No Bad Questions:  Can we build the energy infrastructure of the future without repeating the mistakes of the past?  (Part 2)

To be blunt, if proponents, policymakers, and potential partners do not consider Indigenous partnerships or build policies for Indigenous ownership, further development in the clean energy sector will be stalled.

How Does Canada “Build, Baby, Build” at the Speed of Trust ?  

How do we build clean energy infrastructure at the pace that climate change demands without creating new problems (or repeating old ones)? It’s one thing to move faster through an environmental review process; it is quite another to speed faster through community consultation and engagement. That’s the note we ended on in Part 1 of this essay. In Part 2, we’re picking up that thread—and this bigger conversation—with a deep dive into one of the most pressing issues at the heart of energy development in this country: the role of Indigenous leadership in building out our energy future.  

In 2019, Greg Rickford, Ontario Minister of Indigenous Affairs and First Nations Economic Reconciliation, announced that his government wanted to push forward critical mineral development in the area referred to as the Ring of Fire “with willing First Nations partners who want to move at the speed of business.” (My emphasis). Reading that phrase, I wondered out loud at the choice of those words.

You see, the phrase I’m most familiar with is move at the speed of trust. I’ve heard it often, particularly in the context of building relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples. It’s generally offered as wise counsel from Chiefs and Elders at the beginning of a project where parties are seeking to work together in true partnership.  

As I understand it, the phrase contains three important ideas: (1)  trust is not a given (2) building trust is a deliberate process that requires an investment of time and energy (3) progress is achieved as trust is built.  

While we can’t assume what meaning Minister Rickford intended, whether it was deliberate or not, the contrast—or rather the relationship—between the speed of trust and the speed of business bears our attention. It’s fertile ground for unpacking why barriers to Indigenous leadership are also barriers to clean energy progress. And importantly: how we overcome them. 

 Why Indigenous Participation in Energy Development Matters

There’s a powerful expression gaining momentum in Canada and around the world:  The only road to net zero runs through Indigenous Lands.

Anyone doing serious work on the future of energy, climate change, and conservation has heard this phrase.  At Generate Canada, that knowledge is integral to the Energy Future Lab’s mission to accelerate an inclusive and equitable transition to a prosperous net-zero future as well as its vision to be a leader in energy-based partnerships toward reconciliation with Indigenous peoples. It’s also  deeply embedded in the work of our Nature Investment Hub, which sees centering Indigenous rights and jurisdiction as essential to scaling investment in conservation.  

Knowing is one thing. Changing a whole system in response to that knowledge is another. On that front, it’s clear: we still have a long way to go. 

In her 2021 essay on the importance of Indigenous partnerships to achieving Canada’s climate goals, Tabatha Bull put it this way:  “To be blunt, if proponents, policymakers, and potential partners do not consider Indigenous partnerships or build policies for Indigenous ownership, further development in the clean energy sector will be stalled.” 

Bull, a member of Nipissing First Nation and CEO of the Canadian Council for Indigenous Business, is an electrical engineer by training. Through her previous roles at the IESO (Independent Electricity System Operator), she was deeply involved in the rapid expansion of renewable energy projects in Ontario, spurred by the Green Energy Act.  

Like elsewhere in the world, many of Canada’s (and Ontario’s) prime sites for renewable energy projects exist on traditional Indigenous lands. According to a 2022 RBC report, “At least 56% of advanced critical mineral projects, 35% of top solar sites and 44% of the better wind sites involve Indigenous territory.” The only road to net zero runs through Indigenous lands is not a metaphorical warning. It is a literal fact. 

For Bull, it was immediately clear that Ontario’s ability to build out its renewable energy infrastructure would hinge on Indigenous participation. “We saw how much more successful the programs were as we saw more and more communities being able to participate in the solution,” she shared in a recent conversation.  

When I asked her why, she suggested that it’s largely because the strategy of forcing projects into or through Indigenous lands in the absence of a willing partnership is no longer tenable. “What are we seeing out there as things evolve? It’s the number of court cases that have been won based on treaty rights and land rights, the land claim process that is moving and making progress in Canada as well. Indigenous communities have strength and our rights are being recognized.”  

JP Gladu, Generate Canada advisor and founder of Mokwateh—a consultancy firm focused on advancing Indigenous economies—agrees. 

“I think there’s a realization that Indigenous communities are not going to stand by and let resources be exploited without our benefit and without our oversight to make sure that we can balance the interest of the environment for future generations,” he says. “For too long Indigenous communities have been in the backseat of the bus, not owning anything. And that is no way to be treated in this country as Canada’s first peoples.”   

For both Bull and Gladu, the focus on ownership is critical, both in terms of Indigenous equity in projects, but also in a broader sense – ownership of decision-making power, ownership of the process. A brief dive into the Indian Act makes it clear why. 

