Felicia Dewar, a member of the Sucker Creek First Nation, said the podcast started organically. Dewar is the founder of miskamâsowin foods inc, which weaves culture, entrepreneurship and storytelling through the sale of homemade bannock kits.

She’s also involved with pîkiskwěwin, an Indigenous-led podcast platform.

Dewar met with Mallory Yawnghe, the owner of Indigenous Box, a subscription box that specializes in items from Indigenous creators.

“Mallory and I went out for lunch, and we were talking about some of the issues we were having and some of the things that we were frustrated with. It was such a moment of filling your bucket,” she said.

Both women wanted to continue their conversation and invited two more women to join them; Shani Gwin, who is founder and chief executive officer of pipikwan pêhtâkwan, a public relations firm that specializes in Indigenous issues, and wâsikan kisewâtisiwin, an AI company. The other member is Vanessa Marshall, creator of Jack59, a sustainable haircare brand.

All the women are based in the Edmonton area and had felt isolated in their entrepreneurial journeys.

Podcast has already dropped

Four episodes of the podcast have already been recorded, and the first episode aired Feb 10. “Settle Down” is available on all podcast platforms and the podcast’s website, with a new episode dropping every Tuesday.

Dewar said the second podcast episode focussed on their entrepreneurial journeys, and how the women decided to begin their businesses.

“We’re talking about how we are creating value-based businesses and how different that is to what the western world usually models their businesses after. Our goals and objectives look quite different to what I’ve seen working in the western world. We talk a lot about those differences,” she said.

The women also discuss the barriers and struggles they’ve had creating and growing their businesses and how they have overcome these struggles.

Indigenous teaching and backgrounds

“It’s quite wonderful because we all have such different backgrounds. Mallory grew up on reservation, and with her community and teachings. She’s got such great teachings, and she shares those in every episode. Shani, who is Métis, also grew up knowing who she was. She also has teachings from her family that have been passed on,” she said.

Dewar has been in the process of reconnecting to her community and culture, as has Marshall.

“It’s quite interesting, the different perspectives that we have. How we’re building our businesses is very matriarchal,” she said. “I’m noticing that as we talk about how we are structured.”

Dewar said while she might not have the words to describe her work, Yawnghe and Gwin are able to explain the teachings.

“There is a lot of that personal journey we share, a lot of those teachings we share, some pieces of language concepts we share, and a lot of laughter, a lot of love, some tears, and hopefully more laughter than tears,” Dewar said.

The podcast will be covering other topics such as funding, partnerships, contracts and supply chain.

“We’ve talked a lot about the barriers to getting on to mainstream grocery shelves,” said Dewar, who signed a deal with Co-op last year to supply her bannock mix in Western Canada. She has also worked with the Sobeys local program.

“We’re going to have people come in to talk about funding models and funding available for entrepreneurs. It’s quite comprehensive in my mind, but it’s a lot of fun,” she said.

Big auntie energy

The podcast encapsulates “big auntie energy”, a concept in Indigenous culture where aunts are fun, knowledgeable, and can correct younger relatives, but with lots of teasing and a good heart.

“When aunties get together, that big auntie energy is really just teasing each other, and giving each other a hard time and laughing hysterically,” Dewar said.

She said it’s important for Indigenous and Métis women to share their stories because it helps them feel less alone.

“When you’re together in a room, you find out you’re not alone as much, and it helps you build confidence in who you are and the decisions you are making. It helps you relate to people,” she said.

“It’s just so great to have a similar outlook on life, and similar teaching that you can feel like we’re better together, stronger than by yourself.”

Misconceptions about Indigenous businesses

Dewar said there are several misconceptions about Indigenous businesses. One misconception is that there are a lot of grants available for these businesses. There are some grants and loans available, but they are difficult to get.

“One of the things I found interesting is that there are grants, but you can’t get them unless you get a loan,” she said.

Loans require a good credit score, assets and proof of income.

“A lot of our people, I don’t think we were allowed to get a loan until the 1970s,” she said.

Indigenous people who live on reserves cannot leverage their land because they don’t own it.

“It’s interesting how people think we’ve got this essentially free ride. Yet everything is honestly quite difficult. And when you create a values-based business and you’re not so focussed on the bottom line, and you want to take on investors, well they’re focussed on the bottom line. It’s only recently that we’re getting Indigenous groups of investors. This year we’ve seen an influx, but it’s usually for tech,” Dewar said.

