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.

“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.”

The post FCC Indigenous finance team tackles borrowing barriers appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

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.”

The post Agribition 2024: Indigenous Ag Summit focuses on community, partnership appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

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 Alberta Farmer Express.

In 2021, 2.8 per cent of Canada’s farm population was Indigenous – First Nations, Métis or Inuit. It’s a sliver of a sliver of Canadians, and yet it’s more than 21 per cent higher than 25 years ago.

In a period when the overall number of farmers declined by nearly 40 per cent, it’s a comparative boom. Statistics Canada points to several possible causes.

Why it matters: Those with Indigenous heritage are increasingly self-identifying on StatCan agriculture surveys, especially Métis farmers.

It could be that greater numbers of Indigenous people are choosing agricultural careers. In a growing movement for food sovereignty, Indigenous communities have set up farms and food-related programs that could contribute to this number. For instance, Peguis First Nation in Manitoba grows produce through its Smart Farm.

StatCan also said in a 2016 article that the relatively rapid expansion of the Indigenous population is spilling into the agricultural sphere. However, it noted more people are newly identifying themselves as Indigenous, a trend it said is continuing.

While there’s growth among First Nations, Métis and Inuit farmers, the Métis make up the vast majority of the total. The Co-operator asked whether more Métis farmers are claiming their heritage. The answer proved there can be a lot behind one small statistic.

A caveat and history

There’s an important distinction to be made between self-identifying as Métis and being formally recognized as part of the Métis Nation.

This past summer, then-Manitoba cabinet minister Kevin Klein took fire for claiming Métis heritage when the Manitoba Métis Federation said he hadn’t met their criteria for Métis citizenship, CBC reported in July.

Klein said he belongs to the Painted Feather Woodland Métis, which CBC reported is a for-profit company based in Ontario.

“The MMF ensures all our citizens are of historic Red River Métis ancestry confirmed though official genealogy, and are distinct from other Aboriginal peoples,” an MMF spokesperson told the Co-operator.

In conversations with Daniel Benoit and William Benoit, Métis brothers who do historical research work with the federal government, it became clear that the Red River Métis (of whom the MMF is the national government) have detailed genealogical records and familial knowledge.

The Benoits, for instance, trace their lineage back to the Lagimodiere family, one of the nation’s seminal families.

A Métis person isn’t simply someone of mixed Indigenous and European heritage, although the word originally referred to their “mixed” ethnicity. They’re a distinct people with a distinct history tracing back to the early fur trade in North America, when the voyageurs travelled far into the interior of what’s now Canada to source furs for Europe.

Marriages between voyageurs and Indigenous women “in the fashion of the country,” besides providing love and companionship, built familial ties and trade relationships between the fur-traders and First Nations, wrote Jean Teillet in The North-West is Our Mother.

Many of the North West Company men lost their jobs when their employer merged with the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1821. Many of these, called the Freemen, moved to the Red River with their Indigenous wives and children.

The Freemen originally lived with their wives’ communities, but slowly began to live independently. They formed hunting brigades with other Freemen families, whose children intermarried and formed large, extended family groups.

They began to see the northwest as theirs, and themselves as free traders.

“This is the fertile soil into which the Métis Nation was born,” wrote Teillet.

There is far more to the story, but suffice it to say that these groups formed the backbone of the Red River Métis nation, with a shared origin, culture, language (Michif) and de facto military via the organized and disciplined buffalo hunters.

When Manitoba became a Canadian province in 1870, the Métis would have been the primary population in the area, the Benoits said. However, that was soon to change.

The reign of terror

When the water is low, near the baseball park in Winnipeg, you can still see the pilings from the old ferry dock. That’s where one of the Benoits’ ancestors, Elzear Goulet, was killed as he tried to escape an angry mob.

“It was an ugly time,” said Daniel Benoit.

In the latter half of the 19th century, Canada — until then, largely confined to the east — was encroaching into the northwest and had plans to annex it.

“The idea that there was such a thing as a collective Métis people … never entered their minds,” Teillet wrote.

The Métis, who were self-governing with established parishes, didn’t take this lying down.