The poisoned fruit of the Indian Act

It’s worth mentioning here that I’m a Jewish girl from Baltimore—a settler in this country. I moved here as a young adult and only began to learn about Canada’s colonial legacy in my mid-30s (there was nothing about it on my citizenship test). I came into my conversations with Gladu and Bull unaware of how little I really knew or understood about the colonial structures that continue to shape energy development in Canada. Grasping the complexity of this dynamic, and the way through it, means really confronting what lies underneath it.  

One of the first questions I asked Gladu was about the challenge Indigenous communities faced in securing the capital necessary to become equity holders in energy development and infrastructure projects. This is what he told me:

I live on reserve and I had to withdraw my savings to build my house because as a First Nation person living on a reserve, which is held in trust by the federal government,  I can’t own the land. And if I can’t own the land, how can I secure the asset? So if I can’t secure the asset, I can’t go to a bank to get a loan… And that’s similar to what communities face across this country in trying to get access to capital. 

The same issue came up in my discussion with Bull, but in a different context. She was describing some of the barriers communities face in being able to respond nimbly to project opportunities.  One of those is the fact that, unless a First Nation community has ascertained a “land management code” through the Federal Land Management Act process, they don’t have authority to approve, let’s say, a series of solar panels or a wind farm on reserve lands, because those lands are owned and managed by “the Crown.”   

All of this stems from land management provisions in the Indian Act, a piece of legislation written 148 years ago for the express purpose of subjugating Indigenous Peoples to colonial rule. 

The “ah-ha” for me in all of this is understanding that the living legacy of colonialism is inextricably tied to resource and energy development in this country. The pursuit of colonial nation-building, which consisted of the simultaneous oppression of Indigenous Peoples and the extraction of natural resources from their lands, depended on structures like the Indian Act to function. And while those structures have been amended over time, they persist. The apparatus of colonialism has been fortified by relentless waves of government action (and inaction): numerous treaty failures, the Residential School System, the Sixties Scoop, and ongoing clean water crises in Indigenous communities (to name a few).  

This bears explicit acknowledgement and meditation. What we are really talking about when we talk about Indigenous ownership in Canada’s clean energy future is the dismantling of a system that is anchored in the very history of this nation.  

It was just the two of us out hunting, and for me to experience that with my daughter was just extraordinary – and a testament to a healthy environment.

The Impact of Equity

When Gladu explains the importance of Indigenous ownership in energy-related projects, he uses the analogy of driving down the road together in a rental car. Woe be it for him,  he puts me in the imaginary drivers’ seat. 

“If we’re driving down the road…and Jessie doesn’t see this big bump and you hit it really hard, we both go ‘good thing it was a rental.’ But if we were driving our car that we owned, we’d be missing that bump, because we’re invested.” (While his faith in my steering is misplaced, I take his point). “We’ve got to be invested as Indigenous nations in these projects to drive better value and better environmental outcomes,” he says. “We are invested in the future of our nations and our people that have been here for thousands of years. It just makes sense, and dollars,” he adds. 

There are two ideas at play here. One is about protecting a shared interest. When Indigenous communities and non-Indigenous project proponents both have equity in a project, there is a shared desire to see that project move forward and succeed, with as few bumps in the road as possible. The second idea is about the value Indigenous investment brings into the project. That is the quest for increased economic value married with better long-term environmental outcomes.  

RBC’s essay “92 to zero: How economic reconciliation can power Canada” links this value to the “long-term sustainable world view of many nations,” epitomized by the Indigenous principle of “Seven Generations.” 

Gladu frames it as a story. Last fall, his 20-year-old daughter harvested her first moose. “It was just the two of us out hunting, and for me to experience that with my daughter was just extraordinary – and a testament to a healthy environment.”  Gladu and his daughter field dressed and loaded the moose with his mother looking on; Gladu’s father showed his daughter how to butcher the moose in their kitchen. It was three generations sharing a tradition that had been passed down from time immemorial; a tradition fully dependent on the strength of an ecosystem that people and moose share. “But also,” Gladu reminds, “the fact that we were able to get out there on the land with either my boat or my side-by-side means that I have employment… We need both to sustain ourselves,” he concludes. One cannot come at the expense of the other. 

It’s important to call out here that Indigenous ownership is fundamentally different from the “economic perks” built into other types of business relationships, such as those established by Impact Benefit Agreements. Still common, particularly in mining projects, Impact Benefit Agreements focus on reducing a project’s environmental and cultural harms while compensating communities for unavoidable impacts through opportunities like project-related jobs or community investments (a new school, a new hockey rink). As Bull explains, this is no longer considered enough by many communities. “They want to be part of the solution in more substantial ways.”  