The women have committed to running “Settle Down” for two seasons of 12 episodes each.

Dewar said “Settle Down” will appeal to entrepreneurs, and people who want to learn about the culture and lives of modern Indigenous women.

“If you’re an area where you want to learn to work with the Indigenous community, then we’re for you too,” she said.

“There’s a lot of great insight for people who are committed to Truth and Reconciliation, who want to do more than a land acknowledgement,” she said.

Dewar said the podcast gives an upbeat, positive message to everyone in a political climate and economic climate of uncertainty.

“We’re just four women that want to help.”

The post ‘Big Auntie Energy’: Indigenous entrepreneurs launch podcast appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Glyphosate is widely used in forestry, agriculture and land-use management. Commercially sold under brands such as Roundup, it’s the most widely used herbicide in Canada.

In the journal’s retraction notice, the (co)editor-in-chief wrote: “Concerns were raised regarding the authorship of this paper, validity of the research findings in the context of misrepresentation of the contributions by the authors and the study sponsor and potential conflicts of interest of the authors.”

These potential conflicts raise questions about the study’s authorship and results, and renew concerns about the safety of glyphosate. According to Health Canada, consuming foods treated with glyphosate does “not result in any human health concern to any segment of the population.” This aligns with findings from other governments, including the United States, New Zealand and Australia.

Scientific research is an essential part of protecting the health and well-being of people and the planet, but it only tells part of the story. And despite some conclusions that glyphosate poses no risk, there have long been concerns regarding its impacts on the environment and human health, particularly from Indigenous communities.

Our ongoing research, in partnership with the Animbiigoo Zaagi’igan Anishinaabek (AZA) First Nation in northwestern Ontario, about the impact of glyphosate being sprayed on their traditional territory demonstrates that policymakers and researchers need to learn from the experiences of people living and working on the land.

Concerns over glyphosate

Our research focuses on glyphosate’s impacts on AZA’s relationships with the land along with the forestry companies and provincial government that use and regulate the herbicide on their territory. Through our work with 14 First Nations that are part of the Understanding Our Food Systems project, several communities expressed great concern about environmental contaminants on their territories.

Members of the AZA have been particularly distressed about the impacts of glyphosate on their traditional food systems, the land and watershed, and the community’s health for several years. People who live and work on the land have noticed many changes and called for research and action to address these concerns.

In 2015, the International Agency for Research on Cancer classified glyphosate as “probably carcinogenic to humans” based on “limited” evidence it causes cancer in people and “sufficient” evidence it causes cancer in animals.

This has been of particular concern for many Indigenous communities in terms of the impact of glyphosate being sprayed on the berries, animals, medicines and fish that make up their traditional food systems.

While several health-related issues have been connected to glyphosate use, such as destruction of cells, inflammation that can damage healthy tissue and weakening of the immune system’s ability to defend the body against infections and disease, there is no clear consensus on what level is considered safe.

Working closely with AZA, our team of researchers from Lakehead University and the Thunder Bay District Health Unit conducted a series of sharing circles and interviews with Elders, Knowledge Keepers, hunters, gatherers and youth to learn from their observations and experiences.

The ultimate goal of our ongoing research is to better understand the community’s experiences and perspectives of glyphosate to ensure they retain access to traditionally hunted, harvested and grown foods and to protect the environments they depend on.

Listening to Indigenous people

AZA members pointed to ways that traditional knowledge could be used to better understand the impacts of environmental contamination. Those who participated in the conversations shared experiences of finding fewer animals and plants in areas sprayed with glyphosate, making access to traditional foods difficult.

Many participants said animals were more diseased and that harvested and hunted foods did not taste, smell or look the same as they did previously. Disruptions to the cycles of the land and the loss of species impact the community’s food security as well as its self-determination and ability to transfer knowledge to future generations.

Western science tends to dominate policymaking and regulation. However, Indigenous knowledge has a lot to contribute to research and decision-making. Two-eyed seeing, described by Mi’kmaw Elder Albert Marshall, is a way to integrate Indigenous and western ways of knowing, foster deeper understanding and create more holistic, balanced approaches for the benefit of all.

This demands that policymakers take seriously the concerns voiced by Indigenous people around environmental contamination. It also requires more transparent communication, accessible information and testing of waterways, animals and the land.

Listening to Indigenous people and learning from their observations and experiences is essential to protect the lands and waters where they hunt, harvest, and grow foods and medicines, and to ensure the health and well-being of all human and non-human kin.

