Canada is not for sale — And neither is Neskantaga First Nation, says chief
Ontario's proposed Bill 5, the Protect Ontario By Unleashing Our Economy Act, would allow the province to designate 'special economic zones' that would qualify to bypass some environmental regulations and speed up development. It is expected to be in force as early as September, and Premier Doug Ford intends to name the proposed Ring of Fire mineral development as the first such site.
Critics say
the law would gut protections for endangered species, remove environmental protections, and trample Indigenous rights.
'The position is, Canada is not for sale, (well the same goes for) our lands and resources – period,' Quisess told Ricochet Media. 'I hear the premier saying Canada is not for sale, I hear the candidates saying Canada is not for sale. That goes for our lands and resources.'
Neskantaga, located on the Attawapiskat River, 450 kilometres northeast of Thunder Bay, has been among the most vocal First Nations in opposing the proposed Ring of Fire development. As Quisess spoke to the Toronto media on Monday, two-thirds of his community members have already spent nearly a month in Thunder Bay hotels due to a health-related state of emergency whose implications remain uncertain.
Quisess minces no words about the connection between the poor infrastructure and looming mining encroachment.
'Nobody wants to say 'genocide.' This is a genocide, that's how I look at it. You have water issues, now our health, and there's a drug pandemic. The list goes on and on. I live in the third world. I'm not ashamed to admit it.'
Quisess says he has no intention of suing Ford over inadequate consultation for the Ring of Fire, as the premier dared First Nations to do during the spring election campaign.
'I'm just going to tell him to leave. If he doesn't like it here, he can leave.'
Quisess' statements come as 176 of Neskantaga's 300 on-reserve members mark their 29th day living in Thunder Bay hotels. More than half the community has been forced into exile after their health centre flooded, and the resulting state of emergency prompted a wide-scale evacuation.
Unexpected weather leads to evacuation
On April 13, a sudden temperature jump to 12 degrees Celsius caused a rapid snow melt. Water pooled between the diesel tank and the health facility, then the basement flooded for the third consecutive year. As sump pumps failed, the thick smell of fuel hung in the air for 25 metres in every direction around the building. The tank and pipes used to power the centre had been replaced only six months ago.
A worker claimed to have found a fuel filter tipped over, but it's still undetermined whether a diesel spill has occurred or whether airborne spores from mould pose health risks. Air tests have shown acceptable levels of carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide, while geotechnical testing and soil samples are expected to take three weeks.
Meanwhile, staff is moving files and equipment into a duplex home that will serve as a temporary health facility, while work crews build accessibility infrastructure.
Some community members are beginning to ask their leaders if a new facility should be built, but Neskantaga Councillor Bradley Moonias anticipates the short-term fix will have to support their needs, at least through the summer. He's surprised to find Indigenous Services Canada had no emergency plan if the health centre failed. 'There should be a plan for our people. We're remote-access. The government should have a plan in place for situations like this,' Moonias says. 'If a health facility is all-of-a-sudden deemed unsafe, there should be a plan in place on how to respond to it quickly. We're all entitled to health care.'
This emergent problem is only the latest in a series of infrastructure failures that impact nearly every aspect of life. Buildings erected in the mid-1990s when the federal government relocated the community are beginning to break down.
Quisess, Moonias and the rest of the new council took office only two weeks before the flood. Within days, the school's boiler broke down, cancelling classes for the last 10 days before the evacuation. Some road infrastructure has been washed away.
Compounding infrastructure problems, Neskantaga is the site of
Canada's longest boil-water advisory
. The experimental process used to construct the water purification plant 30 years ago has never worked, and plans for a new system are now restarting at both the capital planning and technical tables.Chief Quisess says the community moved under duress, and between all of these failed promises and infrastructure, no one has made any offer or promise of any benefit his community might get from mining.
'We were promised we were going to live healthy, that there was going to be clean drinking water. Our old community was demolished. We were forced by the government, if you don't demolish it, you're not going to get new housing,' he says. 'And they come over and do their thing and we get nothing out of it? I don't think that's right.'
Goose hunt to hotel room
Fourteen-year-old Jayla Troutlake was in her tent when the text came through that her family needed to come home from the annual spring migratory goose hunt for the evacuation. She's a self-described 'newbie' as a sharpshooter, but she's passionate about being out on the land at this time of year.Instead, she's now spending her days in her hotel room and a makeshift classroom, where highlights are getting ready for breakfast and dinner.
'It's really sad. We're staying at the hotel and there's not really much to do,' she says. 'I see elders or adults upset and it makes my heart shatter.'
