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Burnt Church Diaries (Taken and adapted from the Canadian Broadcast Corporation Site)
Fenton Somerville is a native Mic Mac and a lifelong resident of Esgenoopetitj. He went to St. Thomas University majoring in native studies, and is currently an instructor at the Esgenoopetitj Access Centre, which provides courses in various computer programs. He lives with Linda, his partner of eight years, and has three children, Shaun, Stacy, and Charlene. Fenton has been witness to most of the events that have transpired in this normally quiet village. He will provide insights and an in-depth view of the thoughts and emotions of the people of Esgenoopetitj. Thurs. Sept. 14, 00 Yes, the mediation process has begun. I was lucky enough to sit in for the first 30 minutes as an invited observer. To tell you the truth, I was not impressed. He sat there and scratched his head a lot and really did not appear to say much, while the native leaders stated their case. At first, I thought he was listening as a mediator should, but it was the manner in which he listened that made me think. He looked weary and, to put it bluntly, bored. I thought at first that it might be jet lag or the boat tour he took of the bay earlier that afternoon, but no. I sensed he was forced into this situation against his better judgement. It seemed like his heart was not in it. It's just not what I pictured a mediation process to be. I regret that I had to leave because of prior commitments. I went outside to wait for my ride to town when a fishermen still in his fishing wet gear hopped off a truck to say that the DFO and RCMP tried to ram him on the other side of the island. Someone suggested that they should take Bob Rae out on the water to see first-hand how natives were being treated by them. I smiled and thought to myself, "Yeah, the tear gas would wake him up. We would have some old fashioned mediation then." My girlfriend and I were talking of the day's events tonight and the topic eventually drifted to her father. He is an elder who has been a commercial fisherman for 30 years, and he has been invited to speak to the mediation process tomorrow. He recently had to retire because of a near-fatal heart attack last year and had to pass on the fishing business to his son. His face and hands are weathered by many years of sun and cold, windswept salt water coming off the prow of his boat. A mischievous smile is ever on his face and he is always the first to tell you about the one that got away. Every spring, on May 1st, after the traps have been set and gear put away on the wharf, he becomes the chairman of the board of the unofficial native version of the scuttlebutt lodge. I asked her how he felt about the fishing situation. She told me, "He is dying to be out there on the bay with them." She said that he was so angry when the 14 natives were arrested and the boats seized that her family were actually worried that he would get sick again. He is a staunch supporter of the treaty. He has always believed it to be his right to fish to support his family. The lobster fishery has been his bread and butter for 30 years and he would not do anything to jeopardize his future grandchildren's opportunity to make a living off it by overfishing. It just doesn't make sense. He felt pity for the 14 fishermen arrested that day. It's difficult to explain the native term "Aolamagic" (ao-la-ma-jic). The closest I can come to explaining it is that he looked at them with pity, his heart went out to them. He felt sorry for what happened to them, yet he was proud of what they did and what it symbolized for everyone else on the reserve. The 14 fishermen came back, not to a parade, but to an outpouring of relief that they were safe. By then everyone had heard of the methods the police and fishery wardens used to apprehend them. They were rammed, gassed, and threatened with machine guns. How can I value anything Canadian any more when we are treated like common criminals for a right that is recognized by the Supreme Court? I often wonder how history will record this. Will we succeed, or will we lose some or all of our rights to determine our future. I was reading some of my old university material and I came across this. It is a picture from the future. I wish for the reader to imagine a Seneca storyteller. He is a hardworking man with signs of advancing age on his face... it is evening time...he waits for us, and we come up to him and say "Grandpa, tell us ghost stories." He would blow out a big puff of smoke and he would begin, "Now this happened one time..." DEWAYNE LESLIE BOWEN-SENECA Tues. September 12, 00 I figured that something had happened, but not to this extent. Rumours tend to spread like a wildfire, and we had heard quite a few. News of the incident began trickling in slowly but surely to the Community Centre. The rumours turned out to be true. Why did I think things would work out? Have I not studied the policies of the Canadian government towards natives with the White Paper? (Oh yes, it still lives in the minds of the politicians in Ottawa.) Have I not heard of Oka? Ipperwash? Have I not seen the DFO clubbing and macing my friends and relatives for defending our rights? The feeling here is that we have been had once again. Appoint a mediator, regroup, and jump on them behind Portage Island so that no one on the reserve sees what's happening. The only thing people saw of the incident was the two helicopters hovering over the island. The Chief and 14 other people were arrested. Even