The Dominion - Grassy Narrows

Blockade in Grassy Narrows over Policing Concerns

Tim McSorley — Wed, 19 May 2010 18:46:08 +0000

Slow response times, alleged intimidation lead residents to call for new peacekeeper services

Disillusioned with the service of Treaty Three Police Service, a group of demonstrators blockaded the road to Asubpeeschoseewagong (Grassy Narrows) First Nation on Tuesday afternoon.

“There are a lot of complaints from the community members about how the police do their service around the community. There’s really slow response time,” said Chrissy Swain, who was one of the leaders of the community's logging blockade that began in 2002. “Some calls they don’t even respond to. There are complaints about intimidation and the way they handle situations when they do answer calls. I guess it’s mainly safety issues for our community.”

Swain began a dialogue with the police two years ago to address how police respond to calls from the community over 60 kilometres from the Northwestern Ontario city of Kenora. Swain said she has seen no progress.

“Treaty Three says there’s not enough funding. They don’t have enough police officers—stuff like that. There’s always something and nothing’s being done,” she said. “It’s getting pretty sickening just sitting back, waiting for something to happen.”

Councillor Randy Turtle said sometimes it can take up to half a day for the police to respond to an emergency call. He has been in discussions with Treaty Three Police regarding the issue as recently as two weeks ago.

“I have spoken to the sergeant before and the chief of police before and told him we’re not happy with the response time and the service we’re getting for our community. The explanation has always been that there’s a lack of manpower to adequately serve our community. Hopefully with this, we’re hoping that the federal government will give us more money so we can have the manpower to have more police in the community so we can have service for our people.”

Councillor Darryl Fobister expressed interest in seeing a unit stationed in the community.

“Apparently, they don’t want to stay in our community and that’s kind of odd,” he said. “It would be nice if we had officers that got to know the people and we got to know them as well so that there’s less of a chance of anything really violent happening because it’s more of a one-to-one basis.”

Ultimately, Swain is proposing a volunteer force of peacekeepers to respond to safety concerns in the community.

“The bigger picture is I want to see our own people taking care of our own people as peacekeepers so we can enforce our own laws,” she said, adding Treaty Three doesn’t enforce traditional laws or community bylaws.

Last year, a Safety Committee was established in Asubpeeschoseewagong, which councillors on the site of the blockade felt could complement a police presence as its mandate grows.

Blockade leaders are meeting with Treaty Three Police Deputy Chief Louie Napish Wednesday to hand over concerns they have compiled.

Originally printed in the Kenora Daily Miner and News. Jon Thompson is an award-winning journalist and author based in Northwestern Ontario.

Blockade about police in Grassy Narrows

Mad as a Hatter

hillarybain — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 13:11:58 +0000

Canada's mercury pollution on Indigenous lands

If a thermometer breaks in a classroom, spilling mercury, most children are taught to stay away. “That's all it takes to poison an entire body of water,” teachers will tell them. Many children also read Alice In Wonderland at school, and are familiar with the Mad Hatter. Few, however, know that the zany character in the children’s story is suffering from "mad hatter's syndrome," or mercury poisoning. Even less likely to appear in schoolbooks is the fact that there are hundreds of sites in Canada contaminated with this highly toxic metal, many of them on Indigenous land.

The Anishinabek of Grassy Narrows, White Dog and Quibell

In 1970, the government of Canada informed commercial fishermen and tourist-lodge owners along the English-Wabigoon River system in north western Ontario that the fish were testing for extremely high levels of mercury, and that the rivers were poisoned.

Soon after the announcement, the source of contamination was discovered: Dryden Chemicals Limited had been dumping its untreated mercury wastewater into the river. All told, the company released more than 20,000 pounds of mercury-contaminated wastewater between 1962 and 1970.

Just upstream from Dryden's plant were the communities of Quibell (later known as Wabauskang First Nation), Asubpeeschoseewagong (Grassy Narrows First Nation) and Wabaseemong (White Dog First Nation). After the warning was made public, the Ontario government told the First Nations communities to stop eating the fish--their main food source--and advised Grassy Narrows to shut down its commercial fishery.

The economies were devastated. In Grassy Narrows alone, the employment rate dropped from 90 per cent to 10. In addition, residents had to find different food sources and many were already suffering from mercury poisoning.

