This is part 2 of a six-part series.
THE NEMIAH VALLEY
Roger William knows something about victory through adversity.
The Xeni Gwet’in chief’s journey to become a regional bull-riding champion involved broken teeth, broken cheek bones, and a scary rodeo experience.
“When I jumped off, my spurs got caught and dragged me around and knocked me out,” he recalls. “They couldn’t get me off. Finally, they (steered) me back in the loading chute with the bull. I ended up in hospital. Tore my knee ligaments. It could have been worse.”
William savoured his greatest victory on June 26, 2014, when, on behalf of the Xeni Gwet’in (honey gwe-teen) and the greater Tsilhqot’in (sill-co-teen) nation, the Supreme Court of Canada unanimously recognized native title to about 1,750 square kilometres of Crown land in the Central Interior and aboriginal rights across the larger region.
“It’s been a 25-year journey to get recognized in this country of Canada,” he explains. “We had to go to this extreme to prove it, to get recognized that we have title.”
William stands atop Bald Mountain, a cool wind tugging at his black cowboy hat and the tassels of his moosehide jacket. He looks proudly across a wide valley, bordered by the snowy Coast Mountains, that is native land for as far as the eye can see.
“We see this win as huge, a first of its kind,” he confirms. “It’s not by choice that we go ... to the Supreme Court of Canada, but now it’s an opportunity to move forward.”
Where the long journey to victory began depends on your perspective.
In the so-called Chilcotin War of 1864, natives killed 20 whites, mostly members of a road-building crew, resulting in the hangings of six chiefs.
More conflict ensued almost 120 years later, in 1983, when the B.C. government granted a commercial logging licence on Tsilhqot’in traditional lands. Natives protested, set up blockades, negotiated with the province, and ultimately issued the Nemiah Declaration of 1989, which banned commercial logging, mining, and dams and guaranteed natives the right to practice their traditional ways, including hunting, fishing, and trapping.
Almost one year after the Supreme Court of Canada decision, The Vancouver Sun is in the Nemiah Valley to see first-hand what the change from Crown land to native title means for the land and those who call it home. The valley may be a sparsely populated area, where 200-plus human residents barely outnumber the wild horses, but make no doubt about it: What’s happening in the Nemiah Valley is going to have consequences elsewhere in B.C.
“We’re breaking new ground,” confirms John Rustad, B.C.’s Minister of Aboriginal Relations and Reconciliation. “No one has ever had a declaration of aboriginal title in Canadian history. The courts have created this entity, but there are certainly lots of unknowns.”
The Tsilhqot’in see the decision as a major first step in helping their people recover from a troubled history, including the smallpox epidemic of 1862, the creation of reserves, residential schools, the ravages of alcohol and drugs, and the loss of traditional ways.
“We need to get caught up. We need to heal,” continues William, noting that economic, social and health issues are intertwined. “We know our history. Now we want to move forward. It’s an opportunity for B.C. and Canada to reconcile with Tsilhqot’in First Nations.”
The title lands represent up to about 10 per cent of overall Tsilhqot’in traditional territory. Natives now want to leverage the court win to reach agreements on management throughout their territory, including revenue sharing and decision-making roles.
“We don’t want to focus just on title lands,” William said. “We don’t want to isolate agreements. We want a consistent process throughout the whole Tsilhqot’in territory.”
He warns: “If there’s no agreement, it will probably end up back in court.”
The Xeni Gwet’in is one of six First Nations comprising about 3,000 Tsilhqot’in natives. The Nemiah Valley is located about a three-hour drive southwest of Williams Lake, on a gravel road off Highway 20, the main route through the Chilcotin to Bella Coola on the coast.
As a measure of the isolation, a proper road didn’t arrive in the valley until 1973. Before that, natives used to travel by horse and wagon to Williams Lake. Every year, Nemiah Valley youth keep the tradition alive with a weeklong journey that coincides with the annual stampede.
Mabel Solomon, 93, remembers those days. She was born in a tent in the Nemiah Valley, a simpler time when natives grew vegetables, ate wild fish and game, raised cattle and enjoyed the unique isolation of their existence. Even today, she speaks only the Tsilhqot’in language, although on any given evening she can be observed in her wheelchair watching English shows on the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network or reality programs such as The Voice.
With a little prompting, she will provide her own entertainment, hauling out a vintage push-button accordion to play songs, the names of which she’s forgotten.
A few years ago, Solomon told her family she would be willing to participate in a blockade in her wheelchair if that’s what it took to stop Taseko Mines from developing an open-pit gold-copper mine that would destroy Fish Lake.
