Once fully settled, these claims—unmet promises in treaties 5, 6 and 10 territories throughout the Prairie provinces—will represent almost $1.4 billion in combined compensation to these First Nations.

Through these treaties, Canada promised First Nations ploughs, seeds for important crops, livestock such as cows and bulls and other farming necessities.

“These agricultural benefits were meant to facilitate the economic transition, and as a result of Canada’s failure to fulfil treaty promises, these First Nations did not have the equipment needed to support their members,” read an Oct. 18 news release from Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada.

Wrote Tony Alexis of the Alexis Nakota Sioux Nation: “This settlement recognizes the original promises made under Treaty No. 6 in 1877 and acknowledges the inadequate agricultural benefits that were provided to our people. It is a victory for our nation and a testament to the determination of those who first established these rights.

“Through close work with our people and effective negotiations with the ministry, this settlement marks a significant step forward, ensuring that these long-standing commitments are finally addressed for the benefit of future generations.”

Treaty 5, also known as the Winnipeg Treaty, was signed in 1875–76 by the federal government, Ojibwe peoples and the Swampy Cree of Lake Winnipeg. It covers much of present-day central and northern Manitoba as well as portions of Saskatchewan and Ontario.

Treaty 6 is an agreement between the crown and the Plains and Woods Cree, Assiniboine and other band governments at Fort Carlton and Fort Pitt. It encompasses most of the central area of present-day Saskatchewan and Alberta. Treaty 6 signings began on Aug. 18, 1876, and ran until September 9, 1876.

Treaty 10 was established Aug. 19, 1906, between King Edward VII and various First Nation governments in current northern Saskatchewan and a portion of current eastern Alberta, an area covering 220,000 sq. kilometres.

“The socio-economic gaps between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in Canada are the result of decades of colonial policies, which often led to the denial and dispossession of land and resources,” explained the release.

“Honouring Canada’s legal obligations and properly compensating Indigenous Peoples for what was unlawfully taken or withheld from them is fundamental to advancing the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in order to rebuild trust with Indigenous communities.”

The post Canada, First Nations agree on unmet agricultural claims appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

Once fully settled, these claims—unmet promises in treaties 5, 6 and 10 territories throughout the Prairie provinces—will represent almost $1.4 billion in combined compensation to these First Nations.

Through these treaties, Canada promised First Nations ploughs, seeds for important crops, livestock such as cows and bulls and other farming necessities.

“These agricultural benefits were meant to facilitate the economic transition, and as a result of Canada’s failure to fulfil treaty promises, these First Nations did not have the equipment needed to support their members,” read an Oct. 18 news release from Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada.

Wrote Tony Alexis of the Alexis Nakota Sioux Nation: “This settlement recognizes the original promises made under Treaty No. 6 in 1877 and acknowledges the inadequate agricultural benefits that were provided to our people. It is a victory for our nation and a testament to the determination of those who first established these rights.

“Through close work with our people and effective negotiations with the ministry, this settlement marks a significant step forward, ensuring that these long-standing commitments are finally addressed for the benefit of future generations.”

Treaty 5, also known as the Winnipeg Treaty, was signed in 1875–76 by the federal government, Ojibwe peoples and the Swampy Cree of Lake Winnipeg. It covers much of present-day central and northern Manitoba as well as portions of Saskatchewan and Ontario.

Treaty 6 is an agreement between the crown and the Plains and Woods Cree, Assiniboine and other band governments at Fort Carlton and Fort Pitt. It encompasses most of the central area of present-day Saskatchewan and Alberta. Treaty 6 signings began on Aug. 18, 1876, and ran until September 9, 1876.

Treaty 10 was established Aug. 19, 1906, between King Edward VII and various First Nation governments in current northern Saskatchewan and a portion of current eastern Alberta, an area covering 220,000 sq. kilometres.

“The socio-economic gaps between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in Canada are the result of decades of colonial policies, which often led to the denial and dispossession of land and resources,” explained the release.

“Honouring Canada’s legal obligations and properly compensating Indigenous Peoples for what was unlawfully taken or withheld from them is fundamental to advancing the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in order to rebuild trust with Indigenous communities.”

