Alphonse said, emphasizing that Taseko has not met any of the criteria.

“Societies and companies have to adapt and, with our title case, companies have to learn to work in partnership with First Nations people. Ten years from now, it’s the companies that have done so that are going to be excelling,” he said.

Some mining companies are learning to work with the new reality, agreed Chief Russell Myers Ross, Tsilhqot’in national government vice-chairman.

“But, for whatever reasons, this company has decided to ignore all ethical principles.”

Chief Russell Myers Ross of the Yunesit’in band — one of the Tsilhqot’in bands strongly opposed to the New Prosperity Mine proposal at Fish Lake — sits outside his government’s band office on the Stone Reserve, 100 kilometres west of Williams Lake. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

The legal battle against Taseko, which has cost the First Nation millions of dollars and absorbed infinite time and energy, is one reason Tsilhqot’in leaders hope to eventually wrap the entire 4,400 square kilometres into declared title land.

“There’s no place like this,” said Lulua, gesturing at the snow-patched Coast Mountains framing the lake.

“And there’s no one that can manage this area like we can. We will definitely go for more. We are not stopping until we have 100 per cent of Tsilhqot’in territory. Our people are pretty persistent.”

Both sides are now waiting for a B.C. Supreme Court decision, expected in early September, on competing injunction applications.

“Earth is the one that’s going to save us, not Safeway.”

The applications were filed last month after Taseko workers were turned back by a Tsilhqot’in roadblock. The company is applying to prohibit the Tsilhqot’in from interfering with its exploratory drilling program, while the Tsilhqot’in national government is applying for an injunction to stop the exploration program until there is a full trial of the claim that the drilling program is an unjustified infringement of proven Aboriginal rights.

Opposition to Taseko is almost universal around the remote, off-grid Nemiah Valley. It is a community where households use solar power or generators and most residents have no wish to see power line construction or huge trucks tearing up roads where children ride horses and play and herds of horses are often found grazing along the ditches.

Outside the band office in Xeni Gwet’in, Gilbert Solomon and Alex Lulua, both residential school survivors, have little time for Taseko or any company that wants to ride roughshod over Indigenous land rights.

“If they go in there, there will be big, mucho karma. The mountain will come down,” Solomon predicted, semi-joking.

Alex Lulua (left) and Gilbert Solomon, two Xeni Gwet’in band members, stand outside the Nemiah Valley gas station. They, like almost all of the valley’s residents, are strongly opposed to Taseko’s proposed New Prosperity Mine. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

“These people don’t know how to play nice. That’s why we don’t play with them. They are saying there will be benefits? Huh, we don’t want your stupid money. … The material world is not good. Earth is the one that’s going to save us, not Safeway. This is our Safeway,” said Solomon, gesturing at the surrounding meadows and mountains.

Alex Lulua was among those who took part in the latest blockade and is willing to stand in opposition for as long as it takes.

“We never gave up the land or ceded it. They are the greedy ones. They just want to make money. They have no respect for burial sites,” he said.

“The only good thing that would come out of a mine is that they would give us a handful of the dirtiest work. All the good work would go to people with degrees. The land is going to be lost forever and then they will leave. Look at Mount Polley.”

On August 4, 2014, a tailings pond full of copper and gold mining waste breached at the Mount Polley mine, spilling an estimated 25 billion litres of contaminated materials into Polley Lake, Hazeltine Creek and Quesnel Lake, a source of drinking water and major spawning grounds for sockeye salmon. No fines have been levied and no charges have been laid five years after the disaster.

Concern for the land and animals is echoed by Doris William, 77, who now lives in a small house in Xeni Gwet’in, but who grew up at Fish Lake living off the land.

Doris William, an elder of the Xeni Gwet’in band, lived off the land near Teztan Biny or Fish Lake between 1948 and 1972. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

“I don’t want them to spoil the land and poison the river, but it’s hard to tell if it can be stopped. They keep coming back,” she said with a hint of resignation.

Further down the gravel road, which alternates between dust and puddles of uncertain depth, a handful of Xeni Gwet’in cowboys are roping and branding calves before heading out to inspect the growing population of wild horses with the aim of culling the infirm and identifying promising youngsters.

As the branding iron is heated in the fire and anxious calves are wrestled to the ground, Roger William, Xeni Gwet’in chief during the rights and title case, reflected on how Taseko wants to change life in the Nemiah Valley.

