By Brandi Morin (Cree/Iroquois)
The land guardian knows the intricate layout of his territory inside out. Mike Forbister (Ojibwe), like his father and grandfather before him, has memorized every vein of the complex English-Wabigoon River systems and navigates every nearby backroad and old hunting trail with ease. Together, with his colleague, Robby Williamson Jr. (Ojibwe), they spend their days monitoring the territory of their homelands at Grassy Narrows First Nation in Northwestern Ontario, Canada.
Their favorite pastime (like nearly everyone in this small Ojibwe community) is fishing and hunting. But their focus, as part of the Grassy Narrows Land Protection Team, involves making sure the land is healthy. And that means keeping trespassers out, specifically industry.
Industry has already done enough damage here.
“This fight is important because we have to think about my kids, his kids, his grandkids,” says Forbister, nodding towards Williamson after a full day of patrolling.
“We have to make sure that they have a safe environment when it’s their turn to live here. We have to make sure they have good land, have their Treaty rights. The majority of the reserve supports the no-logging plan, no mining.”
They have good reason to steadily guard the borders of their nation’s 44-square-kilometer reserve land and its 2,500 kilometers of traditional territory. About 88 kilometers north of Kenora, Ontario, Grassy Narrows is nestled deep within the embrace of emerald forests and hundreds of shimmering lakes that intertwine with the flowing waters of the English-Wabigoon River.
It’s a community shrouded in both natural beauty and a haunting legacy of poison.
Here, where gallant eagles soar overhead, black bears roam freely, and the haunting call of the loon echoes through the stillness, the shadow of tragedy hangs over the land.
For more than half a century, Grassy Narrows has borne the heavy burden of mercury contamination. Despite the breathtaking vibrant hues of burnt orange and deep pink sunsets that paint the sky and reflect off the lake water, a pall of poverty and despair lingers in the air.
Grassy Narrows is part of the Land Defense Alliance coalition, and even though they won’t be directly impacted by the Ring of Fire mining development in Northern Ontario, many here are willing to go to the frontlines to protect their allies’ territory, because they’ve already seen the devastating effects of industry. The provincial government’s plans for industrial development continue to be pushed forward without free, prior, and informed consent, and without a comprehensive assessment of the impacts of multiple industrial projects in the sensitive ecosystems.
The First Nation is world famous because of a catastrophe first discovered in the 1960s: a papermill plant in the City of Dryden, (less than 150 kilometers upstream), released about 10 tonnes of mercury into the Wabigoon River. Soon, people started getting sick and babies were born with deformities.
The First Nation is world famous because of a catastrophe first discovered in the 1960s: a papermill plant released about 10 tonnes of mercury into the Wabigoon River. Soon, people started getting sick and babies were born with deformities.
Fish, especially the coveted walleye, are the staple diet of this Ojibwe Tribe, and have been for thousands of years. But the food source they once thrived on converted the mercury to methylmercury as a result of consuming smaller fish all the way down the food chain to the plankton. The older and larger the fish, the higher the mercury levels in their bodies.
The Government of Ontario confirmed in 1970 high levels of mercury were present in the water and fish downriver from the Dryden Chemical plant.
“We weren’t educated enough about the mercury. So, we continued eating the fish until we started feeling all these symptoms. And a few years ago, I had a heart attack. And one of the doctors was saying it’s definitely got to be from mercury,” Forbister, 48, had a heart attack in his early 40’s even though he’s physically active and leads guide expeditions for youth out on the territory.
Everyone is affected by the poison here. In 2022, a study found that 90 per cent of Grassy Narrows members suffer from mercury poisoning. Their symptoms are varied and include neurological problems, including numbness in fingers and toes, seizures, cognitive delays, and other mental health struggles.
Dryden Chemical evaded responsibility for what’s been called the largest industrial disaster in Canadian history by dissolving the company and reforming under new ownership, First Quality Group, which operates under the name Dryden Fibre Canada.
“We weren’t educated enough about the mercury. So, we continued eating the fish until we started feeling all these symptoms. And a few years ago, I had a heart attack.”