In 1869, Louis Riel had risen to prominence, and led the Métis in resistance against the Canadians. Tensions boiled into armed conflict.

One of the people who died in this conflict was a Canadian named Thomas Scott whom the Métis tried and executed as a murderer and would-be assassin of Riel, Teillet wrote.

Scott became a quasi-martyr for the Canadians, who used his execution to whip up anti-Métis sentiment.

While armed resistance ended with the formation of Manitoba as a Canadian province in 1870, that anti-Métis sentiment stayed strong. Canada sent soldiers into the new province, among them men hell-bent on revenge for Scott’s death and other perceived crimes.

Teillet quoted one: “The pacification we want is extermination.”

To the Métis, the soldiers were an occupying force. Fearing for their safety, many families quietly left Red River. The people who stayed lived in increasing fear and chaos, and coined the term “Reign of Terror.”

Meanwhile, the bison herds so important to the Métis way of life had all but vanished. Canada was bringing settlers, such as the Mennonites, to farm the land.

“[The Métis] were also waiting, without much help from the distant federal government, for reassurance that title to their river-lot homesteads and farms would be guaranteed,” notes the Canadian Encyclopedia.

Métis attempts to protect their rights culminated in the North-West Resistance and the Battle of Batoche, which the Métis lost.

Six-year-old Rosie Darling summed up the consequences in an online video telling a kid’s version of the Métis people.

“So many things that they worked so hard to build were burned to the ground. Their children were the ‘Defeated Generation.’

“Their babies grew up in a world where being Métis was a really bad thing,” Darling explains. They were the “Shamed Generation,” who taught their kids to hide their Métis heritage. This led to generations who didn’t know their heritage.

Reclamation

Jason and Erin Boily own Iron Head Ranch, where they raise bison near Richer on land that’s been in Jason’s family for generations.

That they’re Métis is mentioned in the first few paragraphs on their website. Bison are integral to Métis culture, and the Boilys not only raise bison, but use them to support their community. The Manitoba Métis Federation’s bison herd is on their land, and they’ve also sold bison to the Métis government to be distributed to citizens.

Boily told the Co-operator his family wasn’t always so open about its background.

“It wasn’t something that was really spoken about,” he said. “Not that they were ashamed, they just kept everything very quiet.”

He had uncles and aunts who went to residential schools, he said. Hurt and past trauma made them reluctant to be identified as “half breeds.”

“It was easier to assimilate than it was to be proud.”

Erin, who grew up across the province in San Clara, had always been immersed in her Métis culture. When they met as young adults, Boily said her influence opened his eyes to who he was.

“By that point, at that age, I didn’t care who knew and what,” he said.

He began talking with his mother about their culture, and she opened to it also.

Rosie Darling said her mom’s generation, through detective work, found out who they were. They were the Found Generation, who taught their kids about their culture.

There are many reasons why two successive agriculture censuses have found more Indigenous farmers, but it’s possible that some are also part of this generation.

The post TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION: A ‘found generation’ of farmers appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

The actual story behind the orange cotton T-shirts is striking in its simple, emotional symbolism.

Phyllis Webstad is a member of Stswecem’c Xgat’tem First Nation and lives in Williams Lake, B.C. She’s the founder of the Orange Shirt Society and has used her own story to spread awareness of the pain and damage that residential schools caused Indigenous young people.

She was six years old when she arrived at the school, she writes on the society’s website. Her ‘granny’ had helped her pick out a shiny orange shirt for her first day of school.

When she arrived, school staff stripped her and took away her own clothes, including the prized orange shirt.

“The colour orange has always reminded me of that and how my feelings didn’t matter, how no one cared and how I felt like I was worth nothing,” Phyllis said.

Today, the orange shirt symbolizes that Indigenous kids do matter, and that people do care about them, their feelings and their futures.

However, when one sees the rack of orange shirts at a local big box store, it’s hard to not be a little cynical over who is profiting from them. As an avid thrifter, nearly every rack of second-hand T-shirts I rifle through has at least one orange t-shirt in it. Someone has worn it for one day and then discarded it.