— Charles Z. Levkoe is Canada research chair in equitable and sustainable food systems at Lakehead University. Dorothy Rody is from the Animbigoo Zaagi’igan Anishnaabek First Nation, Kim McGibbon is a public health nutritionist at the Thunder Bay District Health Unit and Liz Lovell is a former master’s student in health sciences at Lakehead University.

The post OPINION: Glyphosate — What Indigenous communities have suspected for years about the dangers of the herbicide appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

The initial Albertan launch was held at Brenda Bohmer’s grain farm near Bawlf. Since Bohmer joined the network, five Albertan landholders have followed suit.

Bohmer has had three Indigenous visitors to her farm since last July.

“It might seem like maybe that isn’t a lot, but in many ways it gives us a lot of hope. It’s a slow start, and I have a feeling that it’s going to be a slow process to get more landholders,” she said.

“I was happy to have three Indigenous visitors already. I think that’s a great sign, a sign of things to come,” she said.

The Treaty Land Sharing Network is a program that connects Indigenous people to landholders who open their farms to Indigenous people who want to hunt, gather medicine, fish or practice ceremony on the land. Inquiring Indigenous people can find landholders who will open their farms through the network, which recently published a map of all the participating farms on its website. The project began in Saskatchewan in 2020.

The network is seeking landholders in Alberta who are willing to open their lands for First Nations and Métis to engage in important cultural and spiritual practices on the land as the initial treaties were meant to do.

Bohmer acknowledged trust needs to be built on both sides. People affiliated with the network have been hosting presentations, and a committee is working to try to spread the word in a variety of ways.

“When we pause and we look at the past year, I’m very hopeful,” she said.

“It’s a lot of encouragement to have these visitors and having them confirms my own decision about sharing land in a good way.”

To date, the network includes 60 locations and more than 40,000 acres in Alberta and Saskatchewan, through Treaty 6 and Treaty 4.

Bohmer said the visitors to her land have been from around her area, but she has had people contact her from further distances. The updated map can help people who are travelling through the area. People generally contact her through the website, but she has also been approached at events.

Bohmer said interested landholders can check out the website, which explains how everything works and how easy it is to get involved.

“We’re directing inquiries to the website, and that’s where the magic happens. It’s not hard to get involved. It’s a very easy process. You basically just sign up,” she said.

There are some details and parameters provided.

“It’s not a harsh or difficult process at all, and then it opens the door to something special, something unique and it can have a great deal of meaning. It’s very important for Indigenous people, very meaningful for them, and likewise, for me as a landholder, I find it the same way,” she said.

“In many ways, it’s a big step, but in other ways, it’s pretty easy to do and has a huge impact on people.”

Beth Davidson, along with her husband Ralph and son Kevin, is another landholder who has added her farm to the network.

“I was searching for something more or less unrelated on the internet, related to agriculture and regenerative farming,” said Davidson, who ranches beef cattle near Alliance.

“I ran into the link for the Treaty Land Sharing Network. I read about it. Ralph and I talked about it. We realized it perfectly aligns with who we are, but at that point they were only in Saskatchewan,” she said.

There weren’t any plans to expand the network into Alberta, so the couple was put on a list. When the Treaty Land Sharing Network opened to Alberta in 2024, Davidson did the paperwork and joined the network.

“We chose to do it because it aligned with our desire to do something, to honour the treaties, and to make something right about what went wrong,” she said.

Ralph was born and raised on the land, and his grandfather and great-uncle homesteaded the land around 1905.

“He’s grown up here, but at the same time, for quite a while, he’s really felt there was something missing and something wrong with the way Indigenous people were supposed to have access to land. Land is always better if it’s actively being used, but also respected,” she said.

The Davidsons haven’t had anyone come out to their place yet, but they have had some inquiries.

Lana Whiskeyjack is a Nehiyawak (Cree) from Saddle Lake First Nation. She’s also an associate professor at the University of Alberta and founded the first Indigenous Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.

“My research work is around rites of passage for gender, sexuality and diverse kin,” she said.

Whiskeyjack had ties to some of the people involved in the treaty sharing network, like Bob Montgomery, and Luke Wonneck, one of her students. Wonneck took a course from Whiskeyjack that was part of a Beaver Hills biosphere pilot project based on a treaty land sharing network here.