Now another study, just released Wednesday, confirms the toxic threat is actually getting worse — as opposed to diminishing over time, which is what the community was told by the federal government. The current sulphate emissions from the paper mill are exacerbating the impact of the old mercury that’s still in the river system.
“These results are shocking, but not unexpected because existing science has pointed to this for decades,” Western University professor and mercury expert Dr. Brian Branfireun, who conducted the latest study, told the Star, explaining that it has been understood by scientists that sulphate can interact with mercury in this way. “We now know with confidence that ongoing industrial pollution from the Dryden mill has made the mercury problem in the Wabigoon River much worse than it would have been if care had been taken after the initial discharge of mercury to protect the environment and the people who rely on it.”
Grassy Narrows Chief Rudy Turtle has advocated for years that the mill needs to be shut down.
The issue all comes down to eating the fish. Community members fish, gather, trap and hunt. They eat their catches because it’s tradition, it’s culture, and a deeply embedded way of life. And food is expensive to buy, particularly in the north.
Williamson’s limbs began going numb a few years ago. Recently, he lost feeling in half of his face. At age 41, Williamson was diagnosed with Bell’s palsy, which is defined as an unexplained episode of facial muscle weakness or paralysis. Doctors told him it was probably linked to mercury poisoning too, and he’s unsure if he’ll ever regain feeling on the right side of his face.
“I felt like I was on top of the world 10 years ago, I felt strong,” reminisces Williamson with a wry smile.
“In 1997, Health Canada said, ‘there’s no more mercury in the water, you guys are safe.’”
“Then I started feeling a tingling sensation, my hands didn’t feel normal. But I thought it was a normal thing. When I started realizing that everybody in the community started saying they had the same kind of feelings, I started realizing I‘m going down that same direction. And the feelings are starting to get worse as I get older.”
Between 1978 and 1994 Health Canada tested the umbilical cord blood of 139 infants in Grassy Narrows. When Williamson was born in 1983 his blood mercury level was scored at 18.5 micrograms per litre (µg/L). As of 2010, the acceptable blood levels of mercury are 8 µg/L or lower for children 18 years of age and under, women of childbearing age (19 to 49 years), and pregnant women, because the developing nervous systems of the fetus and young children place them at greater risk of health effects from methylmercury.
Williamson’s mercury blood levels now sit around 25 µg/L.
For the last two years Williamson has received monthly compensation for mercury poisoning.
Qualifying band members receive compensation through the Settlement Agreement Act, 1986 (Ontario) and the Grassy Narrows and Islington Bands Mercury Pollution Claims Settlement Act, 1986 (Canada) administered through the Mercury Disability Board via the Canada Life Assurance Company.
That doesn’t mean the recompense has been easy to get. Affected individuals are required to be assessed by doctors and undergo independent, individualized assessments.
“In 1997, Health Canada said, ‘there’s no more mercury in the water, you guys are safe,” says Judy Da Silva, an elder and environmental health coordinator for the nation.
But Da Silva, 62, knew better. Looking around her and witnessing the ongoing illnesses she pushed Health Canada to test the fish. The levels were still alarmingly high.
For the first several decades, medical professionals were far from gracious to Grassy Narrows members, she adds, while sitting inside the warmth of a wigwam near the Grassy Narrows Sundance grounds.
Da Silva has dealt with mercury poisoning symptoms herself for years like numbness in her hands and feet, poor vision and balance, and has begun losing her ability to swallow food.
“I knew it was a lie. I knew it was mercury poisoning. And the other (doctor) said ‘your people are sick because they’re having babies with relatives.’”
Of the neurologists that examined her, she says some were discriminatory. One of the doctors went as far to tell her Grassy Narrows was sick because they drank alcohol.
“I knew it was a lie. I knew it was mercury poisoning. And the other (doctor) said ‘your people are sick because they’re having babies with relatives.’”
Da Silva helped push for Health Canada to fund a thorough community health survey. That’s when Dr. Donna Mergler, (a top expert on neurotoxins), and her Quebec-based research team came on board. Their findings, scientifically verifying what Grassy Narrows members had been vocalizing for years, were revolutionary.
“What is happening (with the mercury poisoning) is that we’re accumulating harm upon harm,” explains Dr. Mergler, also a professor in the Department of Biology at the University of Québec at Montreal.
