Caledonia: The fires are out but much fury remains

The growling German Shepherd, lunging to the end of its chain outside the only home remaining on the desolate 70-acre site occupied by native protesters for almost four years, is quickly joined by other dogs, roaming free, suggesting strangers are not common here. Set some 400 metres behind a now-open barricade of downed hydro towers -- in an area described as a "lawless oasis" and where the Ontario Provincial Police warn even now they cannot respond, even for 911 calls -- the two-storey house is the nerve centre for the protesters who brought the development to a standstill, neighbouring homeowners to tears and a police force to its knees. This planned residential subdivision, seized by members of the nearby Six Nations as part of a larger land-claims grievance, is again making headlines, courtesy of a lawsuit by a non-aboriginal couple whose house borders the occupied land.

As eerie, almost surreal and at times ominous, as the site seemed during a visit there this week, it has little to compare to the jarring peak of the protest, which featured uncontrolled fires, attacks, threats, shouting, confrontations, reports of gunshots and rumours of hidden weapons caches.

Since first making national news, all but this house has been dismantled on the site, the basements filled and the construction material carted to the reserve to build houses for the needy.

Long weeds grow where the rutted and eroding soil allows.

Four cars, an all-terrain vehicle and two bicycles are parked outside, along with a trailer from where music emanates.

Inside the house, men -- their number is uncertain -- watch one or the other of the television sets. A couple of fridges, a stove, couches and other furniture allow for relaxation but not luxury.

"It's comfortable enough," said Gy'h-wy'h, who says his Christian name is Norm Thomas. He describes himself as one of the "land protectors," men who take shifts manning the site around the clock.

Talk of guns and traps set about the site are dismissed as nonsense by Mr. Thomas, but still, the residents of nearby houses on the outskirts of Caledonia, 30 kilometres southwest of Hamilton, describe it as anything but "comfortable."

And as the barren visual presence of the site attests, while the confrontation has muted the dispute is far from being resolved.

Neighbours fret over dwindling property values and intimidation from those on the site; residents worry the barricades could go up again at any time; police complain that native suspects still retreat to the site to avoid arrest; the town remains devastated by evaporating investment; and the natives still want their land claims respected.

Relations between the aboriginal and non-aboriginal remain acutely strained.

The fires are out but much fury remains.

Before the occupation, Caledonia was one of the fastest-growing municipalities in Ontario. Acres of rolling farmland were turning into neat subdivisions teeming with families.

When the bulldozers arrived at the wheatfields that were to become the Douglas Creek Estates subdivision, it was cause for concern at the nearby Six Nations of the Grand River.

The roots of their anxiety stretch back to 1784 when a huge tract of land was granted to the Six Nations for its allegiance to the British Crown during the American Revolution.

There is disagreement over what has happened since: what land was ceded, leased, sold or seized. The Six Nations filed a grievance about property along Highway 6 -- originally a military corridor known as the Plank Road, where Douglas Creek now sits -- in 1987 and a lawsuit followed in 1995.

Members of the Six Nations staged an information picket at the site in the fall of 2005, but it received little attention and the wooden frames of the houses continued to be built.

Most of the town learned of the land dispute on Feb. 28, 2006, when natives occupied the site, and -- more widely -- when the OPP raided it two months later, only to be pushed back by an estimated 1,000 natives, some armed with sticks and bats, setting in motion a cascade of confrontation.

The situation was chaotic and dangerous.

Native protesters erected barricades along the thoroughfare beside the site, setting up a checkpoint and treating the property as a foreign state -- requiring visitors to have a passport, naming a security shack at the main entrance "the embassy" and erecting flags of the Six Nations and the Mohawk Warriors.

A wall of tires was set ablaze along the highway and a wooden bridge burnt to the ground after the fire department withdrew in the face of death threats. The fire chief told the OPP he did not believe officers would protect his men if they went against the natives' wishes and turned on their hoses.

A nearby hydro substation was destroyed, causing $1-million damage and a wide blackout for several days. A builder who was erecting a house near, but not on the site, was badly beaten.

An elderly man had a heart attack when his car was surrounded near the site, with protestors threatening him and his wife; a television news crew taping the incident was also attacked.

