From Energy Now

By Stewart Muir

For years, a conservation NGO supported by major foreign foundations has taken on the guise of Indigenous governance authority on British Columbia’s north coast. Meanwhile, rights-holding First Nations with an economic agenda are reshaping the region, yet their equal weight is overlooked. A clash of values has resulted.

For more than a decade, British Columbians have been told — mostly by well-meaning journalists and various pressure groups — that an organization called Coastal First Nations speaks with authority for the entire coast. The name sounds official. It sounds governmental. It sounds like a coalition of Indigenous governments with jurisdiction over marine waters.

It isn’t any of those things.

Coastal First Nations (CFN) is a non-governmental organization, incorporated under the BC Societies Act as The Great Bear Initiative Society. It doesn’t hold Indigenous rights or title. It has no legislated role to provide benefits or services to First Nations members. It has no jurisdiction over shipping, marine safety, forestry, fisheries, energy development, or environmental regulation. Yet its statements are frequently treated as if they carry the weight of sovereign authority.

It’s time to say out loud what many leaders — municipal, Indigenous, and industry — already know: CFN is an advocacy group, not a government. Case in point, a recent news story with the following lede: “B.C.’s Coastal First Nations say they will use ‘every tool in their toolbox’ to keep oil tankers out of the northern coastal waters.” A spokesperson claimed to represent “the Rights and Title Holders of the Central and North Coast and Haida Gwaii,” yet notwithstanding the rights of any individual First Nation, CFN does not hold any formal authority.

Here’s why this matters. The truth is, Alberta has already struck its grand bargain with the rest of Canada. Now it’s time to confront the uncomfortable truth that the country is still one bargain short of a functioning national deal.

In 2026, with Canadians increasingly alert to who is shaping national conversations, there is a reasonable expectation that debates affecting our economic future should be led and conducted by Canadians — not by foreign foundations, not by out-of-country campaign strategists, and not by NGOs built to advance someone else’s policy objectives.

Where the confusion came from

CFN’s rise in public visibility traces back to the “Great Bear Rainforest” era, when U.S. philanthropic foundations poured large sums of money into environmental campaigns in British Columbia. A Senate of Canada committee document notes that the Gordon & Betty Moore Foundation alone provided approximately $25 million directly to Coastal First Nations, delivered as twenty-five nearly $1 million installments.

CFN also played a central role in the Great Bear Rainforest negotiations, which were financed by a coalition of foreign philanthropies including the Packard Foundation, Hewlett Foundation, Wilburforce Foundation, Rockefeller Brothers Fund, Nature Conservancy/Nature United, and Tides Canada Foundation. These foundations collectively contributed tens of millions of dollars to the “conservation financing” model that anchored CFN’s operating environment.

This history isn’t speculative. It’s well documented in foundation reports, Canadian Parliamentary evidence, and the publicly disclosed financial architecture behind the Great Bear Rainforest. For a generation, well-funded U.S. environmental campaigns have worked to make Canadians afraid of their own shadow by seeding doubt, stoking paralysis, and teaching a resource nation to second-guess the very wealth that built it.

Between 2010 and 2018, an independent forensic accounting review by Deloitte Forensic (backed by the Alberta government) found that foreign foundations provided roughly $788.1 million in grants for Canadian environmental initiatives. The largest single category — by a wide margin — was marine-based initiatives, totalling $297.2 million. In Deloitte’s categorization, “marine-based” overwhelmingly refers to coastal campaigns: Great Bear Rainforest–related advocacy, anti-tanker/shipping activism, marine-use regulation campaigns, marine ecological programs, and other coastal political work.

Land-based initiatives were the second-largest category ($191 million), followed by wildlife preservation ($173 million).

The forensic review also showed that of the $427.2 million that physically entered Canada, 82% — approximately $350.3 million — was spent in British Columbia, with the dominant share directed specifically toward coastal and marine initiatives.