As a member of the Glacier FarmMedia editorial staff, I’ve been part of several conversations about how we—figuratively speaking—don’t want to be like the orange t-shirts on the thrift shop rack.

It can’t be a gimmick. We don’t want to put up a banner or a slogan, pay lip service to this important ideal, and then forget about it.

If we as journalists want to champion truth and reconciliation in our agricultural community, we must do it year-round. We need to tell the truth the past, tune our ears to the viewpoints and culture of Indigenous farmers and leaders, and embrace the discomfort that comes with this.  We must take a genuine interest in the stories of Indigenous farmers and the issues they face—whether they are the same or different from their non-Indigenous counterparts.

That is what we—however imperfectly—are trying to do.

In the new Truth and Reconciliation tab on the AgCanada app, we’ve collected some of the stories that have come from this effort—those which confront the past, celebrate the victories on Indigenous farmers and communities and look to the future with hope.

Going forward, this page will serve as launch-pad to explore ongoing journalism related to Indigenous agriculture and truth and reconciliation.

We hope you will come back to visit and send us your thoughts and ideas. Reach out at via email.

The post Editor’s note: Truth and reconciliation is more than a day or slogan  appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Glacier FarmMedia—It’s hard to describe the feeling of wandering through the Deer Meadow Farm’s Every Child Matters and Turtle Island corn mazes south of Winnipeg. To be completely candid, it was humbling to walk along the pathways of this monument for people like my grandmother, Annie (Prince) Cook, older sister to decorated War Hero Sgt. Tommy Prince and a residential school survivor.

It was humbling to tread through the paths of this maze, because it felt sacred and meaningful. An offering of validation and reconciliation.

For so many years they were forgotten, and they didn’t matter—or at least that’s what they believed. Some children never made it home and many of the children who survived these schools grew up, lived complex lives rooted in trauma and died never knowing that they or the suffering they endured would ever matter or be recognized.

Walking through the short, drought-ridden rows of corn on a warm Sunday afternoon while listening to the sound of my kids chasing one another through the rustling corn stocks laughing and screaming in excitement felt like a moment of validation for people like my grandmother. In all her life she didn’t get a chance to witness a reckoning or a nation coming to terms with what the Canadian government did to her and the estimated 150,000 First Nation, Inuit and Metis children who attended residential schools.

In the middle of the “Every Child Matters” corn maze—the heart—there’s a sign that reads: This Maze is to remind us that all our children matter. It is a tribute to every child that was taken from their home and separated from their family, stripped of their culture and identity, victimized by those in authority and treated like second-class citizens in what is supposed to be one of the greatest countries in the world to live in and be a safe place to live in.

In 1914, Duncan Campbell Scott, former Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs confessed: “Insufficient care was exercised at the admission of children to the schools. The well-known predispositions of Indians to tuberculosis resulted in a very large percentage of deaths among the pupils. They were housed in buildings not designed for for school purposes, and the buildings became infected and dangerous to the inmates. It is quite within the mark to say that fifty per cent of the children who passed through these schools did not live to benefit from the education which they had received therein.”

After the discovery of the unmarked graves of 215 children on the site of the former Kamloops Indian Residential School on the Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation last June [June 2021], the nation shuddered and let out a collective gasp. Canada’s barbaric and racist legacy that is the residential school system was glaringly obvious as the remains of children were being discovered.

It was a moment that hit Vince Rattai, owner and operator of Deer Meadow Farms hard.

“I’m a 55-year-old white man, if I’m learning than other people are learning. If I’m thinking about this then I’m sure other people like me are thinking about it too,” He said. “How could this happen? It’s shocking to hear about these discoveries. These kids were taken and many of them never made it home.”

Like so many Canadians, Rattai felt a deep sense of grief and wanted to do something to honour the lost children. He got in touch with [former] Assembly of First Nations Grand Chief, Arlen Dumas, whom he’s spoken to before, and together the men worked to create the “Every Child Matters” and Turtle Island corn mazes. Dumas supplied the designs and shared knowledge with Rattai, who came up with First Nations trivia that is displayed on billboards throughout the maze.