The post Canada, First Nations agree on unmet agricultural claims appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

Over the years the First Nation, just north of Meadow Lake, Sask., has been converting the alfalfa field into a potato field and expanding the vegetable garden. This year, it planted 18 tonnes of seed potatoes and harvested about 90. They expected to harvest about 120 tonnes, but they didn’t beat the frost, says Jason Cardinal.

Cardinal has a background in data science and mechanics, and he brings that high-tech lens to Flying Dusts’s agricultural ventures. Speaking at the 10th annual Indigenous Ag Summit, held during Canadian Western Agribition in Regina, Cardinal explained how they survey the land base with drones, using the images and maps for land use planning, elevation mapping, tree canopy counts, calculating flood risk and checking crops and bison.

That tech also attracts students and young people to the market garden.

“We do a lot of drones and that seems to really entice them because the technology is something they’re really interested in. It enables them to make videos, TikTok videos and things like that. Get cool footage. We’ve got a lot of bison running and things like that.”

Summer students are put to work doing everything from building a chicken coop to growing and selling produce. A community elder mentors the students, teaching them how to manage the greenhouse, as well as about traditional foods and medicines. This year, they also planted about 200 fruit trees, creating a “food forest.”

Students can also earn their green certification at the market garden over two years through the University of Saskatchewan.

The market garden produces a range of vegetables, including three types of potatoes, cabbage, carrots, peas, lettuce, squash, peppers, tomatoes and more. Right now vegetables are grown on five acres, but there are 20-25 acres available for vegetables.

Along with chickens and bison, the First Nation also has over 150 beehives, which is a relatively new venture for its members. Workers have been taking courses on bees and learning from a beekeeper, who hails from the Philippines, hired by the reserve.

The market garden has a temperature-controlled potato storage facility and commercial kitchen, Flying Dust’s website notes. Supervisors run the market garden, which also has a board of directors.

Cardinal says the biggest challenge right now is distributing the produce, as they are a bit short on transportation-related infrastructure. However, Flying Dust plans to purchase a new truck to help distribute produce in the community, which should alleviate some distribution pain.

The Riverside Market Garden aims to provide fresh produce to the community, as well as other communities within a 100-mile radius, says Cardinal. They’re also building a community meat shop to process meat from bison and cattle.

The market garden sells into the Co-op and the Meadow Lake Farmers’ Market. It also has sales agreements with Sobeys and Thomas Fresh (which sells to Costco and Walmart). Cardinal says they’re looking for more customers, as currently, the market garden is producing more than the people in their community consume.

This year, they did a lot of food preservation, such as freeze-drying and canning, and involved students. “We did pickles and peppers and beets and stuff like that. So it was a really nice experience, getting to see that firsthand.”

— Lisa Guenther is editor of Canadian Cattlemen.

The post At Agribition: Northern community integrates tech, education into market garden appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

It was a beautiful late September day near Shilo, Man., as Elder Roddy McKay, Anishinaabe cultural support worker Ken Norquay, cattle farmer Gordon Beddome, and representatives from the Nature Conservancy of Canada gathered on the banks of the Assiniboine River.

The group was there to officially rename the 750-acre parcel of land that has been slated for agricultural, ecological and traditional use. From here on, the site will be known as Wabano Aki.

Why it matters: Renaming of land in western Manitoba highlights how Aboriginal and agricultural land use can mesh with conservation efforts.

Drawn from Anishinaabe, Wabano Aki translates to “Tomorrow’s Land.”

The parcel came to the attention of the NCC five years ago when the former landowner, Gordon Beddome, needed to divest himself of the property as part of a divorce settlement.

RELATED: Back to the land: ‘We used to plant hay here.’
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Beddome, who runs about 150 cattle, was already working with the NCC at the time, helping manage the organization’s Yellow Quill Prairie Preserve south of Brandon. Hearing that the NCC had funding available to support native prairie habitat for ground-nesting migratory songbirds, Beddome reached out to see if his land would be a fit.