Over that time, three members have gone missing. They include two 12-year-olds who didn't come home overnight and another youth with mental health challenges. All three were eventually found. Neskantaga's youngest councillor, 21-year-old Lashaunda Waswa, moved home in January to run for council because her grandfather's trapline is downriver on the land where Ring of Fire mines are proposed. Her greatest concern is for those members who are in recovery from addiction and have now spent weeks in Thunder Bay, where drugs are much more available than they are back home.
Waswa says that while most people living with complex health conditions and addictions flew out early, many in recovery had initially opted to remain behind, choosing to risk becoming sick or injured in the community over the risk of relapsing in the city. But in the end, a whole plane load chose to join their family members in Thunder Bay.
'When you have an addiction and you recover from that, it's hard to say no when you're offered more substances. Most of the people with addictions have children and most of those children are vulnerable,' she says.
Indigenous Services Canada has made funding available for mental health counsellors and Red Cross workers in both Thunder Bay and Neskantaga. 'It's exhausting but we're managing,' says Neskantaga's nurse in charge, Mark Banyai.As the health centre's flooding and testing continues and a temporary site is assembled, Banyai and his staff of two nurses are already thinking about the needs the 176 evacuated members will have when they return. Concerns like influenza and COVID are top-of-mind, and Banyai hopes the community will be well-resourced for those addictions concerns as well.'When you have somebody who has been clean for a handful of months and you put them in an environment which is full of drugs – because Thunder Bay is just full of drugs, it's ridiculous – put them in that environment and it's hard to control. I do suspect substance abuse will be an issue and when they come back. Bringing in substances may also be an issue.'
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Bolivia will choose a new president but environmental activists see little hope of progress
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It's not just our lives, it is our very existence that is at stake.' ___
The Hill
18 hours ago
- The Hill
Bolivia will choose a new president but environmental activists see little hope of progress
BOGOTA, Colombia (AP) — Bolivia's upcoming presidential election will mark a shift from nearly two decades of socialist rule, but many Indigenous and environmental leaders doubt it will bring progress in stopping deforestation, fires or pollution in the Amazon. The Oct. 19 runoff pits centrist Sen. Rodrigo Paz against right-wing former president Jorge 'Tuto' Quiroga — two contenders promising change but rooted in an economic model critics say has long fueled environmental damage in one of South America's most biodiverse nations. The Amazon spans nine countries and plays a crucial role in absorbing carbon and regulating climate patterns worldwide. Approximately 8% of the Amazon is in Bolivia. Scientists warn that deforestation is pushing parts of the forest toward a tipping point where it could shift into savanna. The election feels like a choice between two threats, according to Ruth Alipaz Cuqui, coordinator of the Indigenous alliance CONTIOCAP and a member of the Uchupiamona community. She said governments of all stripes have ignored Indigenous well-being. 'Agreements are signed, commitments are made, laws and decrees are passed, but in the territory there is absolutely nothing applied,' she said. Quiroga's campaign told The Associated Press he would tighten controls on forest fires, promote sustainable agriculture, expand biofuel production, and encourage reforestation to curb high deforestation rates. He also calls for using carbon and green bonds — tools to raise money to fund conservation efforts. Paz's team did not immediately respond to a request for comment. Environment has paid a price for economic policies Evo Morales — Bolivia's first Indigenous president — often invoked Pachamama, the Indigenous concept of Mother Earth as a living being that sustains life, and rose to power by championing Indigenous rights and environmental protection. But his socialist governments also expanded exports of soy, beef, gas and minerals to fund social programs. And his administration allied with agribusiness and ranching elites, loosened land-clearing restrictions and promoted infrastructure projects that opened new frontiers in the Amazon. Bolivia is one of the Amazon basin's fastest-deforesting countries. Forest loss spiked in 2019, when Morales eased burning rules and legalized agricultural clearing, fueling massive wildfires that wiped out nearly a million hectares (about 3,860 square miles). The destruction has continued as cattle ranching, soy farming, logging and mining push deeper into Indigenous lands. In 2024, fires scorched more than 10 million hectares — about 38,600 square miles, or roughly the size of Iceland — and Bolivia recorded the world's second-highest tropical primary forest loss after Brazil, according to Global Forest Watch. Vincent Vos, a Dutch-Bolivian researcher based in the Amazonian department of Beni, said communities are confronting overlapping crises. 'Santa Cruz has already lost 68% of their water reserves… we've got 30% less rainfall than a decade ago,' he said. 