“And it’s affecting generations. Because they die young. The next question is do they die young because of mercury exposure? And the answer is yes. But it took a lot of understanding the issue and showing it statistically in different ways.”
One of Mergler’s recent studies linked high rates of youth suicide to mercury contamination. Mergler researches the long-term, intergenerational effects of the poisoning from all angles: physically, culturally, mentally, and economically. The commercial fishing industry was wiped out here, and decades later the unemployment rate is close to 90 per cent.
“This was a well-off community. People worked the whole year round. It had 85 to 90 per cent employment. With the fisheries, and guiding and then trapping in the winter,” she explained.
“The idea of putting industry before people’s lives is something that our system has been doing for a long time. You have the feeling of shame that your government, the Canadian settlers have done this. That the jobs in the Dryden plant were more important than the health of the First Nations living downstream of it. Their health and well being, and their welfare, because they lost everything.”
In 2020, Trudeau’s government committed $19.5-million for a mercury treatment medical center to be constructed at Grassy Narrows along with $68.9 million for operations and maintenance in 2021. But the project has been met with delays as construction costs have ballooned to approximately $81.6 million.
Meanwhile, a clearing overlooking the lake is ready for shovels to break ground on the coming facility, which is designed to look like a fish. The treatment center will provide hundreds of jobs and specialized medical care, making it easier for locals to handle their symptoms.
The signs of poisoning began creeping up on her about three years ago. She experiences a lot of forgetfulness and fogginess. Soon her arm and hands started to go numb.
Matilda Kokopenace, 38, travelled to Kenora from Edmonton with her 16-year-old daughter Aleera Rain to get assessed for mercury poisoning. She says she feels nervous and scared while sitting in the waiting room at the Mercury Disability Board office building near downtown Kenora. Kokopenace was raised by her grandfather, a hunter, fisher and trapper until she was around eight years old. Fish was a mainstay meal for them.
“My grandfather lived off the land completely,” she said, reminiscing about hauling their drinking water in buckets from the lake and swimming endlessly throughout the hot summer days. But then, her grandfather lost feeling in his hands.
“When my grandpa would be making a fire, he would be chopping wood and there’d be like a full fire. And I’d watch my grandpa grab a piece of wood and stick his hand completely in the fire. Because he wouldn’t feel it. My grandpa had blisters all over his hands. His whole hands were covered in bandages.”
He also had tremors.
“My grandpa would shake,” pausing for a moment to contemplate, Kokopenance realizes she’s in the same boat. “…I catch myself shaking if I’m holding something still, I can see my hands are like this,” she motions and steadies her hands. They start to tremble.
The signs of poisoning began creeping up on her about three years ago. She experiences a lot of forgetfulness and fogginess. Soon her arm and hands started to go numb. Sometimes while at work as a teacher’s assistant she couldn’t feel her arm for up to half an hour. One incident lasted a whole hour, she said.
“It’s ugly. It’s terrible. I feel for my kids. I’m scared for my kids. I don’t like that they’re poisoned. That’s one of the last things I want to do is try and poison my kids. And I can’t help it because I was poisoned.”
“I would wake up in the middle of the night, it (arm) would be dead and I wouldn’t be sleeping on it. Even when I’m working like moving my hands around, you wouldn’t think that your arm would go numb because there’s circulation. While I’m sitting there making something, I feel my arms are tingling and then I know it’s going to go numb. So, I’m sitting there shaking my arm around and trying to get more circulation in there.”
She sought out a chiropractor, medical doctor, and holistic healings for answers to no avail.
Although she didn’t want to face it, she knew her body was showing the effects of mercury poisoning. Now, her children are showing signs. She’s scared she passed the poison to them in the womb. Her 10-year-old son is already approved for compensation. Now, she’ll wait to see if her daughter will pass the test to show positive for poisoning.
“It’s ugly. It’s terrible. I feel for my kids. I’m scared for my kids. I don’t like that they’re poisoned. That’s one of the last things I want to do is try and poison my kids. And I can’t help it because I was poisoned.”
Da Silva helps oversee the Mercury Disability Board at Grassy Narrows. It operates out of a converted mobile home. Near the end of March, a nurse practitioner, registered nurse and mental health counselor assessed community members to qualify them for compensation payments.