“I learned more from Arlen in an hour than I learned from watching 10 years of news,” he said.

In years past Rattai and his team have designed corn mazes in his fields that reflect important moments and experiences for Manitobans, but this was the first time the cornfields at Deer Meadow Farms were etched for a cause.

“I’m not a cause driven person,” he said. “However, this year I knew we needed to do something on Every Child Matters. I felt pressed to do that. I felt like I’ve never done human rights before and we should.”

Corn holds significant meaning for Indigenous people. Farming and agriculture where a way of life. The plant has historically not only had a practical meaning and use to feed and nourish, it also a spiritual meaning and teaching. The Ojibway word for corn is Mandaamin. Though there are different variations of this this legend, the legend of Mandaamin is that he was a spirit man— the spirit of corn —who sacrificed himself for the Ojibway people.

Mandaamin was a gift from the creator, so that the Ojibway people did not have to depend on the hunt and the waters alone for food.

I didn’t grow up learning about my culture or of any of the teachings of our people. I didn’t practice our traditions, or even know where I came from. My grandmother, Annie, died when I was a baby. I have a handful of old photographs of her as an old woman, cradling me as a baby, but that’s it. Our lives touched briefly before hers ended, and yet I have this profound sense of love and loss for her.

But I am learning now, and I am sharing her name and her story— what I know of it— because it’s important and she mattered.

—Shelley Cook is a member of the Brokenhead Ojibway Nation and lives on Treaty 1 (Winnipeg, Manitoba.) She is Indigenous relations advisor with Manitoba Liquor & Lotteries and a former columnist with the Winnipeg Free Press.

The post Every child matters appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Glacier FarmMedia—More than a century after its creation, there is no visible sign remaining of the File Hills Farm Colony in southern Saskatchewan. But the painful memories of an experiment that epitomized the culture of assimilation permeating that era’s attitudes towards Canada’s Indigenous peoples still live in the collective memories of residential school survivors. Likewise for some of the racist attitudes and policies that still exist today.

Rather allowing that piece of history to define the story of Indigenous agriculture, a new generation – this time under Indigenous leadership – is working to create a different future for First Nations in the sector.

Thomas Benjoe, president and CEO of FHQ Developments, points to the File Hills Colony as an example of how projects touted at the time as progressive actually held Indigenous agriculture back.

He is leading efforts by First Nations in the File Hills area to carve out a new legacy for Indigenous people in agriculture. FHQ Developments is operated by the 11 First Nations (including Peepeekisis) belonging to the File Hills Qu’Appelle Tribal Council.

Painful legacy

As the the 19th century bled into the 20th, the region’s Indian agent William Morris Graham devised the colony as a way to prevent Indigenous residential school graduates from reverting to traditional lifestyles once they completed their time at these schools.

Specially chosen graduates of residential schools were given an opportunity to farm on prime agriculture land belonging to the Peepeekisis Cree Nation, even though many of them were not members of that nation.

Members of Peepeekisis were displaced to a smaller area, while select graduates were encouraged to live like colonial homesteaders – and afforded many luxuries their peers didn’t have.

The Canadian government held out the colony as an example of how Indigenous populations could be assimilated but disregarded how it was preventing other First Nations from acquiring land, machinery and capital needed for long-term success.

Indigenous farmers were at the mercy of Indian Agents who could limit what was grown, control their access to equipment and what lands they could access.

The File Hills Colony eventually became riddled with controversy due to disputes over what amounted to illegal redistribution of reserve lands and suspicion that the government agents overseeing the operation were making off with some of the profits.

Legal action was filed in the 1950s to have the colony removed.

Earlier this year, the federal government provided $150 million in total compensation to Peepeekisis First Nation, with an option to acquire 18,720 acres of land.

“In creating and implementing the Colony Scheme, Canada breached its fiduciary duty to the Nation by failing to protect the Nation’s interest in the land and not providing any compensation to the Nation,” says a government release. “The historic and ongoing harm that the Colony Scheme caused to the Peepeekisis Nation created community divisions and animosity between families and members. The legacy of the Colony Scheme continues to impact the Nation to this day.”