the Esgenoopetitj Rangers trophy boat was covered in a cage-like trailer and taken away like a prize through the streets of Neguac. I couldn't help but think of the trophy boat as a wild cougar that has finally been caged. I was comforted by the thought that it left behind cubs to continue the hunt for our rights. I was walking out of the Training Centre today when I met up with a friend I haven't seen in many years. He is also a native. He asked me what I was up to these days and I told him I was just on my way to Neguac to buy some videotapes for the fisheries videos. Without batting an eye, he reached into his wallet and gave me $10 to buy a couple more. Ten dollars may not be much to most people, but it's the prevalent attitude I see more often these days. These are not well-to-do people, but they're willing to give what they can to support the native fisheries. I saw one of the native spokeswomen on television tonight in front of the RCMP station. They were trying to see if they could get the people out and find out what charges they faced. I could see that she had been crying or was about to cry. A big part of me screamed for her to quit and let someone else do it, and then another part of me said "Way to go, keep the faith." Sunday, September 03, 00 When I realized who they were I thought "Wow, this is going to be some scrap." The Esgenoopotitj Ranger trophy boat was speeding out to meet them from the west end of the Bay. Man . . . 20 to one. I took small comfort in the fact that the trophy was the fastest vessel out there and if something should happen, they could easily outmaneuver them. How could the RCMP allow these boats to cast off from the Baie St. Anne wharf. Have they forgotten the last time they set out against natives? The Miramichi Leader, the local newspaper, estimated that 3000 traps were lost that day. At $75 a trap, that comes out to $225,000 wiped out in a matter of four or five hours. Everyone here still remembers. The image of the non-native fisherman wearing a wig and doing a war dance on the boat still burns in the minds of most people here. The person who I was taking turns with on the binoculars quietly commented in Mic Mac. "Come on in, you won't be able to treat us the same way as last time." He wasn't blustering or putting on a show for anyone. It was a matter of fact to him. To my surprise, the gasoline boats stopped their advance and it looked to me that they were gathering around the huge RCMP ship just off the western side of Portage Island. By this time, the smaller native dories were heading out to what seemed another mismatch. I could see one dory speeding out from the east toward the boats. Four gasoline boats broke off from the pack and went out to meet it. They were easily outmaneuvered. The RCMP, non-native, and native boats were in one spot for a long time. We on the shore could only wonder what was going on. Ten more gasoline boats were coming in from the entrance making the count 30. After about 45 minutes of this, we saw four boats leave, and then eight. Soon all the gasoline boats were leaving. The RCMP and native boats stuck around for a while longer and they too went back. The RCMP in the direction of Baie St. Anne, and the natives to the west end of the shore. It didn't take long to find out what happened. A person who was on the trophy boat and first one to the scene said the police only put their hands up in a gesture of helplessness. As if there was nothing they could do. He said they taped the whole thing from the high deck of their ship. There were shouting matches between the natives and non-natives. He said that he got the feeling that the RCMP were waiting for the natives to make the first move. He said the non-natives left promising to come back later on tonight with more people on their boats. In all the events that have happened these past few weeks, I could not help but admire the restraint the people have shown here, given the situations they have to put up with. I sense it's more than a matter of treaties, but one of pride. Something that has been in short supply here for many years. Like a leaky faucet, a drop does not cause much undue attention, but leave it dripping overnight and you have an overflowing bucket. Our grievances have long ago overflowed and fell on deaf ears. We have been accused of whining so long, we had come to believe it. No more. We are men and women with issues that need to be addressed. It's best to forget the John Wayne Indian. It never existed in the first place. Thursday, August 31, 00 There was quite a crowd at the courthouse. We were having our cigarettes during a recess when in walked one of the people who was sunk early yesterday morning. I asked him if he thought the DFO meant to deliberately hurt them that morning. "Definitely," he said. "I just had enough time to duck to the floor of my boat when the DFO boat ran on top of it. I was literally underneath it. My only thought at the moment was of the propellers. Lucky for me, they missed." I noticed a cut above his nose and I asked how he got it. "I don't know. I was being maced and clubbed by the officers when they were hauling me on the boat. Every time I opened my eyes a bit, they would mace me." He said he couldn't see and it was difficult to breath. We went back to the Band Hall after court. I went into my empty classroom. I had no clients all week. Everyone was busy with the fisheries so I went to work on some ideas for a proposal I was writing for the Access Centre. It occurred to me that I never had a chance to wish John Findlay