Do not attempt a march on the Hill. That was the word from Parliamentary insiders. In the wake of the September 11th attacks, the capital had become a tougher place.
The warning was given to the people gathered in a partly demolished building on Ottawa's Victoria Island - just a stone's throw from the capital buildings. Given the atmosphere in Ottawa, other protest groups may have paused for second thoughts.
But this was no ordinary protest group -- it was a community that has endured, as a matter of course, what no white community in Canada would ever dream of having to endure.
And the latest round of endurance came this fall when over 150 people from the community of Barriere Lake moved into a makeshift tent village on Victoria Island. They'd picketed Indian Affairs headquarters and held press conferences. The families endured the bitter fall rains with only tents and a communal cooking pot for warmth.
All this, in the hopes of shaming Indian Affairs Minister Robert Nault into sitting down for a meeting. But Nault was playing the tough guy. And after two weeks in the outdoors, the elderly and the children were beginning to succumb to flus and cold. The leadership knew they had to make a move - hence the idea of moving their tent village right to Parliament Hill.
The advice from a lawyer was given in English about charges they might face. Then Jean Maurice Matchewan stood up and addressed the families in Algonquin. He called for volunteers. A young man proudly raised his hand. The crowd cheered. Another young man stood up. More shouts of encouragement. Then elderly Patrick Wabamoose stood up and announced in Algonquin that he too was to be included. Now the crowd was on the move. Within no time at all they were on the march towards the centre of Canada's power- old people hobbling on canes, young mothers pushing strollers, excited boys running ahead of the crowd waving their protest banners adorned with photographs of the shacks and clearcuts back home.

Documentary film maker Boyce Richardson has described the Algonquins of Barriere Lake as amongst the "poorest people in Canada."
A visit to the 59 acre reserve, built along the eroding shoreline of Rapid Lake, certainly bears out Richardson's observation. Although only 280 kms from the Nation's capital, the dusty, unpaved roads and overcrowded houses make it appear like an isolated "Bantu" homeland.
There is no community centre, no high school and no electricity (the village is powered by an overworked diesel generator). A single phone line connects the 480 residents with the outside world. The nearest grocery store is 150 kilometres up the highway.
With a burgeoning population, overcrowding has become a serious problem. Up to 18 people live in small houses with unfinished basements and leaking roofs. No new houses have been built in 15 years. A few years ago, the government, as a stop-gap measure, conducted emergency repairs on half the houses because they had been condemned as unfit for human habitation.
The poverty of Barriere Lake stands in sharp contrast to the wealth of the surrounding territory. Every year, the territory generates an estimated $100 million from hydro, logging and sport hunting revenues.
Although outcasts in their own territory, the community has survived because of a fierce dedication to their culture, language and hunting/gathering way of life. But the family-based hunting and trapping territories that have sustained the ABL for thousands of years, have come under increasing strain. Large scale hydro development has damaged and disrupted the waterways. Sports hunters compete for moose and partridge -- staples of the Algonquin diet. And the territory has been increasingly consigned to industrial forestry operations.
In the early 1960s, the Federal and Quebec government assumed they'd found a solution to the "problem" of the Barriere Lake people. They herded the people off their traditional territories and onto a small 59 acre parcel of land near Rapid Lake. As far as the government was concerned, this reserve was now the sum total of their territory.
But the Algonquins didn't see it that way. Without the means to survive on this isolated patch of reserve, they continued to rely on their family territories.
Archie Ratt, a Barriere Lake elder, speaking in Algonquin to CBC radio explains: "Forty years ago we paddled and travelled so we could survive from the land and the animals. Now we're stuck in a reserve and it doesn't even meet our needs. My home is not this reserve, but the territory."