Ivan Land, 62, hobbles in with a makeshift cane he made from a stick he found on the walk from his home on the reserve. He’s out of breath and sore, he says, as he leans in to hear because he’s going deaf. Land is also visibly trembling. It’s a telltale sign of mercury poisoning. Locals call it “the shakes.” He tells the nurse he can’t feel his feet sometimes and his hands go numb.
“Will I die?” he asks timidly. “What does this mean? Will I become a vegetable?”
The nurses tell him they’ll get him the best medical care they can. The next day he’s due to travel to Kenora to be assessed by neurologists.
When he’s not too tired to leave the house, Land visits with his childhood friend Harry Forbister. Harry was born with his feet webbed above his shins. He received surgery as an infant and spent two years in hospital. It was difficult to learn to walk and he struggled to stand up straight for the first three decades of his life. He says he had to wear heavy work boots to help keep his feet grounded.
“Will I die?” he asks timidly. “What does this mean? Will I become a vegetable?”
Harry too, has the shakes and loses feelings in his limbs.
But Harry, like most people in Grassy Narrows, continues to live the way his ancestors did. He can’t wait till the ice is melted to launch his boat and set up his fishing net at his favourite spot.
Most locals covet the taste of walleye, says Joe Forbister, manager of the land guardians’ program. And they eat a lot of it.
“Well, the damage is done. It’s (mercury) there and will take a long time to get rid of,” says Joe.
It doesn’t mean they aren’t serious about protecting their territories from other harms, he adds. Grassy Narrows is home to the longest blockade in Canada.
For the past 21 years the community has been successful in keeping the logging industry out. They’re serious about enforcing treaty rights and holding governments to their side of the deal, explains Joe, who sits at the table with governments and industries vying for a piece of Grassy Narrows territory.
“They have a duty to consult. We will force them to listen to us. We are a nation that signed a treaty with Canada. We know we’re a partner. And one can’t do something without the other one knowing. It’s been logging and then (lately) mining, so it’s rolled into a fight against mining,” says Joe.
The Government of Ontario has handed out nearly 4,000 mining claims and permits in Grassy Narrows territory without the knowledge or permission of the Nation.
The challenges the community is facing are extreme. But beyond the sickness and weight of the dark legacy of industrial poisoning and land grabs, Grassy Narrows has immovable resolve.
They’re putting themselves on the line to help protect other First Nations territories through the Land Defence Alliance.
Across Northern Ontario, prospectors have staked thousands of new claims on First Nation territories since Premier Doug Ford came to power. They are exploiting Ontario’s antiquated “free entry” mining system that allows companies and individuals to stake mining claims on First Nations lands from the comfort of their offices, without gaining the consent of the Indigenous people who live there.
“They have a duty to consult. We will force them to listen to us. We are a nation that signed a treaty with Canada.”
Prospectors are not required by Ontario to give any notice to First Nations until after the claims have been registered and are in force. Conversely, Ontario does not inform prospectors which First Nation’s land they are staking until after the claims are purchased.
The Alliance was launched in 2023 through a mutual agreement between Grassy Narrows, Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwug (Big Trout Lake First Nation), Wapekeka First Nation, Muskrat Dam First Nation, and Neskantaga First Nation.
“I think they feel that it’s pointless sitting down with us because we won’t change our position. Well, they won’t change their position either… We may not agree, but let’s just talk.”
It was formed to assert Indigenous rights due to the lack of consultation regarding the multi-billion-dollar Ring of Fire development. The coalition is demanding respect for First Nation sovereignty, decision-making powers, and the removal of the so-called “free entry” system that allows mining companies to stake claims to Indigenous lands without notifying the Nations or obtaining their free, informed, and prior consent.
The Ring of Fire in Northern Ontario is a vast area rich in mineral deposits, including chromite, nickel, copper, and platinum, all essential for facilitating the so-called green energy revolution. It has the potential to become one of the largest mineral developments in the province’s history.
But local First Nations, whose ancestral territories the Ring of Fire encompasses, have serious concerns about the environmental impact of mining activities on the land and water in the area. Aside from potential contamination, building roads would facilitate the mining process, damaging the fragile ecosystem that makes up northern Ontario’s peatlands.
