Protesters at Barriere Lake turned away election officers from the Indian Affairs Department in July. Photo courtesy Defenders of the Land.

The path forward, if the futures of First Nations and the rest of Canada are to reconcile, begins with two steps. Repeal the Indian Act, and abolish the department that delivers it. Bluntly put, the legislation that governs how status Indians are treated—and defines who holds that status—was racist and wrong in its conception 135 years ago, and has been in its implementation ever since.

Adopted explicitly for the purpose of assimilating Indians and eliminating “the Indian problem,” the devastation wrought against First Nations is today undeniable. Moreover, the social disharmony and economic cost to Canada as a whole remain ongoing challenges of this legacy. Change is desperately needed, but as that change will mold the future relationship between First Nations and Canada, it is essential that we get it right this time. And getting it right won’t be easy.

In a speech at July’s Assembly of First Nations, National Chief Shawn A-in-chut Atleo rekindled a debate that has been going on for quite some time over how to replace the Indian Act and the department that delivers it. When the Government of Canada floated the notion of repealing the Act in its infamous 1969 White Paper, it was surprised by a strong and effective negative response from the very people who suffered most from the legislation. Trudeau and his Indian Affairs Minister, Jean Chrétien, thought that simply wiping out any differentiation between Indians and other Canadians would bring equality and be welcomed by everyone. But for First Nations, that approach to the repeal of the Act and abolition of the department is incomplete.

As First Nations leader Harold Cardinal said at the time:

We do not want the Indian Act retained because it is a good piece of legislation. It isn’t. It is discriminatory from start to finish … but we would rather continue to live in bondage under the inequitable Indian Act than surrender our sacred rights. Any time the government wants to honour its obligations to us we are more than ready to devise new Indian legislation.

Therein lies the debate. Formal equality—undifferentiated treatment under the law— has the appeal of simplicity and superficial fairness. That’s why some people support repeal today: They like the idea of ending “special rights.” But equality under the law starting today means that the inequity enforced since before Canada was a country remains unaddressed. In particular, the laws under which everyone would theoretically be equal were created by and for those who have perpetrated that inequity, without regard to the rights and interests of First Nations. This approach simply continues the policy of assimilation.

What National Chief Atleo and others are proposing is something more complex and nuanced than wiping out all historic and legal distinctions in one fell swoop. They are suggesting that the rights First Nations hold in law—treaty and aboriginal rights recognized both under international law and under section 35 of the Constitution Act of 1982—be respected. From this perspective, upholding legal difference is, in fact, essential to equality. The failure to respect historic legal rights and interests would only continue the injustice.

Atleo is also suggesting that a responsible and methodical approach be taken toward the ultimate objective of repeal and abolition. This includes rapidly increasing the number of completed self-government agreements and accelerating the conclusion of the claims processes, vesting responsibility and accountability with First Nations governments and facilitating economic, social and political progress. On the bureaucratic side, it means creating two entities in the federal government to replace the 34 that currently administer aboriginal programs and services. One would occupy itself with the intergovernmental relationship between Canada and First Nations, establishing the foundation for reconciliation of the rights and interests of all. The other entity would continue in a diminishing role as service provider for those First Nation communities that continue to move toward selfgovernance, carefully winding down the traditionally paternalistic role played by the federal bureaucracy in Indian country.

This proposal is neither radical nor new. It is consistent with recommendations in a 1983 submission from a House of Commons committee known as the Penner Report and the report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples released in 1996. Unfortunately, whether for practical or ideological reasons, no government has been willing to act on the idea until now. Interestingly, this proposal was part of the aboriginal issues platform of the New Democratic Party in the most recent federal election, but it is not popular within the Harper government. In response to the National Chief’s speech, a spokesperson for Minister John Duncan of Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada dismissively responded, “Our government is strongly committed to addressing challenges within the Indian Act” (emphasis added).

Ironically, in June of 2009, Prime Minister Harper apologized for Canada’s residential schools policy by saying, “Today, we recognize that this policy of assimilation was wrong, has caused great harm, and has no place in our country.” But more than two years later, his government insists on retaining the central vehicle for assimilation—the Indian Act itself—albeit with some tinkering around the edges. It wants to keep the department as it is, as though having renamed it from “Indian and Northern Affairs Canada” to “Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada” resolved the dysfunction there. In short, the Prime Minister either misunderstood the lessons he claimed to have learned in his apology, or he never really meant what he said.