“My auntie Alsena (White) is a ceremonial person. She was part of the ceremonial lead, and one of the Elders of the Beaver Hills biosphere project,” said Whiskeyjack.

Wonneck is a coordinating committee member of the network and was involved with its set up in Saskatchewan.

“Luke heard my story. We had sharing circles about the process, about how I used to go picking medicines with my grandmother when I was a child, probably like close to over 40 years ago,” she said.

Her grandmother was the last generation to access those lands.

“My mother’s generation didn’t access those lands. When I told Luke about that, our shares in the circle impacted Luke,” she said.

This year, Wonneck was working on the Treaty Land Sharing Network as part of his doctorate, and through his research, he was able to connect Whiskeyjack with some of the landowners.

“Through Luke’s liaison work and facilitating, I was able to go with my auntie Alsena to two of those different farmlands just to visit the land,” she said.

Whiskeyjack and White returned to the land to harvest.

“It was incredibly powerful and moving to pick berries where my grandmother and I did it almost 50 years ago. It was emotional. I kind of get a little choked up thinking about how precious it is to rebuild those relationships,” she said.

Whiskeyjack said the project is an act of reconciliation and reconnection. She said Indigenous people have been disconnected from their kinship role and responsibilities to the land, because they were forced on reserves.

“Having access to the land where our ancestors were waking up the language, waking up that kinship, that connection to that land, not only for the families and how we used to be on that land, but also to that kinship to our Mother who provides for us. We’re waking up the land, those stories and those traditions when we are accessing the land. It’s an important part of language reclamation, cultural rejuvenation, and bringing out traditional health, economy and systems back,” she said.

Having an organization like the network helps facilitate access to the land and increases the safety for Indigenous people who have been threatened, and in the case of Colten Bushie, killed by a landowner in Saskatchewan in 2016.

“Being on the land, and that connection, that belonging, helps to heal so much of that trauma. We place so much of our belonging into our family that we forget there’s a bigger family we belong to. That is the land that is more than human kin,” she said. “It’s a huge help of letting us know that we belong to this land and we are related,” she said.

To learn more about the network and find participating farms, visit https://treatylandsharingnetwork.ca/access-land/.

The post Fostering reconciliation one farm at a time appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Indigenous communities in North America were cultivating crops such as potatoes and corn long before anyone from Europe had heard of the crops. Materials from the Manitoba Museum cite evidence of agriculture in the eastern United States dating back 3,800 years.

More locally, bison scapula bones found in Gainsborough Creek in 2018 showed convincing evidence of pre-European contact farming in the Melita region. And agriculture was an undisputedly big part of the Métis way of life in the Great Lakes region. Farms surrounded fur trade posts by the 16th century, and some cereals were being farmed in the 1830s.

When it comes to reconciliation, agriculture presents a unique challenge. How can the treaty rights of Indigenous peoples be honoured in a way that gives them a proper seat at the table when it comes to farming in Canada?

It’s something that groups like the Southern Chiefs’ Organization (SCO) in Manitoba, headed by Grand Chief Jerry Daniels, and the Manitoba Métis Federation, with its agriculture minister, David Beaudin, have been working on for years. I recently had the chance to speak with both about why they feel agriculture is so important, and what still needs to be done.

Daniels and Beaudin share views on several pivotal issues, including engaging youth and the continued importance of food security. Both expressed that, while regular conversations do take place with the Manitoba government, there’s still a ways to go when it comes to proper recognition and reconciliation.

Currently, there are several programs funded by the Sustainable Canadian Agricultural Partnership (S-CAP) that would partner with Indigenous communities, such as the Indigenous Agriculture & Food Systems Program and the Indigenous Agricultural Relationship Development Program. Eligible activities include revitalizing traditional food systems; training, skill and resource development; climate change adaptation; increasing Indigenous participation in agriculture; engagement between industry, academia and Indigenous Peoples and the development and delivery of engagement activities.

I was unable to find a list of specific projects that have benefited, although Manitoba Agriculture Minister Ron Kostyshyn highlighted Fox Lake Cree Nation’s Food for All program and collaboration with Brokenhead Ojibway First Nation, Sandy Bay Ojibway First Nation and the SCO on bison-related projects.

Meanwhile, both the MMF and the SCO have made strides towards agricultural autonomy through their own programming, including garden box programs, community gardens, climate action plans, bison herds and lobbying for more access to Crown lands.