Taken together, these findings confirm that foreign-funded environmental activity in Canada has been geographically concentrated in British Columbia and thematically concentrated on the coast – exactly the domain where CFN has been positioned as a public-facing authority.

The real authority lies with the nations themselves

If British Columbians want to understand who truly governs the coast, they should look to the Indigenous governments that hold rights, title, citizens, and accountability — not NGOs that comment from the sidelines. That means not overlooking:

• Haisla Nation, leaders of Cedar LNG
• Nisga’a Nation, co-developers of Ksi Lisims LNG
• Gitxaala Nation, asserting legal and territorial authority
• Kitselas and Kitsumkalum, both shaping regional development

These governments are also coastal First Nations. They negotiate major economic partnerships, steward lands and waters, and make decisions grounded in their own legal orders. Moreover, representation is the key measure of accountability in a democracy: First Nations governing councils are elected by their members. The CFN is not elected. The nations are accountable to their own people — not to U.S. philanthropies or to the strategic objectives of foreign-backed environmental campaigns.

The Haisla Nation once belonged to CFN, but quit in protest in 2012 when the body opposed LNG. The Haisla council went on to fully embrace economic development via liquefied natural gas and own the upcoming Cedar LNG project.

Meanwhile, the central and northern coastal regions where CFN has opposed numerous economic opportunities continue to suffer the worst child poverty in British Columbia.

In the delicate politics of the region’s First Nations alliances, relationships are constantly in motion and governed by inviolable traditions of mutual respect. From these threads, it has to be said that the CFN’s strategy of weaving the appearance of unanimity is truly a fabrication. In point of fact, CFN represents just one half of the story. My data source tells the story, by drawing together the latest available economic and demographic information for 216 British Columbia First Nations:

• Status Indian residents of CFN communities on the north coast number 5,484, with a total membership near and far of 20,447.
• The pro-development group noted earlier numbers 5,505 living local out of a total membership of 16,830.

In other words, virtually equal. Hence it’s obvious that any media report citing CFN as the singular authority for local First Nations interests is a misleading one. CFN speaks for only a slice of the North Coast, not the whole, and the numbers make that impossible to ignore.

When a CFN motion opposing responsible resource development was adopted by the Assembly of First Nations (see Dec. 2 news), it was further evidence that the deck is stacked against First Nations that are accountable and position themselves as having broad responsibilities, including but not limited to raising the standard of living of their members.

The future belongs to the nations

The politics of LNG on the North Coast can’t be grasped without staring directly at the tanker ban — not as scripture, but as the political curiosity it has become. Anyone who knows these waters understands it’s mostly theatre: it doesn’t question letting Alaska oil tanker ships transit our exclusive economic zone when we cannot, and it doesn’t touch the real risks coastal people actually worry about. Yet waving it away is naïve. The ban behaves like a trickster spirit in our public life — capricious, emotionally loaded, and capable of turning a routine policy debate into a cultural conflagration with barely a flick of its tail.

This is why Coastal First Nations retain such gravitational pull. For years, the ban has served as the moral architecture of their Great Bear Sea campaign. CFN represents a long-game strategy — build legitimacy, occupy the moral high ground, and shape the destiny of a nation by holding the symbolic centre. Their concerns seem genuine and rooted in lived stewardship – yet were shaped by Madison Avenue minds hired by American philanthropists to affect our politics. But a near equal number of coastal nation residents unified by a different outlook also have skin in the game. They are charting futures grounded in prosperity, environmental care, and sovereignty on their own terms, and their authority is the real thing — born of title, law, and accountability to their own people.

And here is the irony worth heeding: the tanker ban’s pageantry masks a solution. It is dragging into daylight a conversation the province has avoided for decades — a conversation that will soon prove inevitable as court rulings unsettle the very foundation of property rights in British Columbia. This is the hinge that the moment turns on.