“I’ll be right up front with my shotgun and I won’t miss,” she told her family.
Although the B.C. government supported the mine, federal reviews ultimately rejected it — twice, as Prosperity and New Prosperity — and the natives unilaterally declared the area a tribal park.
Today, the court decision has bought some peace for Solomon. “It’s really good that we’ve won,” she says through an interpreter.
Solomon’s daughter and son-in-law, Dinah and Jim Lulua, operate a two-storey bed and breakfast built from federal residential school compensation payments, which totalled more than $60,000 between the two of them.
Ironically, even though they were not permitted to speak their native language at school, they did at home with their families and remained fluent. Today, children are taught the Tsilhqot’in language in school, but do not speak it at home and are losing it, including Jim and Dinah’s two boys, now in their 30s.
“We didn’t take the time to teach them our language,” remarks Jim, a school bus driver. “We just spoke English. That was a big mistake.” The couple’s B&B is a modest operation, but they receive tourists from around the world looking for an authentic experience, including a dinner of sockeye caught with dipnets at Henry’s Crossing on the Chilko River.
Tourism is an economic enterprise that the Xeni Gwet’in would like to exploit. After all, with 360-degree mountain scenery, ranchlands and wild horses coexisting with mule deer and grizzlies, the Nemiah Valley is one of the most scenic spots in B.C.
A short drive away over bumpy roads takes visitors to a Chilko Lake campsite known as the movie camp, where locals got jobs as extras during filming of the 1974 U.S. drama The Bears and I, co-starring Chief Dan George and described online as “a man seeking peace and quiet finds himself father to three bears.” Arrowheads have also been found in the area, evidence of historic aboriginal occupation.
The Xeni Gwet’in have built a replica pit house to give tourists some insight into natives’ traditional lifestyle.
The house is wedged into the ground and features an opening in the roof where smoke can escape. “Watch out for those big traps,” warns The Sun’s guide, Laura Setah. “Pack rats live here.”
Chilko is the largest, natural high-elevation lake in B.C. and the centrepiece of Ts’il?os Provincial Park, which is co-managed by B.C. and the Xeni Gwet’in.
The lake is notorious for high winds. On a recent sunny spring day, they stir up fierce whitecaps and clouds of alkali dust from the dry shoreline of a pond. Setah’s late husband, Harry, served as a park ranger here.
“He liked it, working on the land,” she recalls. “Lots of horse pack trips, checking out the area.”
Horses remain an integral part of the Xeni Gwet’in culture. Wild ones are occasionally rounded up, herded into corrals, and trained for use by band members or sold. But not every horse lives a bucolic life on the farm. The Sun revealed in 2013 that the province paid $73,000 to the Tl’etinqox First Nation at Alexis Creek to round up 14 wild horses (which were then sold at auction for meat) to enhance moose habitat, even though research showed little competition between moose and horses for forage.
Recent DNA research shows that the wild horses of the more remote Brittany Triangle in the Chilcotin show ties to the Canadian horse — a unique breed to Canada that had its origins in France — and, to a lesser extent, the Yakut horse from Russia’s eastern Siberia.
Horses are also integral to a smattering of non-natives in the Nemiah Valley — tourism operators, guide-outfitters and ranchers — some of them long-standing residents who have grown up with the same natives who are now in charge.
Jon and Tracy Tanis of Snowy Mountain Outfit operate a ranch-style bed and breakfast and offer wilderness horseback trips into the neighbouring mountains.
Jon has been knocking around the Nemiah Valley since the 1970s. He proposed to Tracy, then living in Ontario, by letter and they married in 1984. The couple moved into the valley in 1986, and went on to raise three daughters.
Before building a log home on 1.2 hectares of leased Crown land in 1989, they went to the elders to obtain their permission, the sort of cultural sensitivity that won’t hurt now that natives are the landlord.
“It’s going to be interesting to see what happens,” Jon said. “It opens up a whole bunch of weird scenarios. But I’m assured it will work out. We have a good relationship. I would hope the sense of community will remain.”
Still, no one can predict the future. William, father to three boys and a girl, appreciates that non-natives may have nagging doubts. “‘What if someone else gets in as chief and doesn’t want to work with us? What’s going to happen?’ It is possible. The next election is 2018. Until then, I think we might be able to find some certainty, a process to protect people and businesses on title land.”
Five guide-outfitting territories are also located to varying degrees on the Xeni Gwet’in title lands, and Jon plans to operate one of those, Tatlow Mountain Outfitters, this year on behalf of its owner, a Port Alberni doctor.