Mike Hawkridge, Emery Phillips and James Lulua tag and brand a calf in a pen on the outskirts of the Nemiah Valley. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

‘You can’t eat gold’

Taseko cannot drill without impacting Indigenous rights, William said.

“It’s not a good place for a mine. They are just messing with the place. They will open the roads and then say we can’t hunt or fish out there. If they approve it, the place will be contaminated for how long? And the taxpayer will be paying,” he said.

Former Xeni Gwet’in chief Roger William photographed at a cattle pen near the entrance to the Nemiah Valley. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Emery Phillips, a veteran of a previous roadblock, cannot understand why Taseko keeps pushing to tear up the ground when, without federal approval, the mine cannot be built.

“You can’t eat gold and it can’t go ahead. It’s all greed. The investors want their money,” he said, breaking off to rope another calf.

Emery Phillips, a cowboy from the Nemiah Valley, takes a break before branding calves. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

The modern day history of activism in Xeni Gwet’in goes back to 1989 when the Nemiah Declaration was first adopted, setting out firm rules for how the community saw its future ⁠— no mining or mining exploration, no commercial road building, no flooding or dam building.

And the final sentence: “We are prepared to enforce and defend our Aboriginal rights in any way we are able.”

The Nemiah Declaration was the basis for two decades of litigation, culminating in the successful ruling in the rights and title case and, in 2015, the Tsilhqot’in Nation enacted the Declaration as its first law.

Annie Williams, former chief of the Xeni Gwet’in band, holds the Nemiah Declaration of 1989. She, along with elders, lawyers and others, was instrumental in formalizing the document, which helped lead to the Tsilhqot’in’s precedent-setting 2014 victory in the Supreme Court decision that gave them rights and title to much of their traditional lands. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Annie Williams was Xeni Gwet’in chief when the idea of the declaration was first raised at a general assembly.

“We could see the clearcuts encroaching. At first, all we were trying to do was stop the logging that was coming up the road,” she said.

The clearcuts were an affront to people who use every part of trees harvested and take pride in leaving the area as if it had never been used, Williams said.

“Our elders always say we do not own any land, we look after the land,” she said.

Discussions with the community and elders produced the declaration, which was first written in Tsilhqot’in and then in English.

“Our elders said at the time, this is not something for us today, we need to find a way to the future,” Williams said.

Mine twice rejected by federal government

Taseko’s plan for an open-pit copper and gold mine was twice rejected by the federal government, initially after a scathing Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency panel report concluded that the plan to use Fish Lake as a tailings pond would cause extensive damage to the environment and Indigenous rights.

Taseko returned with a second application that included an untested plan to cut off the water source to Fish Lake and recirculate water.

“It was a grand plan that tried to sway the powers-that-be, but that’s no way to have a lake operate. It would be nothing but a large aquarium,” said Richard Holmes, a biologist and environmental consultant who works with the Tsilhqot’in national government and Xeni Gwet’in.

Fish Lake has excellent rainbow trout used to stock other lakes and, in addition to the eyebrow-raising plan for the lake, extensive damage was done by Taseko during its exploration nine years ago when all the timber was removed, affecting drainage, Holmes said.

Once again, the panel concluded Taseko’s plan would risk unmitigable environmental damage, but before the Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency ruling, the former provincial Liberal government jumped in and gave their stamp of approval.

Pre-dawn in the Nemiah Valley where expansive ranchlands and majestic mountains meet. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

In 2010 the B.C. Environmental Assessment Office handed Taseko a certificate which gave the company five years to start work. The certificate was renewed in 2015, but expires Jan. 14, 2020, unless there has been a substantial start. A spokesman for the Ministry of Energy, Mines and Petroleum Resources said that, if the certificate expires, the company will have to start from scratch with the Environmental Assessment Office working with the proponent to determine what parts of the expired certificate are still relevant.

Bizarrely, the exploration permit is not tied to the expiry of the Environmental Assessment Certificate.

Taseko Mines Ltd. contributed $137,450 to the B.C. Liberals between 2008 and 2017, while CEO Russell Hallbauer donated more than $96,000 and company chair Ronald Thiessen donated more than $64,000. 

“Line their pockets and then they get protected. Why spend all this money on title and rights when you can just send money to politicians?” Jimmy Lulua asked.

Political donations by unions and corporations were banned in B.C. in 2017, after the NDP took power. Donations from individuals are also now limited to $1,200 per year. 

Alphonse said the Tsilhqot’in have done the research and offered the province an escape route from the exploration permit.