Mercury poisoning, or Minamata disease, causes eye problems, loss of co-ordination, numbness in the hands and feet, loss of memory, loss of strength, severe birth defects, "insanity," neurological disorders and death. People in Grassy Narrows, White Dog and Quibell all showed symptoms of poisoning.

"Aware of the possibility of getting compensation for loss of livelihood," notes the Grassy Narrows & Islington Bands Mercury Disability Board website, "the two First Nations immediately began to look into ways of getting financial assistance for its members. It took 16 years to achieve their goal."

In 1985, the Federal and Provincial Governments, along with Great Lakes Forest Products and Dryden Chemicals' parent company, Reed Inc, paid the communities of Grassy Narrows and White Dog a little over $16 million.

The mercury, however, was never removed from the water.

At the time of the settlement, "scientists and government officials assured them [the communities] that the mercury would be completely out of the system in 30 years," says Dr. Leanne Simpson, a researcher from the Alderville First Nation who works with Grassy Narrows and Wabauskang, in a June 9, 2008, press release.

Discussing the Final Report of the Wabauskang First Nations Indigenous Knowledge and Contaminants Program, Simpson further explains that mercury concentrations in 1975 ranged "from 0.47 to 5.98 ppm [parts per million]. Health Canada's guideline for the safe consumption of fish for frequent fish eaters is 0.2 ppm."

Understanding that mercury doesn't just 'disappear' but rather works its way up the food chain and throughout the environment, Grassy Narrows and Wabauskang initiated two joint studies, which were completed in 2002 and 2004. The studies indicated that there were still high concentrations of mercury in the local populations of pike, walleye and otters.

Moreover, residents from both communities continue to suffer from an array of mercury-poisoning symptoms. The Mercury Disability Board--established on December 31, 2007, to implement the terms of the 1985 settlement--has processed 819 initial applications for benefits from adults and another 88 applications for children.

The current situation for the small community of Quibell, known today as the Wabauskang First Nation, is even worse than for Grassy Narrows and White Dog.

In 1919, epidemics of smallpox and tuberculosis were introduced into the Wabauskang reservation and the population was decimated. Potentially facing extinction, the few surviving Wabauskang scattered themselves throughout the region. "Some...chose to relocate to their traplines and hunting grounds to escape the disease; others moved to the old Grassy Narrows Reserve, to Lac Seule, Eagle Lake, and Quibell," Simpson explains.

In the mid-1940s, inhabitants of Quibell started getting sick. “It was the children and babies who bore the brunt of [it]. Between 1947 and 1949, 10 babies died, all in their first year of life, and all had violent seizures, and what doctors and nurses at the time called 'an incurable disease,'" continues Simpson. "Most of the babies that died were bottle-fed with Carnation milk mixed directly with water from the river."

While not official, Dryden was likely responsible for these deaths. To make pulp, the company used a process called 'krafting,' which generated a toxic black liquid that mills at the time would simply pour into the river. "Kraft pulp and paper mills were notorious for using Hg compounds [such as mercury chloride]...to keep pulp and paper from rotting," Simpson adds. "This could have easily been spilled into the river system and converted to methylmercury."

Years later--too late for many residents of Quibell, according to Simpson--the company installed a recovery boiler that allowed them to recycle the black liquid.

Then came the second wave of mercury pollution, from 1962 to 1970. During this time, Dryden operated a mercury cell chlor-alkali plant to make chlorine for bleaching paper, a process that generates tons of mercury waste. The waste being dumped into the river meant that the population of Quibell was devastated further, along with the Grassy Narrows and White Dog communities.

Shortly after Dryden's actions were made public, the government decided to re-establish the Wabauskang Reserve, and the community of Quibell was relocated.

The government excluded the people of Quibell from the Grassy Narrows and White Dog settlement. In fact, the residents didn't even know they were suffering from mercury poisoning until the 1980s.

Former residents of Quibell want to know why they were excluded from the settlement. Not only were they closer to Dryden than the other two communities, but even now there are several Wabauskang showing mercury-poisoning symptoms.

Thousands and thousands more

In Canada today there are dozens of chlor-alkali plants, pulp mills, coal-powered generation plants, various mining projects (such as gold mines) and other industrial facilities that use and release mercury near indigenous communities. Environment Canada's 2005 National Pollutant Release Inventory (NPRI) reports a total of 172 facilities within a 50 km distance of 135 communities across the country.