“When we looked at the land, it had a good arrangement of habitats and good biodiversity in the area, including some species at risk that we were really focusing on. And it also had grazing on it,” said Christine Chilton, community relations manager with NCC in Manitoba.

“Grazing and agricultural production are often really important to biodiversity when we need a disturbance-based landscape, so it was a no-brainer for us.”

The grassland property has freshwater springs, mixed prairie wetlands and forest habitats, according to a press release put out in the wake of the renaming ceremony. It further noted the site’s importance for species like the northern leopard frog and round leaf monkey flower, as well as at-risk birds such as Sprague’s pipit and eastern wood-pewee.

“Grasslands are one of the most endangered terrestrial ecosystems on the planet due to conversion to agriculture and loss of habitat,” said Chilton. “So, from a conservation perspective, it was a really important deal for us.”

The parcel had also been a site for traditional plant harvest and Indigenous ceremonial activities in the years leading up to its transfer to the NCC.

Beddome had met Norquay a few years earlier, when the community support worker was gathering native plants along the road allowance not far from Beddome’s property.

“He was looking for other places to harvest,” said Beddome. “I told him that I had a lot of native land down here that had echinacea and some of those flowers he was looking for. And so, he came down here and started harvesting.”

As the relationship developed, Norquay sought a site for a sweat lodge. Beddome offered a corner of his property along an unused driveway.

“They set up a sweat lodge up in there. They called it their ceremonial grounds, and they were bringing people out and having functions there,” the farmer noted.

When Beddome was getting ready to sell his property, he worried that it might affect the relationship developed with his Indigenous neighbours.

His concern turned out to be unnecessary. The NCC loved the idea of continuing Indigenous involvement on the property. In fact, they saw it as a perfect fit.

“It was a win-win-win,” said Beddome. “I will still be grazing the land for agricultural purposes. The NCC would still own the land for conservation purposes. And the Indigenous people would be involved as a third party to hold their traditional ways of using the land and gathering plants.”

Collectively, the three groups are known as the Stewards of Wabano.

“We are honoured to collaborate on the joint use of the land,” said Josh Dillabough, natural area manager for the NCC in Manitoba, speaking at the renaming ceremony.

“This project is a model on how to increase opportunities for the sharing of knowledge, shared land use for cultural and educational opportunities, and care of the land and species.”

Norquay was unavailable for comment at press time.

The post TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION: Conservation project marries agricultural and Indigenous interests appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

This year it was at Olds College in rural Alberta. As one might expect, agriculture in all its forms was front and centre.

From autonomous sprayers to crop-scouting drones and everything in between, the future of agriculture on the Prairies was on full display.

But also on display was an issue central to the past, present and future of this industry and our society – our often fractious, historically negative but increasingly hopeful relationship with the Indigenous peoples that were here before European settlement.

This poignant interlude in the event began with a short documentary film “Reserve 107: Reconciliation on the Prairies.” It tells the intertwined stories of the Young Chippewayan Band, Mennonite and Lutheran settlers to the area, and competing claims to some of the land surrounding Laird, Sask.

Predictably, it began with conflict. Indigenous citizens correctly claimed the land had been granted to them by treaty. However, scattered to the four corners of the Prairies by government policy, the band never took possession or residence. The federal government of the time eventually took back the land and opened it to settlement in the 1890s.

That set the stage for decades of low-level animosity. Rumours abounded in the Laird district of Indigenous claims on the land. Periodic protests by the Young Chippewayan underscored that they still viewed the land as their treaty right.

As one farm couple featured in the film noted, by the late 1970s and early 1980s, a lot of fear and anger had built up in the community.

If the story stopped here, it would be just another tale of division, distrust and deep-seated hopelessness. But it didn’t. Instead, it blazed a trail to reconciliation that the entire Prairie region could learn from.

It began with a meeting. In 2006, the Mennonite and Lutheran farmers of the Laird district and descendants of the Young Chippewayan treaty signatories met on Stony Knoll, a site sacred as both an important Indigenous spiritual site and as the original church site and graveyard of a local congregation.

Wilmer and Barb Froese, who farm on part of the contested land, were uncertain why anyone would show up to the gathering, since the interests of both sides seemed so polarized. But their trepidation disappeared soon after they arrived.

