Lands for Votes
Big Tories, Big Industry and Big Greens Carve up the land
HighGrader Magazine May/June 1999
by Mick Lowe
A Tragedy in Three
Acts in which Mike and Monte and Mike and sundry other White,
over-50 Men in Suits, go Tenting in a Cave, enjoy some Bully Camaraderie,
and carve up Northern Ontario
around the Old Campfire.
But can they make it stick?
"You have shown me a strange
image, and they are strange prisoners," Glaucon said to Socrates.
"Like ourselves," replied Socrates. "And they see
only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the
fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave."
-Book VII, Plato's Republic, c.380-370 B.C.
Lands for Votes
We were strange prisoners indeed that morning of the final Monday
in March of the waning Millenium, inside the Inco Cavern at Sudbury's
Science North. Our's was an elite group, the Northern 400, if
you will. Dark business suits and dazzling white shirtfronts abounded.
So did mayors and reeves and local councillors, drawn from Sudbury,
Timmins and Hearst, senior bureaucrats from the Ministries of
Natural Resources and Northern Development and Mines, television
crews, assorted hacks and flacks, and businessmen and industrialists
from across the North.
And like the prisoners in Plato's famous Allegory of the Cave,
we were convened to witness a Dope Show. In Plato's case the prisoners
saw only the dim simulacra of reality, firelit shadows cast on
a screen arrayed before them. Before long, of course, they began
to believe that the shadows on the screen were reality.
What we saw in our cave two-and-a-half millenia after Plato's
was this: an ersatz Northern Ontario campground moved indoors,
inside a cave. There were trees, ten to fifteen feet high, some
of them, leafless birches and green pines that seemed to grow
from the cement floor of our cave. Their bases were artfully covered
with real leaf litter and cedar chips and pine cones that someone
had laboriously transported to the scene.
There were several picnic tables bearing coffee mugs and a Coleman
camp lantern; there was a cedar strip canoe and even a tent. Like
the dull, moving figures on Plato's scrim, a looped video was
projected onto a giant screen upon which dim images of Northern
Ontario were endlessly repeated, and they moved above us, over
and over and over, as we waited patiently, humbly, politely, for
the Dope Show to begin.
At last the campground was animated by human form; eight or so
white males, pretty much like us except that their neckties had
been removed, took their places at the picnic tables before us.
(A few days later a Queen's Park correspondent for the Toronto
Star would speculate that the purpose of the play about to begin
was to "soften" the image of the Great Convenor, thus
enhancing his standing with the female electorate. Was the hope
that, by removing that most powerful of male appendages, the necktie,
female voters could somehow be confused about the total absence
of their own gender at the picnic tables?)
But these eight were not like us. It was, we knew, important to
be at the picnic tables, because these were the Great, our Bosses,
recognizable from countless television scrums, corporate annual
reports and 30 second spots for environmental causes. At the first
table were three Ministers of the Crown: John Snobelen of Natural
Resources, Chris Hodgson, of Northern Development and Mines, and
the First Minister, the Boss of Bosses himself, Mike Harris.
At the second table were the Powerful Adversaries, who had, nevertheless,
been reconciled by the Boss of Bosses and were now here, around
the imitation campfire, basking in the reflected glow of the greatness
of the Boss of Bosses.
There was Raymond Royer, President and CEO of Domtar and Mike
Sopko, CEO of Inco Ltd., two fine, blue chip Canadian companies.
And there was Monte Hummell of the World Wildlife Fund and John
Riley from the Federation of Ontario Naturalists, two fine Canadian
environmental groups.
Although each of them earned their livelihoods from Northern Ontario,
only one of them, the Great Convenor himself, actually lived anywhere
near the vast parcels of land that they had carved up, by mutual
agreement, behind closed doors. (see Lake Couchiching Confidential
page 5)
But maybe that was precisely the point.
After brief introductions the Great Convenor began to speak and
who could doubt that we were, indeed, eyewitnesses to history?