Communities that report mercury pollution include Akwesasne, Fort William, Aamjiwnaang, Pictou Landing, James Bay, Cheslatta, Tl'azt'en, Tse Keh Nay, Norway House, Eel River Bar, Fort Chipewyan, Fort MacKay, West Moberly and Fort Simpson (Deh Cho).

With the exception of Grassy Narrows, White Dog, Wabauskang, and possibly James Bay, a thorough study has never been conducted to show whether these communities are suffering mercury poisoning. However, the 1999 Health Canada report "Methylmercury in Canada: Exposure of First Nations and Inuit Residents to Methylmercury in the Canadian Environment, Volume 3" may give us an indication. The report revealed 17,671 indigenous people had blood-mercury levels ranging from 20-699 ppb (parts per billion) between 1971 and 1996.

In a message posted on the Friends of Anishinabek of the Gitchi Gami website, John H.W. Hummel, a pollution researcher based in British Columbia, explains that, "when mercury or lead levels of 5 ppb to 6 ppb are found in the brain, 25 per cent of the glial progenitor stem cells simply 'shut down.' These particular brain cells are absolutely crucial for building the brain during infancy and beyond. This type of brain cell is also found in adults."

Hummel believes that the thousands of indigenous people who have been ignored by the government should embark on a class action lawsuit and has contacted Tony Merchant from Merchant Law Group. Based in Saskatchewan, Merchant is the lawyer behind the recent compensation settlement for Residential school victims.

In his reply to Hummel, Merchant said he does not believe anything can be done for Grassy Narrows because of the 1985 settlement, but, "if there are identifiable mercury issues elsewhere," a lawsuit is a possibility. "We are prepared to pursue this issue," Merchant says. "We are prepared to fund the battle which includes a battle regarding experts. If there are projects that we might undertake, we will undertake them."

You can find more articles by John Schertow on his blog, Intercontinental Cry

Mad Hatter

The Blockade Between Hope and Destruction

Tue, 21 Jun 2005 21:54:18 +0000

Grassy Narrows, Abitibi Consolidated and the Canadian Governments

Chief Saskatcheway, who was chief when Treaty Three was signed, appears on flags and other designs. Photo: Macdonald Stainsby

Many years before the arrival of the white man to the land of the Anishinabe Nation, there was a prophecy that when the white people arrived, they would bring the destruction of the forests and the land that sustains the Anishinabe people. When Montréal-based Abitibi Consolidated began logging the land in the late 1980s, the sound of the machines was enough to cause great concern for many elders.

Years of massive clearcutting took a serious toll on the Anishinabe population living in Grassy Narrows. In 1996, members of the nation decided that it was time to try and do something about it.

Initially, Abitibi held open houses and public gatherings in the nearby settlement town of Kenora, Ontario. In an attempt to deal with the loss of forests to Abitibi, some concerned Anishinabe people attended the consultations and tried to dialogue with Abitibi. The concerns of Indians living with the land were not addressed. Several more steps marked a slow but inevitable escalation. When Abitibi held shareholder meetings, some Anishinabe set up pickets outside; letters were written; petitions were signed.

These were either ignored or treated as a minor nuisance. Meanwhile, the centuries-old prophecy took on a deadly accuracy.

For many years, logging went on in the Whiskey Jack forest without generating much concern. People knew the loggers were working there. People tending their traplines would often hitch rides on back roads with logging-truck. At the time, the logging was selective and not deeply damaging; the operations did not directly gouge the land.

When Abitibi introduced clearcut logging practices to the area, however, the devastation to the entire ecosystem was immediately apparent. When a forest is clearcut, nothing is left except a few trees deemed not profitable enough to cut by the corporation. Moss, mushrooms and the soil itself are torn up, exposing giant patches of barren land.

"I'm not against logging," says Joe Fobister of the Anishinabe Nation. "I'm against how they're doing it, and who is doing it, making millions of dollars off of our land and leaving us nothing."

A shelter near blockade sites, built by volunteers from support groups in Winnipeg and Toronto. Photo: Macdonald Stainsby

"This land is so wealthy. It's our land, and yet we remain the poorest of the poor."

This view is not a monolithic one. The youth, in pushing for more permanent forms of resistance, carried a simple slogan: No negotiations, no compensation, no more clearcutting.