It seems like both Indigenous organizations and the Manitoba government are eager for relationship building and programming designed to reclaim agricultural traditions tied to local Indigenous history and culture. There are stories like these emerging across Canada.

I think education is another important aspect—not just having Indigenous leaders with ties to the land remind their people, especially the youth, of their rich agricultural traditions, but for Manitobans who descended from settlers to learn that history and those tradition as well. If anything, it will only lead to more common ground between Indigenous communities and non-Indigenous farmers, both of whom are tied to the land in real, rich, and meaningful ways.

Hopefully soon, this country’s fertile soil might produce the right growing conditions not just for healthy crops, but for more healthy relationships built on respect, understanding and a motivation to keep moving forward together.

The post National Day for Truth and Reconciliation: Acknowledging the past, seeking a better future appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Commonly known as the “cows and plows” settlement, the agreement aims to address longstanding, unmet promises made by the British Crown in 1874 to TTR and other Indigenous communities in several treaties, including Treaty 4.

This settlement compensates Indigenous communities for agricultural support that was promised but never delivered.

When the British Crown signed Treaty 4 in the 1800s, it committed to providing Saulteaux peoples with farming equipment, livestock and enough seed to cultivate the lands they were assigned.

Canada’s push to teach Prairie Indigenous Peoples how to farm was part of a broader colonial project to settle so-called “nomadic” communities.

Yet despite these historical promises, many communities received little or none of the support. The cows-and-plows settlement is a step toward rectifying historical wrongs.

The process has also highlighted several ongoing governing challenges. This includes exposing a flawed Crown/Indigenous consultation process as well as the need for trust-building with Indigenous leadership.

Flawed consultations

At an April community town hall on Tootinaowaziibeeng Treaty Reserve (TTR) held in advance of the vote, TTR member Eileen Lynxleg described how her father was forced to hand over his income from farming to an Indian agent during the cows-and-plows era.

The Treaty 4 Agricultural Benefits were intended to support Indigenous farmers. But stories like the one Lynxleg told reveal how the system was often used to exploit and control rather than empower Indigenous Peoples.

From the perspective of many Indigenous Peoples, the harms and damages caused by broken treaty promises go far deeper than what a one-time payout can address. Monetary compensation alone does not equitably fulfil historic treaty obligations — especially when measured and assessed through Indigenous world views rather than Canadian legal frameworks.

At the TTR town hall, what was meant to be a democratic consultation instead exposed tensions between TTR leadership and members.

A dynamic of distrust

When TTR reaches a settlement with Canada over treaty rights, a portion of the funds are invested in the TTR Sovereign Wealth Fund, managed by the Band Council.

Across southern Manitoba, First Nations are using ratification vote forums as opportunities to confront a deep history of mistrust between Band Councils and the communities they represent.

Some community members argue that the fund lacks sufficient transparency. They are calling for greater accountability, regular consultation and more open communication about the fund’s management.

TTR has not submitted financial statements to the federal government since 2021.

As Lynxleg emphasized during the TTR town hall, the success of the cows-and-plows settlement hinges on community trust in the Chief and Council system. But this trust, in many southern Manitoba communities, has eroded. These concerns have been raised across the Treaty 4 region. Community members have expressed frustration with how consultation processes around cows-and-plows claims are being handled.

Maurice Law, the firm representing TTR in its cows-and-plows negotiations, has come under scrutiny and faced criticism and litigation from other First Nations over issues like legal fees, transparency, outcomes and retainer agreements.

At the TTR town hall, community members questioned whether the firm was more interested in settling quickly than in negotiating firmly based on treaty rights.

Members also questioned how much the firm would earn from the settlement. The firm said at the meeting that it would receive four per cent of the total payout following ratification.

Restoring trust

The dynamic of distrust between communities and First Nation governing structures in southern Manitoba is not unique to TTR. It reflects a broader crisis of governance and fiduciary responsibility on many reserves.

Much of the distrust in southern Manitoba stems from what appears to be systemic misogyny embedded in the Chief and Council system.

Tréchelle Bunn, the first woman elected Chief of Birdtail Sioux First Nation, said in an interview with APTN news she was elected on a platform of transparency and accountability. She said her mandate is to ensure her community has a voice, while also addressing past challenges and restoring trust.

Fiona Moar, an independent Indigenous policy analyst, noted in an Instagram post in December 2024 that members of Lake St. Martin First Nation have voiced serious concerns about their leadership.