“When we drove up Stony Knoll that day, I was surprised to see so many cars there already,” Barb told the filmmakers.

“There was a big tipi on the site, there was a fire going, and people were milling about. Little old ladies were setting up their chairs, and everyone had food set out. There was just something bigger than we were, at that meeting. There was just something that was beyond us, and that just quieted things down in me. It went from the head to the heart.”

As the meeting drew near, Gary Laplante, a Young Chippewayan descendent, said there was plenty of trepidation in the Indigenous community too.

“When we first reached out to the Mennonites and Lutherans, honestly, we didn’t know what to expect,” Laplante said. “We thought ‘are they going to grill us and make us feel bad?’ a kind of ‘why don’t you guys give it up already?’ kind of attitude. We found out later, they were kind of thinking that too. They were apprehensive as well.”

But from that meeting came mutual respect and a formal agreement that the two groups would work to right a historic wrong.

It’s unclear what that final resolution will look like, but it’s fair to say that times have changed in the Laird district. Rather than two groups of angry and resentful people staring at an intractable problem, there appears to be a community emerging that includes both worlds.

One of the more striking interviews in the film involves two men — George Kingfisher, Young Chippewayan hereditary chief, and Ray Funk, a Mennonite landowner in the area. It opens with the two talking, laughing and frying up a bit of fish, likely caught from the nearby North Saskatchewan River.

“I’ve noticed we get along pretty good, you and I, it’s peaceful,” Kingfisher tells Funk. “When you’re going to do business with another group of people, you do it peacefully. We’re doing something peacefully here, on both sides. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

The film offers something that might sometimes feel impossible – a sliver of hope.

It doesn’t have all the answers, but it’s well worth a watch, and is freely available online at reserve107thefilm.com.

The post Editor’s Take: Reconciliation roadmap appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

Western Canadian society has a wall running straight down its middle, dividing the world into Indigenous and non-Indigenous spheres.

Breaking that wall down is in everyone’s interest, according to Kendal Netmaker. The Saskatoon-based Indigenous entrepreneur, author and consultant told the Canadian Crops Convention his priority is removing that wall.

“We need to knock it down so that we can begin talking again,” he said. “That invisible wall is hurting us all. I grew up near Cutknife (Saskatchewan) where there were many farms, many rural communities and didn’t know people from them. We’re better than that. All of us are better than that.”

And among the benefits for rural Western Canada will be better relations, closer economic ties and possibly a nearby willing workforce, he said.

Following his presentation he spoke to Gord Gilmour of Glacier FarmMedia, and Karen Briere of the Western Producer.

The post Building bridges to Indigenous communities appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

By ‘they’ he meant the Canadian government, many years ago.

Maytwayashing is a former cattle farmer from Lake Manitoba First Nation, and he’s worked in multiple advocacy, leadership and cultural training roles.

Farming went way back in his family, but they didn’t call it that, he said. It was simply raising food anyway they could.

Until the late 1950s, there was no point in farming above subsistence level, he said. If Indigenous people wanted to sell cattle or butcher for food, they had to get permission from the Indian agent. The proceeds or meat went to the agent, who distributed them as he saw fit.

[RELATED] AgCanada.com: Feds apologize for Saskatchewan farming colony scheme

“So what was the sense of busting your butt year-round when you weren’t even allowed to reap the benefits?” Maytwayashing asked me.

This year, I dug into the history of Indigenous farmers on the Prairies and their relationship with the federal and provincial governments.

The more I read, and the more I spoke with farmers and former farmers like Maytwayashing, the more it seemed clear that — after telling First Nations to farm — the Canadian government did almost everything it could to make it impossible.

What’s worse, thanks to those historical decisions, it’s still remarkably difficult for many First Nations people to make a living by farming.

Case in point: I spoke to Derrick Gould, who raises horses and cuts and sells hay on Pinaymootang (Fairford) First Nation.

[RELATED] Back to the land: ‘We used to plant hay here’

There used to be dozens of farmers there. Gould related a family history of how, in the early 1960s, the Fairford Dam opened, water came up the river, and cattle just floated away.