Law enforcement officers in an unmarked vehicle were pulled from their car and almost run over by a protester who climbed behind the wheel.

It took weeks for the heat to subside and most of the roads to reopen.

The province bought the Douglas Creek estates from the developer and allowed the occupation to continue.

The protests, and fears of others like it, brought the region's impressive growth to an abrupt standstill, says Marie Trainer, Mayor of Haldimand County, in which Caledonia resides. Geographically, the Six Nations reserve is within the county but not within its jurisdiction.

"There is hardly anything [in terms of development] happening now. Nothing in Caledonia; nothing in Dunnville; Walmart was chased away. Things are slowly starting again in Hagarsville," she says, naming the various communities within her municipality.

"This has hurt every aspect of our county."

It should not have come as a complete surprise, however.

Every level of government was aware of the contentiousness of the site, says Rick Monture, a Six Nations resident who is also the acting director of the Indigenous Studies program at McMaster University in Hamilton.

"It seems to be a tactic to start building before the native people have a chance to really call attention to their claim," he says. "It is a lot harder to resolve land issues once buildings and infrastructure are there than when it is an open field."

Once things boiled over, with shouts and finger pointing from both town residents and natives, the root issue seemed to fade from view.

"These events become spectacles for all kinds of people. It becomes a sideshow," says Mr. Monture.

"The focus was lost. Things burning grabbed everyone's attention but the attention was not about the land claim. It is hard to really wrap your head around the bigger issues; it is easier to just get angry than to try to solve colonialism or racism."

That's a heavy historical backdrop against which to settle a 70-acre patch of eroding soil.

Ms. Trainer was recently in Ottawa, meeting with Chuck Strahl, Minister of Indian Affairs, about the situation. She offered her ideas and urged the government to settle First Nation issues but not to let "bad behaviour" be rewarded, she said.

In the meantime, she has given up on seeing the Douglas Creek site dotted with homes beneath the streetlights that were already in place, but hopes the town and the Six Nations can do something about the state of the site on the edge of the town's main drag.

"It's desolate and ugly," she says.

"What can go on that site that everyone would agree with? Parks? An interpretive centre with First Nations and Haldimand history? An economic development centre? Walking paths that link Haldimand trails with Six Nations trails?

"It would show that something good came out of a bad situation," she says.

That may not happen.

"There have been discussions about what we should do about that," says Mr. Monture.

"Our philosophy is to leave it -- this is what happens when you scrape the topsoil and desecrate the land. It is a testimony.

"If you pretty it up it glosses over the ugliness and messiness of the whole situation. If it looks nice, then everyone thinks everything is OK. Maybe it is best that we leave it this way so it is a gaping eyesore, a reminder that this is still unresolved."

Perhaps mirroring the rip in the land, the years since the occupation began has also torn the community.

"What I found really alarming in the face of all this is the extent of anger and, I guess you can call it racism, that was directed towards us," says Mr. Monture.

"Growing up around Caledonia there was a comfortable level of understanding between the two populations. I was struck by how quickly it got so angry and so quickly it wasn't about a land issue but about a race issue."

That view contrasts with the picture painted in a Hamilton courtroom, where David Brown and his wife, Dana Chatwell, are arguing their lawsuit against the province.

Court heard of a litany of harassing acts by native protesters, including intimidation, racial remarks, thefts and assaults against Mr. Brown and Ms. Chatwell, as well as the ransacking of their house that were often ignored by police even though Julian Fantino, commissioner of the force, said such criminal acts were not a valid part of a land claims dispute.

"As painful as it was for everyone, it has brought this to people's attention and hopefully it just doesn't subside and go away," says Mr. Monture.

"It is going to be in everyone's best interests not to ignore this and just hope that it goes away. It is not going to go away."

Ms. Trainer's exasperation over her impotence in the matter quickly shows.

"We are not the enemy," she says, sighing.

"When everyone else goes back to Ottawa or Toronto, we're still going to be neighbours. This is getting to be a huge, angry wedge between us."

She wonders aloud whether "things can ever be the same."

"Something nasty like this really can't be easily washed away. It could take a few generations."