Fish Lake is archeologically rich and the Mineral Tenure Act allows a permit to be withdrawn because of high archaeological potential, Alphonse said.

“If they withdraw the permit based on heritage and spiritual grounds, there is no way the company can sue them, by law. So why are they not doing it?” Alphonse asked.

A ministry spokesman said special archaeological significance was considered before the exploration permit was approved and Taseko must meet conditions to protect archaeological resources and “mitigate impacts on cultural heritage resources” including hiring a “qualified cultural heritage monitor” to do an assessment before the ground is dug up.

But in an apparent inherent contradiction in B.C.’s mining legislation, although the minister has the power to protect the area under the Mineral Tenure Act “as a mineral tenure holder, Taseko is entitled to undertake exploratory work.”

To Tsilhqot’in chiefs, it is another indication that the province is failing to act.

After winning the title and rights case, it is galling that Tsilhqot’in are being forced to risk jail by taking part in road blocks, Myers Ross said.

“I think it’s hard to believe there are not levers in government so that, if they see there’s a conflict, they could intervene. For First Nations, it seems there is still a political gap when it comes to involvement and protection of our rights,” he said.

‘John Horgan has failed to turn up’

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau visited the territory last year to apologize for the unjustified hanging of Tsilhqot’in chiefs in 1864 and the federal government has stood firm on refusing to approve the mine, but B.C. Premier John Horgan has not visited the territory, even though he has the power to step in and stop an escalating situation that is likely to result in a head-on collision, Lulua said.

“John Horgan has failed to turn up at a time when our back is against the wall. He has the power to end this at the stroke of a pen, to avoid all the conflict and to (ensure) the safety of Taseko Mines and the safety of our people, but he’s sitting on the sidelines hoping it’s going to blow over,” he said.

Horgan was not available to speak on the issue.

Children from the Nemiah Valley summer school go for a swim in Konni Lake in the heart of the valley. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Myers Ross understands the province is in a tough position, especially as the permit is a statutory decision, meaning it is in the hands of a civil servant rather than politicians.

“(Horgan) is being told it’s a $1-billion liability, so it’s hanging over their head and they are trying to protect the public funds and not pay one cent to the company,” he said.

“But, for a company like this, that will never have our respect, it’s probably better that there should be some level of a buyout and that land should be secured for us.”

Standing on a hill, overlooking Chilko Lake, behind her Nemiah Valley home, Marilyn Baptiste wonders why Tsilhqot’in are being forced to continue fighting.

“It’s ludicrous, it’s just stupid. The company is on welfare anyway,” she said, echoing a broadly held belief that Taseko is looking to recoup money by suing if the licence is pulled and that the project is being kept on the books to keep shareholders happy.

The company’s website states that “development of this large-scale deposit would be a major step towards transforming Taseko into a strongly positioned mid-tier mining company.”

“All they have to do is … continue to raise those shares so they can continue to destroy our lands and our water,” said Baptiste, a former Xeni Gwet’in chief who was given the prestigious Goldman Environmental Award, one of the world’s largest awards for environmental activism, for her role in twice defeating the mine proposal.

Baptiste prepared submissions for the Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency in 2010 and in 2011 led a one-woman blockade to stop crews accessing the mine site. Now she fears more blockades will be needed.

Marilyn Baptiste stands on the top of Bald Mountain in the centre of the Nemiah Valley. Baptiste, who served as Xeni Gwet’in chief from 2008 to 2013, won the Goldman Environmental Prize for her work defending Teztan Biny, or Fish Lake, from Taseko Mines proposed gold and copper mine. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

The smell of sage is strong on the wind from the valley and Baptiste wonders whether the spirits of ancestors and Mother Earth have already intervened with unexpected floods that washed out one of the main logging roads and caused a landslide on the main Fish Lake access road just as Taseko crews were preparing to enter the area.

“They are amazing washouts ⁠— I love them,” said Baptiste.

“Now you know why we fight so hard. It’s the land and the water,” she said, gazing at the expanse of pristine lakes, mountains and forests that, unlike surrounding areas, have avoided clearcuts because of the Nemiah Declaration.

The spiritual aspect of protecting the land and ensuring the water remains clean for sockeye and chinook salmon is at the root of Tsilhqot’in beliefs, said Loretta Williams, a former Xeni Gwet’in councillor, who now works for Tsilhqot’in national government.

“Mining companies are getting away with murder. There is no trust after Mount Polley. One thing we are always concerned about is the water. We take our responsibility very seriously as caretakers of the (headwaters) of the Fraser River. Aquifers go through the Fish Lake area and anything you do affects the aquifers,” Williams said.

