No Bad Questions:  Can we build the energy infrastructure of the future without repeating the mistakes of the past?  (Part 3)

BC Hydro’s 2024 ‘Call for Power’ established Indigenous equity as a prerequisite for proposals. The call itself was created through a year-long process that engaged 99 First Nations in the province, including 42 individual meetings.

No Bad Questions is a Generate Canada series that explores the tensions and conflicts that are inherent to our work of solving wicked problems. Each article begins with a thorny question – one we have to grapple with if we want to make progress.  “Can we build the energy infrastructure of the future without repeating the mistakes of the past?” That’s a heck of a thorny question. So much so that we’re tackling it over three installments. Part 1 asks if disrupting nature in the short term is the price we have to pay to save it (and us) in the long term. Part 2 examines how Indigenous ownership and leadership is key to unlocking clean energy progress, and why the speed of business and speed of trust are intimately related. Part 3, below, brings these lessons to life through two case studies.

A Tale of Two Canadian Clean Energy Initiatives

Want to build Canada’s energy infrastructure better and smarter than we did during the last industrial revolution? Minus the side-dishes of environmental destruction and human rights abuses? And at the pace necessary to respond both to the existential and economic realities of climate change? Well, let me tell you, that’s a tall order.  

While there is certainly no silver bullet to achieve that outcome, one thing I have learned over the course of writing this series is that there is a fundamental requirement. Indigenous leadership and ownership in the energy transition. 

In Part 2 of this series we explored the barriers and essential systems changes necessary to address them. Namely: increased Indigenous equity in projects, access to capital, the creation of incentives through procurement calls, and significant investment in capacity building.  

It’s one thing to talk about these principles in theory and another to see how they are playing out in real life. So in this final installment, we flip back to the two nationally significant energy development initiatives that we explored in Part 1 of this series: British Columbia’s push to rapidly develop clean electricity, and Ontario’s efforts to fast track critical minerals mining in the Ring of Fire. 

Both efforts share a common drive to increase economic competitiveness by meeting the demands of a global low-carbon energy transition. And both want to move fast. In fact, they are each sparking or proposing changes to regulatory practices for the sole purpose of speeding up projects. Premier Eby announced in December 2024 that B.C. will exempt all new wind projects from environmental assessments. Just this week, the Ford government passed a controversial new bill—the Protect Ontario by Unleashing Our Economy Act—that includes provisions to streamline mining approval processes and designate “special economic zones” to advance projects of provincial importance.

That may be where the similarities between these two endeavors end. Renewable energy and mining projects have vastly different physical impacts and environmental footprints, for one. They are also playing out in very different geographies and provincial contexts.  But a major differentiator between these efforts, the one which may determine or inhibit success, is how Indigenous communities have been engaged in these “province-building” priorities.

First Nations’ leaders disrupted the Ontario legislature in a Ring of Fire protest in 2023.

BC Hydro’s 2024 ‘Call for Power’ (a public call for proposals to build out 3,000 GWh of renewable electricity by as early as 2028) established Indigenous equity as a prerequisite for proposals. The call itself was created through a year-long process that engaged 99 First Nations in the province, including 42 individual meetings.  

The Ring of Fire, on the other hand, carries a much longer and more fraught history. It started with an unfettered rush in the region starting in 2007 following the discovery of high-grade deposits of nickel, copper, and platinum. The “centuries-old practice of free-entry,” allowed basically anyone to stake a claim on “Crown” land (read: traditional First Nations’ territory). This soon saw the muskeg (a globally important carbon sink) papered with mining claims.  

Tensions between prospectors and local First Nations flared, resulting in protests and blockades. The Ontario government of the time (under Kathleen Wynne)  attempted to bring nations in the region together to agree on a route for an access road to the mines.  These negotiations were challenging (not in small part because of the devastating suicide crisis in the region) and fell apart when—in an attempt at expediency— the government made a deal with three nations while excluding others.  

For many, many decades, First Nations communities were left out of the industrial revolution in our backyards. So this CCP process opened up the community’s eyes to say: we need a bigger part of what takes place on the land, economically.