Now considered to be an example of colonial oppression, the File Hills Colony colony forced a Euro-centric, agrarian way of life upon Indigenous communities.

“All of these things, all of these policies, have significantly worked against Indigenous communities to be able to actively participate and create that long history of what we need in the ag industry,” says Benjoe.

Overcoming the past

He sees overcoming that rocky history and re-engaging in agriculture as an important opportunity for First Nations.

“It’s not just from a producer’s perspective, it’s from a tech, manufacturing, and supply chain, where we’re looking at it in a in a much bigger picture of how we can invest in and how we can participate,” he says. “We need to be a part of that leading edge work that is happening all around us, and if we don’t, we’re going to miss out on huge opportunities to participate and create, and be a part of an industry that is both sustainable and renewable.”

While the potential is real, so are the barriers.

Benjoe says the legacy of the File Hills colony and other government policies have led to “barriers for success” and a drop in enthusiasm for agricultural projects among First Nations.

But access to capital is the biggest hurdle holding them back.

“We just can’t compete in an agriculture industry that requires significant capital investment where we can’t get loans,” he said.

“We just don’t have the access to capital that is required to be able to participate at the level that is needed in the ag industry.”

Without access to money for projects on reserve, FHQ Developments is now looking elsewhere: off reserve lands.

“We’re shifting as an organization towards those types of opportunities. Just because, you know, access to capital on reserve is going to be very, very difficult,” he says.

Another way of continuing to look for ways to establish collateral is by finding low-risk ways of getting in the door, says Benjoe.

“Over time, we’re able to demonstrate our capacity and be able to fully participate in much larger contracts and take on more risk with our customers. And so that’s what we need to see in the ag industry,” he says.

Engagement

Through the Saskatchewan Chamber of Commerce, Benjoe is trying to make it easier for companies – in and outside of agriculture – to engage with First Nations through the creation of an Indigenous engagement charter.

“There’s no excuse for any organization, any business in Saskatchewan, to not do something. There’s resources, there’s tools, there’s training, there’s guidance, that’s all there for you now,” he said.

“You have all the levers to be able to allow us access. And if you don’t know how, or if you’re uncomfortable about going down this path, talk to us.”

Agriculture has a blueprint to look to on how best to engage First Nations. Benjoe points to the oil, gas and mining sectors as industries that have set a pretty good foundation of active participation with Indigenous communities.

In those sectors, First Nation-specific procurement policies, engagement and community investment are much more common than what is found in agriculture.

“What I need to be able to see and be able to advocate for is to work with those major ag companies and say, ‘Well, how can we get you thinking about reconciliation? How do we get the organization developing the right policies and making the right investments in unity?” he says.

“That’s where we see the opportunity, and that is why we are pushing forward within the ag industry.”

Champions needed

As Benjoe continues to seek “champions to step up” on the industry side of agriculture, he also expects more action from government.

“The role that government needs to play is around the policy and around the investment, we need them to make capital available, or set up loan loss provisions for us,” he says.

While government programming specific to First Nations and agriculture has increased in recent years, there is still little offered.

What is, such as the five-year, $8.5 million Indigenous Agriculture and Food Systems Initiative launched by the federal government in 2018, is oversubscribed. The program was designed to “support Indigenous communities and entrepreneurs who are ready to launch agriculture and food systems projects and others who want to build their capacity to participate in the Canadian agriculture and agri-food sector.”

Funding per project was capped at $500,000 per year, and in 2021 – three years into the five-year mandate – applications were suspended because the demand was too high.

“Indigenous communities want to participate, it’s just, you’re not putting enough effort and enough dollars towards it, that we can participate at a larger level,” Benjoe says.

“When I think about things that I want to participate in, in the ag tech or manufacturing or supply chain sector, there is a significant amount of capital that we’re going to have to invest.”

The post Reconciling the painful past creates hope for a more promising future appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.