‘Dinosaur provincial mining laws’

A major problem is dinosaur provincial mining laws that have not been reformed to stop such travesties, Baptiste said.

“The Mining Act is from the beginning of time and the government is there for big industry, they are not protecting the land or protecting their constituents,” Baptiste said.

“You call this reconciliation?” she asked, predicting that, if the mine goes ahead, taxpayers will be left with huge bills for maintaining the road from Williams Lake to the mine and paying for a 125 kilometre transmission line.

“Look at who’s paying for Mount Polley. Not the company. It’s criminal,” she said.

Konni Lake stretches into the distance in the heart of the Nemiah Valley. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

Jimmy Lulua does not disguise his contempt for the mining laws.

“The same laws that created Canada, that created B.C. and the gold rush are still here today. They have more power than a nation that has won title and rights. Why waste 29 years of legal battles and courts when you can simply get a mining permit that will give you more jurisdiction?” he asked.

“Mining laws have to be changed. It’s a new day and age.”

Consultations are underway on changes to the Mineral Tenure Act and a network of experts and environmental organizations is supporting Tsilhqot’in calls for reform.

Andrew Gage of West Coast Environmental Law Association said mining laws must be updated if B.C. wants to build a modern mining sector.

“B.C.’s gold rush-era mining laws, which give mining activity priority over virtually all other land uses, are out of touch with today’s realities,” he said.

Another source of Tsilhqot’in frustration is that the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), which could address some imbalances, has not yet been implemented.

The Tsilhqot’in Nation has submitted an urgent request for investigation to the United Nations special rapporteur on the rights of Indigenous peoples alleging an imminent violation of human rights and pointing out that the province has not implemented UNDRIP.

Jimmy Lulua believes the UN complaint will bring attention to what is happening in the Nemiah Valley.

“It’s more a shaming exercise. It educates the rest of the world on the holes in the B.C. system,” he said.

Ministry of Indigenous Relations and Reconciliation spokeswoman Sarah Plank said elements of UNDRIP have been incorporated in government programs and, this fall, B.C. will be the first province that enshrines UNDRIP into provincial law.

“The legislation will form the foundation for the province’s work on reconciliation, mandating government to bring provincial laws into harmony with the declaration over time,” Plank said in an email.

‘We are guardians of the land’

Following the Tsilhqot’in Nation’s monumental win of Aboriginal title, communities decided to reinforce traditional knowledge programs, double down on teaching the language to young people and emphasize ties to the land.

For people still recovering from residential schools and the ’60s scoop, the rights case was a boost and, now, increasing traditional knowledge is essential to facing future challenges, such as Taseko, Alphonse said.

“For a while, our people were lost, but our younger people are starting to turn more and more back to our old beliefs and our old systems. There has been a big awakening around that front and it’s important to continue to do what we can to protect those areas and protect our spirituality,” he said.

At the Yunesit’in hunting camp, the head of a deer is propped in the corner of the smokehouse while strips of deer jerky hang at the back and, outside, the ribs are slow-cooking over a fire, tended by teenagers and supervised by Merle Quilt.

“Some of them are naturals, some are a bit squeamish,” Quilt said as the uncooked meat was carved into pieces.

“It’s better than having their face buried in a device. They are learning native names for berries and trees and how to give thanks for meat and make sure there is no waste,” he said.

Winston Tallio, 17, believes learning about traditional values saved his life.

“If I didn’t connect with my culture I would have been dead at 15,” he said, noting he’d gotten into drugs.

The basis of Tsilhqot’in culture is protecting the land, Tallio said.

Winston Tallio, a youth from Anahim Lake, B.C., checks deer jerky in the smoking tent of the Yunesit’in traditional hunting camp. Tallio has returned to the land and the wisdom of elders in order to heal himself. Photo: Louis Bockner / The Narwhal

“That mountain has been here for millions of years and it will be there for millions of years. We are guardians of the land. We are not supposed to own it,” he said.

“Protect the land. It can save you or it can kill you, depending on how you treat it.”

And that protection ethos now comes with political clout that is recognized as a beacon of hope in Indigenous communities around the world, said Loretta Williams.

“It’s a battle that we carried on since 1864 when our six chiefs were hung. Since smallpox, since residential school,” she said.

“We are a healing nation. Our battles aren’t with bows and arrows any more. They are on paper, in court rooms with carefully thought out words. Our goal is to create a better future for our people, so we will press on until we achieve that. It’s not over yet.”