Apparently, the province hadn’t considered the dam’s effects on Pinaymootang residents or bothered to warn them the water was coming. A 1990s-era study I found said the flooding rendered grain fields and hay lands useless, either because of moisture or because of salts brought to the surface.

When Gould was a teenager, he cut hay with an ancient tractor and implements and pitched hay by hand into a wagon.

Because he lives on a reserve, he doesn’t own his land or his house, so he doesn’t have much to use as collateral on loans. Gradually he saved enough money, got small loans — the bank wouldn’t loan him more than $20,000 at a time — and upgraded his equipment bit by bit. He also built a cow-calf herd.

Not much has changed in this regard. It’s still very difficult for First Nations farmers to get loans. Farm Credit Canada is working to make it easier, Shaun Soonias, director of Indigenous relations, told me. It didn’t sound like they were close to a solution.

In 2003, the BSE crisis hit the cattle industry. It was no different for Gould and other Indigenous cattle farmers. But unlike many producers off-reserve, Gould and many other First Nations farmers didn’t get financial aid from government programs.

[RELATED] Frozen out: BSE-era relief programs a case study in how Indigenous farmers fall through the cracks

Gould said he was told he couldn’t participate in provincial aid programs, and when he spoke with federal officials, they said there was nothing for him. Gould lost his herd.

I spoke with David Natcher, a researcher at the University of Saskatchewan who said — based on a study he and other researchers did in Saskatchewan — that Gould’s experience was the rule, not the exception.

Of 33 producers his team spoke to, only one had received financial aid during the BSE crisis. The rest had either not heard of the programs or had been told they weren’t eligible. I found the same pattern in Manitoba.

The federal and Manitoba governments told me First Nations farmers were eligible for many of the aid programs. One even had a specific intake process for them. I tried to learn who had responsibility for helping Indigenous farmers during the crisis but couldn’t figure it out.

This may be the crux of the issue. No one knew who was responsible. No one took responsibility. No one followed up. Did they even know farmers existed on reserves? Gould told me a federal official he’d spoken to wondered aloud if there were First Nations farmers on reserves.

To me, this anecdote bears a sharp sting of historic irony. A federal official, representative of the body that told First Nations to embrace agriculture, was surprised to find an Indigenous farmer. It was heartbreaking to learn that neglect and bad information stamped out farms that had, to that point, survived so much hardship.

Particularly haunting to me was that no one even noticed.

It’s not for me as a journalist, or the wider agriculture community, to dictate to Indigenous peoples what would best serve their farmers.

I believe, however, that it’s incumbent on us to challenge our own preconceived notions.

Sarah Carter’s Lost Harvests: Prairie Indian Reserve Farmers and Government Policy is a great primer. It may be bit tough to find a hard copy, but it’s also available as an e-book.

For a shorter read, 21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act, by Bob Joseph is a slim volume that touches on policies that affected farmers. It’s also available as an audiobook.

The post Year in review: hearing hard truths about First Nations farmers appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

A media release issued Nov. 17 said residents in the area are frustrated that the project “appeared to be abandoned by the Stefanson government.”

The release notes that ranchers were hit hard by the 2011 flood. With an apparent return to a wet cycle, flood risk is rising.

“Not only are hundreds of family homes and cattle operations at risk, but the potential for dozens of good-paying jobs and millions of dollars in economic activity hang in the balance,” said NDP Infrastructure Critic Matt Wiebe.

[RELATED] Indigenous economic development fund announced around channel project

“Each spring, families and ranchers around Lake Manitoba and upstream face the possibility of losing their homes and livelihoods to flooding. Yet the premier’s throne speech failed to even mention it,” said NDP Leader Wab Kinew in the same release.

“Brian Pallister announced his commitment five years ago, but PC disorganization and stubborn attitude mean Manitoba is nowhere close to even starting construction. It’s time the PCs rolled up their sleeves and got this thing done.”

In 2017, the provincial government announced a plan to build two diversion channels between Lake St. Martin and Lake Manitoba to prevent a repeat of 2011 and 2014 flood damage.