We were present for the unveiling of the "largest expansion
of parks and protected areas in the history of Ontario,"
Harris told us solemnly, the greatest effusion of parks and protected
areas "in sheers numbers, anywhere in Canada." A total
of 12 % of a huge swath of land, from just north of Peterborough
in the south, to the 51st parallel in the north, would be set
aside and protected from further industrial development for all
time.
The protected areas would encompass more than 9.5 million hectares,
an area nearly three-quarters the size of England, an area equal
to all of southern Ontario (but which emphatically was not southern
Ontario, which was, in fact, where almost all of the Great Men
themselves resided).
The eight other Great Men listened appreciatively while the Boss
of Bosses spoke, and, one by one, they followed him to the podium
to praise him, and his initiative, and the process that had led
up to this historic day.
I contemplated the pine cones and leaf litter and cedar chips
at the base of the trees, and the upturned, slightly foolish looking
faces of the boys around the picnic table as they verbally jerked
one another off and pretended to be camping.
One of the "Key Highlights" of "Ontario's Living
Legacy" according to the glossy press kit presented to the
media minutes before the show began, was the promise that there
would be "no net loss of jobs as a result of Living Legacy."
I mulled this over and wondered how many northerners had been
put to work hauling in the trees and leaf litter and cedar chips
and pine cones.
I thought of those other storied, fabulist promises: "The
cheque is in the mail," "Downloading will be revenue
neutral," etc., and a still, small, voice within delivered
itself of a certain prophetic epiphany; "Nothing good will
come of this day. Nothing good at all."
David Comba already knew this. I'd met Comba in Sudbury the week
before, where he had come to forewarn his colleagues, members
of the Sudbury Prospectors and Developers Association, about the
drastic consequences the imminent Lands for Life announcment would
have on their access to land, their mining claims and their economic
future.
A honcho with the Prospectors and Developers Association of Canada,
Comba's organization had been part of the Lands for Life process
from the beginning, with prospectors sitting on each of the three
roundtables that conducted seemingly endless rounds of public
consultation over the preceding 22 months.
At first, as North Bay geologist/prospector and Great Lakes-St.
Lawrence Roundtable member Frank Tagliamonte would recall later,
"I thought this was a very innovative, democratic, very public
process. It was not bureaucrats, politicians and interest groups
huddling in dark corners and doing deals....It made you feel good."
But some time in the summer of 1998, Comba told the Sudbury prospectors,
something began to go seriously awry. Instead of the full roundtables
meeting, only the chairs of each of the three roundtables attended
meetings, and this time they were behind closed doors.
The result, Comba predicted darkly, would have disastrous consequences
for the future of Ontario's mining industry. The forest industry
had cut a separate deal with the environmental lobby, Comba reported.
In return for guarantees of access to fibre elsewhere, the lumber/paper
interests had agreed to give up access to fully 12% of Northern
Ontario lands. This was all very well for the forest industry,
because it was able to inventory the location, size and species
of its resource, able therefore to horse trade to minimize its
losses through the Lands for Life process.
Mining, and especially mines exploration, Comba emphasized, was
a different matter. Because much of Ontario's mineral potential
remains undiscovered, a 12% set aside could mean a concomitant
loss of mineral development for all time - or not. By definition,
no one really knew. Mineral exploration would be prohibited in
the new parks and protected areas.
But didn't this also mean, conversely, that the mining industry
still had the remaining 88% of north central Ontario to explore?
Not really, Comba continued, because experience had shown that
lands adjacent to park boundaries tended to be off limits to mining,
too, though this was de facto rather than de jure.
Considerable public and environmental outcry would likely greet
any mining development anywhere near a park or protected area.
While such a development might even be legally permitted, the
operator would likely have considerable difficulty raising capital
for a development that could face endless court challenges.
(Indeed, I thought of a quarry operation that had been proposed
near the entrance to Windy Lake Provincial Park northwest of Sudbury.