Gladu doesn’t mince words: “Based on our rights, if we’re not going to benefit – not just from the jobs or the procurement opportunities – if we’re not going to benefit as asset holders on our lands, we’re largely going to say ‘no’.” 

But equity depends on more than capital. It requires opportunity. That’s where incentive programs make a difference. BC Hydro’s 2024 Call for Power is a good example

Unlocking Access to Capital

So what does it take to increase Indigenous equity in energy projects? Capital, for one. Which—as we’ve already learned—is beset by colonial-era challenges. The good news is, there has been meaningful progress on that front. 

Both Gladu and Bull point to the National Loan Guarantee Program, announced in the 2024 federal budget, as a cornerstone effort. The initiative, funded by the federal government, provides up to $5 billion in loan guarantees to enable Indigenous ownership in natural resource and energy projects. The program works by helping groups to secure loans from financial institutions or other lenders with lower interest rates than normal borrowers because the loans are backed by the Federal government. In March 2025, the government proposed doubling that program to $10 billion and opening it up to Indigenous-led infrastructure, transportation, and trade projects as well. 

Bull also highlights the Canada Infrastructure Bank (CIB) as an important source of support. In 2023, CIB launched its Indigenous Equity Initiative, as part of its commitment to invest at least $1 billion in Indigenous infrastructure across Canada. Among other things, the program provides loans to Indigenous communities to support them in purchasing equity stakes in projects where CIB is also investing. One example is the Oneida Energy Storage project – a partnership between Six Nations of the Grand River and three corporations to store and distribute renewable energy to the Ontario grid during peak demand. The community’s equity stake is anticipated to net $1 million/year over the project’s 20-year lifespan.  

Provincial programs like Alberta’s Indigenous Opportunities Corporation and Ontario’s Aboriginal Loan Guarantee Program also help fill critical gaps.  

The Power of Incentives

But equity depends on more than capital. It requires opportunity. That’s where incentive programs make a difference. BC Hydro’s 2024 Call for Power is a good example. The RFP included three criteria: (1) energy must come from clean/renewable and cost-effective sources (2) projects must be ready to move fast and (3) projects must have a “meaningful First Nations partnership component” ( >25% First Nation ownership). Of the 10 projects the province selected, eight of them are majority-owned by Indigenous communities. 

Hydro One’s Equity Partnership Model uses a different approach. It offers First Nations in Ontario the opportunity to buy a 50% equity stake in all new, large-scale transmission line projects (where the value of the project exceeds $100 million). The Waasigan Transmission Line, which aims to bring an additional 350 megawatts of electricity to north western Ontario, is one example. The project, which broke ground in late 2024, includes equity partnerships with nine First Nations in the region. 

As Bull points out, the ideal scenario is for incentive programs to include or support access to capital. The federal government’s Indigenous-Led Clean Energy Stream combines both.  Focusing on Indigenous-led, construction-ready projects, the program will fund up to 75% of costs for Indigenous proponents, and 50% of costs for non-Indigenous proponents as long as they demonstrate meaningful Indigenous leadership in their projects (e.g. through equity ownership, revenue sharing, and evidence of Indigenous control over decision-making).  

While all of this is hopeful and necessary, it isn’t sufficient. That’s because an opportunity is only an opportunity if a community can act on it. “We’re still not getting out in front of potential projects with enough time so that communities can prepare,” explains Bull.  

Her warning weaves together two threads. First, that governments and non-Indigenous proponents are failing to build adequate time for real consultation and partnership-building in advance of a project starting. Second: many (though not all) Indigenous communities lack the human resources to respond to project opportunities, particularly at the pace these processes often demand. 

It’s here where the “speed of trust” and “the speed of business” can feel like opposing forces. But the underlying issue is capacity—and understanding what that word really means, and what investing in it looks like, is a lynchpin in reshaping the role Indigenous communities play in energy projects. 

Why Investing in Capacity is Critical to Reshaping Power Dynamics

When Gladu talks about building capacity what he means, explicitly, is the ability for communities to participate on a level playing field with external proponents. “It’s really about open transparency as well as meeting at a similar level in our abilities to advance projects together. That means we both have to have capacity.” 

The nuance is that “building capacity” is not just about filling gaps or building expertise within Indigenous communities. Rather, it’s about reshaping the ground on which all parties meet to create the foundation for genuine partnership. And that requires change and expertise building on numerous fronts, by all involved.

When and how a project starts matters. “Long gone are the days where you’re just going to engineer something, financially model something, and then go to a nation and say: what do you think?”  says Gladu. “They’re going to send you out the back door as soon as you come in.”  

The failure to engage communities at the very beginning of a project—from its inkling—short-changes the consultation process and asks communities, unreasonably and unfairly, to make generationally important decisions without the time to properly weigh and internally discuss the pros and cons. But it’s not only that.  