International Attention
By the 1980s, Algonquin hunters were becoming increasingly concerned about the disappearance of wildlife from the territory. With as many as 38 logging companies operating in the region, clear cut logging was pushing their traditional way of life to the very margins.
Traplines were cut over. Moose habitat was disappearing. Families were being evicted from land so industrial herbicide spraying could take place.
The problem facing the Algonquins was that Quebec regional planners treated them as if they didn't even exist. The reasoning was that since Natives were a Federal responsibility, it was not the job of Quebec's Natural Resources bureaucrats to consider the impacts of forestry and hydro on the Algonquins. This, despite the fact that the ABL were the only people living in the territory.
In 1988 the community, frustrated over government indifference, began to mount blockades on various logging roads in the region. At the forefront of the actions was their outspoken Chief Jean Maurice Matchewan.
Matchewan made it clear that the Algonquins were not out to stop logging, but to simply ensure that Algonquin land uses were acknowledged when land management plans were developed. The response was court injunctions and the use of police to break up the non-violent blockades.
By 1991, the Barriere Lake fight was beginning to draw international attention. As the blockades slowly but steadily cut off wood supply to the mills, the Feds and Quebec finally agreed to come to the table.
The result was the signing of the historic Trilateral Agreement - a commitment to develop an "Integrated Resource Management Plan" (IRMP) for a 10,000 square kilometre area of Barriere Lake's territory.
Based on the Bruntland Report on sustainable development, the plan was lauded by a United Nations report as a "trailblazer" - a model not just for First Nations, but for developing areas around the world.
The people of Barriere Lake had high hopes for the agreement. What they didn't realize was that the struggle had just begun.

The Long Battle
Despite having a signed agreement, the ABL found their new partners' attitude hadn't really changed. For nearly two years, the Feds sat on funding dollars needed to get independent wildlife and forestry studies prepared. And when the ABL began to prepare their own, they found open hostility from Quebec bureaucrats. Twice in the first two years of the agreement, Quebec tried to walk away from the table.
According to Quebec officials, the Algonquins were being "unreasonable" for attempting to have a say in the way forestry decisions were made. 
Justice Réjean Paul of the Quebec Superior Court, who was brought in to mediate, forced the Province back to the table. Wrote Justice Paul, "The Algonquins of Barriere Lake have, from their own Band budget and to the detriment of their other programs, unilaterally funded...and have produced maps of an excellent quality indicating, among other things, their sensitive zones and their sacred territories ... It is David and not Goliath who is attempting to sustain the Agreement."

Taking Out the Chief
While The Algonquins battled to keep the agreement alive, Chief Matchewan was fighting an even more dangerous battle on the homefront. His confrontive campaigns had created many enemies among politicians, police (the SQ), regional media and courts. By 1994, some of these enemies were seeing an opportunity from Matchewan's struggle with a vocal group of dissidents.
In 1994, the SQ charged Chief Matchewan with assault based on the word of two dissident members. Bail conditions set by the Quebec prosecutor forbade Matchewan from returning to the community - this at a time when Trilateral issues were coming to a head.
Following Chief Matchewan's arrest, Band Administrator Michel Thusky was arrested by the SQ, for allegedly detaining two police officers in the band office. Thusky's bail also forbade him from returning to the community. The cases were eventually thrown out but they did manage to tie up the leadership in legal issues for much of 1994.
In 1995, Quebec once again walked away from the Trilateral process. This time, citing allegations raised by dissident members about sexual abuse on the reserve. What the allegations had to do with completing a forestry agreement remained unclear to Band leadership. To get the process back on track, they brought in an independent fact-finding mission which later found that the issues of sexual abuse were no greater than in any other community.
The sexual allegations were soon followed up by allegations of financial misconduct (later disproved).
By December 1995 the dissidents had set themselves up as a government in exile in the town of Maniwaki, 130 kms to the south. They retained lawyers from the firm Thompson, Dorfman, Sweatman to file a motion with the Federal government calling for the dismissal of the Barriere Lake council.
As well, the law firm asked the courts to turn over all documents pertaining to the Trilateral Agreement. It was then revealed that the law firm also represented Domtar, the company with the most to lose if the Trilateral Agreement was implemented.  
While ABL lawyers battled to stop the transfer of these documents, the Federal government moved into action. On January 23, 1996, Indian Affairs replaced the leadership at Barriere Lake with the dissident council.
The Feds knew they were taking a chance. Legal advisors had warned Indian Affairs that if they miscalculated, they would open themselves to legal liabilities. But Minister Ron Irwin seemed determined to see the action through.