Taseko did not respond to calls and emails from The Narwhal.

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Campfires burned on both sides of the road, as drummers and spiritual leaders supported Tsilhqot’in Nation members on a roadblock as contractors for Taseko Mines Ltd. made an unsuccessful push Tuesday to bring heavy equipment into an area considered to have profound cultural and spiritual significance.

The latest salvo in a decades-old battle between Taseko and the Tsilhqot’in started with a handshake. After five minutes of polite conversation and explanations of why the Tsilhqot’in people will never allow the proposed New Prosperity Mine to go ahead, Taseko retreated.

But no one believes this is the end of the company’s bid to build roads and engage in exploratory drilling for an open-pit gold and copper mine 125 kilometres southwest of William’s Lake in the nation’s traditional territory.

“They’re probably going to seek an injunction against us, so they can go in,” Chief Jimmy Lulua of Xeni Gwet’in First Nations Government told The Narwhal.

That will not change the nation’s opposition to the project and the roadblock will stay in place, ready for the next move, Lulua said.

“We have morals, we have ethics, we have a code and a mandate to follow to protect our sacred ground … We have our traditional laws to protect the water and the fish and the salmon and we will stand up against anyone,” he said.

Chief Joe Alphonse, Tsilhqot’in National Government tribal chairman, said the roadblock was necessary to keep the peace and ensure drilling and road-building equipment did not enter the area as feelings are running high and the nation wants to ensure everyone’s safety.

“The project is dead. It cannot be built. Yet the company wants to come in and tear up a place that is as sacred to us as a church,” Alphonse said, adding he is deeply concerned about the escalating conflict.

Open-pit gold and copper mine rejected twice by feds

The area where Taseko wants to conduct exploratory drilling includes the historic Dasiqox Tribal Park and is adjacent to the only area in Canada where aboriginal rights and title have been recognized by the Supreme Court of Canada.

The dispute over the proposed $1.5-billion mine has bounced in and out of the courts for two years since Taseko’s application — which included a plan to drain Fish Lake, known as Teztan Biny — was turned down by the federal government because of the serious effects the mine would have on the environment and Tsilhqot’in culture and rights.

A timeline of the never-ending saga that is the Taseko New Prosperity mine

Undeterred, Taseko returned with a second proposal, also rejected by the federal government. The mine cannot be built without federal approval.

But, in a bizarre twist, in the dying days of the former Christy Clark-led Liberal government, while the Tsilhqot’in people were threatened by wildfires, B.C. granted the company an exploration permit that would allow construction of 76 kilometres of roads and trails, 122 geotechnical drill sites, 367 trench or pit tests, 20 kilometres of seismic lines and a 50-person work camp.

That permit has not been withdrawn despite requests from the Tsilhqot’in asking the provincial government to uphold the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

“We are appealing to them to do the right thing. They have the power and they have the tools, but they appear unwilling to show any leadership,” Lulua said.

The provincial permit was upheld by the B.C. Court of Appeal. Last month, the Supreme Court of Canada denied leave to appeal, clearing the way for Taseko to give notice it was moving in to start the exploration.

“They know the mine is not going to go ahead. All they are looking to do is sue somebody — either our nation or B.C. — to try and recover some of the money they have lost,” charged Lulua, who believes the threat of a lawsuit prevents the province from withdrawing the permit.

“The last time we met with them, they had seven lawyers sitting behind them and they kept looking over their shoulder and they would give them a nod, but at the end of the day they have to make those tough decisions,” he said.

Members of the Tsilhqot’in Nation at Fish Lake, where a new mine has been proposed by Taseko Mines. Photo: Tsilhqot’in Nation

Under B.C.’s Mineral Tenure Act, the province can restrict mineral exploration if the area contains a cultural heritage resource and, in those cases, the law prohibits compensation for lost mineral use.

However, it is unclear whether that would apply to areas where an exploration permit has already been granted and the spectre of the Carrier Lumber case is believed to be one of the considerations

In the 1990s the former NDP government was forced to pay the Carrier Lumber Company of Prince George more than $30 million and hand over 1.5-million cubic metres of wood without stumpage fees after cancelling the company’s timber rights following opposition from First Nations.

In March, in an emailed statement to The Narwhal, the Ministry of Energy, Mines and Petroleum Resources described the dispute as a “longstanding and complex matter that we inherited.”

The province respects the court’s decision that allows Taseko to undertake exploratory work within their mineral lease, but that does not authorize construction of the mine, the statement said.

