OUR OIL-RICH AND NATIVE LAND
The Lubicon Lake Indians' fight for their land has left them
dependent on welfare, and without faith in governments or the
legal system
by Dale Stelter
Canada's aboriginal peoples have become the focus of attention in
recent months, due to a number of events: the blocking of the
Meech Lake Accord by Manitoba Cree MLA Elijah Harper, the stand-
off involving the Mohawks in Quebec, and the multitude of road
and rail blockades erected by natives across the country.
While the issues now being raised by aboriginal people cover a
vast range of topics, many centre on land rights disputes. In
some of these disputes, the natives involved have signed a treaty
or agreement with the federal government in the past, but now
contend that land has been wrongfully appropriated from them.
Other disputes involve bands that have not signed a treaty, have
therefore not been allocated any land upon which to pursue their
way of life, but, as they contend, nor have they ceded
"aboriginal title" to the land they occupy.
Included in the latter category are the Lubicon Lake Indians of
northern Alberta (often known simply as "the Lubicon"), whose
land rights dispute has now dragged on for more than 50 years.
As is the case with many native bands across Canada, the
Lubicon's land-standing struggle is filled with betrayal at the
hands of both the federal and provincial governments, and has had
devastating social consequences. To understand these
consequences, some background about the Lubicon's situation is
necessary.
When the federal government signed treaties with natives in
northern Alberta at the turn of the century, the Lubicon Indians
were not contacted. In the late 1930s, at the request of the
band, federal officials visited the Lubicon, confirming that the
band was a distinct society with aboriginal rights to the land,
and promising a reserve.
For a number of reasons, including the onset of World War II, the
reserve was never established. Consequently, despite frequent
meddling by the federal government (such as unilateral reductions
of band membership), the Lubicon continued living as they had for
many generations -- gaining their livelihood through hunting,
fishing and trapping, and having little contact with the outside
world.
That changed radically in the early 1970s, when the newly elected
Progressive Conservative provincial government, under Premier
Peter Lougheed, launched its plan to open up the northern part of
Alberta for resource exploitation. Indeed, in 1971, the
government began building an all-weather road into the Lubicon's
oil-rich traditional territory, which covers approximately 10,000
square kilometres. The area covered is north of Lesser Slave
Lake and south of Fort Vermilion, bounded on the west by the
Peace River and on the easy by the Wabasca River. Within this
area, the main community, Little Buffalo Lake, is approximately
105 kilometres east of the town of Peace River.
Faced with an influx of outsiders, the Lubicon contacted the
Indian Association of Alberta. The association advised the band
to file a caveat, which had no force of law, but served notice
that the title to the land was contested. The Alberta government
refused to accept and file the caveat as required by provincial
law at the time, so the Lubicon ended up in court, trying to get
the government to obey its own law. The result was that the
provincial government rewrote the relevant legislation,
retroactive to before the Lubicon filed their caveat. A judge
then dismissed the Lubicon's case as no longer having any basis
in law.
Years of additional legal obstacles followed for the Lubicon, not
only in the provincial courts, but also in federal courts as
Indian lands come under the jurisdiction of the federal
government. In fact, it soon became obvious that the Canadian
government, the purported guardian of native rights, was aligning
itself in opposition to the Lubicon.
So effective were the provincial and federal governments at
stonewalling any progress that, in 1988, the Lubicon finally
abandoned their hopes of getting any help through the courts.
However, the oil companies continued to drill more wells. It is
now estimated that $6 billion in oil and gas revenues have been
taken from Lubicon land. Not one penny has gone to the Lubicon.
This wholesale invasion by the oil companies has had devastating
effects upon the Lubicon. For example, between 1979 and 1982,
more than 400 wells were drilled within a 15-mile radius of the
Lubicon community of Little Buffalo Lake. In 1979, the Lubicon
took 219 moose, their primary source of food. As the oil
development drove the wildlife away, that number plummeted to 19
by 1983. During the same period, average income from trapping --
the Lubicon's main income source -- fell from more than $5,000
per trapper to less than $400.
As the Lubicon saw their livelihood destroyed, they were
confronted with leaving their community for the bleak employment
prospects faced by natives everywhere. For those who stayed,
dependence on welfare increased from less than 10 per cent to
more than 95 per cent, where it remains. The end result was that
the Lubicon's traditional social structure was severely
disrupted.
