Sat Jul 31, 2010, 10:00 AM
By The Canadian Press
COLD LAKE, Alta. - They were born and raised on the Cold Lake Indian reserve in northeastern Alberta, as were their parents and grandparents.
But the women — who are status Indians — are not allowed to live there, nor may they vote for chief or council.
Why? Because they married non-aboriginal men.
Until 1985, if an aboriginal woman married a non-native man, she lost her status as an Indian and all the rights that went with it. A man who married a non-native woman kept his status.
That year the federal government amended the Indian Act with Bill C-31 to fix the inequity.
But the law hasn't helped Agnes Gendron, Nancy Scanie, Lillian Shirt or thousands of other aboriginal women across Canada who still are known as "C-31s."
They and their children have been kicked off reserves and cannot get access to schools, medical or other services available to those living on reserve. And they can't vote out those who don't recognize them.
"For all intents and purposes, they have lost their treaty rights, which are valuable," says lawyer Randy Fowle, who took on Scanie's case pro bono.
This past June, the Cold Lake First Nations held an election for chief and council. Gendron, 67, was not allowed to vote, just has she has been unable to vote in any election for years. Every three years, when an election is held, she tries to get on the voters' list. Every year she gets a letter that tells her this:
"While you have met the majority of criteria, your request has been denied based upon the following: Cold Lake First Nations abides by a Custom Election Law dated May 27, 1986 which does not include nor exclude persons reinstated under Bill C-31; and Cold Lake First Nations has traditionally excluded persons reinstated under Bill C-31."
Gendron has filed letters of protest, but they go unanswered.
"When I was growing up, people used to come home from wherever they lived to vote, and it was a happy occasion when everybody came home to vote for chief and council," Gendron said.
"In 1979 (band officials) said people living off the reserve couldn't vote. When Bill C-31 came in, they said that only the ones living on the reserve and in a 30-mile radius could vote. I'm only six miles from the reserve and I can't vote," says Gendron, who is the executive director of the Grand Centre Native Friendship Centre.
Scanie, 71, a residential school survivor, has been trying for several years to get her rights as a band member restored. The Cold Lake First Nations tells her she is "Bill C-31."
She lived on a beach in a tarp shack for 18 months, and she lived in her dead son's home on the reserve, taking care of her grandchildren. The band cut off power and heat in the winter to try to force her off the reserve. Three years ago, at age 68, she built a small log cabin on the reserve. It has power, but no water and she must use an outhouse.
"I showed them the letter from Ottawa that said I never lost my rights. They said the letter wasn't good enough for them."
Chief Cecil Janvier did not return repeated calls this week to discuss the issue. Councillors Bernice Martial, Judy West and Roger Marten refused to comment, and others did not return calls.
A request for an interview with a representative of the Assembly of First Nations was not returned. Jeannette Corbiere Lavell, president of the Native Women's Association of Canada, could not be reached for comment.
"They've basically been neglected, ignored, discriminated against with no consequences in so far as a breach of the Canadian Charter of Rights is concerned," says Fowle.
"She's born there, she's no less First Nations or native than any male living on that reserve. You talk about abject discrimination, this has got to be it. No compassion at all."
Fowle says he and Scanie have tried to persuade the band to be fair, but says they wasted their breath. "They can breach the law with impunity," he says. "Basically, (the band) is thumbing their nose at the federal law."
Fowle, who has been practising law for more than 40 years, said the bands don't comply with the law because they aren't forced to do so. The federal government allows them to go on breaking the law and contravening the Charter, year after year, because it doesn't have the will, he says.
He believes an easy way to get the chief and council of Cold Lake First Nation to comply would be if Ottawa made funding conditional on reinstating these women's rights.
"There should be consequences of flouting the law. For the rest of us, we flout the law, there's going to be consequences. But they're a law unto themselves on the reserve," he says.
"If you don't obey our laws, why should you benefit from them?"
A spokeswoman for the Department of Indian Affairs said the Cold Lake First Nations chooses its leaders through a customary selection process, which falls outside the purview of the Indian Act.
"The department has no role to play in how the community's leadership is selected or how governance disputes are resolved," Margot Geduld said from Ottawa.
That means chief and council are left to decide who may vote and who may not, based on whatever criteria they choose. Any First Nation with a "Custom Code" only has to submit the names of the new chief and council to the federal department. It is not required to reveal how many people cast ballots.
If a band does not recognize a person as a band member, that individual can go through the courts or to the Canadian Human Rights Commission or can register a complaint with Indian Affair's allegations and complaint section, says Geduld.
Fowle says he has told other women in the same position as Scanie and Gendron to forget legal action.
"You're running into a brick wall here. It's a complete waste of time. If we can't persuade the council morally, legally you have no redress."
— By Mary Jo Laforest in Edmonton