“Taseko does not have a Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency certificate and the project cannot be built without this federal approval.”

Lulua cannot see the logic.

“You would think these days were behind us. Canada Day just went by, look at the exoneration of our war chiefs by B.C. and Canada and we have had (Prime Minister Justin) Trudeau here in the valley and then they come up with this sort of thing. It just doesn’t make sense,” he said.

Chief Russell Myers Ross, Tsilhqot’in National Government vice-chair, said in a news release that B.C. needs to understand that the Taseko mines proposal will never have the consent of the Tsilhqot’in Nation.

“When the Tsilhqot’in must defend itself from invaders, it brings us back more than 150 years and makes us feel that nothing has changed with regards to Crown and Indigenous relations. The words of exoneration made towards our war leaders by the Crown was meant to recognize wrongs and prevent future conflict,” he said.

Equally inexplicable is the idea of exposing strong sockeye salmon runs in the Chilcotin and Taseko rivers to a possible spill or pollution from mining exploration work when other Fraser River sockeye runs are in deep trouble, Lulua said.

“We have been told that you can tell the health of the people by looking at their rivers and our rivers you can jump in and drink. You can’t do that in many places in the world,” he said.

Taseko did not return calls from The Narwhal.

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As the crow flies, the territory of the Tsilhqot’in Nation lies just 300 kilometres north of Vancouver — but, cut off by the coastal mountains, it feels like a world away.

By car it takes about nine hours to arrive in the heart of the territory from the Lower Mainland, including an hour or two down a dirt road. If you’re one of the lucky few to arrive here, you’ll be standing on the territory of the only First Nation in Canada to win legal title to its land.

On June 26, 2014, the Tsilhqot’in Nation’s 25-year court battle came to an end when the Supreme Court unanimously ruled the nation holds title to approximately 1,900 square kilometres of its traditional territory.

Just months after that historic win, the Tsilhqot’in National Government pushed forward with another statement of its sovereignty — this time the declaration of the Dasiqox Tribal Park, located just outside of the nation’s title lands, but within the area the Supreme Court ruled the Tsilhqot’in have constitutionally protected rights to hunt, fish and trap.

Dasiqox encapsulates an area of about 3,000 square kilometres, including Fish Lake (Teztan Biny), the site of the bitterly contested Prosperity Mine proposals by Taseko Mines Ltd. It includes key grizzly bear habitat and connects surrounding parks to one another to provide corridors for wildlife.

In July, members of the community gathered there — in the precise area that would have been an open-pit mine if Taseko had its way — to celebrate the creation of Dasiqox.

A campfire was burning in the middle of the gathering as I arrived from a harrowing 40-minute drive up a steep gravel track with forest on one side and a sheer cliff on the other.

Chief Roger William of the Xeni Gwet’in was speaking to the crowd, gathered around in a circle.

“We are making history,” William said as I stepped out of my Jeep.

Chief Roger William of the Xeni Gwet’in has spent his entire adult life fighting for the Tsilhqot’in title win in the Supreme Court of Canada.

Nearby, children chased each other in a game of tag. A group of girls sat huddled together, braiding one another’s hair.

“We lived off this land, lived with this land and never destroyed it,” he said.

What Is a Tribal Park?

In that one sentence, William summed up the essential difference between a federal or provincial park and a tribal park.

According to Jack Woodward, a lawyer who quite literally wrote the book on aboriginal law, “the purpose of a regular federal or provincial park is preservation, protection, conservation — which are admirable, laudable objectives that are a little bit 19th century.”

“The purpose of a tribal park, by contrast, is sustainability of the ecosystems necessary to support the aboriginal or treaty rights.”

Woodward fought the Tsilhqot’in title case for a quarter century from inception to victory. He also obtained the historic injunction against logging on Meares Island in March 1985.

When we met in a downtown Victoria taco joint, he adlibbed a chart detailing the differences between tribal parks and other parks between bites of burrito.

When provincial and federal governments create parks they’re generally coming from the perspective that “somehow human beings are alien to the landscape and that human beings shouldn’t be making a living from that land,” Woodward explained.

“A tribal park recognizes the fact that you can still live on the land, and make a living from the land, and actually hunt and fish and trap and harvest those resources and it’s still there for the next generation.”

DASIQOX TRIBAL PARK from The Wilderness Committee on Vimeo.