This includes high-profile altercations, such as the alleged actions of Southern Chiefs’ Organization Grand Chief Jerry Daniels at the Assembly of First Nations in December 2024, financial mismanagement — like the failure to file financial statements since 2019 — and accusations of criminal behaviour as a former chief was charged with sexual assault.

Meanwhile, Daniels remains Lake St. Martin Grand Chief and there have been no visible efforts to rebuild trust or foster healing with communities.

Until the gendered imbalances within both the Chief and Council structure — and within associated Canadian legal systems — are meaningfully addressed, many Indigenous people in the region will continue to question whether their leaders, or any “Indigenous” law firm, can truly represent their interests in cows-and-plows negotiations.

Future of treaty rights

The recent ratification vote consultations in southern Manitoba reveals a breakdown in equitable and fair Indigenous governance.

Although the vote at TTR passed, many members felt pressured by a flawed and inadequate process. Some questioned whether Maurice Law and the TTR Chief and Council truly acted in the community’s best interest.

Financial desperation, caused by both systemic neglect from Canada along with the mismanagement of funds within communities, leaves many with little choice but to accept inadequate compensation packages, often without clear information on long-term rights or responsibilities.

All of this calls into question the performative nature of Indigenous consultation in Canada’s policy processes.

Communities like TTR are left with grim choices. They can choose between poverty, or opaque agreements that risk further eroding their treaty rights. This is not just a local governance issue. It reflects a national crisis in terms of Indigenous policy.

Too often, Indigenous policy research focuses on central, densely populated provinces like Ontario. This leaves Prairie communities overlooked. Even where research exists in Canadian universities, it frequently lacks the critical gendered analysis and unbiased research governance urgently needed to support the future well-being of Indigenous communities.

Cows and plows — and the crisis of governance it exposes — remains under-reported and under-analyzed. Yet it represents one of the most significant treaty rights issues in recent Canadian history. It has deep implications and potential to set precedent for the future of Indigenous rights and healing in Canada.

—Jas M. Morgan is assistant professor of Indigenous communication, identity and community at Simon Fraser University

The post OPINION: ‘Cows and plows’ settlement over a broken Indigenous treaty shows the urgent need for more transparent governance appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Such trade barriers “threaten Indigenous agriculture, agri-food businesses, and the broader principles of fair and equitable trade,” NCIAF said in a news release today.

NCIAF represents Indigenous agriculture producers and advocates for Indigenous perspectives and participation in the Canadian agriculture and agri-food sector and in key policy discussions.

On Tuesday, U.S. President Donald Trump imposed 25 per cent tariffs on Canadian and Mexican imports, and added an additional 10 per cent tariff on Chinese goods. Canada retaliated with counter-tariffs on some $30 billion of American goods.

NCIAF said it will continue to support Indigenous people in agriculture and their food systems. It encouraged Indigenous agribusinesses to continue connecting with each other, sharing concerns with NCIAF, and accessing NCIAF’s resources.

Indigenous peoples have played a critical role in trade and economics throughout North American history, NCIAF said. Without them and their knowledge of food systems, plant growth, and weather patterns, the first settlers wouldn’t have survived.

“Together, we will continue to strengthen our food sovereignty and economic resilience,” NCIAF said.

The post Tariffs threaten Indigenous farmers says National Circle for Indigenous Agriculture and Food appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

“We’re taking Indigenous voices, we’re taking what you’re telling us, and we’re trying to implement that change here … to meet the needs of those that are on reserve,” said Monica James, senior director of Indigenous financing at FCC.

Why it matters: Indigenous communities, farmers and entrepreneurs have argued for more room for Indigenous opportunity in agriculture and food production, but opportunity often requires capital to get off the ground.

The team launched in 2022, James said. Since April of that year, 845 customers self-reported as Indigenous, according to FCC’s 2023-24 annual report.

Indigenous is an umbrella term that could include First Nations peoples on or off reserve, Métis and Inuit. FCC clients can complete a self-declaration to say they are Indigenous. Métis and Inuit people do not fall under the federal Indian Act.

First Nations farmers have struggled to access borrowing due to constraints within the Indian Act. For example, they don’t own the land they occupy on reserves. The federal government does.

“They have the right of use and benefit of the land,” James said.

Inability to use land as collateral has often been cited as a barrier to borrowing.

In 2022, LouAnn Solway, a rancher on Siksika First Nation in Alberta, told CBC Radio that when she needed a loan as a young rancher to expand her cattle herd, she approached several banks seeking $150,00 to $200,000. The banks turned her down.