This combination of disruption, uncertainty and despair took a
heavy toll upon the Lubicon people. Social and medical problems
of all kinds proliferated. As one means of escaping the
nightmare they were living, some community members turned -- as
people everywhere do -- to alcohol. This led to alcohol-related
deaths, family violence and break-down, and suicides -- all
phenomena with which the Lubicon had had little or no previous
experience. Still-born and premature babies also showed a
dramatic increase.
In August of 1987, provincial government officials confirmed that
nearly one-third of the approximately 500 Lubicon were suffering
from tuberculosis. This figure compares with a Canadian average
of one per 100,000 people. Provincial medical personnel also
confirmed that a tuberculosis epidemic of such magnitude was
likely caused by low resistance to infectious disease, which, in
turn, is related to the destruction of the natives' traditional
way of life.
The Lubicon received little sympathy from either level of
government. For example, in 1983, the Lubicon submitted to the
courts the sworn statements of band elders and a number of non-
native experts, describing and assessing the effects of the oil
development on the band's traditional way of life. By contrast,
the provincial government and oil companies submitted no
affidavits on traditional life. Yet a provincial court judge,
who as a lawyer several years earlier had represented one of the
controlling shareholders of the oil companies involved, dismissed
the Lubicon's case. When the Lubicon appealed this decision, the
judge who instated himself as the head of the Alberta Court of
Appeal panel was not only the former lawyer for then-Premier
Peter Lougheed's family, but also had given Lougheed his first
job in his Calgary law firm.
The judge acting as head of the appeal panel then died, but the
appeal panel upheld the original ruling. The Lubicon then went
to the Supreme Court of Canada, which declined -- without
explanation -- to hear the Lubicon appeal. However, one of the
judges on the Supreme Court of Canada panel later left the bench,
and was appointed to the board of directors of a large petro-
chemical conglomerate with significant interests in the Lubicon's
traditional territory.
Similarly, in 1986, a negotiator for the federal government met
with Project North, an inter-church committee which promotes
justice for aboriginal people. The negotiator denied that the
Lubicon's traditional way of life was being destroyed by
development. On the contrary, he made the following claims: the
moose population in the Lubicon's traditional lands had not
declined because of the development, but because they had been
killed off by the natives; the development was favourable for the
moose, as it cleared away old vegetation and allowed new growth;
and, the miles of new oil roads made hunting and trapping easier
for the Lubicon, since they improved access to remote areas.
These examples are only a small fraction of the legal and
political machinations to which the Lubicon have been subjected.
The best judges of the situation are, of course, the Lubicon
themselves. As Lubicon Chief Bernard Ominayak states, "We've
been forced into a position where our society is coming apart,
and we're paying a very high price. We can no longer practice
our way of life, and we're basically forced onto welfare."
"But we can't back down and keep receiving welfare. We've seen
the destruction that welfare can cause. It's not something we're
proud to speak of, but it's there, and we have to deal with it."
Chief Ominayak says that while the Lubicon continue to face dire
social problems, the worst effects from resource development were
felt in the early years after the oil companies moved in. "In a
sense, the people are becoming accustomed to development and all
the problems it causes."
Yet resolving their long-standing struggle over the land would
not mean an immediate answer to all of the Lubicon's problems.
"Our people have been on welfare for about 10 years, and we feel
it's going to be a long, hard fight to overcome that dependency.
And we have to have a settlement that will enable our younger
people to start building a future for themselves."
It appears that the federal government is intent on not allowing
the Lubicon that future. In October of 1988, after the Lubicon
had abandoned their court battles, the band erected blockades to
their traditional lands. Although armed RCMP, supported by
helicopters and dogs, moved in and forcibly dismantled the
barricades, the action prompted the Alberta and Canadian
governments into reopening negotiations.
However, those negotiations came to an abrupt halt in January of
1989, when the (federal) government tabled a surprise "take-it-
or-leave-it" offer of $45 million. The band declined the offer
because, according to band advisor Fred Lennarson, it would have
provided the Lubicon with a 250-square-kilometre reserve, and
basic requirements such as a school, and houses with running
water and sewers, but would have provided "the Lubicon people
with absolutely no capability to once again become socially and
economically self sufficient."