The Nithi Mountain Wind: A BC Call for Power Project

Greenlit through B.C.’s ‘Call to Power’, Nithi Mountain, a 200 MW capacity wind project, is a joint venture between Stellat’en First Nation (51% equity) and Innergex (49% equity). When I ask Stellat’en Chief Robert Michell how the whole thing came to be, he tells me “all the stars lined up.” As the saying goes, luck is when preparation meets opportunity.  

Stellat’en First Nation’s traditional territory spans the glacial basin between Nadleh Bun (Fraser Lake) and Vanderhoof, in Northern B.C. The community began testing wind power capacity in its lands close to 15 years ago. “We jumped on it back then and we put up a couple wind monitors to see if certain areas within our territory would benefit from wind energy. And that’s where it all started,” explains Chief Michell.  

A community-led vision for Stellat’en’s economic development came first. A few years before the wind tests started, in 2007, the community undertook a process to imagine what it wanted to look like in the year 2030. Community independence, self-sufficiency, and  plentiful jobs for youth, built on sustainable business models like eco-tourism, framed that vision. In 2016, with funding from the Federal government, Stellat’en developed its first Economic Development Plan. A few years later, additional Federal funding supported  the incorporation of that plan into a broader, community-driven Comprehensive Community Plan (CCP)—“a celebration of Stellat’en, an expression of community values, a vision for Stellat’en’s future, and a path towards achieving that future.”

“What that [the CCP] process did was allow the community to look outside the perimeters, to see what opportunities lie within the territory,” Chief Michell tells me. “For many, many decades, First Nations communities were left out of the industrial revolution in our backyards. So this CCP process opened up the community’s eyes to say: we need a bigger part of what takes place on the land, economically.”

The CCP was critical in terms of framing where the community was willing to go, and not go, in terms of development projects. It was also important in identifying what kinds of opportunities they wanted projects to provide. Past government programs and operations in the community’s territory—saw mills, mining operations—offered basic training for entry-level jobs. “We needed more than that,” says the Chief. “Our community members were not going to settle for the crumbs. We wanted a whole loaf of bread.” 

While the CCP helped clarify and define the community’s ambitions, the Yinka Dene Surface Water Management Policy—co-developed in 2016 with neighbouring Nadleh Whut’en First Nation—established firm and clear conditions around development in relation to local waters. “Everything involves water,” Chief Michell explains. “The water is sacred and important, so anything to do with the land first of all has to adhere to the water law—it’s our common denominator.” 

As the Chief emphasizes, the policy is not designed to oppose economic development but rather to guide it with the goal of protecting the region’s water—and all that depends on it—for future generations. The law is as much about protecting the community’s traditional ways of life and culture—harvesting country foods, making plant-based medicines, maintaining local fisheries—as it is about protecting environmental values.  

I know the government said that they aren’t going to do [an environmental assessment] but we are still going to. We still have community members and people who live on the land that are concerned. So we, as a proponent, are going to follow this process.

“[Creating the Policy] was a combined effort of multiple communities and a big push by what they call the uza’hné, the hereditary leaders,” says the Chief. “They saw far too many times industry come in, rape and pillage, take what they want. They wanted to ensure that there’s a level of protection.”

In 2024, Stellat’en’s ability to enforce the water law was tested in court when it brought suit against Rio Tinto Alcan for the impacts of its hydroelectric project on water flows in the Nechako River. The court found that B.C. and Canada had a fiduciary duty to protect the nation’s traditional right to fish “including by ensuring the water allocation and flow regime is managed in a manner consistent with the Crown’s obligations under section 35 of the Constitution.“

It’s this same water law, anchored in traditional knowledge and cultural values, that is guiding the community-led environmental assessment of the Nithi Mountain Wind project right now, Chief Michell tells me. “I know the government said that they aren’t going to do [an environmental assessment] but we are still going to. We still have community members and people who live on the land that are concerned. So we, as a proponent, are going to follow this process.”  