Because Solway did not own the land she ranched, she could not use it as collateral. Nor would the banks allow her to use her existing cattle herd as collateral because the Indian Act prohibits banks from entering the reserve to seize cattle if there is default on the loan.

Derrick Gould, who farms on Pinaymootang First Nation in Manitoba, told the Manitoba Co-operator in 2022 that even after he had established his farm, the bank would not loan him more than $20,000 at a time for similar reasons.

People living on reserves don’t file taxes, so they’re also unable to provide a notice of assessment to prove income, James added.

Making space

FCC’s Indigenous finance team is working to find ways around these legal conundrums, James said.

The lender has expanded the range of acceptable methods for borrowers to prove their income. It has raised the limit on unsecured loans (those that don’t require collateral) and is seeking other ways for First Nations farmers and food producers to get financing.

There are ways that land can be used as collateral, possibly by creating a mortgage of lease. Some nations use a certificate of possession system, which grants a lease to individual members of the community. In that case, that could also be used for a mortgage of lease.

James said First Nations farmers get à la carte lending from FCC instead of fitting them into existing programs. Though this takes the team more time, she said they do not charge Indigenous borrowers extra for that service.

Bias among lenders and lack of understanding about Indigenous borrowers’ needs has also been a barrier, James said.

Her team considers where Indigenous farmers, harvesters and processors are in their business journey and work to ensure FCC’s processes are in line. To do that, it has changed the requirements about what constitutes an eligible agri-food business.

There are four ways of Indigenous harvesting, James said: hunting, fishing, trapping and gathering. Fishing (farmed and freshwater wild fish) and gathering are both eligible categories at FCC. If an Indigenous producer gathers non-timber products from the forest (such as one client who gathers wild herbs for tea), or gathers wild rice, they can be eligible for financing.

This category isn’t available to non-Indigenous clients.

Along with access to capital, farm knowledge and connections to other Indigenous producers or to experts have also been barriers for Indigenous farmers. FCC staff have connected customers with experts who can help them build their farm or business.

In action

Rancher Terry Lerat said FCC has been one of 4C Farms’ greatest supporters.

Lerat, a band councilor with Cowessess First Nation in Saskatchewan, helped establish the farm for the First Nation in 2010. He grew up farming, owns his own cattle herd and has been dealing with FCC for years.

“It took them a little bit to get involved with us, but once they grasped what we’re trying to do, the amount of assistance we get from them … the willingness for them to help us, it’s unmatched.

“They want to see a First Nation farm do really well, whether it’s an individual farm or a corporate farm like what we’re trying to build.”

Cowessess bought the yard site and land, which eventually became 4C Farms, after a Treaty Land Entitlement claim was settled in 1996.

“We had no equipment at all, so along with building the farm, acquiring the land, we also had to put together a line of machinery,” Lerat said.

This year, 4C Farms seeded 6,000 acres and now has 200 cattle. Lerat said they are about “90 per cent there” with acquiring needed machinery. They’ve also made substantial improvements in herd genetics, with resulting higher prices for calves.

Lerat added that years ago, the band had to convince local suppliers that it would pay its bills. These days it has proven it is a viable farm and businesses are happy to give them credit.

Seeking

FCC haBs a lot of work to do just to find Indigenous farmers and let them know what’s available, James said.

“Trying to find a First Nations farmer on a reserve is literally like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

To reach the general farming population, a company might go to a farm show, but few farm events are geared to Indigenous producers. James could think of only one such agriculture event in Canada, the Indigenous Agriculture Summit held during Canadian Western Agribition in Regina.

“We’re trying to make a difference in a space where they’ve never had support before,” James said. “We’re not about volume. We’re about impact.

“We’re trying to help everybody that we can. A $70,000 tractor is just as important as a $700,000 implement … $70,000 to a lending institution is really nothing, but to that one person, the impact and ripple effect that we can make with them means way more than lending out millions and millions of dollars.”

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The guardians collect, trade and plant hundreds of seeds to preserve forgotten varieties of tomatoes, corn and other vegetables that were historically farmed by the Indigenous Mapuche people.

One such guardian, Ana Yanez, said the varieties the guardians aim to save are dwindling due to changing environments or farmers opting for higher-yield varieties.

“We are rescuing the seeds and knowledge of our ancestors,” said Delfin Toro, another guardian. “How they harvested, how they sowed, the dynamics of the moon, when to plant, when to harvest.”