The Bitter Days
News that their customary council had been deposed touched off a storm of anger in the community. Many saw the dissident council as outsiders, too closely tied with development interests. Russell Diabo, a longtime advisor to the community, explains; "The view of the community is that the Federal government was out to kill the Trilateral agreement because it controls such a large part of the area economy."
Indian Affairs maintained the logging issue had nothing to do with the takeover. But they insisted that the new leadership be given control of the Band office, band finances and the school.
Attempts to bring the dissident council in from Maniwaki were thwarted when the community went to the extraordinary step of blockading their own reserve.
The line had been drawn in the sand and Indian Affairs was not about to back down. The Feds upped the ante by cutting off programming dollars and welfare money to the reserve.
With a 90% unemployment rate, the result was devastating. The Algonquins were, in effect, presented with a starve or submit scenario. Faced with this terrible dilemma, they chose to raise the stakes even higher. Rather than accept the rule of the new council, the community turned back diesel trucks loaded with fuel for the community generator. Within days all power and heat was cut off. And it was winter.
For over a year, the community lived without power or water. Children did not attend school. There were no medical services. Families survived on what they could trap from the bush. 
As the living conditions in Barriere Lake deteriorated, the Federal government suspended the Trilateral Agreement. Logging companies began moving back in to areas that had been previously protected and resumed clear-cutting.
Despite the complete breakdown of normal life, the people of Barriere Lake mounted new barricades to stop the clear-cuts. Blockades went up in October 1996 and remained in place through the second harsh winter without supplies.
Meanwhile the Federal government was taking increasing heat as word leaked out about the destitution and suffering plaguing the community. Michel Gratton, a former provincial cabinet minister, wrote a devastating rebuke to the Federal government in the Montreal Gazette.
"This unilateral decision to replace the Chief and council.... is the imposition and diktat of raw power by the department against a small community without the resources or ability to defend itself."

New Era, Sorta
By March 1997, with the mills once again facing shut down, the Federal government finally gave up on its attempt to impose the dissident council on the community. As a way of ending the conflict, Matchewan agreed to step aside. When elections were held, the dissident slate was firmly defeated and the community chose elder Harry Wawatie as their new customary chief.
With media, church and political attention focused on the debacle at Barriere Lake, Indian Affairs promised a new era of cooperation. They signed an agreement (the Memorandum of Mutual Intent) committing the Feds to finally start building houses, finishing the Trilateral agreement and help bring electrification to the community (Barriere Lake leadership say they are still waiting to see these promises fulfilled).

Gull Lake
In May 2000, the people of Barriere Lake gave their approval to the Gull Lake IRMP -- the first and most contentious of the seven management areas of the Trilateral Agreement. If the Quebec government agreed to the protected areas in the Gull Lake plan, the other pieces of the outstanding Trilateral puzzle would finally fall into place.
The information was presented at a community meeting in Maniwaki. Families watched technical slide shows from foresters about the extensive data base of wildlife, forestry and scientific knowledge that had been put together.
Hector Jerome, the Barriere Lake liaison with the logging companies, carefully translated this information into Algonquin. He explained to the people how their traditional medicines had been catalogued. On digitized GIS mapping he outlined where moose, bear and marten habitats had been identified.
The work was cutting edge and had gathered many supporters both among First Nations and forest conservationists.
And on the ground level, men like Jerome were finding that the logging operators in the territory were showing a new willingness to work with the ABL.
Companies routinely consulted ABL advisors and ensured that they took the "measures to harmonize" traditional Algonquin needs with logging activities.
But, as Jerome made clear in his presentation, the community had to be willing to fully back this plan, because serious negotiations lay ahead. With the IRMP on the table, Quebec and the Feds would now have to finally begin serious negotiations for how much say the Algonquins were going to be accorded in the management of the territory. The outstanding issues of resource revenue sharing, electrification and housing would have to be addressed.
Gull Lake represented the light at the end of a very long tunnel.