a safe trip home to Walkerton. He is the one who approached me and asked if I would like to write for the CBC. It was a great opportunity to voice the feelings of our people. Something I felt the other sections of the media couldn't cover adequately. The trip here affected him deeply. He is a very articulate person, but now when I look back at the last few conversations I had with him, I realized how difficult it was for him to express himself. His heart and conscience were at odds. Like Ovide Mercredi, he had become a witness. Witness to the sounds of a fibreglass boat hitting a wooden dory. Witness to people jumping for their lives. Witness to a people fighting for a right to control their own future. I walked home today at about 6 p.m. A Coast Guard helicopter flew back and forth at low level all along the shoreline. It was loud and I could hear it from a way off. I stopped to watch it fly by. I turned to look at the kids I passed by earlier, thinking they would be excited to see such a spectacle. They barely noticed. Have we become so numb to such things? Hmmm. Its 1:20 a.m. Just got off the telephone. Guess who's on the Bay again at this time of night. It's going to be another sleepless night. Wednesday, August 30, 00 The resolve to resist grows with each confrontation. There were a few people who were opposed to this course of action in the beginning. You can find them now cooking and serving food, lending their trucks to haul firewood and supplies, etc. They now do what needs to be done. I have never seen this community so united for a cause before. The television camera caught a picture of a person everyone knows well here. He is sitting on the bank staring at the David and Goliath match on the bay. I sat there and realized that he had already made up his decision. He was gonna fight. Pride was growing in his heart, and injustice churning in his mind. At about 2:10 a.m. Tuesday morning, I heard a car racing from up the street beeping its horn. That, in Esgenoopetitj, means DFO raid. Linda and I immediately raced down shore to her parents' place. Things appeared very quiet except for a plane that was droning all night with its lights out. Only her mother was out in the yard wondering what was happening now and where. A car pulled up and told us that the action was going on at the school shore. We got a drive down. When we got there, there were people shining their car lights and powerful million-candle-watt beams at the DFO boats not far from shore. There they were. I counted 18 boats, lined up like an invading armada. I could hear the cackle of scanners as people were monitoring what the fisheries officers were saying. Once again that feeling of frustration of not being able to do anything about it crept in. I asked a person where the Rangers were. He said, "the DFO is in full combat dress, they're not crazy to go out in the darkness." The boats already had pulled out most of the traps by then and now they just appeared to be sitting there. There were wild rumours that they were there to try to confiscate the boats on shore. Another person said they counted 40 RCMP cars tonight, so a raid on land was possible. There was a beautiful display of Northern Lights. It being August, that was pretty rare. For me, it only contributed to my sense of foreboding about the whole situation. We waited as long as possible, wondering what would happen next. After a while we decided to go back to Linda's parents' place to have coffee and talk about what night happen next. Everyone remarked on how quiet the DFO's boats were. We all concluded that it was the constant droning of the surveillance airplane above that drowned out the sound of fisheries officers' motors. We figured the DFO had done its damage and there would be no more events tonight. Were we ever wrong. The biggest event as of yet and I missed it all. I woke up to the sound of the television. I looked up at the screen just in time to see three natives jumping off their rammed boat. A friend of mine was being clubbed by the officers as he was trying to rescue the guys in the water. He was saved from being hauled onto the DFO boat by other natives throwing stones. The officers had to let him go to shield themselves from the rocks. It was satisfying to finally see a national network actually video a DFO boat ramming a native boat. It's been a tactic used by the DFO before, but of all the media that gathered here during these past weeks, none had managed to get it on camera. A picture can tell you a million stories about a person. One picture that was the most vivid and compelling to me was the one of Ovide Mercredi at the press conference after the raid. His chin and lips twitched and trembled as he related what he had witnessed. He has been living here on the reserve for about a week now. He knows first hand how it feels. He had seen people fight back with sticks and stones with only their dories and bodies to protect their right to fish against the enormous manpower and resources of the government. There are some people here who think we need to respond in a more aggressive way and I find myself at times thinking so too. But this is not Oka. I now understand why Oka happened. To say emotions are at a high level is to say the least. My only fear is that some people may soon be seriously hurt if this keeps up. There is a breaking point. The government must talk to our leaders. They cannot continue to play politics. It's not a game anymore. Sunday, August 27, 00 Observations. Ovide Mercredi is in town. One of the old computer classrooms