So long as the flood rivers flow

As a resident of Manitoba, it's impossible to ignore the flood. The worst since the "Flood of the Century" back in 1997.

As an aboriginal person, it's also been difficult for me to ignore the fact that First Nations are disproportionately affected by this flood. An article in Sunday's Winnipeg Free Press noted that of the1,900 flood evacuees in the province, 1,300 — nearly 70 per cent — were from First Nations.

So you can add this to the list of statistics at which First Nations excel at beating the national average, along with poverty, suicide rates, infant mortality and incidence of diabetes.

Why are First Nations so vulnerable to flooding?

Could it be that our Mother Earth is racist? That in spite of our reputation as being protectors of the land, the land has revolted and tried to cleanse herself of us? Or perhaps in her great wisdom, she is simply providing us with enough water to ensure that our treaties never expire (as long as the rivers flow, remember)?

Sadly, as much as I'd like to be able to point the finger in just one direction, at, say, Mother Earth for example, the causes are varied, complex and not easily anthropomorphized.   Some are clearly historic. The Peguis First Nation was forcibly moved onto a flood plain, relocated in 1908 from its original location near the town of Selkirk.

As I write this, the town of Selkirk is under a state of emergency, which is troubling. However, being under a state of emergency is better than being underwater, which is the current status of about 70 per cent of Peguis.

Underwater

I had the chance to hang out and talk with some people from Peguis on the weekend (we were at a jiu-jitsu and grappling tournament in Winnipeg).

They're lives are disrupted, but not on hold. And they are not helpless victims waiting around for the government to save them.

They are people like you and me, people with jobs, families and dreams, dreams that in this case involved making it to the Ultimate Fighting Championship, or at the very least catching somebody in a rear naked choke.

The difference is their forefathers were muscled aside in a shady land deal and now their patio furniture is floating away in the floodwaters.

Another nasty reality in Peguis is that there are about 300 homes under water.

In any community this would be bad news. But in a community like Peguis, where there is already a housing shortage, this is disastrous.

You could spend a lifetime trying to figure out the mess that is First Nations housing, but basically the Indian Act is set up so that the only sensible way to build a house on a reserve is to have it paid for by the federal government via the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation.

The reason it becomes messy is because the amount of money allotted to building homes on reserve land is far below what is needed to keep up with population growth.

So we have a situation where a housing stock that was lagging behind an exploding population anyway has just been cut down by an additional 300 units.

It's a bit like a person swamped by credit card debt getting a $500 speeding ticket while on his way to the bank to make the minimum monthly payment. 

Sandbagged

While we're talking about the Indian Act and related legislation, I should point out that the division of powers described in the Canadian Constitution states that "Indians and lands reserved for Indians" are a federal responsibility.

That creates a further layer of obfuscation because most of the flood relief, forecasting and coordination efforts are being handled by the province.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper visited Winnipeg recently and pledged to help "in any way that is needed." However, the branch of the federal government that would be in charge of helping First Nations, the department of Indian and northern affairs, has so far been noncommittal, although it has said it would most likely offer up the same flood assistance that it does every year.

Why isn't the local native leadership doing more, you ask? Well, Peguis Chief Glenn Hudson has been working hard for his constituents. But another, evacuated community has had a harder time figuring out what its leader is up to.

The Roseau River First Nation began evacuating its most at-risk members at the end of March. Most of the residents have since returned home, but for a while many were holed up in Winnipeg hotels.

On April 1, the CBC reported that while the Roseau River members were under an evacuation order, their chief, Terry Nelson had been away in Toronto, Minnesota and Florida on band business.

Some of his constituents were questioning the wisdom of the chief being away while the community was in a state of emergency. To which Nelson, obviously having a bad day, replied: "What do you want me to do? Sandbag?"

Up the creek

Perhaps some members of the Roseau River First Nation would like chief Nelson to sandbag. But sandbags alone haven't kept the houses on the Roseau River First Nation dry; it was a ring dike constructed after the big flood of 1997 that did the trick.

In the chief's absence, local community organizers such as Cecil James have stepped up. They've organized entertainment, sports and leisure activities for the evacuees, drawing on the support of volunteers from Winnipeg's aboriginal community.   Is there one guilty party responsible for making First Nations people particularly vulnerable to flooding?

No. Yet, the fact that nearly 70 per cent of evacuees are from First Nations is still troubling.

It seems that some things never change in Canada, one of them being that First Nations people too often get left up the creek without a paddle. Why should it be any different when the floodwaters rise?