This Mold House: A community at risk

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In a classic case of irony, the community of Kwicksutaineuk First Nation, in which the water is undrinkable and the houses are unlivable, rests on the shores of a place called Health Bay.

Health Bay is located in a remote area on Gilford Island near the northern tip of Vancouver Island accessible only by float plane or boat.

Respiratory illnesses caused by the mold-infected homes send small children and the elderly out of the community to hospital with regularity. A water system in disrepair for the last eight years has the 40 residents, determined to maintain a presence there, bathing in salt water, their skin prone to rashes and other ailments.

Drinking water is shipped in from Fanny Bay, and has been for five years at the cost of the water and a $300 cargo fee each month.

The health centre is infested with mice, and the doctor, who has been visiting the community for the past 28 years, is concerned about hanta virus and other diseases such infestation brings.

The community health rep lives in one of the 21 homes in the community. Tacked to her door is a warning: "Attention Visitors. It has been found that I have MOLD in my home," it reads. "Please be aware when you come to my house that you are putting yourself at risk." She's been made to sign a waiver freeing the government of liability for any health complaints if she continues to reside there.

There is no safe alternative housing in the community in which to move. She could pick up sticks and settle in an apartment in Port McNeil on Vancouver Island, in theory at government expense until new accommodations in Kwicksutaineuk can be built, away from her job, her family, friends; off reserve with all that means.

Or she can stay, and breath in mold spores as she sleeps, cooks her meals, watches TV, knowing that in Kwicksutaineuk she is not alone. The homes there are not safe.

The houses at Kwicksutaineuk were built in the 1950s and '60s and the shoddy construction of them was such that it created a comfortable environment for mold to live and breed.

The naturally moist climate certainly plays a role in creating that environment, as does the lack of vapor barrier and adequate insulation in the homes, but so does over-crowding. People create moisture through bathing, cooking, being, said Jamie Clark, a consultant with a hazardous waste removal company called Envirovac who has inspected the homes. He points to one two-bedroom, 600 sq. ft. home and says seven people live there, two adults and five children. Ella, just two years old, spent every second weekend being flown out to the hospital last year with ear infections, bronchitis and such, said her mother as she bounced her youngest, Shania, on her knee. Shania had just returned to the community from the hospital that week.

Kwicksutaineuk First Nation Chief Henry Scow has had enough. Despite years of negotiation with Indian Affairs, over which time countless proposals for improvements to his community have been rejected, his community remains in difficulty.

Despite warnings from the community's third party manager that he would embarrass himself, said Scow, he decided to make Kwicksutaineuk's plight public. He flew Assembly of First Nations National Chief Phil Fontaine, regional Chief Shawn Atleo and media representatives in to his community on Sept. 24 to see the living conditions there first hand and to speak to residents about the grievances.

Scow greeted Fontaine at the entrance to Kwicksutaineuk with a speech seething with frustration and despair.

"We are in dire straits for no unearthly reason," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "The public has to understand."

Chief Scow seems a sturdy man of gentle demeanor, but he has no love of the department of Indian and Affairs, and particular disdain for a third party manager in charge of the community purse from Campbell River; a third party manager who, Scow says, hasn't stepped foot in the community in all th time he has been chief, and probably at no time before that.

At a luncheon in the Big House after the tour of the community, Scow let loose on the department.

"It's criminal why we have to fight for anything we need on reserve," he told Fontaine and guests. "Indian Affairs is our worst enemy. They want to push us over the edge and leave us there."

Fontaine seemed sympathetic to the community's plight.

"It's not a happy situation you find yourselves in," he said, and promised to speak with the new Minister of Indian Affairs, Andy Scott, at the earliest opportunity.

"That's what we wanted to hear," responded community member Lucille St. Germain, whose father, carver Sam Johnson, later presented the chief with a talking stick to encourage him to present Kwicksutaineuk's case in Ottawa.

When pressed for details on the course of action Fontaine would be asking the minister to take, the national chief said there were three steps.

The first was to get rid of the third party manager and give full control of the finances back to the community, saying to not have that control was like going back to the days of the Indian agent.

The second, said Fontaine, was to deal with the situation with the drinking water, saying there was sure to be an economical way to provide potable water to the community.

And the third step was to address the terrible housing situation.

Fontaine told reporters that while Kwicksutaineuk's case was one of crisis, it was not unique.

At least 100 First Nation communities in Canada live under a boil water advisory, he said. At least 20,000 new housing units are needed and 85 per cent of the existing housing stock on reserve is in desperate need of renovation.

He said Indian Affairs and Canada Mortgage and Housing needed to get out of the business of providing First Nations housing. There have been "whispers" that a First Nations housing authority will be soon established, he confided. "That's the only way this can be deat with."

He acknowledged though that Kwicksutaineuk's housing situation was urgent and promised to tell Scott what he had seen there.

In speaking with the media after Fontaine's speech, Scow became emotional. "It shouldn't be like this in the year 2004," he said.