at the Band Hall/Training Centre has been transformed into a community centre. New telephones were installed, computers hum and people are talking into cell phones. It would seem that things are being done. There is a new sense of direction and confidence. Burnt Church is getting their act together. You hear names such as Coon Come, Mercredi, minister of this and that. Meals are being served in the kitchen for the Rangers from Listuguj. Some students from St. Thomas University in Fredericton are helping to set up Web pages for Burnt Church. Everyone is grateful for the help the people of Listuguj are providing. Their Rangers were a great boost to morale. The people are more than glad to see their speed boats protecting them from the DFO. Its nice to know that we are not alone. It was great to see all the support pour in from many native nations from around the continent. I was one of the fire-keepers to the sacred fire at the annual powwow here. There were many people who offered their prayers to the Creator. Many words of encouragement in different native languages and one that I understood, "Oelegootiog", meaning "You're all doing good" in Mic Mac. There was a truce in effect between the DFO and Burnt Church, a truce that everyone knew would fall apart once the people of the powwow left. Everyone has been keeping up with the news of the Dhaliwal statements. The general feeling is that the man is incapable of reason or has a complete disregard for truth. What the fishermen here see and experience is totally different from the news releases he gives. Dhaliwal has become quite a swear word around here. I sense a settlement is not in the near future as long as the government continues its policy of playing hardball. I have come to understand that the winner in the art of brinkmanship is decided only when the opponent blinks. If you blink, you lose. It's my impression that the people of Esgenoopetitj have regained their sight and dare not to blink for fear of losing their vision. Saturday, August 26, 00 It's a calm that could erupt like a volcano. Everyone feels it. I remember on the first night of the DFO raids, a friend and I waited on the shore while the boats went out to meet the DFO boats. We knew the traps were being seized and the local fishermen were virtually powerless to stop it. In Mic Mac, my buddy told me, "I feel so helpless to see our traps being taken, and there isn't a thing that I could do about it." I think he was telling me that he was going to fight this event in any capacity he could. It didn't take long before the first local boat landed. We could hear him yelling that guns were pointed at them. The air was charged with electricity as everyone waited to hear what happened. "They were going to shoot us if we got in the way" and "They pointed guns at us." I was stunned by the extent of the DFO's show of force. Soon more boats landed with the same story. These were people I knew all my life, there was no doubt in my mind that they were speaking the truth. I have never felt such outrage from the people of Esgenoopetitj before. There were a few there that felt the situation was getting out of hand. One person came up to me and asked me to E-mail Herb Dhaliwal for what the DFO had done. A person standing beside me answered, "Guess who sent them." The blockades went up as a result of the raid that evening. About 50 to 70 cars went to the highway about a mile away. I went along to see what was going to happen. I knew that this was a dangerous situation. Tensions were high and the police were rerouting traffic from Neguac, about a quarter mile down the road. There was a huge bonfire on the middle of the road and there were drums and singing. It wasn't a celebration. It was preparation for war. I remember thinking, "Well...we're committed now. There is no turning back." It was about 3 in the morning of the blockade and the crowd had dwindled. Things had quieted some. All that was visible on the highway was the RCMP cars in the distance with their lights flickering in the distance. I wondered why they just didn't come in to dismantle the roadblocks and arrest all of us. I was anxious and, quite honestly, nervous. The thought of being in lockup did not appeal to me. It was about at that time that I heard a car racing towards us from the reserve at high speed. I knew right away that he meant to ram the road block. I told everyone there to get out of the way. He raced down and slammed the brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt at the last moment, then gunned the motor again and smashed through the blockade. I remember seeing his face for one fleeting instant, a moment frozen in time, and it was the face of fear. It was a non-native that had been trapped inside the blockade that night. He smashed through and did some damage to his car. I remember thinking that he could have gone through by just asking. The roadblocks were meant to be a statement about the DFO's actions, not a protest to the surrounding communities. The smell of burned tire rubber hung in the air. It left an unsettling feeling in my stomach.
