Then he tells you what’s coming: a high-tech business park, aimed at luring manufacturing and aerospace jobs into the community.

Over the past decade Bear and his band, with the help of commercial and aboriginal partners, have transformed this small reserve of 350 people on the grasslands south of Saskatoon from an economic backwater into a hive of prosperity.

And they’ve done it all within the confines of the federal Indian Act — without the system of privatized land now being touted by some native leaders as essential to unlocking the untapped land values, and the human capital, of Canada’s First Nations.

“I don’t think we have to sell off our lands to do business,” says Bear. “We have to remember our traditions as First Nations people. At one time all of North America belonged to First Nations people. We can’t forget that. For me, to privatize and sell off our reserves is not the way to go.”

Bear and many of his counterparts are wary, and in some cases scornful, of a proposal being circulated by a small group of native leaders and non-native academics, to create private property rights on Indian reserves.

Almost all aboriginal reserve land in Canada is now owned by the federal and provincial governments, and controlled by the federal Department of Indian Affairs. Individuals cannot own property on reserves, or seek full mortgages on the homes they occupy. Similarly, firms cannot purchase reserve lands on which to develop businesses.

Manny Jules, the former chief of the Kamloops Indian band in B.C., wants governments to transfer the underlying title of reserve lands to band governments, which in turn would have the option of offering up all or parts of a reserve to individuals or companies — native or non-native — for private ownership.

The proposal has gained momentum this year with the publication of a book, Beyond the Indian Act: Restoring Aboriginal Property Rights, co-authored by Calgary political scientist and Conservative strategist Tom Flanagan. He and Jules say the lack of private property rights on reserves breeds poverty and dependency on government, and bars native people from enjoying some basic economic freedoms, such as using the equity in ones’ home to build wealth or even start a business.

“I want to free the imagination of individuals so they can be more entrepreneurial, so we can truly begin to develop a middle class on First Nations,” says Jules.

“Through that, there will be all kinds of pressure to make sure we have more accountable governments, more infrastructure being built, because we’ll be able to use the value of the land to lever more economic development.”

But that, says Bear, is exactly what he’s already doing at Whitecap Dakota, without private ownership. Over the past six years, the reserve’s unemployment rate has shrunk from 70 per cent to five per cent; Whitecap is now a net importer of workers, with 400 people commuting there every day for work. Aside from Whitecap’s business partnerships, the reserve also has a property tax registry, its own land code, fully surveyed residential lots and roadways, and every inch has been zoned by professional land-use planners.

Without the freedom, or inclination, to sell its property, Whitecap attracts investors by issuing long-term leases, up to 49 years for commercial developments, 99 years for residential properties.

It’s a similar story at Wikwemikong First Nation in Ontario, at the Tsuu T’ina Nation in Alberta, at Westbank First Nation in B.C.’s Okanagan Valley, or at Membertou First Nation in Nova Scotia. Membertou has an ISO-certified band government with roughly $80 million in annual revenues from ventures ranging from a commercial fishing firm, to licensed gambling, to a trade and convention centre.

Bernd Christmas, the former Mi’kmaq executive who helped turn around Membertou’s fortunes, says the reserve was able to accomplish all it wanted without private property rights. He says long-term land leases were enough to entice investors. And, he says the process of having to ask the Department of Indian Affairs for approval on land developments wasn’t always as onerous or time consuming as some bands make it out to be.

“I’m a believer that you can still move forward on First Nations without changing to private ownership. This way, you maintain your lands, and will never have them taken away,” says Christmas.

In southern B.C., the Osoyoos Indian Band runs nine businesses, including a hotel, construction firm, vineyard and golf course on 32,000 acres of reserve land.

Osoyoos chief Clarence Louie bristles when asked if opening his lands to private owners would stimulate more development and wealth.

“If private ownership means having some of your land lost, or having private landowners on reserve selling their properties to white people, or having non-natives owning a piece of reserve land — I think most natives on our reserve would say no.”

That doesn’t mean the status quo is perfect, says Louie, who says Indian Affairs still “inhibits” the free flow of development on reserves.

“What I want from Indian Affairs is not a new land relationship, I want a business relationship,” he says.

Jules admires what Osoyoos, Membertou and others have done. His own reserve has also created wealth without private property rights, with a billion-dollar housing and retail development, targeted at non-native residents, all based on long-term property leases.

But Jules says even more wealth and more infrastructure could come to more First Nations with private land ownership — particularly on remote reserves, unlike Whitecap or Membertou, that don’t benefit from being in prime urban locations.

Says Christmas: “If bands decide it’s in their best interest to adopt private ownership, I wouldn’t oppose it. But I would really hope that they think it through. Once you go that route and the land becomes private, it’s very, very difficult to get it back.”