Throughout the history of this country, government after government has pursued only one policy toward First Nations — assimilation — and it hasn’t worked. It hasn’t accomplished assimilation as its proponents wanted, and it certainly hasn’t worked for First Nations. At a time when First Nations are ready to identify both an alternative vision and a way to get there, it is up to all Canadians to reject failure, show respect for First Nations and finally set the country down the path of reconciliation.

Getting it right won’t be easy, but it is worth the trouble.

Daniel Wilson is a freelance writer and consultant on human rights and aboriginal policy. He is a former diplomat and advisor to the Assembly of First Nations.

So there’s this scandal: Bruce Carson, a former adviser to Stephen Harper’s prime minister’s office, allegedly claimed ties to the PMO in order to move forward a deal with an Ottawa company that would provide water filtration systems to First Nations communities. This deal would mean a handsome payout to an employee of that company—who also happens to be Carson’s fiancée. The press could not resist mentioning the fact that Carson’s spouse-to-be, Michele McPherson, formerly worked as an escort. It added a titillating edge to the story, a little dash of sex to go along with the otherwise fairly standard-issue story of a powerful political insider allegedly leveraging his influence for material gain. (The entire matter, it should be noted, is under investigation by the RCMP and the allegations have not been proven.)

Let’s be clear: Michele McPherson’s former line of work is not scandalous. There is plenty of actual scandal to go around here:

1. The shockingly bad state of water quality in First Nations and on reserves:

Compared to the general Canadian population, the Aboriginal population has 1.5 times higher risk of heart disease, a 3 to 5 times higher risk of developing Type 2 diabetes, and at a 8 to 10 times higher risk for Tuberculosis infection. In terms of water quality, according to Health Canada, for First Nations communities south of 60 degrees parallel, the management of safe drinking water is shared between the community and the Government of Canada and will provide funding and training for water quality testing. Still, communities like The Little Salmon Carmacks First Nation have been under a boil water advisory since 2006.

2. The abolition of the racist “Indian Act” was reduced to a political football:

Enacted in 1868, as part of the Constitution, the Indian Act gives the federal government exclusive authority to “Indians and lands reserved for Indians.” It also defines who qualifies as an “Indian.” Reports of the Carson scandal note that Assembly of First Nations National Chief Shawn Atleo was about to go into talks to negotiate the termination of the Act when Carson contacted him about the water deal. The day after this, Atleo announced that he would work to abolish the act within five years time. In exchange for help in getting rid of the Indian Act, Carson wanted Atleo’s support in promoting H20 Global Group. The abolishment of the Act was used by Carson as a pawn in getting his deal to go through with the Assembly of First Nations.

3. Bruce Carson and Michele McPherson allegedly abused political connections to get rich:

Frankly, who cares what Michele McPherson used to do to pay the bills? Let’s concentrate instead on the fact that she was poised to take a 20 percent commission on a government infrastructure project worth, potentially, eight figures; and that she and Carson appear to have improperly exploited his extraordinary access to the Indian and Northern Affairs ministry to do so. No one needs to tack on a juvenile preoccupation with McPherson’s sex life; the allegations are serious enough in their own right.

A Canadian Auto Workers volunteer helps install a new wellhead in Little Salmon Carmacks in 2007. Photo courtesy CAW.

If you were to turn on a tap in the First Nation of Little Salmon Carmacks, Yukon, your cup might run over with gasoline, fecal matter, and worse (yes, there’s worse). It’s been this way for years, at least going as far back as 1991—the first year of comprehensive water testing.

The problems in Little Salmon Carmacks are emblematic of water problems in many First Nation communities across Canada. Drinking water not fit for human consumption has been, and continues to be, endemic in First Nation communities. For northern First Nations problems are made worse by systemic issues rooted deeply in the structure of our government; caught in a jurisdictional no-man’s-land between Indian and Northern Affairs, the territorial governments, and other government departments charged with funding infrastructure and assisting First Nations, their cases get shuffled from one department to another until they are finally dropped.

The Little Salmon Carmacks First Nation is situated next to the non-First Nation municipality of Carmacks, approximately 180 kilometres north of Whitehorse. The self-governing community, home to 400 people, once had two large wells serving the entire community but, as standards were updated, one was declared too dangerous to use and closed. The remaining well serves 96 people; everyone else has to rely on their own, individual wells, each of which provides water to an average of three people.