Finlay is a Reserve Corps member of Christian Peacemaker Teams (CPT) and is spending time in Burnt Church. CPT is a violence-reduction initiative of the Mennonite and Brethren Churches and Quaker/Friends Meetings. The organization enters areas of potential conflict at the invitation of a group which is seen to represent people in the area and after studying the situation. The focus of the involvement is to act as a presence and as observers and to follow the motto "Getting In The Way." August 30/00 Have these people converted me to their cause? Am I becoming an "Indian lover?" Do I care more about them than the non-native fishers? No, no, and not really. For years I have felt that Canadian natives have been on the short end of the stick. Their stories have always spoken to me on some deep, internal level. All the fishers are farmers of a sort and, as such, have my respect and concern. Well then, have I lost my impartiality? It certainly seems to have been worn down a bit based on the events of this summer. One of the women here said that the community was quite leery of CPT's presence at first. Remembering tales of the missionaries from a long time ago and, more recently, the residential schools, they worried that this was just one more group bringing the verbal Christian message. As time went on they came to realize and appreciate that the focus of CPT was to focus on the actions which are based on the message in its least complicated form. The motto "Getting in the Way" has two possible meanings and this is intentional. This is the last diary I will be submitting from here. Tomorrow I will watch for one more glorious sunrise over the bay and then leave for home. I now know why those who have left before me have done so with some reluctance. Yesterday I really had to take my whole life into account and figure how I can be of best use to the Mi'kmaq of esgenoopititj as well as my own family. Part of me figured it was to stay here, but the larger part persuaded me that it is indeed time to go home, be with my family, and return to work next week. I will do what I can, from a distance, for this community. I will follow the news carefully. I will encourage others to become better informed about the situation. Mostly I will remember the people who have offered me their friendship and made me laugh in spite of the anger, and hurt, and frustration, and disappointment, and fear, which invades their lives on a daily basis. August 29/00 The raid started around two in the morning. The DFO came and started removing traps. The people of ESGENOÔPETITJ could do nothing but stand there and watch. Nobody was foolish enough to go out in a small motorboat and attempt to challenge what was going on. When I began my watch at five, things were quiet. My attention was concentrated to the east to see if there were any boats coming out of Neguac. Just before six my attention was drawn to the west where the sky was still quite dark. The person who pointed me there and I both focussed our binoculars and began counting. There were at least 22 government boats, most of them DFO which were lifting and removing traps. As the smaller DFO boats became laden with traps, they transferred them to much larger accompanying vessels. It seemed to me that they were intent on removing every single trap from the bay. Around seven o'clock the first of the native boats went out into the water. Given the size and power differences between the largest of the native boats and the smallest of the government ones, the only purpose here has to be an expression of both pride in one's heritage and total frustration with how the situation is developing. The first boat was soon joined by two others. Their smaller size gave them a bit more manoeuverability but that's the only advantage they had. The sight was something. It was like three gnats buzzing around a pack of hungry dogs. Then some of the dogs turned and began the attack. The DFO boats did their best to isolate each of the three native boats but they kept swerving and dodging effectively. From the shore we could hear the occasional sound as a native boat was bumped by a DFO one as they appeared fully intent on ramming the smaller craft. As with most of those African nature scenes which we see on TV though, the inevitable happened. Three of the DFO boats were able to surround one of the native ones. After squeezing in, from the sides and blocking from the front, one of the DFO craft basically passed over the isolated native one and caused it to sink. The two people from the boat were plucked from the water and presumably arrested. As the morning wore on, the two remaining native boats were gradually joined by others until there were about a dozen of them on the water. The scene then shifted from the west end of the first nation to the east end. The process changed too. It became like a tag-team boxing match. The native boats would buzz the government ones for a few minutes with a bit of reciprocal chasing and then would break off and go a short distance to rest and regroup. A more serious skirmish did break out at one time with a larger number of government boats entering the fray. Once again a native boat was isolated but this time a different tactic was used. Three of the DFO boats passed as close and as quickly as they could to the native boat and turned sharply. One DFO boat seemed to run over the fishing boat, sinking it and sending three occupants jumping into the water. The three swam as fast as they could and two of them managed to reach other native boats while the third made it to shore. As I write this at 10:40 a.m., the boxing match continues. Most of the action now seems to be more strategic as the focus of attention shifts from one end of the first nation to the other with attempts to lure boats, perhaps into a trap, or perhaps away from the few lobster traps which remain in the water. August 28/00 That observation was offered by one of the Mi'kmaq women who were watching some of their friends head out to