From Chief Michell’s perspective, following the Yinka Dene water law process is not just a matter of responsibility and respect, it’s a matter of efficiency.  “It takes away the conflict,” he says. In the past, he explains, some external company the community had never heard of or spoken to would greenlight an environmental assessment for a project in their territory without asking basic questions: Where do you harvest berries?  What time of year do the salmon come? “So this particular process acknowledges that and takes that information and then puts it toward the project to make sure that it runs smoothly.” 

Of course, working with a willing partner—Innergex—is also  key to Nithi Mountain Wind’s progress. “It was a slow amalgamation of them and our team, and a level of trust was built,”  Chief Michell says. “What sold us was the fact that everywhere we went, Innergex had a good name.” The company’s reputation for integrity meant a great deal, and so did its approach of engaging the community. “They got into the community,” explains Chief Michell. “While they were in the community halls, they were more like friends rather than sitting at the head table facing down the community. They mingled. Community members felt safe. They felt trusted.”  

Chief Michell acknowledges that making Nithi Mountain Wind a reality was a long and uncertain journey. “If [The Call for Power] came out three or four years ago, we may not have been ready. Timing was everything.”  That timing includes the Federal government’s National Loan Guarantee program, which made Stellat’en’s majority stake in the project possible. It would have been a much tougher slog without it, admits the Chief. That funding recognizes not just the economic disadvantage that many communities face, he says “but the fact that Indigenous communities and their territories can bring so much value to the whole surrounding area if we can just get economic development. That’s huge.”

There’s an old expression: the best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. For me, this is a key lesson from the Nithi Mount Wind story. While B.C. ‘s ‘Call for Power’ created the conditions for the project to ripen quickly, its seed was planted back in 2007 when the community asked itself what it wanted to look like in 2030. And that seed was watered through ongoing community capacity building—planning, policy-development, regional collaboration, advocacy for its right to govern its own lands and waters. While much of that credit rests with the people of Stellat’en, external resources were critical to supporting their work as they built their own path. 

The second best time to plant a tree is right now. As the crow flies some 2,700 KM east of Stellat’en, another seed is being planted in the James Bay lowlands—surrounded by the blazing heat of the Ring of Fire debate. Unfolding largely below the public radar, this history-making endeavor known simply as the Ring of Fire Regional Assessment, holds the potential to transform critical minerals development, not only in this hotly contested region, but across the country. 

If you’ve got 15 First Nations saying, we think these are the issues you should consider and address in an EA, it’s a pretty good idea to follow those, right?

Ring of Fire Regional Assessment: A Big View Looking Backwards and Forwards

It’s hard to think of a more boring name for such a powerful tool, but—given how rarely Regional Assessments take place in Canada—no one is hankering to rebrand them (yet).  But figuring out how to talk about what a Regional Assessment is in a way that is tangible and meaningful was job number one for Alan Young. As the neutral third-party facilitator chosen to guide a Ring of Fire Regional Assessment process co-led by Matawa First Nations, Mushkegowuk First Nations, Weenusk First Nation, and the Government of Canada, Young (a veteran facilitator and director of the Materials Efficiency Research Group) found himself in a role with no precedent.  

A Regional Assessment is a discretionary tool that Canada’s Minister of Environment can approve through the Federal Impact Agency, Young explains to me. It’s basically designed to address issues and needs that a regular Environmental Assessment fails to cover in any consistent or effective way—what Young calls “cumulative regional dynamics.”  Dealing with them proactively and with a regional lens can provide some powerful insights and efficiencies.

“It combines environmental, economic, and, importantly, social well-being,” Young says. “So it’s an integrated approach.” Environmental Assessments (EAs) aren’t designed to look at larger regional impacts in this way. And because they don’t account for all the things that really matter to people, on a broader level, the results don’t necessarily help the project move forward. Rather they slow it down or block it. “And that’s not in anybody’s interest,” Young says. I’m reminded of Chief Michell’s characterization of disembodied EAs that fail to address the most basic concerns of community members.  

Regional Assessments result in recommendations, not rules. In other words, their findings aren’t binding. But they are influential. “If you’ve got 15 First Nations saying, we think these are the issues you should consider and address in an EA, it’s a pretty good idea to follow those, right?” Young asks. 