Canada cannot resolve its growing national contradictions without moving its energy to global markets. Alberta has already made its grand bargain with the country. Now British Columbia must craft its own — harnessing the prosperity of energy development to discharge political debts and finally settle the title question that has defined the province’s modern era.

From the Fraser Institute

By Niels Veldhuis

The federal and Alberta governments recently released their much-anticipated Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) outlining what it will take to build a pipeline from Alberta, through British Columbia, to tidewater to get more of our oil to markets beyond the United States.

This was great news, according to most in the media: “Ottawa-Alberta deal clears hurdles for West Coast pipeline,” was the top headline on the Globe and Mail’s website, “Carney inks new energy deal with Alberta, paving way to new pipeline” according to the National Post.

And the reaction from the political class? Well, former federal environment minister Steven Guilbeault resigned from Prime Minister Carney’s cabinet, perhaps positively indicating that this agreement might actually produce a new pipeline. Jason Kenney, a former Alberta premier and Harper government cabinet minister, congratulated Prime Minister Carney and Premier Smith on an “historic agreement.” Even Alberta NDP Leader Naheed Nenshi called the MOU “a positive step for our energy future.”

Finally, as Prime Minister Carney promised, Canada might build critical infrastructure “at a speed and scale not seen in generations.”

Given this seemingly great news, I eagerly read the six-page Memorandum of Understanding. Then I read it again and again. Each time, my enthusiasm and understanding diminished rapidly. By the fourth reading, the only objective conclusion I could reach was not that a pipeline would finally be built, but rather that only governments could write an MOU that no Canadian could understand.

The MOU is utterly incoherent. Go ahead, read it for yourself online. It’s only six pages. Here are a few examples.

The agreement states that, “Canada and Alberta agree that the approval, commencement and continued construction of the bitumen pipeline is a prerequisite to the Pathways project.” Then on the next line, “Canada and Alberta agree that the Pathways Project is also a prerequisite to the approval, commencement and continued construction of the bitumen pipeline.”

Two things, of course, cannot logically be prerequisites for each other.

But worry not, under the MOU, Alberta and Ottawa will appoint an “Implementation Committee” to deliver “outcomes” (this is from a federal government that just created the “Major Project Office” to get major projects approved and constructed) including “Determining the means by which Alberta can submit its pipeline application to the Major Projects Office on or before July 1, 2026.”

What does “Determining the means” even mean?

What’s worse is that under the MOU, the application for this pipeline project must be “ready to submit to the Major Projects Office on or before July 1, 2026.” Then it could be another two years (or until 2028) before Ottawa approves the pipeline project. But the MOU states the Pathways Project is to be built in stages, starting in 2027. And that takes us back to the circular reasoning of the prerequisites noted above.

Other conditions needed to move forward include:

The private sector must construct and finance the pipeline. Serious question: which private-sector firm would take this risk? And does the Alberta government plan to indemnify the company against these risks?

Indigenous Peoples must co-own the pipeline project.

Alberta must collaborate with B.C. to ensure British Columbians get a cut or “share substantial economic and financial benefits of the proposed pipeline” in MOU speak.

None of this, of course, addresses the major issue in our country—that is, investors lack clarity on timelines and certainty about project approvals. The Carney government established the Major Project Office to fast-track project approvals and provide greater certainty. Of the 11 project “winners” the federal government has already picked, most either already had approvals or are already at an advanced stage in the process. And one of the most important nation-building projects—a pipeline to get our oil to tidewater—hasn’t even been referred to the Major Project Office.

What message does all this send to the investment community? Have we made it easier to get projects approved? No. Have we made things clearer? No. Business investment in Canada has fallen off a cliff and is down 25 per cent per worker since 2014. We’ve seen a massive outflow of capital from the country, more than $388 billion since 2014.

To change this, Canada needs clear rules and certain timelines for project approvals. Not an opaque Memorandum of Understanding.

Niels Veldhuis

President, Fraser Institute