A legal challenge via the Ontario Municipal Board, and one that
I supported, had thrown the pit into some kind of regulatory limbo.)
Nor was that all, Comba continued. A number of the new parks,
so-called "Signature" areas, would run along watercourses.
But the rivers in Northern Ontario tended to flow north and south
while the Greenstone Belts, which contained many of the north's
most promising geophysical anomalies, ran underground east and
west.
The probability of intersections were therefore extremely high,
and in such an event Comba was betting on the environmental lobby's
ability to stop new mining development. The upshot was that a
great deal more than 12% of north central Ontario would be off
limits to future mineral development.
As Comba spoke I found myself, almost sub-consciously, doing mental
arithmetic about the group before him. Total number of Sudbury-area
prospectors attending the meeting: 72. Total number of women in
the audience: two. Number under age of 30: zero. Under 40: one?
Over sixty: fully half.
From my vantage point at the back of the room the audience was
a sea of white hair and balding heads. I contrasted this with
meetings of environmental-aboriginal support groups I had attended
in Toronto where the attendees were youthful, spirited, gender
balanced and wise in the ways of the Internet, e-mail and mass
media. It wasn't hard to tell which group had a future.
After the meeting I spoke with Frank Tagliamonte about the Lands
for Life process. I told him that, for me, it had gone off the
rails from the outset by its failure to include Northern Ontario
aboriginal peoples in a way that they themselves found acceptable.
He nodded. "I know. The Aboriginal people had two concerns:
first, that Lands for Life would complicate their land claims,
and second, they feared that the whole process would lead to their
betrayal. Guess what? Who has been betrayed but the people of
Northern Ontario?"
We emerged from our cave that Monday morning in March just as
Plato said we would, dazzled by the bright spring sunshine, unsure
whether reality was out here, or back in the cave. The media was
pretty sure the carefully stage managed reality of the cave was
the real deal, and why not? There were almost no discouraging
words heard about the Lands for Life announcement in the days
that followed our release from the cave.
The Dope Show, it seemed, was the only show, and the whole thing
was an undoubted media triumph for the Harris government.
Still, from here and there, came rumours of dissent. There was,
first of all, a court challenge to Lands for Life that had been
filed in the Ontario Court, General Division, by the Nishnabe
Aski Nation in December, 1998. The motion, which seeks to set
aside the Lands for Life process entirely, has two main thrusts,
according to NAN lawyer Michael Sherry. The first is that recent
Supreme Court decisions place the onus on government to consult,
in a serious, meaningful way, with aboriginal peoples in land
use decisions that may affect them, which the Harris government
had clearly failed to do in this case. Secondly, the government
had circumvented the Environmental Assessment Act in in the Lands
for Life process, and that, too, was against the law.
Sherry expected there would be a brief court appearance in May,
but that the case would not proceed to arguments until the fall
of 1999, at the earliest.
There were also rumours that Comba's PDAC might file suit, especially
over the thousands of existing claims that had been "parked"
by Lands for Life. The government has given some sort of guarantee
concerning recompense or offsets, "but they're not worth
a fart in a windstorm," in Comba's words. PDAC's lawsuit
is still under internal legal review, according to Comba, but
in the third week of April the Association took out an ad in The
Northern Miner urging its members not to sign a government contract
that had been mailed to them concerning their parked claims. There
were also rumours that a certain Toronto-based environmental group
was itself displeased by the less-than-transparent Lands for Life
process, and that it, too, was considering court action, but that
could not be confirmed before press time.
As for me, I sit at my word processor, an old man on a river bank,
contemplating time and the river and Northern Ontario. I think
about Plato and that morning in the cave, and I ponder how time
can bend and blur reality. I can see the past and the present
of my beloved North Country quite clearly, but I can see no earthly
way for my teenaged daughters to earn a living in Northern Ontario
in the new millenium, as I have done in the last one. It's the
vision of the future I can't seem to grasp. Is that because there
isn't one?
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