Canada’s First Nations people have signed a powerful sovereignty declaration as B.C. halts logging in Fairy Creek for two years. Megaphone and photojournalist Mike Graeme talks to Indigenous activist ƛapisim (Aya Clappis)
By Mike Graeme
With more than 320 arrests and counting, the movement to save Fairy Creek — the last intact valley of old-growth forest on southern Vancouver Island — remains a charged period of time in the history of coastal Indigenous territories in British Columbia.
Protests and blockades have continued even after the provincial government granted a request from the Huu-ay-aht, Ditidaht and Pacheedaht First Nations to postpone old-growth logging on more than 2,000 hectares of land in the Fairy Creek area for two years while the Indigenous leaders develop long-term resource stewardship plans.
The protesters are demanding that this deferral also include a halting of road building through the Fairy Creek watershed, which it currently fails to do, as well as provide protection for the large tracts of old growth in the valleys directly adjacent to Fairy Creek.
Ultimately, many believe there should be a moratorium on all old-growth logging across B.C.
Every day, more blockades are erected and more old-growth trees come crashing down, as the fierce dance between land defenders, police, governments and the logging industry continues.
The conflict has been labeled a second “War in the Woods” of loggers versus tree protectors, referring to forest protection efforts in Clayoquot Sound during the 1990s. But the Fairy Creek conflict’s difficult and complex dynamics are not black and white — they involve ongoing colonial power structures, which can also manifest within environmental movements themselves.
Photojournalist Mike Graeme has been on the ground for more than a month, documenting the sharp tensions that have emerged as Royal Canadian Mounted Police enforce a court injunction granted to logging company Teal-Jones, which owns the rights to the tree farm licence encompassing Fairy Creek and some of its neighbouring watersheds.
In June, Graeme sat down with Indigenous land defender Aya Clappis (who is Afro-Indigenous from Huu-ay-aht) and Kati George-Jim (who is T’sou-ke, W̱SÁNEĆ, and the niece of Pacheedaht Elder Bill Jones) to discuss how colonialism has historically undermined Indigenous laws, kinship ties and connections to the land — and how it continues to impact these areas today.
Here he continues the conversation with Clappis, as she describes a precedent-setting development for her nation; the queer networks that are at the core of resistance to industrial exploitation; as well as how “white environmentalism” can replicate colonialism within old-growth protection movements.
Graeme: On June 4, the Huu-ay-aht, Pacheedaht, and Ditidaht First Nations signed the Hišuk ma c’awak Declaration “to take back their power over their ḥahahuułi [territory].” The declaration was coupled by a request to the B.C. government for logging to be deferred in Fairy Creek for two years, which was granted. Do you see this as a win for Indigenous sovereignty?
Clappis / Tsimtu ƛapisim: This declaration is more than what’s been happening at Fairy Creek. It’s really about Nuu-Chah-Nulth sovereignty. It’s hard to really communicate what it means because it’s so significant. What this declaration was, what it is, and what it will be is an alliance between Pacheedaht, Ditidaht, Huu-ay-aht — and it’s setting an example.
I heard Squamish (Skwxwú7mesh?) now wants to do this. We’re building coastal Indigenous alliances all over again and this is the first time I’ve seen this happen in my lifetime.
And it’s probably the first time for a lot of people, because our people have been deprived of this since the first colonizer came and took our pride away, since the first residential school opened.
There’s lots of work to do and our people are getting it done because we are proud, even despite what’s been happening to our people. This is a win for our whole coast. This is a win for every Indigenous nation that is looking to not be stuck under colonialism. It’s powerful. Our people are powerful. They deserve respect, dignity; they deserve sovereignty.
Our people are wealthy where it matters. We’re wealthy in our hearts, in our spirits … and we’re ready to share that with the world — maybe we already are.
I think this declaration is proof, it is evidence, that this whole colonial system is crumbling because our people have broken the ground. Like an earthquake, like lightning, we’ve crumbled the system because we decided to because we were ready.
That declaration shows that we do not need Canada’s approval. We do not need British Columbia’s approval, and we don’t need the Maa-nulth Treaty to say we’re Nuu-Chah-Nulth.