More than that, part of the goal of tribal parks is cultural revitalization. At the Dasiqox gathering, young and old came together to make rafts, build a fish trap, erect a cabin and sing traditional songs. Eco-tourism is part of the long-term version for the park.

“We’re celebrating the fact we’ve been successful in keeping this place from becoming an open-pit mine,” said Chief Russell Myers Ross of the Yunesit’in, one of the six nations that comprise the Tsilhqot’in Nation.

“A tribal park is something that you can create with almost a blank slate in some ways,” Myers Ross, the lead organizer in the creation of the park, said. “So it’s no longer about saying no to any projects.”

“And we’re not just reacting to provincial or federal government or legislation or actions done onto us. We’re trying to position ourselves to take a proactive lead in how it’s designed and organized.”

He added: “Since the major forces of colonization, we’ve never been in that position.”

Chief Russell Myers Ross strips wood for a cabin at the Dasiqox Tribal Park celebration in July 2015.

The History of Tribal Parks in B.C.

When the Dasiqox Tribal Park was declared on Oct. 4, 2014, it was following in the footsteps of several tribal parks before it. Some have since been formally designated by the provincial or federal governments, while others haven’t.

Take Duu Guusd Tribal Park, established by the Council of the Haida Nation in 1981. Although not initially seen as a formal park, the area was eventually recognized by the provincial government as a heritage site and conservancy.

Meares Island Tribal Park, meantime, was declared by the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation in 1984, but has never been given any provincial or federal recognition. Despite that, an injunction to stop logging on that island has stood for 30 years.

“When the Tla-o-qui-aht case started, our lawyers were young,” William told the crowd.

Eli Enns, a Nuu-chah-nulth political scientist in attendance, recalls the fight to save Meares Island.

“At the time, the words ‘tribal park’ meant nothing more than ‘not a tree farm licence,’ ” he told me. “It behooves us to define our land.”

‘It’s Like a Game of Choose Your Own Adventure’

The wind picks up and blows the campfire’s ashes around as the chiefs drum and sing a Tsilhqot’in war song.

After the chiefs speak, the gathering turns into an open-mic exercise with elders and horse trainers chiming in, while a couple of young women heckle “Chief Roger” for talking too much.

A group of riders spent nine days on horseback to get here from Yunesit’in.

“Even getting lost was beautiful,” one of the riders tells the crowd.

David Williams, president of the Friends of the Nemaiah Valley — a group that supports the Tsilhqot’in Nation in strengthening its culture — was sitting on the edge of the circle.

“Right now, the meaning of tribal park is anyone’s guess,” Williams said. “It’s like a game of choose your own adventure.”

He’s right. Every tribal park is unique. And none have been tested in the courts — yet.

“We’re not certain if tribal parks are recognized by courts,” Woodward told me. “They might be. There hasn’t been a court case. That’s the big one that’s yet to come.”

First Nations ‘Holding Breath’ 

But the Tsilhqot’in aren’t waiting. On the back of the title decision, Chief William’s spirits are buoyed.

“Now there’s hope,” he said. “It’s a game-changer.”

Jonakki Bhattacharyya, an ethnoecologist who has worked with the Tsilhqot’in Nation for ten years, said the title decision has a lot of First Nations looking at how to best protect their territories.

“The Tsilhqot’in decision raised a big question mark in a lot of nations’ minds … it gave a lot of nations momentum,” she said. “There’s a collective holding of breath while everyone looks around and watches what happens.”

However, the term “tribal park” itself generates some distrust, Bhattacharyya explained.

“For over a century, ‘park’ meant being moved off the land and not being allowed to hunt, not being allowed to fish,” she said.

Further to that, Chief William, like many other Tsilhqot’in people, learned English as a second language when he was sent to residential school at six years old.

He prefers to refer to Dasiquox Tribal Park as “Nexwagwez?an,” which translates to “it is there for us.”

Language aside, the key is that First Nations call the shots when it comes to managing the land.

“I didn’t want to be tied down to begging the government for anything,” said Chief Myers Ross, who has a master’s degree in indigenous governance from the University of Victoria. “The tribal park, the basis of it comes from indigenous leadership, wanting to exercise the laws that have already existed here.”

Amarc Resources Defies Tsilhqot’in, Drills in Park

However, challenges have already arisen in enforcing a park that hasn’t been recognized by the provincial government. In September, Amarc Resources started drilling in Dasiqox against the wishes of the Yunesit’in and Xeni Gwet’in governments.

Woodward said declaring a tribal park is a way of putting government and industry on notice that this is the minimum territory required to continue exercising aboriginal or treaty rights — rights that are ultimately constitutionally protected.

