DRUMBEAT: A call to justice

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Drumbeat is a forthright precise declaration to the Assembly of First Nations' position regarding the occupation of their traditional lands, which they have neither sold, ceded nor lost in war.

It is a clearly defined vision of the country they want "to live in and to build in collaboration with other Canadians." It is also a very disturbing history, seldom told, with a wealth of information for anyone who wants to know the whole story of Native rights and treaty negotiations in this country. t is impossible to read this book without wondering why this information hasn't been readily available before now.

The reader can only be thankful Drumbeat came out before the recent federal budget cuts which sent a resounding and, some Native leaders believe, deliberate blow to the communications systems of Native peoples. If these particular budget cuts, which will affect the publishers of this book, were a conscious attempt to cut off the lines of communication within the self-determining Indian communities, Drumbeat could very well be one of the reasons; its logic, clarity and historical accuracy constitute a call to justice impossible to ignore, and most difficult for any government to answer.

By taking specific case histories of eight different confrontations now before the courts or in negotiations with the federal government, and following their histories back to the European invasion, the authors provide us with a comprehensive background to what, for many of us, are fleeting media events usually witnessed out of context -- such as the Lubicon blockade in northern Alberta and the "smuggling" raids on the Akwesasne of Ontario.

The individual chapters are written by tribal spokesmen and in every case the style is understated but thorough, the voice calm; the facts speak for themselves.

The historical perspective, illuminating in itself, also sheds a great deal of light on the new battlefield -- the courtroom.

Having turned to the law courts in the latter part of this century, Native communities have come up against every stalling device imaginable (some claims are tied up in the courts for 10 to 15 years) including changing legislation in mid-stream, playing jurisdiction hopscotch (federal vs. provincial responsibility) and pandering to resource-exploiting multinationals lusting after the same land Indians have considered home for thousands of years.

In his chapter on the Lubicon claim, Boyce Richardson gives a provocative example of the interrelatedness of the legal, economical, and environmental aspects of Native rights as they concern the country as a whole.

At a time when every thinking Canadian is concerned about the greenhouse effect and even school children understand the role of trees in stabilizing carbon dioxide, the Alberta government in seeking ways to develop a sustainable forest economy, spurns the input of the longest continuous inhabitants of the northern forests and decides to give away fully one-third of its boreal forests to pulp makers -- 30,000 sq. km of it, mostly on Lubicon land to Daishow, a Japanese Company.

While the Lubicons were seeking compensation for the destruction of their hunting economy by government licensed oil companies, explains Richardson, "the Japanese company was granted $65 million in subsidies by the province, and $9.5 million by the federal government, the same government that said it could not afford to pay reasonable compensation for the Josses the Lubicon had suffered" over many decades.

It is worth noting as well the Native approach to resource management is not some romantic back -to-the-land rhetoric. Throughout the book, an in particular the chapter on the Anishnabe of Northern Ontario, there are some of the clearest most realistic definitions of stewardship and sustainable development available in present environmental literature.

But the real issue, of course, is more than legal or ideological; while we watch the last stand of the Lubicon on television andlisten to the politicians pursuing their agendas, Bernard Ominayak's people are suffering from malnutrition and social upheaval, and dying from tuberculosis. The blending of the human, historical, and ideological is what gives the book its strength. It is a plea for compassion without being sentimental.

In the chapter on the Innu of Ungave, for example, Daniel Ashini in describing the slow death of his people's hunter-gathering culture to logging, mining, and hydroelectric development, says in the most quietly damning section of the book, "The Innu at Pukutshipu hung on to their cherished tents and nomadic lifestyle longer than did the rest of us. They didn't move into houses until 1971 and that year all of their newborns died."

Taking away the land base, and therefore the food supply of a hunting people, undermining their traditions and cutting off their communication lines may be a way of destroying a culture, but the people of the First Nations are not going anywhere.

As NJ Sterritt, past president of the Gitksan-Wet'suwet'en Tribal Council says in the last chapter, "if the history of the last 200 years is any indication, we will continue to have a struggle. But if the history of the last 10,000 years is considered, then bet on those whose weapons include honesty, integrity, patience and determination."

(Richard Therrien is a Calgary writer and film-maker).