The reason for the first part of the quote is that a) Abitibi wanted to talk while continuing to work in the Whiskey Jack forest, and b) the negotiations that were being proposed involved corporations such as Abitibi, inherently giving them nation-level legitimacy, something that many Anishinabe from Grassy Narrows reject.

Part of the blame, says Fobister, should be laid at the feet of a corrupt band council that acts on behalf of the settler state of Canada.

"The council and the chief make a good living, and get a very good income. In this very poor community, that's why people join the council. They have no real power, but they are scared to risk their funding," he explains. This dynamic — the creation of a de facto ruling comprador class of Indians to implement colonial expropriation of resources — is an all-too-familiar refrain in Nations that resist the assimilationalist policies of Canada and refuse to give up their land to corporations like Abitibi.

Fobister continues, "They are not there for the good of the people, but simply for an income."

The entire Whiskey Jack forest is part of the homeland of the Anishinabe Nation. As Abitibi's work has progressed, the land has been damaged. To date, slightly more than half of the Whiskey Jack forest has been destroyed.

"When they destroy the land, they are attacking my spirituality," explains Fobister. He describes how deer like the grasses that grow in areas recently clearcut, and deposit copious droppings in the area. These droppings enters the water, which the moose drink, causing a brain disease very similar to mad cow disease. Anishinabe People might eat these moose with potential dire effects.

"I used to be comfortable in the bush, but I'm not anymore," says Fobister. "The bears are acting very strangely and are no longer afraid of people; they don't just run away when they see you."

Meeting with people on the reserve, the greatest threat to the health of the nation becomes apparent: clearcut logging causes massive soil erosion, and this in turn releases a normally non-threatening natural form of mercury. This mercury ends up in the water - the water supply of the reserve - as well as in the animals, fish in particular. The Anishinabe nation depends on the land, eating and harvesting the animals and fish as they have for thousands of years.

"Some people have the shakes. [This one elder], his arm shakes badly when he's trying to do something and he can't stop it. You can also lose your sight [from the mercury]. The ones who trap and fish off the land get it especially," explained Ashopenace. "We take it very seriously when someone loses a trapline [to clearcuts] or when more contamination comes in. We hear that more mercury is supposed to come by soon."

Here, one can witness the poisons draining the life out of the people, one at a time. The Canadian and Ontarian governments have done nothing to address the poisoning and the ecological devastation caused by the clearcutting.

The site of the original blockade, which still stands. Photo: Macdonald Stainsby

Several women from the nation delivered an ultimatum to Abitibi workers inside the Whiskey Jack forest in February 2003. After protests at the Montreal head office of Abitibi did not elicit any response, some members of the community decided to symbolically demonstrate their power to the corporate giant. A plan was launched to blockade the logging roads where Abitibi had access to the forests. Several women from the nation delivered a notice: if you have not evacuated the forest by 5 PM tomorrow, you will be blockaded in and you will not get out.

The workers left.

The Anishinabe youth have been among the strongest voices advocating for the rights of the Nation and the preservation of both the land and their traditional means of using it. They argued persuasively that a one-day symbolic protest and blockade would not be enough to deter Abitibi in any real way. They argued for a complete shut down of the forest roads period, thus bringing an end to logging - at least for the time being.

Ashopenace remarks, "We [the youth] already wanted to do something more, we knew that one day wouldn't be enough. We wanted to do more damage. [Now] we are slowing them down and reducing their profits."

It was only after a year of round-the-clock rotating blockades that Abitibi saw a need to talk to the people who live in Grassy Narrows.

"We fed them and tried to get them to relax, but you could see they were still very nervous to be here," explains Ashopenace.

He describes the corporate representatives' defence of their logging practices: "Abitibi said they are trying to provide economic development for the community." He says, "It was hard to hear the debate because the youth were openly laughing at how ridiculous the arguments were. The argument was that Abitibi doesn't have obligations because the treaty [Treaty 3] was between Canada and Anishinabe and had nothing to do with them." When it comes to responsibility for the poisoning of the community, their food supply, the animals and the land itself, "Abitibi blames a paper mill that comes out of Dryden [approximately 200 kilometers away from Grassy Narrows] and says 'you need to talk with them.'"

The Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR) has the official responsibility to uphold environmental regulations. While MNR holds jurisdiction, regulations allow for almost all mining, forestry, oil drilling and similar resource extraction work is "assessed" by the very same company that wishes to dig, drill, cut and so on.

In Canada, the fox is in charge of the henhouse.