That’s the jackpot question. Because, while the Federal government is deeply committed to this process, the Ontario government is not. In fact, it is vocally opposing it. In March 2025,  from the stage of one of the country’s largest mining events, Premier Ford argued that “we cannot afford to add years of delays and massive cost to critical minerals projects so that the federal government can waste time repeating and replicating assessments that Ontario has already done.”  

But actually, Ontario has never done an assessment like this. No one has. Not in the Ring of Fire. Not anywhere in Canada, ever. 

The Federal Government has completed three Regional Assessments to date: two related to offshore wind development in Nova Scotia and one related to offshore oil and gas exploratory drilling east of Newfoundland and Labrador. While all three assessments included engagement with Indigenous communities, none has actually been led by them. Until now. 

“It’s unprecedented,” says Young, “and it’s something that has been many years in the making, with several false starts, but I think lessons have been learned and the timing is now right for a variety of reasons.” 

Indeed, the Federal Government’s first attempt to make progress on a Regional Assessment in the Ring of Fire failed spectacularly.  Announced in 2020, the government released a draft Terms of Reference for public engagement and comment in December 2021… during the height of COVID-19. Given the impact of the pandemic on First Nations communities, the timing could not have been worse. But the bigger challenge was the Terms of Reference themselves. 

In January 2022, five First Nations chiefs sent a letter to Environment and Climate Change Minister Steven Guilbeault proclaiming the insufficiency of the terms. “What Canada, in agreement with Ontario, plans to do is far from proper or safe, and instead promotes recklessness and danger,” the letter says. “Your draft TOR is narrow in geographic and activity scope, and wrongly excludes us Indigenous peoples from all but token roles.”

In sum, the days of First Nations simply being engaged, like any other interested party, on the assessment of a development that could fundamentally alter their traditional lands and waters, was over. Four Nations declared a moratorium on all development in the Ring of Fire region until concerns about impacts to the region’s unique wetlands and watersheds could be addressed. 

To its credit, instead of pushing a doomed process forward or fully abandoning the effort, the Federal Government decided to start over. This time, the Regional Assessment process would be about more than engaging First Nations communities, it would be about giving them an equal seat at the decision-making table.  

The new Regional Assessment working group consists of representatives from the Federal Impact Agency as well as community-appointed delegates and technical experts from 15 First Nations communities situated both in and directly downstream from the Ring of Fire region. 

It is not a homogeneous group. The communities speak different languages and dialects, hold different traditions, face different challenges, and have diverse views on the prospect of mining in the region. The opportunities and risks of development are also not evenly

As representatives of the First Nations, as technicians, we’ve always had to go out and fight for the community. We’re always in that mode of being hostile, defensive, because it’s what we have to do. But in this process, I found, there’s nothing to argue about, there’s nothing to fight about, which is new for a lot of us.

“We all agree on one thing, which is the environment and the connection to the land,” says John Turner, a technical member of the Regional Assessment working group from Moose Cree First Nation. This, Turner tells me, was key to helping the group navigate through the challenging task of producing a Terms of Reference for the Assessment—a year-long process that culminated in the publication of a final document in January 2025.  

Turner describes himself, first and foremost, as a land user. “I used to make a living from trapping and hunting,” he tells me. After graduating from high school, he started to get more and more involved in his community. “I come from a time where there were not a lot of people to speak up and represent the community. So I got involved in that way. I wanted to represent the people living off the land, living in the bush, and find ways to support them and make sure that kind of livelihood would survive.”  

Taking on that work required a tremendous amount of learning, which Turner embraced. He figured out how to manage land negotiations with forestry companies, how to respond to mining claims, how to use and apply GIS mapping. Turner’s expertise grew as technologies evolved and development interests and pressures on the region mounted.  “That’s how I ended up being almost like a historian to my community of how these processes happened,” he says.

When I ask Turner how this Regional Assessment process feels different from the countless other past experiences, he points to the Federal Government’s approach to the process as the most remarkable change.  

