Canada is Pushing Resource Extraction Development Faster Than They Can Define Consent
Why Canadians Shouldn’t Fear a First Nation Veto
When Mark Carney stood before reporters outside Rideau Hall this week, the message was unmistakable: his government intends to move fast. The former Bank of Canada governor and global finance heavyweight returned to public life with a plan to transform Canada into an “energy superpower.”
Carney’s platform leans heavily on expedited approvals for energy projects, pipelines, and critical mineral extraction. These initiatives are cast as economic countermeasures to rising U.S. protectionism under President Donald Trump.
But speed comes with trade-offs. To deliver on that promise, Carney will need to navigate provincial turf wars, fulfill climate commitments—despite a growing consensus that the 1.5°C target is slipping out of reach—and uphold the rights of Indigenous Peoples, who are advancing their own environmental visions to protect lands and waters.
“I’ve got extensive experience. This is not just a concept to me. I have been involved in major energy projects for over three decades in the private sector,” Carney told CTV.
“So I’ve got that experience. Bringing the provinces, working with Indigenous partners, putting in place—as we have—billions of dollars of financing for those Indigenous partners.”
To support Indigenous equity in resource projects, Carney has pledged to double the Indigenous Loan Guarantee Program from $5 billion to $10 billion.
“Indigenous people have to come along for almost all of these projects for them to actually work,” he said.
Some First Nations are ready to buy into in that vision. But what about the ones who aren’t?
The Right to Develop—Differently
Far from Ottawa, in northwestern Ontario, the Ojibways of Onigaming First Nation are working on a different idea of prosperity. Chief Jeffrey Copenace has spent the past three years advancing a model of development rooted not in extraction, but in renewal.
His community is small and remote. The nearest town, Nestor Falls, is a seasonal stopover for hunters and tourists. But Onigaming sits on mineral-rich land—a magnet for junior mining companies. Golden Rapture wants to revive eight nearby gold sites; First Mining Gold has already laid groundwork to the north.
Copenace’s government has declared a moratorium on mining—for now.
When he informed Golden Rapture’s president, Richard Rivet, the response was swift and personal.
“Hi Jeff, maybe your reserve is in such bad shape because you’re a terrible leader,” Rivet wrote.
But Onigaming isn’t opposed to economic growth—the community just wants it on thier own terms. Copenance routinely brings youth into governance discussions, and he’s asked them what kind of economy they imagine. Their answers: greenhouses. A coffee shop. A cannabis store.
“All of this is possible,” he said. “When you talk about the economy when it comes to First Nations, it doesn’t have to be mining. And it doesn’t always have to be natural resource development.”
In Treaty 3 territory, all proposed resource projects must pass through Manito Aki Inaakonigewin, the region’s own Anishinaabe resource law. That’s consultation grounded in Indigenous governance—not Crown process.
Why No Never Means No
Since Parliament passed the UNDRIP Act in 2021, Canada has promised to align its laws with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Article 32 of the declaration affirms the right of Indigenous peoples “to determine and develop priorities and strategies for the development or use of their lands.”
But that work has been slow, and there is no agreed upon framework for consent.
“I’m a little concerned when I hear Mr. Carney says he’s going to speed up a process that is already lagging in terms of its ability to implement the UNDRIP action plan,” said Chief Lance Haymond of Kebaowek First Nation, an Algonquin community northwest of Ottawa.
“You can’t accelerate development on our territories and accelerate a consultation process that you clearly haven’t defined,” he said. “And they are taking a good old sweet time to do so and forcing First Nations like ours into the legal system to get that clarification.”
Kebaowek has been fighting a proposed open-pit mine since 2011. The companies have changed; the proposals have changed. But the answer hasn’t. The community said no. They filed their own environmental review. The project paused, then returned.
“They tell us they want to develop the project. They’re already doing it, but they’re offering us partnerships and equity stakes and royalties and a lot of economic benefits including the jobs,” Haymond said. “But I’m acting on the direction from my community and the community, at this point, does not want to see that mine happen.”
When Canadian Nuclear Laboratories proposed a nuclear waste site at Chalk River, Kebaowek took the matter to court. Justice Julie Blackhawk ruled that the Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission must engage in deeper consultation and consider First Nations law.
It was a win, in terms of recognizing Indigenous law . But it wasn’t a recognition of the right to say no.