As Chief Ominayak said in a public statement, acceptance of the
federal offer would have ensured that the Lubicon people "remain
forever dependent upon welfare to support ourselves, and upon
outsiders to manage and provide for us. We will never
voluntarily accept such a humiliating and degrading future."
Indeed, the federal offer was full of convoluted conditions. As
just one example, the Lubicon wanted to build a community health
centre, a service which is common reserves in Canada. The
federal government allocated $350,000 in its offer for the health
centre, but said that the Lubicon would have to consult with
Health and Welfare Canada. If Health and Welfare Canada had
funding available in that fiscal year, the health centre could be
built. The catch was that if the money was not available, the
Lubicon would not get the centre, but the non-unusable $350,000
would remain as part of the total offer.
Another key issue in the negotiations was compensation to the
Lubicon for oil and gas revenues taken from the lands to which
the band holds aboriginal title, and for benefits the Lubicon
have not received in the years since they were first promised a
reserve. Both of these issues are common categories in
compensation negotiations between Natives and the federal
government. The federal government's answer to this demand for
compensation was that, if the Lubicon accepted the "take-it-or-
leave-it" offer, they could go to court to sue for compensation.
Understandably, the Lubicon had little faith left in the Canadian
legal system. They were also severely constrained for money to
pay legal fees. Further, the outcome of a court case based on
aboriginal title could have been affected by clauses in the
federal offer requiring the Lubicon to surrender their aboriginal
land rights, and to cede all possible basis for such legal
action.
Since January of 1989, the federal government has refused to
return to the negotiating table. Talks with the Alberta
government have started up several times, but have proven
fruitless, so that, at present, no negotiations are taking place
with either level of government.
Meanwhile, the Lubicon are finding other obstacles thrown up in
their path. Daishowa of Canada, a Japanese-controlled forestry
company, recently began operation of a large pulp mill, and
announced that companies with which it had contracts would be
logging on traditional Lubicon land this winter. This despite
Daishowa's previous -- and unfulfilled -- commitments that it
would not log on Lubicon land until the band's land rights
dispute was settled and an agreement on environmental protection
was reached.
Incidentally, the Lubicon wee never consulted when the Alberta
government allocated their entire traditional territory,
presumably with the exception of a future reserve, to Daishowa.
Moreover, the federal Minister of Indian Affairs at the time,
Bill McKnight, was also in charge of the Western Economic
Diversification Program, which provided Daishowa with a $9.5
million subsidy.
Backed into a corner once more, the Lubicon notified Daishowa
that they would protest the logging. Daishowa subsequently
dropped its plans to log, at least for this winter, due to
considerable media exposure. However, the logging
infrastructure, such as roads and bridges, was already in place.
Subsequently, Brewster Construction Ltd., a wholly owned Daishowa
subsidiary, began logging in an area approximately 120 kilometres
northeast of Little Buffalo Lake. In fact, two swaths have been
bulldozed across Chief Bernard Ominayak's personal trapline. As
well, a contractor for Buchanan Lumber, another logging company,
began harvesting trees about 50 kilometres northeast of Little
Buffalo Lake.
That, then, is the log of the Lubicon band today: besieged by
resource development companies, stymied in negotiations with
uncooperative governments, and disillusioned with a legal system
that offers them little hope.
Consequently, the Lubicon have for some time tried to raise
public awareness of their case, and to garner public support. As
Chief Ominayak says, "I'm asking that our people be better
understood by the public at large. We hope that, at some point,
there is enough interest from the Canadian public that we can put
enough pressure on the government to resolve this matter."
It is perhaps little consolation for the Lubicon that they are,
as Boyce Richardson writes in DRUMBEAT: ANGER AND RENEWAL IN
INDIAN COUNTRY, "a casebook example of the frustrations native
people in Canada have always encountered in dealing with the
federal and provincial governments."
(Dale Stelter is a free-lance writer in Edmonton.)
Editor's note: Developments in the Lubicon's struggles were
ongoing as we went to press. PERCEPTION hopes to publish
periodic updates in the future.