The NDP blames project delays on disputes former premier Brian Pallister had with the federal government over the Indigenous consultation process. Under Premier Heather Stefanson, the government has done little to move the file along, the NDP said.

“Two throne speeches have been presented under her leadership that say nothing about the channel.”

[RELATED] 2011 flood lawsuit settlement pending court OK

The Co-operator contacted the office of the Minister of Transportation and Infrastructure for comment. The emailed response from a spokesperson didn’t mention the project’s absence in consecutive throne speeches but it did say the government remains committed to completing the Lake Manitoba and Lake St. Martin outlet channels.

“The project represents an integral and critical component of Manitoba’s flood mitigation strategy. The Outlet Channels Project continues to advance through the environmental assessment process as the department works to respond to the additional information requests,” the statement said.

It also said the province remains committed to fulfilling its duty for Indigenous consultation before environmental approvals are received and construction begins.

“We are currently in phase two of its four-phase consultation and engagement process. This phase includes planning and implementing community-specific consultation processes and activities with all 39 Indigenous groups (First Nations, Métis and Northern Affairs Communities, and Indigenous organizations) impacted by the project.”

According to the statement, construction will begin once regulatory approvals are received.

The post Concerns raised over Lake St. Martin diversion delays appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

The story begins in the early days of the BSE or “mad cow” crisis. Cattle prices are hemorrhaging, with U.S. border closure the market equivalent of a jugular slash.

Interlake cattle ranchers meet at the Ashern auction mart and board a charter bus bound for the Manitoba Legislature. Aboard is Fairford First Nation farmer Derrick Gould and two ranchers from Peguis First Nation.

At the legislature, as the ranchers urge lawmakers to help them, someone realizes the Indigenous men are farming on reserves. An official tells them they can’t participate in provincially funded aid. They’re the federal government’s responsibility.

“We knew there and then that we were back at square one,” Gould told the Co-operator.

He recalls going through official band channels to reach a federal representative. When they did, they were told there was no help for them.

In the next months, the federal and provincial governments would start multiple financial aid programs totalling billions of dollars. When Gould inquired about applying, he was sent to the federal government.

Eventually, he was forced to sell his cattle and get a job in Alberta to support his family.

Gould was one of dozens in a similar situation.

Because of bad information, poor communication and faulty assumptions, many First Nations farmers in Manitoba and Saskatchewan did not get the help they needed; help governments now say was available despite what individuals were told.

[RELATED] Back to the land: We used to plant hay here
[RELATED] ‘Indigenous Voices – Sharing our Agricultural History and Journey’

The worst of times

May 21, 2003: an Angus cow in Alberta tests positive for Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE), often called “mad cow disease.”

The United States swiftly bans Canadian beef, cattle and other ruminant imports. Japan, South Korea and Taiwan follow suit.

“The sudden loss of these export markets was worth $4 billion based on 2002 sales,” wrote Michael J. Broadway in a 2008 article for The Canadian Geographer.

In Canada, the glut of animals pushed prices to catastrophic lows. In April, slaughter steers went for an average of $109 per hundredweight, Broadway wrote. By June 2003, the average price was less than $40.

The federal and provincial governments cost-shared multiple financial relief programs in hopes of keeping farmers afloat.

Between 2003 and 2006, payments from these programs made up more than 20 per cent of total farm receipts, wrote researchers David Natcher, Tom Allen and Trina Schmid in a 2011 paper.

“This is a significant contribution, which arguably stabilized the industry during this period,” the researchers wrote.

Nevertheless, impact of the crisis on producers was devastating. Many farmers downsized or lost their farms. Some, like Gould, were forced to move away to find work.

There were mental and relationship tolls.

“There is little doubt that for some families, BSE did have a devastating impact through divorce and even suicide,” said Broadway.

Farmers didn’t apply

While aid bolstered farm incomes off-reserve, most First Nations farmers in Saskatchewan didn’t even apply for help.

Natcher’s team interviewed 33 First Nations ranchers and found that only one registered for government support, receiving $2,000 through the Canada Feeder Calf Set Aside Program.

The Co-operator found a similar pattern in Manitoba.