fish this evening. The comment came up because of an earlier one. When people go out to fish, there are usually at least two of them in a boat. One rides in the back controlling the outboard motor and the other often stands in the front, holding onto a rope, to give directions to the driver so that none of the lines connecting the traps to the floats which mark them get either caught or cut by the propellor. The boat which went out had two women and a man in it. One of the women was in the front and her friend on shore called out, "Hi yo Silver!" I too was a fan of the Lone Ranger in my earlier years and I indicated my surprise that they would use his call given that his "faithful Indian companion" was Tonto and might have been their hero. When I asked about the cheering for the cavalry comment I was told that, as children, they always knew that the Indians were going to lose in the movie and it was mainly that they wanted to be on the winning side. One of them also told me a story from when one of her own children was a young boy. There was going to be some competition for a number of different groups. When she told him that there were going to be at least 500 Indians coming to the games his response had been, "You mean ones with feathers and everything?" Today was one which both began and ended with tension apparent in the community. In the early morning many people were active and alert because of the rumours which had been spread, even into the press, about some non-natives being hell-bent on destroying the native fishery. There were many others besides me scanning the horizon. Sometimes it can be interesting just what shapes small, low-lying clouds can seem to take on in the early light of dawn. Later in the day came the visit by the Minister of Indian Affairs (and Northern Development). That turned out to be a disappointment as the Minister didn't have much to offer and left before the scheduled press conference. Later in the news it was stated that he didn't know the media was going to be there. Where do we get these guys anyway? Does the Prime Minister just troll for ones who think or say silly things and appoint them to Cabinet? Excuse me sir, you went to a community which has been much in the news lately, you are a Cabinet Minister, your visit was publicly announced days ago. Still, you are surprised by the presence of the media? Something doesn't compute here. At the press conference with the one empty chair it was mentioned again about rumours of an impending attack. They continue to be taken seriously. As night falls, boats are moved to more secure and easily protected area. The tension of the morning returns. This is no way for anybody to live, especially in Canada. August 26/00 Two members of the team left today for their home in Waterloo. Like me, they are reservists which means that they put in as much time with CPT as the rest of their lives allow. They have been here for two weeks and were quite conflicted about going home as they are quite attached to the cause and the local folks who they have come to know since arriving. As a symbolic gesture for their leaving we held a short period of worship on the wharf at Neguac. The site was chosen deliberately because it's the place which the DFO uses to keep their boats and to which they take any traps which they seize. We drove in three cars and entered the wharf area unchallenged even though there was an RCMP van near the entry point. After we parked and went to a place which was unoccupied I noticed that one of the RCMP officers left the van and appeared to be recording the licence plate numbers from the cars. I guess that means one more piece of data on me in my Ottawa file, it could be interesting to check that out and see just what was recorded from today. The service consisted of some songs, a bible reading about beating swords into ploughshares, a litany and prayer. Nothing was said or sung in a way which was intended to rock the foundations of the structure as there were but the six of us and the intention was to worship respectfully. At one point a person whom I suppose to be a local walked past our group and appeared to be agitated. He heard some of the bible reading and said, "Don't say that to me," as if he felt the reader was speaking directly to him rather than reading. As the reading continued uninterrupted he stopped, turned, and then took a step toward us. The fury in his eyes was as intense as I have ever seen. One of the team just explained that we were Christian Peacemakers and having a worship service. At the same time one of his friends whom he was originally walking toward called on him to continue on his way. He did so with the loud suggestion, "You fucking peacemakers get out of here! Go back to Burnt Church and do your fucking peace work with the fucking Indians!" We continued the service without response and the group of men quieted down and eventually went on their own way. At the conclusion of the service, which took about 15 minutes, we left. On the way out one of the team gave part of our literature/pamphlets to the RCMP officers so they might get some understanding of what we are about. It is really difficult to get a true sense of the depth of the feelings which the non-native fishers have. They obviously perceive a threat to their livelihood and way of life, but what else is it based on in addition to the negative feelings toward Mi'kmaq which have been learned from a very early age? For example, have government policies played a role? If and when some sort of agreement is reached it