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.

Tsawwassen Speaker Squiqel Tony Jacobs arrives for a legislative sitting. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Darryl Dyck

From Resource Works

By Nelson Bennett

Cowichan case underscores case for fast-tracking treaties

If there are any doubts over the question of which route is best for settling aboriginal title and reconciliation – the courts or treaty negotiations – a new economic snapshot on the Tsawwassen First Nation should put the question to rest.

Thanks to a modern day treaty, implemented in 2009, the Tsawwassen have leveraged land, cash and self-governance to parlay millions into hundreds of millions a year, according to a new report by Deloitte on behalf of the BC Treaty Commission.

With just 532 citizens, the Tsawwassen First Nation now provides $485 million in annual employment and 11,000 permanent retail and warehouse jobs, the report states.

Deloitte estimates modern treaties will provide $1 billion to $2 billion in economic benefits over the next decade.

“What happens, when you transfer millions to First Nations, it turns into billions, and it turns into billions for everyone,” Sashia Leung, director of international relations and communication for the BC Treaty Commission, said at the Indigenous Partnership Success Showcase on November 13.

“Tsawwassen alone, after 16 years of implementing their modern treaty, are one of the biggest employers in the region.”

BC Treaty Commission’s Sashia Leung speaks at the Indigenous Partnerships Success Showcase 2025.

Nisga’a success highlights economic potential

The Nisga’a is another good case study. The Nisga’a were the first indigenous group in B.C. to sign a modern treaty.

Having land and self-governance powers gave the Nisga’a the base for economic development, which now includes a $22 billion LNG and natural gas pipeline project – Ksi Lisims LNG and the Prince Rupert Gas Transmission line.

“This is what reconciliation looks like: a modern Treaty Nation once on the sidelines of our economy, now leading a project that will help write the next chapter of a stronger, more resilient Canada,” Nisga’a Nation president Eva Clayton noted last year, when the project received regulatory approval.

While the modern treaty making process has moved at what seems a glacial pace since it was established in the mid-1990s, there are some signs of gathering momentum.

This year alone, three First Nations signed final treaty settlement agreements: Kitselas, Kitsumkalum and K’omoks.

“That’s the first time that we’ve ever seen, in the treaty negotiation process, that three treaties have been initialed in one year and then ratified by their communities,” Treaty Commissioner Celeste Haldane told me.

Courts versus negotiation

When it comes to settling the question of who owns the land in B.C. — the Crown or First Nations — there is no one-size-fits-all pathway.

Some First Nations have chosen the courts. To date, only one has succeeded in gaining legal recognition of aboriginal title through the courts — the Tsilhqot’in.

The recent Cowichan decision, in which a lower court recognized aboriginal title to a parcel of land in Richmond, is by no means a final one.

That decision opened a can of worms that now has private land owners worried that their properties could fall under aboriginal title. The court ruling is being appealed and will almost certainly end up having to go to the Supreme Court.

This issue could, and should, be resolved through treaty negotiations, not the courts.

The Cowichan, after all, are in the Hul’qumi’num treaty group, which is at stage 5 of a six-stage process in the BC Treaty process. So why are they still resorting to the courts to settle title issues?

The Cowichan title case is the very sort of legal dispute that the B.C. and federal governments were trying to avoid when it set up the BC Treaty process in the mid-1990s.

Accelerating the process

Unfortunately, modern treaty making has been agonizingly slow.

To date, there are only seven modern implemented treaties to show for three decades of works — eight if you count the Nisga’a treaty, which predated the BC Treaty process.

Modern treaty nations include the Nisga’a, Tsawwassen, Tla’amin and five tribal groups in the Maa-nulth confederation on Vancouver Island.

It takes an average of 10 years to negotiate a final treaty settlement. Getting a court ruling on aboriginal title can take just as long and really only settles one question: Who owns the land?

The B.C. government has been trying to address rights and title through other avenues, including incremental agreements and a tripartite reconciliation process within the BC Treaty process.

It was this latter tripartite process that led to the Haida agreement, which recognized Haida title over Haida Gwaii earlier this year.

These shortcuts chip away at issues of aboriginal rights and title, self-governance, resource ownership and taxation and revenue generation.

Modern treaties are more comprehensive, settling everything from who owns the land and who gets the tax revenue from it, to how much salmon a nation is entitled to annually.

Once modern treaties are in place, it gives First Nations a base from which to build their own economies.

The Tsawwassen First Nation is one of the more notable case studies for the economic and social benefits that accrue, not just to the nation, but to the local economy in general.

The Tsawwassen have used the cash, land and taxation powers granted to them under treaty to create thousands of new jobs. This has been done through the development of industrial, commercial and residential lands.

This includes the development of Tsawwassen Mills and Tsawwassen Commons, an Amazon warehouse, a container inspection centre, and a new sewer treatment plant in support of a major residential development.

“They have provided over 5,000 lease homes for Delta, for Vancouver,” Leung noted. “They have a vision to continue to build that out to 10,000 to 12,000.”

Removing barriers to agreement

For First Nations, some of the reticence in negotiating a treaty in the past was the cost and the loss of tax exemptions. But those sticking points have been removed in recent years.

First Nations in treaty negotiations were originally required to borrow money from the federal government to participate, and then that loan amount was deducted from whatever final cash settlement was agreed to.

That requirement was eliminated in 2019, and there has been loan forgiveness to those nations that concluded treaties.

Another sticking point was the loss of tax exemptions. Under Section 87 of Indian Act, sales and property taxes do not apply on reserve lands.

But under modern treaties, the Indian Act ceases to apply, and reserve lands are transferred to title lands. This meant giving up tax exemptions to get treaty settlements.

That too has been amended, and carve-outs are now allowed in which the tax exemptions can continue on those reserve lands that get transferred to title lands.

“Now, it’s up to the First Nation to determine when and if they want to phase out Section 87 protections,” Haldane said.

Haldane said she believes these recent changes may account for the recent progress it has seen at the negotiation table.

“That’s why you’re seeing K’omoks, Kitselas, Kitsumkalum – three treaties being ratified in one year,” she said. “It’s unprecedented.”

The Mark Carney government has been on a fast-tracking kick lately. But we want to avoid the kind of uncertainty that the Cowichan case raises, and if the Carney government is looking for more things to fast-track that would benefit First Nations and the Canadian economy, perhaps treaty making should be one of them.

Resource Works News