Albert Shorting of Little Saskatchewan First Nation said that to his knowledge there were no programs offered to First Nations farmers.

“If they did offer something for help, I would have applied,” he said.

Shorting and his brother, Hector Shorting, both lost their cattle herds.

“I did that for 25 years,” Shorting said. “I wish it never happened. I still would’ve been farming. [Mad cow] created a lot of problems for the native farmers. A lot of them went bankrupt and I was one of them. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice.”

Garnet Beardy, from Lake St. Martin First Nation, heard about relief programs through a representative of the now-defunct First Nations Farm Credit program. He filled out paperwork and initially received relief money. A year later, he received notice that he’d been declared ineligible and had to return the funds.

Beardy managed to keep his farm afloat but said he’s still repaying the ‘aid’ money.

Elsie Maytwayashing, of Lake Manitoba First Nation, did not recall what programs were available or whether she and her late husband received aid funding. She indicated that between them they’d worked multiple jobs to keep the farm afloat.

Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada (AAFC) didn’t track the participation rates of Indigenous farmers in aid programs, an AAFC spokesperson told the Co-operator in a 2019 email exchange.

However, some non-BSE business risk management programs tracked “Status Indians farming on Reserves,” because these farmers required a different application process. The spokesperson said regulations prohibited them from telling the Co-operator how many “Status Indian” farmers had participated in these programs during the BSE crisis because the number was lower than 10.

Why weren’t they told?

AAFC and Manitoba provincial spokespeople told the Co-operator that a long list of BSE relief programs were open to people farming on First Nations.

Why weren’t farmers aware?

When Natcher’s team asked Saskatchewan farmers why they didn’t apply, 18 said they didn’t know about the programs.

Natcher found the Saskatchewan government had announced support through delivery of newsletters to rural post office boxes; ag media and local news; mailouts to producers who had applied to past programs; and through industry groups like the Saskatchewan Cattle Feeders Association.

This was ineffective at reaching First Nations farmers because of several factors, Natcher and his team wrote. Mailers were sent via general delivery to First Nation band offices, where mass mail, or mail without a designated recipient, tends to be discarded.

First Nations farmers historically had a low rate of participation in government programs, a factor in Manitoba too, according to a 2003 paper by University of Manitoba researcher Bret Nickels. Mailing lists wouldn’t contain many of them.

As well, few First Nations farmers were part of cattle producer groups, a situation also true in Manitoba, according to Nickels, though three farmers interviewed by the Co-operator said they’d been members.

Twelve farmers told Natcher that officials had said they were ineligible.

In some cases, when farmers asked for clarification on who could apply, government reps said they’d look into the matter and never made contact again.

Others were led to believe that since they didn’t pay personal income tax and had private herds (not owned by the band), they could not apply. Wording in program applications said “Indian Bands” could apply but it wasn’t clear whether individual farmers from those bands were also eligible.

“I don’t think they were intentionally trying to exclude First Nations,” said Natcher. “I think they were equally confused.”

Natcher, a professor at the University of Saskatchewan, teaches a course on the history of Indigenous agriculture. He said most students in his class are clueless about how land ownership and taxes work on reserves.

“The bureaucracy in trying to farm or ranch on reserve is crazy complicated,” Natcher said.

He didn’t think provincially administered BSE assistance programs were open to First Nations farms and expressed surprise when the Co-operator said they purportedly were.

It goes to show how complex these questions can be, Natcher said, and First Nations are often caught in the middle, “to the point where I think many say, ‘well, I’m not even going to bother,’” Natcher said.

It’s also conceivable that federal and provincial governments squabbled over responsibility for First Nations.

Vince Tacan, former chief of Sioux Valley Dakota Nation, and E.J. Fontaine, a business leader and former economic development advisor to the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs, both said they’d sat in rooms with provincial and federal officials as the two sides argued over which entity would fund First Nations’ needs.

Breaking the pattern

Evidence suggests there was pattern of First Nations farmers falling through the cracks.

In his 2003 paper on the long-defunct Manitoba Indian Agriculture Program (MIAP), Nickel quoted a 2000 study: “It is evident that a very small percentage of First Nations farmers had accessed any of the [Manitoba Agriculture] safety net programs.”