It also short-changes external proponents’ ability—indeed, the processes’ ability—to design a project  that makes environmental and cultural sense. If you’re a developer, an investor, or a government—that matters. Because if a project is not acceptable to the people who use and depend on the land, it’s not going to move forward quickly or cost effectively. Chances are, it’s not going to move forward at all. 

“Having Indigenous communities as a partner from the very beginning means they are helping to plan the project…it’s going to result in less environmental impact because they understand the land,” explains Bull.  She offers the example of a transmission line, where the route was set and approved in advance of engaging First Nations communities in the region. When consultation started, communities opposed the route because it didn’t account for areas of environmental and cultural significance. “Then we have to re-route the line, replan the line, reapprove the line. Had that conversation happened at the very beginning and the route been planned together, we would have gotten much faster to the solution.” 

As critical as early engagement is, Bull argues that communities’ and nations’ capacity building needs to start long before a project is even on the table. From her perspective, that includes investment in three components (1) a dedicated community resource focused on energy (2) community-led energy / land management and use planning and (3) community-led Indigenous Knowledge and climate impact studies. These efforts fundamentally shift the dynamics of any future project a community wishes to pursue or is asked to engage in, for the benefit of all involved.  

If you’re trying to have a meeting [with an Indigenous community] on energy planning, the person who gets the request to attend that meeting has a stack of requests on their desk for other consultations that are happening. And they are probably also responsible for the housing portfolio and child and family services…they aren’t resourced to do all of this.

Dedicated Community Energy Resource 

“If you’re trying to have a meeting [with an Indigenous community] on energy planning, the person who gets the request to attend that meeting has a stack of requests on their desk for other consultations that are happening,” she says. “And they are probably also responsible for the housing portfolio and child and family services…they aren’t resourced to do all of this.”

Providing the resources for communities to hire dedicated energy professionals acknowledges the spectrum of issues a community is dealing with at any given time, while facilitating better communication and work flows—not only between a community and potential partners, but also between communities across a region. This is essential to a smooth process.   

Community-led Plans

Community-led energy and/or land management plans establish the sandbox that members of the community are willing and interested in working in. As Bull explains, these plans help answer questions like: do we want to get into renewables? Are we opposed to any technologies? What projects would be on or off the table?  

The Framework Agreement on First Nation Land Management Act gives legal teeth to these plans. Communities who choose to go through the formal process of creating their own landcode, which hinges on community consultation and ratification, can establish an “Individual Agreement” with Canada that overrides more than 40 land provisions in the Indian Act. The upshot: while the “Crown” still technically owns the land, the landcode gives the community complete decision-making authority over how those lands are used. 

Even without a formal landcode in place, a community-created plan creates clarity and certainty for communities, industry proponents, and governments alike—establishing a much more solid foundation for initial discussions.  

Indigenous  Knowledge and Climate Impact Studies

Community-led Indigenous Knowledge and climate impact studies are a rich resource to inform project planning and decisions. This not only helps the community identify and advocate for cultural and environmental values, it helps all parties develop  more sustainable and broadly supported projects.  

While some federal and provincial resources exist to support capacity building of this nature (e.g. the national Lands and Economic Development Services program and the IESO’s Indigenous Energy Support Program), a lot more could be done.

“These are very wise investments for the country to make,” says Bull,  “and for potential proponents and partners to make as well.” 

The call to “Build Canada”—which seems to echo from every headline—brings the energy of an existential fight, a fight not only for Canada’s economy but for its sovereignty, its identity.

“Build Canada”: A National Zeitgeist 

I’ve lived in this country for over 20 years now, and have never experienced a moment like this one. The “Build Back Better” rallying cry, in the aftermath of COVID-19, felt like a country pushing itself out of bed, worn down and sleepy, but determined to keep going.  Today is different. The call to “Build Canada”—which seems to echo from every headline—brings the energy of an existential fight, a fight not only for Canada’s economy but for its sovereignty, its identity.  

This is the context, the backdrop, for the conversations Canada is currently having around building out our energy future. While there have always been tensions between acting urgently and acting thoughtfully, moving at the speed of business and moving at the speed of trust, those tensions are now playing out in the crucible of a US trade war, which is about so much more than trade. It’s about what Canada wants to be. The decisions we make about major energy transition projects will help answer that question.  

In the final installment of this series, Part 3, we’ll look at how two different, “nation-building” energy projects are playing out – and how each can give us a glimpse of what a new way forward might look like.  

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My sincere gratitude to all those who contributed their voice, knowledge, experience, and time to this piece including  Tabatha Bull and  JP Gladu. Any errors or omissions are mine and mine alone.