'Our fish is really completely contaminated by mercury already and people are really suffering from high levels of mercury poisoning.' Campaign hasn't centered on environmental issues While environmental issues have not been a central focus of the campaign, both candidates have outlined some proposals. Paz has proposed a $15 billion 'green government' funded by carbon credits, which can be generated from projects like forest-planting that aim to reduce emissions; tighter controls on agricultural burns and a crackdown on illegal gold mining. Quiroga vows to make Bolivia a leader in decarbonization, protect parks, restore fire-hit ecosystems, and expand agriculture 'appropriately' — a stance critics warn could still spur deforestation. Nick Fromherz, a Bolivian-based adjunct professor at Lewis & Clark Law School in Portland who specializes in Latin American environmental law, said both candidates have spoken broadly about fighting wildfires and managing the agricultural frontier. But they've offered few solutions to less visible crises like mercury contamination from gold mining, he said. Mercury, widely used in gold mining, flows into rivers and contaminates fish, a dietary staple for Amazonian communities. Studies have found alarmingly high mercury levels in people living along Bolivian rivers, echoing concerns across the Amazon basin. For Stasiek Czaplicki, a Bolivian environmental economist who has studied forest policies, the danger lies not only in policy direction but in the state's ability to enforce protections. He said Quiroga 'would be worst for the institutions that defend the environment.' He cited proposals to end collective Indigenous land titles — opening them to private sales — and to expand soy and cattle production in the east. Critics warn those moves would accelerate deforestation and weaken agencies tasked with curbing it. Local costs, global consequences Fromherz said environmental concerns are still viewed as secondary in Bolivia's politics, even as they shape the lives of millions. For Vos, the gap between rhetoric and reality is measured in disappearing rivers, vanishing fish and poisoned communities. 'People are really suffering,' Vos said. Alipaz says years of unmet commitments have left the Amazon´s communities doubtful that the election will bring significant change. 'What happens to us is that we are stripped of our territory, poisoned with smoke and mercury, and also deprived of the means of life such as water, soil, and food,' Alipaz said. 'The life of Indigenous peoples in Bolivia has gone from bad to worse. We will continue defending. It's not just our lives, it is our very existence that is at stake.' ___ The Associated Press' climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at
Time Magazine
a day ago
- Time Magazine
Ending Colombia's Cocaine Conflict Hinges on Unconventional Talks
This article is a co-production with Amazon Underworld, a journalistic alliance covering crime trends throughout the Amazon Basin. A small motorized boat streaks across the San Miguel River—the natural frontier between Colombia and Ecuador—carrying Jairo Marín, a man in his early fifties, light-skinned and battle-scarred, who is also known as Popéye. He is on his way to meet one of his mobile units of heavily armed combatants as his organization prepares for what could be either a path to peace or an escalation of conflict. Earlier this year, Marín, a guerrilla commander born in the Colombian Amazon, became the chief negotiator of the Comandos de la Frontera, which he describes as a '21st century guerrilla organization.' The armed group controls tens of thousands of acres of coca plantations and has gained significant political leverage as President Gustavo Petro's Administration scrambles to secure agreements with armed groups critical to advancing Colombia's broader peace talks and anti-narcotics efforts. Negotiations with the administration, however, are more urgent than ever. Petro has less than a year in office to secure a deal. Meanwhile, coca cultivation is soaring, reaching a record 625,000 acres in 2023 and the U.S. government is threatening to cut military aid and cooperation programs for not meeting anti-drug standards. Time is running out. It seems a narrow path to peace runs through the Colombian Amazon and hinges on working with, not against, the very groups that control drug trafficking and profit from violence. Sporting military fatigues, rubber boots, and a Galil rifle slung across his shoulders, Marín commands an army of at least 1,200 armed combatants scattered across the region—an amalgam of former Colombian Armed Revolutionary Forces (FARC) members, soldiers, paramilitaries, and fresh recruits often from local Indigenous communities enticed with monthly pay. 'We control many things, yes, things that the State with its military and police forces cannot do. We can do it,' he says during an interview near the border. To his south lies the protected area of the Cofán Indigenous people in Ecuador; to his north, in Colombia, stretches a sea of coca—a plant with many cultural and medicinal uses but which is the base ingredient for cocaine. Colombia's protracted internal conflict has evolved from an ideological guerrilla warfare that began in the 1960s into violence increasingly driven by criminal enterprises fighting for control over illicit economies, a shift that has fundamentally complicated the U.S.-backed drug war. Sophisticated transnational networks now control coca-rich regions, prioritizing business goals rather than political influence. The government and the guerrilla groups operate as parallel states that regulate movement of people, punish rule-breakers, and defend against competing armed groups while controlling local populations through coercion and extreme violence. The Comandos and the cocaine business In Putumayo, arguably the Amazon Basin's most conflict-ridden area, over 123,000 acres of coca flourish along borderlands where groups like the Comandos evade crackdowns by crossing into Ecuador and Peru, operating freely across borders without seeking sovereign power. Cocaine from the tri-frontier region reaches Pacific Coast ports in Colombia and Ecuador, but also travels along rivers toward Brazil, both a consumer and transit route to growing markets in Africa and Europe. In 2016, a peace accord between the government and the FARC was adopted. The FARC demobilized the following year as part of the agreement. But after surrendering their weapons, over 500 former members were assassinated. Marín, a former Colombian Armed Revolutionary Forces commander who joined the guerrilla group at age 13 in the 1980s, remembers this moment—and what it ushered in. 