The guardians are finding clients at high-end restaurants.

Pablo Caceres, a seed guardian and chef at Vik Winery’s Pavilion restaurant in the Millahue Valley in central Chile, said he normally finds no more than five varieties of tomatoes at markets and fairs.

“This year we’ll have 26 varieties of tomatoes and we think that there are more than 200,” Caceres said.

This diversification could also help crops adapt to new terrain and areas affected by a changing climate. Ricardo Pertuze, an agronomist at the University of Chile, said new varieties are needed when climate change makes a crop’s current location unsuitable.

The genetic diversity the guardians are collecting are essential to find those varieties, Pertuze said.

Wilson Hugo, an official at the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization, said the trend of safeguarding traditional seeds exists in other nations such as India, China, sub-Saharan Africa, as well as in countries of the former Soviet Union.

“We have to congratulate them and support them and that’s probably not enough,” Hugo said. “We need more of them, we need to do more of this kind of work.”

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“By uniting our strengths, we can empower Indigenous communities to thrive in agriculture, amplify their voices in policy discussions, and ensure that traditional knowledge remains a cornerstone of sustainable practices across North America,” said Kallie Wood, president and CEO of the National Circle for Indigenous Agriculture and Food (NCIAF), in a news release.

NCIAF announced today it had signed a memorandum of understanding with the North American Agricultural Advisory Network (NAAAN).

NCIAF is a Canada-based non-profit dedicated to advancing Indigenous agricultural practices and food sovereignty. NAAAN supports advocacy, knowledge sharing and learning among agricultural advisory communities in North America.

The two groups will work together to provide technical assistance, share resources, improve funding access, advocate for shared priorities, and to mentor and engage young agricultural leaders.

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Topics included growth of wealth and how that can contribute to food sovereignty.

Many of the speakers said community involvement and interest is a main way to address the wealth and agriculture gaps.

A prime example of this was shared by Derrick Meetoos, one of the community members and farmers who are part of Thunder Farms Ltd. of Thunderchild First Nation in Saskatchewan.

Meetoos said Thunder Farms is continuously growing and is currently close to 9,000 acres. The band’s goal is to get to 14,000 acres.

The farm is also completely Indigenous run.

“They started purchasing land around the reserve itself, so we have land base around it that we’ve slowly started taking back from the patrons that used to lease it from the reserve,” he said.

Meetoos said the First Nation’s success was a combined effort of the community and band council, particularly in getting local youth involved and trained.

Former British Columbia premier Christy Clark said that for many Indigenous communities, especially those in remote and rural areas, resource sectors such as agriculture, mining, forestry and oil and gas are some of the most valuable ways to create wealth.

She said that while this may sound counterintuitive at first, given Indigenous values and traditions when it comes to resource extraction, it’s actually a productive and positive way for Indigenous communities to grow their wealth and do what’s best for the land.

“About it being done in a way that is acceptable to Indigenous people,” she said.

“I mean, my experience of that was a lot of long, intense, emotional discussion and negotiation with elected leaders and traditional leaders in communities to find a way to do this that was acceptable.”

Clark offered the example of Haida Gwaii, which operates a forestry business, harvesting only enough trees to ensure good profit while not abusing the land.

This was also touched on by Michael Twigg, program director of land use, nature and agriculture at the Smart Prosperity Institute, who said land rights and sovereignty are intertwined with economic growth — not just for Indigenous communities but for the entire country.

“They’re firmly integrated and they’re firmly intertwined into a future vision of what the local community is desiring for prosperity,” Twigg said.

He said promoting and supporting Indigenous communities can achieve a balance of growth while working within the systems of nature and Indigenous practices. This approach will also help with sustainability and address production losses caused by land degradation and loss of biodiversity.

Twigg said failing to care for the land will result in significant loss of production and increased input costs to make up for the loss. Mitigating land damage now is one-fifteenth the cost of post-disaster remediation, he added, which would save everyone billions of dollars.

There are still lessons to be learned from Indigenous people regarding sustainability and biodiversity and how they can help industries such as agriculture, just as it was when Europeans arrived hundreds of years ago.

“It was Indigenous people that we learned that (farming) from, and we shouldn’t forget that that’s where it began,” said Clark.

“There is a real opportunity for partnership here, but it has to recognize we will be partners — not adversaries, not takers — sharers and partners in the resources that we create.”

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