The village has been on the same boil water advisory since January 2006, though temporary advisories have been issued to certain areas of the town since 2001, and some individual wells have been reporting E. coli and coliform contamination since 1991.

Even though the federal government has spent nearly $1 million on studies, and improvements to well water testing, treatment infrastructure, and operator training, the problems in Little Salmon Carmacks are not clearing up. Government solutions have not dealt with the central causes of contamination, and have proved to be no more than expensive Band-Aids. Disregarding the results of numerous studies it has funded to investigate the root causes of the community’s water problems, the government seems willing to only fund short-term solutions, such as treating the contaminated water with chlorine.

One government funded study notes that “of particular concern are the positive [bacteriological] results for wells which have had their well boxes upgraded and cleaned and wells shock chlorinated.” In particular, it says that from 1991 until the study was conducted in 2004, “positive bacteriological contamination has been reported for 36% of residential wells over the period of record, with 22% reporting contamination within the last year.” Studies have been clear as to why contamination keeps coming back: poorly constructed individual wells are easy to contaminate and hard to maintain. According to a 2008 report, most of the wells in Little Salmon Carmacks are too shallow, too close to septic tanks, and are drilled in sandy, permeable soil. The well heads are also located underground, in pits that let in surface water, which then stagnates and causes bacterial contamination.

Rodent feces, animal remains, and fuel spills also become trapped in the well pits, and when water levels rise, either from rain or spring run-off, the toxic cocktail overflows first into wells and then out of taps. These same wells were built by Indian and Northern Affairs Canada—some of them as recently as the ’90s—who now refuses to maintain them. Neither the federal nor the territorial government will fund repairs or upgrades to wells serving fewer than five people; both levels of government say that this is the responsibility of homeowners. The case continues to circulate INAC internally in a game of bureaucratic hot potato that has left the community in purgatory. Even more frustrating is the fact that the solution, pointed to even by government funded studies, is completely clear: a single pipe system—one big well, with a pipeline servicing most homes in the village—is described as the best and most cost-effective long-term solution to the village’s water problems. But no government department or funding program has accepted the community’s proposals to construct one.

An INAC spokesperson said that the single pipe system is “not considered cost effective to construct and maintain over the long term.” But this directly contradicts an INAC funded study conducted just one year earlier, which concluded that a single pipe system would produce cleaner, safer water—since the water can be treated and monitored from a single, central location—and would incur lower long-term maintenance costs.

Even the ministry’s own statistics are suspect. INAC keeps a database of water quality in First Nation communities, rating water as being at high, medium, or low risk for contamination. After a 2002 study of communities across Canada, Little Salmon Carmacks’s water was rated “high risk.” In 2006, INAC officials downgraded it to “medium risk,” citing new evaluations from 2003 and 2004, which Chief Skookum says never took place. One former INAC employee, who helped develop the database, stated that officials modified the Little Salmon Carmacks rating “without stepping foot” in the community.

In 2007, INAC proudly announced that “in the past 12 months the number of high risk water systems in First Nations communities has been reduced from 193 to 97.” That number has since been reduced to 49. The problem is not simply that the ministry appears to be moving the goalposts for the sake of public relations; a “high-risk” rating automatically obliges the federal government to evaluate water systems and fund repairs. Downgrade the rating, and that financial commitment vanishes, though the problem does not.

In Little Salmon Carmacks, the government’s lack of serious action proved nearly fatal. In a December 2005 community meeting at which government and First Nation representatives were present, the then Yukon Chief Medical Officer of Health—a territorial government official charged with issuing boil water orders—said, “I am confident that the water is not going to cause immediate health problems … I am convinced that the level of anxiety regarding the wells is too high.” Less than four weeks later, Elder Johnny Sam was airlifted to a Vancouver hospital for treatment of a bacterial infection so severe he had to remain there for four and a half months. His doctors linked his illness to his water consumption, and the First Nation issued its own boil water advisory on January 9, 2006.

“Someone just about died,” said Chief Skookum, who issued the 2006 advisory. “The government has got to show more effort in showing that they can step in and help with the cause and communicate— there’s not much of that at all.”

Chief Skookum isn’t the only one thinking that. A 2005 report by the Commissioner of the Environment and Sustainable Development (CESD) cited lack of government responsibility as a systemic problem directly related to the quality and safety of drinking water for First Nation communities. The CESD recommended that a new regulatory body be created to address the crisis. The government has acknowledged the problem but the steps it is taking have not won the support of Indigenous groups.