Chief Saskatcheway, previous to the Indian Act, signed treaty 3 from the traditional, non-hierarchical political system that many nations including the Anishinabe practiced before the imposition of the band council system. It was not interpreted or understood by the nation — who then decided on such matters by consensus - as a surrender of title or land. To this day, the elders maintain that they would not have signed any such treaty.

The legacy of Treaty 3 is still disputed. Yet, not even the Canadian government's own interpretation of the treaty is honored. Members of the Nation are trying to challenge the rights of Ontario, Abitibi or Canada itself to claim the Nation's land for themselves.

Fobister speaks about dealing with Abitibi about this challenge: "They are afraid that if we can control our land, if we can prove it is ours and always has been, that this will mean the same thing elsewhere, that then other nations will follow."

"I told them that that's their problem, not mine," he adds.

The idea of having talks at all with Abitibi— rather than the state of Canada—continues to be problematic. Many nationals point out that even talking to Abitibi at a table that includes both the nations of Anishinabe and Canada confers on a forestry corporation the same status as a nation. The only legitimate talks, say many Anishinabe, would take place between the governments who make laws.

But for the Canadian government, it appears that Nation to Nation talks between the Anishinabe and Canada must be avoided at all costs. If Abitibi were accountable to the law of the land as negotiated between Nations, it would establish the de facto existence of the Anishinabe as a Nation. Judging by the government's across-the-board intransigence in sovereignty negotiations, this would be a worst case scenario for the colonial state. But talks have continued, meetings still get held and money is even accepted in the short term from Abitibi, in exchange for continuation of operations.

"Those who want a deal are operating for today, just to get the money, and not even that much money really," explains Judy Da Silva. "It is the youth and others who blockade that are thinking long term, thinking about the future, about preserving the forest, our traditions with the land and our way of life."

Roberta Keesick makes the case more bluntly.

"The government wants us off the land, they want us to be assimilated," she states. "They don't want us to be who we are."

Ashopenace explains the dynamic.

"With the destruction of the forests, it's our whole way of life and culture that's getting sick." He describes areas in the Whiskey Jack forest that might hold the key to the ancient history of his people.

"[In the Whiskey Jack Forest] there are some historical rock paintings that are thousands of years old. These are in areas we call virgin land. If Abitibi continues doing what they are doing, with their roads, their cutting and so on, we might lose these."

His assessment is severe.

"What Canada is doing is ignoring us when we try to bring attention to how our rights are being violated. The world needs to open their eyes as to how Canada really is."

Many say there are only three options to deal with the social problems and poverty of the Nation. First, people could accept the clearcutting as "economic development", and try to secure temporary work while the land and their connection to it is decimated. Second, they could try to develop eco-tourism as a means of using their knowledge of the land to bring in much needed dollars, but at the risk of commercializing their own history and reducing themselves once again to a secondary role in their own woods and waterways. The third option is for things to remain as they are, with people living subsistence lives with no jobs and little income.

A fourth option defies orthodoxy, but is becoming more appealing as the situation deteriorates with little recourse for those stuck in a colonial system of governance. The people could take control of their lands back from the Canadian state and assert their right to self-determination in accordance with prior treaties and international law on the preservation of National culture. This fourth option involves nothing short of decolonizing the Nation of Anishinabe.

For anyone who visits, it is clear that the process is already underway.

One of the most remarkable changes to come from the last few years of blockades has been the increased self-confidence of the Anishinabe people. By taking matters into their own hands, they have taken back a modicum of control over their own destiny.

The area near where the main blockade was originally established is now a common gathering place for many purposes, whether praying at the sacred fire in the wigwam or to roast wieners on the large open firepit a few feet from the site of the first blockade.

I was sitting by that firepit one night with an eight-year old girl from the Nation, and I asked her a few questions.

"How do you feel about the blockade?"

"I feel good," she answered.

What do you want Abitibi and the government to do?"

"I want them to stop logging."

"What do you think will happen if they don't stop logging?"

"Then my mommy will have to keep on warring," she said.

Then abruptly, she got out of the chair and ran off to play with other kids and her puppy. As the sun set near the blockade, the roar of the machines of Abitibi remained absent from the Anishinabe Whiskey Jack forest for another day. And the sun always rises again.

Macdonald Stainsby discusses the history of the blockades and the struggle for self-determination at Grassy Narrows.