Graeme: In the June issue of Megaphone, you discussed the links between resource extraction and the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, two-spirit, and Indigiqueer people. How has this network of colonial oppression been met with networks of resistance?
Clappis / Tsimtu ƛapisim: Before this movement [for our lands and sovereignty] broke out, Kati George-Jim and I had been talking about the importance of revitalizing networks forged between warriors up and down this coast in the ’80s, ’90s and 2000s.
Everyone standing up a lot of the times now are generally Nuu-Chah-Nulth queers, and femmes, and women, and non-binary folks. We saw the possibility when this blockade arose to use it as a rallying point to re-create these networks and relationships.
Everyone who is at the margins, as bell hooks puts very beautifully, need to be at the centre. So, queer folks: I love you; I see you; you matter; you’re welcome here.
Graeme: While the War in the Woods of the ’90s saved much of the old growth in Clayoquot Sound, the overall violation of Nuu-Chah-Nulth sovereignty never skipped a beat. Once “the war” was won, many white folks involved had the privilege of going back to their daily lives and moving on, while industrial old-growth logging simply moved shop. Many people — namely white environmentalists — are calling this the second War in the Woods. What do they need to know?
Clappis / Tsimtu ƛapisim: The War in the Woods [really] began when our people had to begin fighting to protect their lands against the first invaders and colonizers arriving on our ḥahahuułi. This war has yet to end. A lot of people will see the War in the Woods of the ’90s as really successful, but that individual action basically failed to disrupt the broader system, and enabled them to move and log all over my territory and destroy old growth the next few territories over. If we’re just trying to choke out one area, they will just move to the next Indigenous territory.
Forms of movement building that de-center Indigenous Peoples and sovereignty may be able to achieve short-term success and protect specific areas that white environmentalists deem most valuable. However, it just moves the sacrifice zone. And that sacrifice zone will just increasingly affect our peoples as it gets closer to where we’re living — if it hasn’t happened already.
White environmentalism is uncritical of colonialism and is furthering the colonial occupation and processes that led to the problem in the first place — invasion, and taking from our lands and peoples. And environmentalists can just parachute out at any time. There’s no accountability long term to Indigenous Peoples to uproot the oppressive conditions that they live under.
Graeme: I’ve heard about the concept of “benevolent colonialism,” which refers to the imperial, paternal rhetoric where settlers purport to know what is best for the land and for Indigenous Peoples under the assumption that their actions are inherently good. How has this played out in the movement to save ancient rainforests?
Clappis / Tsimtu ƛapisim: That whole structure of going onto the land and occupying it without consent and “we know best” essentially pushes out any respectful protocol to happen. If you live in a home and someone just busts in and says, “Hey, I’m going to make your house better because if no one else is going to do it, I will,” it’s kind of that same thing.
White settlers claiming spirituality to place is problematic as well. It has really been uncomfortable to see spiritual tones and conversations around these trees that co-opt our language and culture. It also naturalizes them to place, which is literally what colonialism strives to do: make people think that they belong somewhere more than others and that they have the right and claim to be there. That is the root of the colonial process.
The ability to have a spiritual connection with these forests is a privilege, too. Our culture, our ways, our belief systems have been violently attacked, and for people to co-opt that and then serve it back to us, telling us protecting our forests the “right thing to do” is such a huge problem and shouts privilege.
Graeme: Despite the uncomfortable and harmful frictions caused through the reproduction of colonialism and racism in white settler environmentalism, you have also expressed gratitude for those who have come to Fairy Creek to stand in solidarity, am I right?
Clappis / Tsimtu ƛapisim: I really hold my hands up to everyone who has shown up for Fairy Creek Blockade, who’s shown up for Nuu-Chah-Nulth sovereignty, who’s shown up for me personally and my Black kin, because I probably wouldn’t be alive without you. And I say that very deeply because it’s really hard to believe you matter in a world that only tells you that you don’t matter. Every single day that we wake up under colonialism, racism, white supremacy, the world tells us that we don’t matter.
Courtesy of Megaphone / INSP.ngo
