Article About Third World Conditions in Pikangikum First Nation

PIKANGIKUM -- It's this province's shameful, ugly secret -- a place critics call Ontario's own Davis Inlet. In this remote Ojibway community, most homes have no sewers, there's no road out and the community has a shocking suicide rate among its young people.

Living conditions are so appalling, even the London-based "Indian agent" paid to financially manage the reserve calls them "Third World."

The native band council has repeatedly asked the agent, consultant Alan Morrison, who has written the band's cheques the last three years, to check out the poor conditions for himself.

Morrison refused, saying the band wouldn't guarantee his health and safety.

"It's worst than Davis Inlet," said Stan Beardy, grand chief of the Nishnawbe Aski Nation, comparing the place to a Labrador native settlement made infamous when its high rate of alcoholism and gasoline-sniffing by children flared up in the national news.

"Davis Inlet was caused by circumstance," said Beardy. "This was deliberately done by the Department of Indian Affairs.

"They are starving them from their claim to natural resources," he said.

The only buildings with indoor toilets are government agencies -- the school and the police and nursing stations. While the community plans to build 15 new homes this summer, there's a critical housing shortage. As many as 18 people jam into two- and three-bedroom homes.

Band Chief Paddy Peters blamed the desperate conditions on federal bureaucratic bungling.

"It's criminal what is happening here," Peters said.

Few of the 2,000 residents of this aboriginal community on the Berens River, about 250 kilometres north of Dryden, have running water. Most have only outhouses as toilets, a terrible hardship for the elderly and young children in a far northern community where temperatures can dip to -30 C.

When I visited last week, Children waded knee-deep in puddles in a schoolyard awash in mud. The only playground equipment was a skipping rope and a battered hockey net.

Nearby, six wooden, windowless portables housed some classes, while Ottawa has put on hold plans to build a new school for about 600 children.

In the portable kindergarten class, built 40 years ago, exposed electrical wiring hung from the wall and there was no hot water. The dilapidated hut is so overrun by ants in summer children are scared to go to school. Some days, it's so cold the little ones have to wear coats in class.

Peters blames problems on a three-year-old edict from the federal government that forced the band into so-called "third-party management," which costs the community $17,000 a month.

The agent disputes that figure and says he gets $10,000 a month to manage their books.

Indian Affairs would not disclose the exact amount paid to the agent, but confirmed the pay range for third-party managers for native communities is $10,000 to $20,000 a month, which comes from band support funds.

The third-party management order gives a company more than 1,500 kilometres away in Southwestern Ontario control over band spending.

The band says that's not something it can do, especially considering the harsh realities of life in the north. Snowmobiles regularly go through ice and there is only a dirt runway at the tiny airport.

Morrison said the $10,000 a month he's paid to manage the books for the community is "roughly one per cent of the budget. In this case, the budget is around $14 million."

Morrison agreed conditions in the community are appalling.

"It's Third World. I know that," he said. "I deal with a lot of First Nations and I have been up north many, many times."

Though he hasn't visited Pikangikum, "I have been through there several times.

"They (the band council) made a point of bringing this up, that I have never set foot in the place," he said.

"Well, I offered several times to come up and negotiate. They said they could not guarantee my health and safety," he said.

Morrison said he feared what might happen if he went to the community.

"I fully expected there could be violence. They could drag me off the plane and into the community centre and place four or five hundred angry band members in front of me.

"They have a police force. Why couldn't they have guaranteed my safety and health?" he asked.

Besides, he said, he can manage the finances without visiting the community.

"Does your financial adviser come to your home?"

All the same, he admits he never has had a problem with the band.

"Their audit last year was fine. They had a surplus. This year will be fine, they will have another surplus."

Morrison said he's no longer responsible for the reserve's management, since his contract expired March 31.

Since the community was forced into third-party management, a plan to connect the community to the electricity grid has stalled. That means after the new houses are built this summer, the diesel generator that now supplies them with electricity will be inadequate for their needs.

Morrison claims the band is responsible for some of its problems and said it mismanaged the plan to put it on the electricity grid and spent money allocated for that purpose on other items.

A year-round road is also on hold, meaning food and supplies from the outside cost twice as much as they do in southern Ontario.

At the Northern Store in the closest community, Poplar Hill, a two-litre carton of milk was $5.49, potatoes were $7.39 for a five-pound bag, a small, wilting bunch of grapes was almost $10, tomatoes were $7.69 a kilogram and a one- kilo bag of McIntosh apples cost $6.99. Gas cost close to $2 a litre.

Poor quality, high-priced food contributes to the serious health problems that plague aboriginal people. Diabetes rates are soaring in the north. While Pikangikum has a nursing station, it is difficult to keep it staffed. A doctor flies in every few weeks. Residents rarely see a dentist.

Health Canada statistics show the rate of suicide among native youth is three times the national average.

In the last 15 years, 41 young people have committed suicide in Pikangikum. That figure could be on the low side, since many deaths go unreported and some may occur outside the community.

As recently as last month, a teen from the community in the care of a child-welfare agency died in Sioux Lookout -- a suspected suicide.

Between January 2001 and September 2002, Health Canada recorded nine suicides and between July 2002 and April 2003 there were 19 documented suicide attempts. Suicides often occur in clusters.

Youth counsellors say the grief following a suicide is so intense, some young people see shadows of the dead people beckoning to them. They may interpret this as the person calling them to join them in death.

A First Nations youth at risk program has been put in place to deal with the suicides and with issues such as solvent and substance abuse. Gasoline sniffing also causes major problems.

Peters said he believes the third-party management order is linked to the band's plan to develop natural resource management within an area bounded by its traditional traplines.

He said multinational corporations want access to the resource riches on their traditional lands.

"We were in a good financial position when they called in what we call an Indian agent," Peters said. "The only thing we can figure out is that we were in the way of the government plan."

The band has its own plan, the Whitefeather Forestry Initiative, which would provide employment for the Ojibway community. Native groups complain big companies with unionized workforces often exclude aboriginals from their workforce. Peters says if the land is developed, he wants jobs for his people.

When the band was first placed under third-party management in 2001, about 300 band members staged a peaceful march to Winnipeg in a last-ditch attempt to stave off what they perceived as federal meddling and paternalism.

They called the march "We-chee-he-tee-win" in Ojibway, which means, "helping ourselves." They feared having their business dealings turned over to an Indian agent 1,500 kilometres away would mean the band council would lose control.

A spokesperson for Indian Affairs in Thunder Bay, which oversees management of the band, said the government is aware of the desperate living conditions on the reserve and is working with the band council to resolve some issues.

"We have had meetings with them concerning the situation and we have scheduled a meeting with them in the near future," Susan Bertrand said.