“So you might want to call a tribal park a constitutional park, because it’s a park that can not be violated under our current constitution,” Woodward said.

Last summer, Williams Lake Mayor Walt Cobb spoke out in opposition to the park, saying it’s unclear what effect it will have on jobs and resources in the region.

Meanwhile, in October the province signed a letter of intent with the Tsilhqot’in Nation to advance reconciliation — essentially a commitment to further negotiation on everything from title and lands to economic development and social issues.

“A lot of that stuff won’t be fixed overnight,” Myers Ross said. “I feel like our best solutions will be created among ourselves. By July we hope to have an implementation plan, so we know what areas we want to focus on for our own land-use planning.”

For Myers Ross, it’s about far more than setting aside a piece of land.

“We want to make sure that it’s not just a traditional park. For us, we feel like we live with our environment and we’re part of it. Everyone who is part of our culture ends up becoming a part of the land.”

Next in this series: Doig River’s Last Stand Amidst Fracking Boom

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This is a guest column by Russell Myers Ross, Chief of Yunesit’in Government, and lead organizer in the development of the Dasiqox Tribal Park, supported by the Friends of Nemaiah Valley.

Amarc Resources (TSX-V: AHR) will commence drilling this week at a site inside the Dasiqox Tribal Park in central British Columbia — despite not having the consent of the Tsilhqot’in Nation.

The drilling, located in a high-altitude, ecologically sensitive area, is scheduled to start without the consent of Xeni Gwet’in First Nation and Yunesit’in Government — two Tsilhqot’in First Nation communities that have launched a land-based project called “Nexwagwez?an,” meaning “There for us” in the Tsilhqot’in language. Nexwagwez?an, or the Dasiqox Tribal Park, was announced on Oct. 4, 2014, and consultation remains ongoing.

Amarc, a B.C.-based mineral exploration company, is focused on developing one site in particular for a copper mine. Amarc says the IKE site is located in “the heartland of the province’s producing porphyry copper mines.” 

It just so happens that this exploration site is also located at the Dasiqox headwaters — at the heart of the Tsilhqot’in’s traditional and ancestral territory. The IKE site’s glacial waterways feed into the Dasiqox (Taseko) salmon-bearing river.   

Landscape ecologist Sue Senger recently visited the IKE site with Xeni Gwet’in Chief Roger William and I and told us there is notable concern about sedimentation control disturbance at this high-altitude site. 

Further, the mountainous terrain in which 50 drill holes are proposed is a crucial stopover location for grizzly bears that use this area as a travel corridor between Toba inlet and Taseko and Chilko Lakes. Evidence of mule deer and marmots was also observed on the site visit in early August, as well as the presence of whitebark pine, which is a species protected under the Federal Species at Risk Act.

Roger William, Chief of Xeni Gwet'in, overseeing Amarc Resources IKE drilling site in August 2015.

My fellow chief, Roger William, says: "Right now our people will turn down anything to do with mining in what we consider to be a no-go zone, like the Dasiqox headwaters. Amarc came into our communities to present an exploration agreement. Our people have turned it down. Our communities are fatigued after going through two environmental assessments with Taseko Mines. There’s a huge trust issue."

Amarc Resources is a subsidiary of Hunter Dickinson Incorporated; Taseko Mines Limited is under the same umbrella of companies. Taseko Mines went through two federal environmental reviews that rejected the New Prosperity and Prosperity copper gold project.

Amarc Resources has already advertised that the IKE site has the potential of becoming a “Highland Valley” scale mine. Highland Valley is a large open-pit operation. It is unfathomable that a mine this size should operate at the top of one of the most important watersheds in the Tsilhqot’in.

Considering the significance of this area with respect to the watershed of the Taseko and its remote location, there will be incredible obstacles to move this project into a serious development. It is with good reason that our communities and leadership are erring on the side of caution and are committed to saying that this site will never become a mine.

As a leader, we are looking for partners in business that are willing to enter consensual relations, and we have entered relations with a few already to change the normative behavior to stronger partnerships.

Mining companies that only seek provincial approval and fail to respect our authority and land will have a much more difficult time, as Taseko Mines Ltd. encountered, and which Amarc Resources will experience. The company, if it chooses to be honest, ought to consider the IKE site as an impossible area for a full-scale mine and save everyone the time and money.

Main image: Drummers at the announcement of Dasiqox Tribal Park on October 4th, 2015.

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