'We're going to unite, we're going to begin, we're going to arm ourselves because we cannot let ourselves be killed. That's how this organization began,' Marín says, explaining how a group of 16 people got together in 2017, ultimately forming the Comandos de la Frontera in 2020, filling the power vacuum left by FARC's departure and the State's failure to provide security. Now, the Comandos' regional expanse severely affects local populations, with community representatives sharing stories of recruitment of minors, targeted assassinations, and disappearances, and describing their control as suffocating. Violence is rarely reported to authorities, who are distrusted by local communities. The Comandos embed themselves in villages by recruiting members and pressuring community authorities. 'The enemy had gotten into our house and we didn't realize it,' explains an Indigenous community leader, who requested anonymity for safety reasons. Marín and the rest of the Comandos leadership, often locals themselves, call themselves 'regionalists' and claim to represent rural and State-abandoned communities. They have formed an agenda of what they call 'territorial transformations,' arguing they are willing to give up the coca economy and stop being an armed movement if the State can grant them security guarantees and provide locals with legal livelihoods and rural development investments. A last opportunity for peace under pressure The cocaine economy is the main fuel for Colombia's war economy, which has recently also seen a surge in illegal gold mining. Never before has so much coca been grown in the country and even with increased drug seizures, Washington D.C. under President Trump threatens decertification from its annual anti-narcotics cooperation due to a lack of effort in fighting illicit drugs. This could mean Colombia would miss out on hundreds of millions of dollars in military and police aid, thereby weakening its response capacity to drug trafficking and could ultimately result in the U.S. lobbying against Colombia receiving loans from international institutions such as the World Bank and Inter-American Development Bank. With limited time remaining in office, several peace dialogues have been aborted, rural violence exacerbated, and Petro's administration faces dim prospects for achieving anything beyond minimal agreements that would barely impact the country's spiraling drug production. But, on the frontlines of peacebuilding are those who know that small victories might turn the table. 'At least in the dialogues with [the Comandos], we have agreed on the need to overcome the predominance of illegal economies linked above all to coca and illegal mining in those territories,' says Armando Novoa, a spectacled, slick-haired Bogotá-based lawyer who represents the State at the negotiation table with the guerrilla structure that includes the Comandos. 'This is what we have called the economic transformation of the territory or the transition from illicit economies to licit economies,' he explains. 'Of course, security and dialogue must go hand in hand. It's not just dialogue; it's also about having an intelligent public security presence in the territory. But that presence shouldn't rely solely on armed repression against communities to counter coca cultivation.' Coca crop substitution If it were up to many of the coca crop farmers, a transition to legal food crops would grant them an exit from cycles of violence surrounding the drug trade. 'Coca brings violence, deaths, all kinds of problems, you know? So that's also why we want to start transforming things,' says a coca crop owner in rural Putumayo, who requested anonymity for their security. In their drug lab, buyers purchase coca paste on site, while potential food crops lack market access due to poor roads that increase transport costs and damage produce during the journey. Many farmers hope to build legal livelihoods but need land titles, loans, and markets for their products. Past attempts at crop substitution failed due to bureaucratic hurdles, missing funds, and flawed agricultural projects. However, according to Gloria Miranda, Colombia's crop substitution director, this time will be different with aligned peacebuilding and drug policy. 'The coordination between drug policy and 'total peace' policy is fundamental,' she explains. 'The state must recover control through more than just armed force. Military power is only one dimension of control. We're building legitimate state presence through social policies and non-violent means.' In contrast to previous coca crop eradication efforts that faced sniper attacks and landmines from other groups, the Comandos now claim to allow substitution programs to proceed. 'We view the progress of the substitution program very favorably, precisely because the armed group is not opposing it. In fact, the armed group is willing to let the program proceed without confrontation, violence, or threats,' Miranda says. The window for success is closing fast with presidential elections in 2026, and crop substitution projects and partial agreements yet to materialize. Petro needs immediate results before his presidency ends and a potentially less peace-friendly president takes power—a fact not lost on the Comandos. 'If we don't reach at least some minimum agreements, some partial agreements, well we'll go as far as we can [in the process],' Marín clarifies, indicating his willingness to continue peace negotiations even with a possible next right-wing government. Fidgeting with the safety clip of his gun, Marín, just a few hundred meters from Ecuador's border—a quick escape away—says: 'Our policy since we were formed is that we are not going to attack the state,' he says. 'But if they attack us, we'll defend ourselves.'