Glacier FarmMedia—The setting is a farmyard in central Saskatchewan, in a summer of record heat and drought. Judging from the line of vehicles parked along the road, it might have looked like a small auction. At lunch-time, on a day when the temperature would rise into the mid-30s, farmers and ranchers wearing the protection of long-sleeved shirts traded worries about a meagre cut of hay, dry as dust, and the hard decisions that will follow soon enough: whether to sell cattle or somehow find feed enough to keep them over winter. Farm talk.

Earlier in the morning, though, they had listened, seated on blankets on mowed grass, accepting the authority of the Cree elder who talked protocol while his assistant prepared the pipe to pass around an imperfect circle. This was a day of honest commitment. That was what the pipe is for, the elder said, on this farm where Treaty Four and Treaty Six territory meet.

After lining up for bannock, women and men, Indigenous and settler, spoke in their turn in two large circles. They spoke of many things, but mostly of treaty, land, and sharing, of hunting for food, of plants for medicine and ceremony. The province’s Treaty Commissioner, Mary Culbertson, drew a direct line between the 2016 shooting death of the young Cree man, Colten Boushie, on another Saskatchewan farm and this gathering. An Indigenous man who raised four children on wild game said it had become more dangerous and difficult to do so. A rancher recalled teepee rings and stories of a wintering camp that trouble the lie that the land was a blank slate given to his ancestors. He knew otherwise.

Those who came from every direction returned home with signs to post on their fencelines, big enough to read from the road: Treaty Land Sharing Network. Indigenous Land Users Welcome. Some of them wondered aloud how their neighbours would react not just to the signs, going public in this way, making their practices visible, but to those made welcome by them. Later, one said, he was ready with an answer: “There is no danger in sharing land; that’s what treaty people do.”

This description, I know, will draw at least three reactions. The first is deep, immediate anxiety – the kind that farm people get whenever land, treaties, and Indigenous peoples appear in the same sentence. This is easily the toughest rural subject to raise in a room, or in a column. The second is scepticism – the kind that comes to Indigenous peoples from their own long experience of colonialism. They will wait to see that the Network actually makes a difference in a province where anti-trespass laws and sale of Crown land increasingly restrict access.

The third is disbelief – the kind that comes condescendingly from good progressive people in Canada’s large cities, who know that rural prairie places are hotbeds of racism and that rare exceptions only serve to prove the rule. They support the cause of reconciliation, no question, but too often that simply means having the right opinion at a safe distance.

 Audio: Listen to this excerpt from Roger Epp’s conversation with Western Producer reporter Ed White in 2021.

On September 30, Canadians will mark a new National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. We will do so in the aftermath of the fresh discoveries this spring of unmarked graves on the sites of former residential schools in British Columbia and Saskatchewan, and others sure to follow. People who hadn’t paid much attention to the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, its Final Report, and its Calls to Action, issued in 2015, were sincerely troubled by what they learned.

The TRC was never only about a residential school system that, for several generations, took children from families and communities for purposes that it summarized as cultural genocide. It was not about closing a “sad chapter” in our history. It was not about compensation – a separate process altogether. Under skillful leadership, it became a national forum that invited Canadians into the hard work of rethinking their own country, past and present, and taking meaningful steps towards what it called “a new way of living together.”

To that end, I continue to hold two positions. The first is that the work of finding that new way is too important to be left to a national government in Ottawa. It must be local and relational. The second is that it is dangerous and wrong to assume that rural prairie communities are locked into relationships of antagonism, fear, and indifference. If anything, rural places where settler and Indigenous people live in proximity ought to generate a much more productive, practical conversation about next steps than the national one. In some cases, they already have. In choosing to live as neighbours, they enact the spirit of sharing and mutual aid that is the spirit of the treaties.

Which is why the launch of the Treaty Land Sharing Network was such an important, hopeful event, even if it starts with a small group. For those of us who were on that Saskatchewan farm on that hot summer day, who shared in ceremony, it was about people who share the countryside, together setting a different course than the one scripted for them.

—Roger Epp is a political science professor with the University of Alberta who has researched and written extensively about the rural West and settler-Indigenous relations.

The post Sharing the countryside appeared first on Alberta Farmer Express.