Walk Out
In June, the ABL announced the Gull Lake plan was being submitted to Quebec planners. A month later, the Federal government walked away from the Trilateral process. The Feds maintain that the process had taken too long, and has cost too much money ($5 million). They say there aren't enough concrete results to warrant seeing it through to the end. According to the Marc Lafrenniere, the Deputy Minister of Indian Affairs, "The financial resources dedicated to the IRMP compared to progress made are difficult to justify."
The walk away left the Algonquins on the hook for more than $100,000 in unpaid bills to consultants, planners and mappers.
At a meeting with Indian Affairs held on July 16th, community leaders demanded to know how they would be able to finish the studies so the Trilateral agreement could be completed.
Sophie Lise Ratte of Indian Affairs, told the community that if they wished to see the process through, they should spend their housing dollars.
Housing, or lack of, is clearly a hotspot with the Algonquins. Hector Jerome, responded with a statement of the lessons the ABL have learned from negotiations with both levels of government.
"We have found that when we suffer the government doesn't notice or care. The only time we seem to be heard is when someone suffers along with us. I'm telling you now, that this time, a lot of people are going to have to suffer with us."

Jerome's prediction came true all too soon. Within weeks, notices were sent out to all logging companies within the territory. Once the companies had run out of areas where "measures to harmonize" had been approved, they would be asked to leave Barriere Lake territory.
The logging shutdown began in August. At the time, few in the community expected that Indian Affairs would go to the wall. After all, a clearly defined timetable for finishing the agreement was on the table (an estimated $700,000 in costs and 15 months of work).
As well, the ABL were working well with both forestry and provincial reps. Quebec's Minister of Indian Affairs Guy Chevrette publicly stated that he "deplored" the Federal walkaway. He wrote to Nault asking him to personally intervene and return to the table. Nault has also been petitioned by logging companies and the World Wildlife Fund.
But after four months, the Feds haven't budged. And with winter approaching, serious lay-offs are looming for a whole logging region in Quebec.
Why the hardline? Some speculate it's because Indian Affairs is worried that the implications of the Trilateral process -- land management and revenue sharing, would be a precedent for other First Nations. Many in the community believe that Barriere Lake is being undermined by outstanding bad blood from regional bureaucrats for having not "played ball" like other First Nations.
If the latest stand-off has become another game of "who will blink first" the Feds may, yet again, be underestimating the resolve of the Barriere Lake people. For, as anyone will tell you in this dingy and overcrowded settlement, the Algonquins of Barriere Lake have learned one important lesson over the last century -- they simply can't afford to blink. This article may be downloaded but any reprints require prior permission.

"The new law doesn't offer any tangible advantage to the Indians, but that is not necessarily a reason for rejecting it. The Savages belong.... to a minority that can only weaken with the years, either by the transformation of their ways, or alas by deathbefore a quarter of a century is gone, perhaps, the savages will be no more than a memory! Is it wise to sacrifice, for needs that are more fictional than real of this race that is leaving, the interests of the majority of the state?"
-Quebec game official responding to concerns from the Hudson's Bay Company that new hunting laws would result in starvation for the Barriere Lake people, 1895.

This article may be downloaded but any reprints require prior permission.

Back

Vaping has become a popular alternative for those seeking a Stylish and Convenient way to enjoy nicotine without the drawbacks of traditional smoking. the iget moon Offers an exceptional Vaping Experience, combining sleek design with ease of use. Its compact size makes it perfect for on-the-go enjoyment, while its variety of flavors satisfies diverse preferences. Choose the iget moon for a modern and satisfying Vaping solution that fits seamlessly into your lifestyle.