“By interpreting FPIC as a right to an enhanced process, rather than a right to freely decide whether to reject or support a proposed activity, the Court in Kebaowek risks reducing UNDRIP to yet another hollow promise on the endless road to reconciliation,” wrote lawyers Kate Gunn and Nico McKay.
Haymond agrees. “What I’m hearing is two different things,” he said. “Yes, we respect your rights and we want to make sure that UNDRIP applies. [But] there are going to be circumstances where they’re going to railroad our rights for the development of certain resource projects.”
Saying no doesn’t kill development—it’s how you get to something worth building.
Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre has warned that too much Indigenous power could stall national progress. Referring to the Coastal GasLink conflict in B.C., he told chiefs: “I think that in cases where you have overwhelming support by First Nations, but it’s not unanimous, I think projects should still go ahead.”
But Seánna Howard, a Canadian human rights lawyer teaching in Arizona, offered a different frame. Speaking at the United Nations on FPIC, she raised her hand, drew a line in the air, then curved around it.
“You go around,” she said.
Howard pointed out that the Dakota Access Pipeline was rerouted away from Bismarck, North Dakota—home to white residents worried about water safety—only to be redirected through Standing Rock Sioux territory, where it sparked months of Indigenous resistance.
“So Indigenous peoples should have that same right to say no,” she said. “And in fact, it’s entrenched and it’s protected in these international instruments like the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.”
A Roadmap for Consent—Drawn in Maya Territory
In southern Belize, Cristina Coc—a Q’eqchi’ Mayan community leader and spokesperson for the Mayan Leaders Alliance—has been working for more than a decade to build a path to consent.
In 2014, the Maya created their own consent framework in response to a proposed carbon offset project on ancestral land in the Toledo District. It was grounded in Mayan values and traditional law—not Canadian case law or state consultation guides.
“There is no way that Indigenous Peoples can have an effective and responsive FPIC protocol without their own Indigenous systems of governance, representation, and decision making,” Coc says. “It would simply become a checklist for the government and businesses to say: We did it, we can now continue business as usual.”
The government didn’t accept it right away. But it had to engage with it. It was the only functional protocol in place, and it had something no top-down process ever could: legitimacy from within.
A decade earlier, the Maya had been unified in saying no to oil development. But by the time the oil company returned, the political climate had shifted. Economic pressures were mounting. Resistance didn’t come as easily.
“People were listening to promises of jobs,” Coc said.
So they offered a different response—not surrender, not protest, but process. “So we said to them, instead of just saying, no, let us exercise this consent process. Let us see what it’ll amount to and if it amounts to a benefit-sharing agreement that serves your priorities, that serves your needs, then you can go ahead and say ‘yes.’ And if it doesn’t, then you can go ahead and own the decision to say ‘No.’”
The community reviewed the proposed agreement. It didn’t take long for people to recognize that the jobs on offer were mostly low-skill, short-term positions—“just to cut the seismic lines,” Coc said. There would be no long-term, high-paying roles. No transformation.
“In the end, the communities themselves were convinced that in fact the jobs were the least of the considerations. What they were most concerned about was the impacts that it would have on their lands and resources.”
Negotiations shifted. Environmental protection, grievance mechanisms—these became the central issues. Through that process, people saw what real consent looked like: not a checkbox, but a choice.
Still, even as the communities asserted their authority, Coc says the government began to slip back into old habits— attempting to speak on behalf of the oil companies.
“What we saw was the government then started to attempt to negotiate for the companies. And we asked them the question: your job is not to negotiate for the company, your job is to protect our right to self-determination.”
The goal was never to reject development entirely. One village—Santa Ana—did finally sign a benefit-sharing agreement. And it was done on their terms.
“Free, prior and informed consent has become normalized on Maya territory,” Coc said. “With communities now having experience and capacity negotiating benefit-sharing agreements, previous redress mechanisms, compensation for land use, generating collective income managed by the community, and consistent with their values.”
What started as a rejection became a framework.
“The government now even agrees that what it thought it was doing to limit our rights actually became bottlenecks for them.”
A version of this story appeared on APTN News.
I fear that any indigenous people who say no to resource projects on their land will be branded as obstacles to Canadian economic sovereignty who must be ignored/overruled for the good of the country. Bill 5 in Ontario seems ready to railroad those in the Ring of Fire, so we will see how things play out soon enough.
Free, prior and informed consent. Or not consent.