Nickel cited another Manitoba program that helped farmers adapt to new technology in the late 1990s and early 2000s. No First Nations farmers or groups had accessed any of its $5 million in funding, he said.

In 2022 interviews, farmers gave the Co-operator differing views on their eligibility and access to programs like crop insurance and extension help.

“I guess, in a sense, we’re scared to even ask,” Gould said. “We’re so used to being told ‘well, this part ain’t for you.’”

What can break this pattern?

Agriculture department staff must spend more time cultivating relationships with First Nations in their regions, wrote Natcher, Allen and Schmid.

“A more ‘hands-on’ approach would contribute greatly to building trust and personal relationships,” they wrote. “At minimum, constructive change will require government to reconsider how their programs are communicated and administrated.”

The federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO) offers a good example, the researchers wrote.

The DFO worked with Indigenous communities to develop close contacts with local fishers so government personnel could communicate critical information, they wrote. First Nations were also asked to identify a fisheries coordinator to serve as a primary local contact.

Indigenous farmers would also benefit from agricultural associations to represent their specific needs, Natcher said. Some exist, for example the National Indigenous Agriculture Association, based in Saskatchewan. The Co-operator wasn’t able to find any Indigenous-specific agriculture organization in Manitoba.

Carrying on

In 1999, the First Nations Agricultural Producers survey found 73 First Nations cattle farmers in Manitoba. Interviews suggest those numbers are much lower today, and many lost their farms during the BSE crisis.

Derrick Gould isn’t one of them.

Though today he doesn’t own cattle, Gould returned from Alberta and began to piece his farm back together. Today he sells hay, raises Clydesdale horses, and has begun breaking land to experiment with crops.

Earlier this year, he told the Co-operator he keeps farming in part to show his community it can be done.

“It’s just that connection that I have, the memories that I have. The way of life. For me, that’s a real stronghold,” Gould said. “It keeps me going.”

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The province announced the funds Oct. 5.

The drainage channel project has struggled to get off the ground since being proposed after flood events in 2011 and 2014.

The fund’s eligibility list will cover 39 communities and Indigenous groups touched by the channels. The $15 million is earmarked for “economic development opportunities related to the outlet channels, and reconciliation in alignment with the principles outlined in the Path to Reconciliation Act,” according to the Oct. 5 release.

“Our government understands that concrete and constructive actions are needed to advance reconciliation and ensure Indigenous people have a meaningful voice in any decisions that may impact their traditional lands, rights or interests,” said Transportation and Infrastructure Minister Doyle Piwniuk.

“This new fund will support the development of Indigenous-led economic opportunities and long-term economic development in the communities most impacted by the Lake Manitoba and Lake St. Martin Outlet Channels Project.”

The framework that will underpin the fund has not yet been developed, and will be built in co-operation with eligible communities, the province has said.

[RELATED] Land deals proceeding despite Lake St. Martin outlet channel pause

Several government departments will be represented on the eventual evaluation committee, which will be formed after the fund’s launch. It will “review proposals with the potential to partner with other organizations to provide input to the proposal, identify additional funding sources, and support proposal development and training.”

Indigenous communities have criticized the move.

At an Oct. 12 press conference held by the Interlake Reserves Tribal Council, Indigenous community leaders derided the fund’s low dollar amount compared to the overall project cost, initially estimated at $540 million in 2018, and the level of government control over their participation in the project, the CBC reported.

The province has been working since 2016 to complete the flood prevention project, when it was featured as a campaign promise by former premier Brian Pallister. The project promised to expand the current channel between Lake St. Martin and Lake Winnipeg, and build a second upstream outlet between Lake St. Martin and Lake Manitoba.

In total, the project spans the two 23-kilometre channels, three bridges, two control structures, new highway infrastructure to accommodate the outlets, and a 24-kilovolt electric distribution line.

Expropriation along the channels’ planned path got underway and by 2018 the province said it was within a year of breaking ground. However, the project faced delays after federal government rejection of the project’s environmental assessment in October 2019.

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