First Nations have repeatedly requested to meet with the province to express their concerns, but have been turned down. Despite several protests across Ontario, Indigenous sovereignty rights in the Ring of Fire continue to be ignored by the provincial government.
“[Premier] Ford, basically, with his policy of issuing permits, staking and claiming, he pretty much just opened the door wide open. And it was all done without consulting us,” said Grassy Narrows Chief Rudy Turtle from his office on the reserve.
“So, we just continue to make noise, and hopefully they’ll slow down.”
With regard to Ontario’s provincial government refusing to meet with the Land Defense Alliance, Chief Turtle believes they don’t want to waste their time.
“I think they feel that it’s pointless sitting down with us because we won’t change our position. Well, they won’t change their position either, but at least, in my mind, at least let’s hear each other, hear ourselves, and we’ll hear you. We may not agree, but let’s just talk.”
With mercury poisoning and much of their territory having been wiped out by logging, Chief Turtle is sick of the status quo. He doesn’t trust the rhetoric around reconciliation, he adds, because there’s “just a lot of talk and no real action.” He sees how industry ravages, and then leaves without remediation.
“In the long run, for us Native people, we always end up with the short end of the stick, and we’re always left behind. I don’t think it’s going to be any different now.”
“Why not just keep the land as it is and preserve it for ages instead of just ruining it? They (industry) don’t clean up after when they’re done, they just basically leave. And the government doesn’t really hold them accountable. But you know, it’s getting harder and harder each year to keep them away.”
He shakes his head at the thought of mining for the green transition and the notion that it’s going to save the planet.
“It’s still bad. They could say it’s going to make things greener, but in the long run, for us Native people, we always end up with the short end of the stick, and we’re always left behind. I don’t think it’s going to be any different now. So, until you show me otherwise, I might think differently, but right now I don’t.”
He’s willing to go to great lengths to help stop the development with the coalition. Even transporting his community members hundreds of kilometers away to stand on the frontlines.
“We’re gonna protest, if we have to protest on the ground, we will do it. And Grassy has that experience to do it. And, we’re not afraid to do it. I’ll just say having nothing (due to the mercury catastrophe), it makes people desperate, people lose hope. And when you lose hope, what else can you do? But we’re trying our best.”
The challenges the community is facing are extreme. But beyond the sickness and weight of the dark legacy of industrial poisoning and land grabs, Grassy Narrows has immovable resolve.
Against all odds, there is a resurgence unfolding in Grassy Narrows. A resurgence of strength, spirituality, and culture.
Da Silva is helping lead the way for community members to connect with powerful Ojibwe traditions of old. She leads full moon ceremonies, prayer gatherings and attends Sundances held near the former grounds of the logging blockade.
“We’re really in a lot of trouble. There’s a hunger for the minerals that are in our territory.”
Tending to a sacred fire framed by prayer cloths fastened to the branches inside the wigwam, Da Silva ponders the challenges ahead.
“We’re really in a lot of trouble. There’s a hunger for the minerals that are in our territory. And the bottom line for them, it’s money. For us, it’s life. They as consumers have to become more responsible consumers, not just for Grassy, but for Mother Earth and for us as human beings.
Again and again, we are at the frontier, the center of the destruction of the environment. And we have to live with it. And that’s why we contest it.”
She stokes the fire and sprinkles tobacco (a sacred prayer offering) on the flames.
“The sacred fire helps us to offer prayers, because we’re not lawyers. So, we don’t know how to fight the papers that the government gives, policies or they sign permits for the land extraction.
“This is our permit. It’s the fire. We offer our prayers there. We’re trying to fight those big, big fights, by using our tobacco and our really humble prayers to try and fight that system.
“It feels like we’ll never win, but we use our spiritual way of life as a way of fighting it.”
--Brandi Morin (Cree/Iroquois/French) is an award-winning journalist reporting on human rights issues from an Indigenous perspective.
Top photo: Mike Forbister and Robby Williamson Jr. of the Land Protection Team, stand along the shore of Grassy Narrows Lake. (Geordie Day/Ricochet Media)