“As representatives of the First Nations, as technicians, we’ve always had to go out and fight for the community. We’re always in that mode of being hostile, defensive, because it’s what we have to do,” he says. But in this process, “I found, there’s nothing to argue about, there’s nothing to fight about, which is new for a lot of us.”  

Having a willing partner is the breakthrough, Turner says. And by willing, he means “willing to go out of their comfort zone or view.” Willing to go along with a process that they do not fully control, where they don’t know—more than anyone else— how it’s going to end up.

He uses the incorporation of Indigenous Knowledge as an example. “We always said that traditional science or knowledge should be treated equally as science. And [in the past] it would always be put in there, but more like lip service. It would never be taken seriously. But this time, if you look at the Terms of Reference, there’s a lot of stuff in there that, from a [Western] scientific point of view, doesn’t really make any sense. But to the communities that are involved, it’s really important to have that in there.” That includes references to natural laws and Creator’s laws, Turner explains. “They [the Federal government participants] don’t comment on that. It’s not their business to define that, it’s the communities’ business,” he says.  

The Energy Futures Lab and the Battery Metals Association of Canada convened a diverse group on Tsuut’ina territory, just west of Calgary, to bridge perspectives and explore conditions for relationships, partnerships and reconciliation in action.

The Messy Middle of an Inevitable Evolution

“Indigenous equity ownership in major projects is increasingly seen as not just ‘one way’ or ‘a good way,’ but as the ‘best‘ or ‘only way’ to develop energy, net zero, infrastructural, or critical mineral projects in Canada,” writes Luticia Miller, VP of Project Development for the First Nations Major Projects Coalition.  

While this feels undeniably true, it also feels like knowledge in the brain that the body has yet to fully process. New neural connections are still forming. Old reflexes and patterns remain. Their palpable presence in the political rhetoric that surrounds the Ring of Fire is a stark reminder of how much further we have to go.

Part of that journey will include a real reckoning, at all levels of government, with Canada’s legal adoption of UNDRIP (the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples), which— among other things— requires Free, Prior, and Informed Consent for any economic activity that takes place on traditional Indigenous lands.

“For a lot of corporations, the will and the desire to partner with communities to be part of the solution is understood, but the policy functions aren’t enabling that in the way they could,” says Tabatha Bull, President and CEO of the Canadian Council for Indigenous Business. “UNDRIP is a potential way to enshrine that into regulation but we’re not quite there on implementation yet.”   

It may take more court challenges, more legal precedents, to grow UNDRIP’s teeth. But that’s no way for this country to build energy infrastructure at the speed of business.  

Last May, in a conference room on Tsuut’ina territory, just west of Calgary, Indigenous and non-Indigenous representatives gathered to tackle the question: How might the battery value chain respond to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Call to Action 92 for Corporate Canada, in light of the legal adoption of UNDRIP, in a way that recognizes the inherent ancestral and Treaty rights of Indigenous peoples in Canada?

This initial dialogue, organized by the Energy Futures Lab in partnership with the Battery Metals Association of Canada, sparked a shared understanding among participants that this burgeoning sector, still in its early days, has the rare opportunity to do things differently: to “build strong relationships with Indigenous peoples from the start, and to highlight the imperative to address environmental and social impacts across every part of the value chain.”  Guided by a nine-member Indigenous Advisory Circle, the partners held workshops and sessions that bridged industry and Indigenous perspectives, facilitated two-way learning, and explored both the conditions for success along with opportunities for partnership in a ‘good way’—looking beyond the project lifecycle toward sustainability with a view to addressing the impacts of today’s decisions on future generations. 

It’s through forums like this, initiatives such as the B.C. ‘Call for Power’, and efforts like the Ring of Fire Regional Assessment that we can truly start to revolutionize systems, and begin charting a different and better course.  That change will happen only and exactly as fast as the speed of trust, which—as it turns out— is the most expeditious and advantageous way to build Canada’s energy future.  

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My sincere gratitude to all those who contributed their voice, knowledge, experience, and time to this piece including  Chief Robert Michell, Alan Young, and John Turner. Any errors or omissions  are mine and mine alone.