The Xeni Gwet’in have agreed to allow outfitters to operate without disruption for at least a year, with the province collecting the royalties on behalf of the natives. William counters that whatever happens longer term, it is B.C.’s responsibility to compensate non-natives for any losses resulting from the title decision.
Scott Ellis, executive director of the Guide Outfitters Association of B.C., says the situation has naturally caused anxiety for his members and that he hopes amicable settlements can be reached. “We’d like to see a willing seller/willing buyer environment and government take a leading role.” An outfitter certificate is for 25 years, with Crown leases for hunting camps lasting 30 to 60 years.
For now, roads remain open to the public for access to private or Crown lands, including eight recreational sites. Hikers, fishers and others wishing to traverse title lands should get permission from natives in advance. Hunting is closed to non-residents.
While natives vigorously opposed Taseko’s planned open-pit mine at Fish Lake, the Xeni Gwet’in leadership remains open to industrial development on title lands.
“Don’t get me wrong. Some of our members don’t want logging, clearcuts, or mining — period. Other members are open, provided it’s done our way. Being a leader, I have to look at all sides. If there is an economic opportunity, and it’s safe, then why not?”
The province and Tsilhqot’in are working to a deadline — the one-year anniversary of the court agreement — to sign a memorandum of understanding outlining a roadmap for negotiations that could continue for several more years.
“We are looking at all aspects, from social justice to resource development and wildlife issues, a wide range of things,” William said.
For the provincial government, the court decision has created a minefield of uncertainty over how to practically implement the ownership change.
Considerations include how to fight diseases and wildfires on what is now native land, ensuring continued public road access through the valley, including Crown land outside the title area, and the fate of non-natives. While B.C. concedes the Xeni Gwet’in own the trees, it says the subsurface mineral rights are still an open topic.
The Supreme Court noted that Section 35 of the Constitution permits incursions on aboriginal title without the consent of the aboriginal people if “justified by a compelling and substantial public purpose and ... not inconsistent with Crowns’ fiduciary duty to the aboriginal group.”
The changes wrought by the decision are so pervasive that even the ownership of a moose that walks from Crown land to native title land is a matter of debate.
“I’m not sure, and I don’t think the courts are sure, either,” Rustad said. “Obviously, a moose doesn’t respect a line on the sand.”
Uncertainty is exactly what the business community had feared from the Xeni Gwet’in decision. The Business Council of B.C. has stated: “If provincial law does not apply to any lands found by a court to be subject to aboriginal title, there will be a legislative vacuum that will hamper investment and the creation of jobs and will endanger the viability of existing operations and jobs in B.C.”
And what if talks go poorly and others First Nations decide they, too, want to go to court to prove title and reap the benefits?
Although the Tsilhqot’in case cost tens of millions of dollars, the Xeni Gwet’in benefited from a court decision that ordered about 50 per cent of their legal fees to be split evenly by the senior governments under the so-called Okanagan Test.
Tsilhqot’in lawyer Drew Mildon of Woodward & Company in Victoria said the test, based on a Supreme Court of Canada decision involving the Okanagan First Nation in 2003, required the Tsilhqot’in to prove that the band lacked money, had a legitimate case, and the case had broader implications.
Those are monies that won’t be available to another First Nation that might want to also seek court recognition of their title claims. Still, some native bands may be willing to spend millions as an investment in future property rights that would eventually yield much more in revenue.
Michelle Perron, spokesperson for Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada, confirmed in a written statement that Ottawa has begun exploratory discussions with the Tsilhqot’in only. The government continues to “review and consider” the "complex and significant issues" raised by the Supreme Court decision and is committed to working to "resolving outstanding rights and title claims through negotiated settlements that balance the interests of all Canadians.” Perron said.
B.C. wants more federal involvement, noting the Supreme Court of Canada is a federal institution and that Ottawa has constitutional obligations to aboriginals. The feds may also be urged to help compensate any non-natives uprooted by the court decision.
“It’s going to be complex,” Rustad said of negotiations. “But it’s (work) well worth doing.”
PRIDE & POWER: FIRST NATIONS AND THE B.C. ECONOMY
SATURDAY: First Nations are signing economic agreements with government and companies worth billions of dollars.
MONDAY: The Xeni Gwet'in hope its landmark Supreme Court land-title win will help to right historic wrongs.
TUESDAY: Almost hidden in Vancouver, the Musqueam exert wide influence over economic developments.
WEDNESDAY: Nak'azdli First Nation capitalizes on resourcebased economy of the Northern Interior.
THURSDAY: The Sts'ailes of the rural Harrison River Valley are seeking benefits across their traditional territory.
FRIDAY: Do resource projects with First Nations' involvement have a lighter environmental footprint?
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