is unlikely to have much impact on these. August 25/00 The CPT "encampment" is located at the west end of the first nation property. It is located in a field and treed area behind a house which sits on the front edge of what used to be a large farm which used to be owned by the grandparents of the current owners. It consists of a small tent trailer, five tents, and a hole in the ground surrounded by some plastic tarps which is our toilet. There's no "throne" in there, one just squats as the need arises. The tent trailer is used as the office, kitchen, and dining area. This is no small feat given that there are six of us and seating for four in the trailer. We eat and meet outside as often as the weather allows. It is helpful that we also have use of the house on the property for trivial things such as showering. It seems that I have developed quite an interest in press conferences since the whole Walkerton experience began. I have attended two of them in the four days since arriving here. These have been ones held by representatives of Burnt Church First Nation (they seem to use the anglicized version of their name for these instances for the recognition factor.) They have been held in a bit of a clearing just outside of the first nation with the water of the bay as a backdrop. The similarity in the conferences has been an effort to provide the esgenoopetitj perspective on events which have transpired. They tend to be more analytical of things which have happened and been reported earlier. For example, an acknowledgement that indeed, some traps were removed but many of them did not have EFN tags on them and therefore were ones set by poachers at some point in time. It seems to be a function of any situation such as this that there are always two, diametrically opposed views or interpretations of events. Of course both sides may claim to be totally right or, at the very least have to be prepared to put their own political spin on the situation. The day ended with cautious optimism in parts of this community. The Minister responsible for the DFO has indicated that he doesn't want any more confrontations. The Minister of Indian Affairs is due to arrive Monday for talks about resources. Representatives from the Assembly of First Nations are present to advise the band council. All these things point to the distinct possibility of a positive outcome for all concerned. At the same time there is the recognition that none of this will happen overnight. Time, goodwill, and much patience are all needed in abundant quantities. August 24/00 The community is bordered on the east by another small town named Neguac. It is the location of the nearest DFO office and thus is the staging point for any of the raids on the lobster traps which have, and may still, take place. It's the main direction in which we point our binoculars when we are watching for any hints of impending trouble on the waters of the bay. The Neguac wharf juts out into the bay and we are looking to see if any larger boats are leaving there. These days it's not unusual for us to be denied access to that wharf by RCMP officers who ask for identification as well as the purpose for one's visit to it. This happens especially after a raid when the lobster traps have been brought ashore and are awaiting transport to another, larger community farther to the east. Highway 11 is the main provincial roadway which runs through part of the first nation here. These days it is really easy to see where the boundaries, both east and west, are. At each end there are at least three RCMP cruisers stationed and manned around the clock. One can only suppose that this has to do with the fact that there were protest roadblocks at those ends in response to the raid which took place a couple of weeks ago. It seems that the most common vehicle to be seen in Neguac is an RCMP cruiser. One of the motels there has every appearance of being the temporary barracks for all the extra police which have been called in to deal with the situation here. It almost reminds me of the years I spent living in Camp Borden when my father was stationed there. Neguac is also where we go when it is necessary to buy supplies or groceries. I have taken to going there "incognito." In my case that means wearing my CBC hat rather than my CPT one as we tend not to gen erate the same level of positive feelings there as we do here. I am being introduced to more and more people in this community. CPT had a presence here in the spring, from April until the end of June, when the early fishing season was operating. During that time a trust had to be built up because, after all, we are fairly uniform in our skin colour and there was an expected reluctance to accept us immediately. Some of the members of the team who are here now were also here in the spring too. Whenever we go to somebody's house for a visit, however brief, we never leave without the comment being made to us, "If you ever need a quiet place, or to have a shower, or whatever, just drop by. The door is never locked. Even if nobody's home, feel free to use our place." Just as a fairly quiet day was drawing to a close came the word that there were DFO boats on the water yet again. More scurrying. It turned out that this time the boats were out there all right but their intention was to prevent the possibility of some people from Baie Ste. Anne which is across the bay, on the south shore, from coming across and damaging the traps.