On May 26, 2010 the government introduced Bill S-11 in the federal Senate. The proposed legislation would set up a regulatory framework with jurisdictional clarity responsible for setting appropriate standards for the treatment and disposal of water. In its current incarnation, however, it applies only to reservations and not to self-governing nations (like Little Salmon Carmacks), although communities could opt in.

Critics argue that without a corresponding financial commitment, many First Nation communities will lack the resources to meet these guidelines, and fear they could be penalized for it. Irving Leblanc, the acting director of housing and infrastructure for the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), says that “by pushing this legislation forward, the government is setting up First Nations for failure.” He adds, “There’s been no consultation done on this bill.” Though the government has made some effort to discuss the bill with First Nations, many feel that their views and opinions were not heard, much less incorporated into the legislation.

In the meantime, private volunteers have proved to be more effective than the ministry that’s actually responsible for ensuring water quality in First Nation communities. In 2007 Little Salmon Carmacks got in touch with the AFN which, in turn, proposed a well revitalization project to the Canadian Autoworkers union. In May of 2008 CAW members arrived for their first of two summers helping the community upgrade and repair its water infrastructure.

The volunteers—skilled tradespeople, most from Ontario—extended the wells a metre above ground and put caps on them so only well water could enter. This altered the structure of the wells more drastically than previous repairs, elevating and sealing off the once festering, below ground well heads and well boxes. The volunteers also installed heater cables to prevent pipes from freezing in the winter and controllers to maximize energy efficiency. The project was initially supposed to take only one summer. However, at the end of their six weeks of work, only half of the intended 57 wells had been repaired. The union decided to extend the project and volunteers returned to the Yukon the following summer to finish what they started.

Mark McGregor, a millwright who works in Brampton, Ontario, and one of the volunteers during the second summer, says seeing the community and their infrastructure made him realize that “people up North are forgotten about.” He compared Little Salmon Carmacks’s situation to that of Walkerton, Ontario’s in 2000, saying the water was so dirty, “we wouldn’t even shower in it,” and that “sometimes it was brown coming out of the taps.”

The volunteers may have been able to improve the state of the village’s water infrastructure, but the deeper systemic problems remain.

Most critically, there is a shortage of qualified people to operate and repair the wells. A government report notes that there is “a severe shortage … of certified water-treatment systems operators in First Nations communities.” Yukon College offers courses that provide water operators with the knowledge they need to pass the Environmental Operators Certification Program, and the federal government does have funding available to cover the course fees of potential operators from Indigenous communities, but the mathematical requirements seem to be a barrier for many individuals.

“You have to be able to drive a truck and do the math,” Jordan Mullett, Little Salmon Carmacks’ only certified water technician, says. “Most people who are truck drivers are older guys, and they don’t really have their math or their algebra.”

Accordingly, Yukon College has set up a crash-course math course. “You can do it by video conference,” Mullett explains, “five half days in a row.” But despite these efforts, INAC representatives estimate that, for First Nation operators in the Yukon, “the pass rate over the past two years … is approximately 50 percent.”

“We’ve sent lots of people,” Mullett says, “but they always fail. We’ve sent everyone that we possibly can, and some people twice, three times, and they still don’t pass. And even though it’s no cost to us, there’s no point in sending someone for their third or fourth time.”

That leaves Mullett as the only certified operator in the village, one man monitoring dozens of wells—a dangerous ratio. And the story is repeated in communities across the North.

Despite mountains of evidence, much of it accumulated by its own branches, departments, and agents, the federal government has not acted strongly enough to improve water treatment in First Nation communities. No matter how many times the relationship between water quality and other quality of life issues (education, depression, general health, etc.) is spelled out, often by their own employees, politicians and senior bureaucrats have not taken the necessary steps to improve the quality of water in First Nation communities.

To aboriginal leaders, however, the link between water and overall quality of life is clear. The United Nations backed them up in July when the General Assembly passed a resolution affirming water and sanitation as human rights.

“This resolution establishes new international standards,” said Assembly of First Nations National Chief Shawn Atleo shortly after the vote (from which Canada abstained). It “compels Canada to work with First Nations to ensure our people enjoy the same quality of water and sanitation as the rest of Canada.” So far Atleo’s call has little attention from the federal government, leaving Little Salmon Carmacks, and many communities like it, to rely not on the ministry, but on the kindness of strangers.

On May 26, the Conservative government announced the tabling of the Safe Drinking Water for First Nations Act. Brought to the Senate by Indian Affairs Minister Chuck Strahl, the Bill would place the same federal standards for drinking and wastewater on First Nations reserves that are already applied to the rest of the country. As it stands right now, provincial and territorial water regulations don’t extend to reserves, and federal regulators have not stepped in.

The announcement has shone light on a generally ignored issue—water standards on reserves in Canada are far too low.

According to 2008 reports, approximately 2,145 of 89,897 homes on reserves have no water service and 4,668 have no sewage service. Health Canada reported that as of May 31, 2010, 118 reserves lived under boil-water alerts.

Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux

“Northern communities are suffering the most when it comes to access to potable water,” said Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux, assistant professor of Aboriginal Studies at the University of Toronto and a speaker at the Canadian Water Summit to be held on June 17. “When you force people into housing, because they can no longer access the land because of mining interests and everything else, then that means you have to be able to create a provision for them to access water, but the government hasn’t done that.”

Like so many of the issues surrounding First Nations in Canada, access to safe water can be boiled down to territorial rights. The treaties that were negotiated between First Nations and the Government of Canada in the late 19th and early 20th centuries gave First Nations jurisdiction over their reserves. However, several contemporary land claims have alleged that corporations and townships are infringing upon those treaties, and are polluting water supplies in the process. For example, the Tsuu T’ina Nation and Samson Cree Nation launched a claim regarding Alberta’s Water Management Plan for the South Saskatchewan River Basin, as they felt the Alberta government did not adequately consult with or accommodate them when they began to make development plans. On April 28, that claim was dismissed by the Alberta Court of Appeal.

In addition to lacking proper regulations and infrastructure, Dr. Wesley-Esquimaux explains that the people responsible for operating these water systems often don’t have proper training, causing the water systems to go down with some frequency. The government then has to fly thousands of gallons of water into these remote communities, leading to huge costs. According to 2008 reports, 62 percent of First Nations water operators were not certified.

Dr. Wesley-Esquimaux is wary of getting too excited about Bill S-11. “The biggest barrier has always been the battle between the federal and provincial governments and payment. So we will see what happens. It is a very good start to an age-old problem, and maybe this time it will work. It will definitely need to be watchdogged, though.”

A new school in Sheshatshiu, Labrador, has revolutionized teaching and re-energized the whole town. Photo courtesy Innu Nation via Flickr.

Many Canadians associate Sheshatshiu with images of children sniffing gas from paper bags. The troubled central Labrador Innu community received nationwide attention in the ’90s as a place in crisis. Now, years later, with the opening of the new Sheshatshiu Innu School, members are working to shed the reserve’s negative image and turn life around for its children.

“It’s been very, very busy,” says Kanani Penashue, community education director. Classrooms are packed—a happy surprise for Penashue, who expected some rooms in the new school to go empty. Instead, “Students are going to school now,” says Anastasia Qupee, Sheshatshiu Innu First Nation Chief. “We are almost having another space problem.”

The popular new $14-million facility was jointly funded by Indian and Northern Affairs Canada and the provincial government. It easily outclasses the old Peenamin Mckenzie School, a run-down, graffiti-covered building with wire-protected windows, boycotted by students and parents in the fall of 2007 because of mould and asbestos problems.

The new eagle-shaped building houses 383 students from kindergarten to Grade 12, dedicating one “wing” to the high school and the other to the elementary school. The multi-million-dollar funding shows: the school is equipped with 110 laptop computers; digital chalkboards adorn every classroom; and the gym floor is identical to the one played on by the Toronto Raptors.

Much credit is owed to students themselves, who lobbied hard for changes, making presentations to both federal and provincial governments after the 2007 boycott. “Students knew that education needed to be brought up to a better standard,” says Qupee.

The Innu have also formed their own school board called the Mamu Tshishkutamashutau Innu Education with the motto: “We care about the education of our children.” The board added more Innu cultural content to the curriculum, reintegrating traditional ways into everyday school life.

School principal Clarence Davis says the new Innu focus has made students—and the whole community—more actively involved in this school. It now holds several free classes in the evenings and a student council was elected for the first time last year. Elders are also playing an increased role in the curriculum in new and creative ways.

In October, an elder took a Grade 9 class for a week-long walk and camp-out on traditional Innu land. During the days the group explored, talked, and hunted small game. During evenings, lessons were given on astrology and biology. “It’s about the philosophy of teaching,” says Davis. “This is an Innu School. I can’t stress that enough.”