Our time "on guard" is seldom spent alone. We are usually joined by one or more members of the ESGENOÔPETITJ community who will sit and watch and talk with us. They freely share their thoughts and ideas about what is going on as well as some of the things which they remember from their childhood in the area. That opening statement is one of those reflections. "Isn't it interesting that the government talks about conservation as a reason for taking our traps and wanting us to follow their policies when those plans are the ones which have been a total failure so far? We have our own management plan, which is stricter and allows the non-native fishers to continue as well, and the government refused to look at it until this week." That's the sort of reasoned thinking which is common here. My only response has been a shoulder shrug and a puzzled expression to attempt to demonstrate my lack of understanding of how governments often make decisions. They are curious about us and make efforts to learn some of our own backgrounds as well. In spite of the tensions and pressures which the people feel, everyone who has asked me where I come from has responded with genuine concern and interest when they hear the name Walkerton. They want to learn more about the situation which I have left behind and they never say anything at all of a political nature, rather they express their care about how the people have been affected by the water problem. Maybe there is some sort of commonality at work here in that water, and its contents, is so important in both places. The watch continued throughout the day in an uneventful way. The day was a lazy one with plenty of warm sunshine and amiable discussions. After supper the person on watch came running back from the shore with the news that at least three DFO and two Coast Guard boats had been spotted in the distance. Then the scurrying began. Some of the team members got their wet weather gear and life jackets on in case there was a need for them to go out on boats. The camera equipment was secured in plastic bags so that it could be used from the boats. We all piled into a car and headed for the Burnt Church wharf where one person got out and went to see if anyone was going out and wanted him along. The rest of us sped off to the other end of the community where many of the boats were being kept since rumours circulated a few days ago that the DFO or RCMP might close off the public wharf and seize all the boats. What greeted us at both locations was a calmness on the part of the fishers. None of them were in any sort of hurry to go out and confront the government boats as it seemed that the whole thing may have been a feint to test the preparedness of the fishers to act. If they were watching from their boats, which seems likely, the DFO and/or Coast Guard and/or RCMP saw that the natives here were quick to take notice of their actions yet not prepared to bluster forth into the bay before analysing the situation.
Actually, I had arrived earlier in the day and had been introduced to a number of residents. The episode with the lobsters felt much more like some sort of ceremonial welcome to the community. A considerable portion of the Burnt Church First Nation lies right along the north shore of the Miramichi Bay with only a road separating the properties from the shore itself. The name of the community hearkens back to some of the other dark days of Canadian history. It was the time when the Acadians were being expelled from the country and some of them were being hidden/protected by local Mi'kmaq. The British, during the process of rounding up the people to be sent out of the country, burned down the local church and so we have the description of a local event being used to name its location. The natives here are emphasizing an even more historical name for their community, ESGENOÔPETITJ. Some members of the Christian Peacemakers (CPT) team have been here since August 12. Since that time the group has grown to six with my arrival this morning just as the intensity of the day was dying down. The officers of the nearby detachment of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans had staged a dawn "raid" to remove lobster traps from certain areas of the bay. Three of the CPT'ers had been out on native boats as observers which is one of the primary functions of the group. As it turned out they were out of position to see or record any of the action which took place on the water that time. The conflict which exists here is only peripherally about the white fishers versus the native fishers. More directly it concerns the native fishers and their rights being challenged directly by the local representatives of the federal government and more indirectly by the government itself. The entire scenario seems all too easy to understand from elsewhere but positively eerie from within this community. Much of our time here is spent in true Canadian fashion (as in our national anthem) in that we are "on guard" for up to twenty hours each day. In this case that means sitting along the shore with binoculars, a cell phone, and some photography equipment maintaining a watch of the bay. The main thing which is meant to be seen as soon as possible is the presence of boats which usually come together and in three varieties, DFO, RCMP, and Coast Guard. Seeing them on the bay almost invariably means that more Native lobster traps are being removed. The Native terminology may sound familiar; they simply state that their property is being stolen. Oh, by the way, I got a quick lesson in cooking lobster and a longer lesson in how to eat one without the benefit of utensils. |