麻豆传媒

SWEETGRASS FIRST NATION —  "It's hard to live in a community when people are so divided," says Virginia Favel of Sweetgrass First Nation.

One might think the division Favel talks about is the one between First Nation people and non-First Nation people. But it's not.

Favel says there are too many people in her community who "do things only to please themselves."

She says, "We live in a divided community."

There is a fracture within First Nation communities Favel attributes to an imbalance of power.

She sees the people she calls "grass roots," of which she is one, as having been relegated to obscurity.

The grass roots people of a First Nation, in Favel's view, are those whose families were the original inhabitants of their reserves, residing there as a direct result of that family being signatory to a treaty.

Sixty-four-year-old Favel is treaty on both the paternal and maternal sides of her family.

Favel says many of the people on Sweetgrass, known as Strike Him on the Back until 1883, came from other areas. Some weren't even Cree, she says, yet they have an influence and power over grass roots families.

"Seventy or 80 years ago when people came to visit, they ended up staying," she says, because "if they were there on Treaty Day, the agents would just include them on the band list."

Now, to acclaim her standing as a member of one of Sweetgrass reserve's founding families, Favel is planning to legally change her surname to name of her great-grandfather - translated as Medicine Child. The Roman orthography will probably result in a spelling of "Machawasis."

She says her family has been consulted and they are in support of the idea.

Being treaty is important to Favel and her sense of her place in this world. But it is not something the government officially recognizes anymore, and, indeed, never really did. The year Treaty 6 was signed was the same year the federal government passed the Indian Act of 1876, which lumped all First Nation people together, whether they had signed treaty or not.

"I'm treaty, but they call me status," says Favel.

Favel believes First Nation people are missing an important point to do with the treaties her people signed.

"When I listen to an FSIN chief talking about treaties, the first thing he talks about is the Canadian constitution," says Favel. "He never talks about the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. He doesn't use that; you hardly hear anybody mention it."

The Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples was adopted by the General Assembly of the United Nations on Sept. 13, 2007, while a majority of 144 states in voting in favour. Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United States, all with similar colonial histories, voted against it.

Those four holdouts had problems with the broad language of several of the articles, especially to do with land disputes and indigenous rights to natural resources. But by 2010, they had all "accepted" the declaration in one way or another.

Canada's official statement said, "While Canada's concerns regarding the text of the declaration remain, we have endorsed this aspirational document because it has the potential to contribute positively to the advancement of indigenous rights around the world."

Canada's continued worries about the language were reflected in the statement that, "Although the declaration does not reflect customary international law nor change Canadian laws, in endorsing the declaration, Canada reaffirms its commitment to build on a positive and productive relationship with First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples to improve the well-being of Aboriginal Canadians, based on our shared history, respect and a desire to move forward together."

Canadian law and the constitution always come up in talks about aboriginal rights, says Favel, but she believes the UN declaration supersedes the constitution and that treaties are international law.

"I always say, little did [Stephen] Harper know he gave us the best armour of all, but nobody's using it," says Favel. "I don't know what to think sometimes," she adds in frustration.

Favel's kitchen table is often piled high with documents such as the UN declaration, the First Nations Financial Transparency Act of 2013 and other pieces of legislation or policy. These are sources of research in her activism.

She would like to see her people put these documents to better use on the national and international level.

But she would also like to see her people empowered to achieve accountability on a band level.

"My number one concern has always been why young people, newborn to 16, these kids do not get anything at all, just the family allowance. Their heads are counted," she says, "but where is that money?"

She adds, "This is the thing I always want them to explain to me in detail. If they have it on paper, then they should let us know, so I can understand where the money's going."

Favel says she hasn't been able to get answers.

"When I ask questions, my concerns, they'll say I'm being political," she says. "It's not politics when you ask about your money, where is it going, what's being done with it, how come this is not here, how come this is not done? That's not politics, but that's what they call it."

She says, "I'm not only concerned about treaties, I am concerned about the conditions of the reserve."

Favel lives in a four-bedroom house. She has five grown children, 18 grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. Family members stay with her off and on, often about 10, sometimes 14 or 15. They drink bottled water because their water tank hasn't been cleaned in 15 years.

For many years, a permanent resident was her granddaughter Shayna Lee Favel. Born in 1984, she suffered from Friedrich's Ataxia, a rare condition that had her confined to a wheelchair. Her grandmother cared for her, including lifting her in and out of her chair from bed and bath. Getting help or respite through the band office was frustrating.

Three years ago, her granddaughter passed away after a massive stroke related to her condition. Now Favel is looking after her granddaughter's daughter.

"I've looked after a lot of people and I'm not even finished. I'm not even done," says Favel. "That's always been my calling. If it wasn't I'd be out there somewhere. I would have been living a different life, but that has always been my main purpose - to raise my children and grandchildren and keep a home."

Even though looking after her granddaughter had been physically exhausting, the loss of her granddaughter was traumatic.

"I couldn't enjoy anything for a long time," says Favel.

"After she passed away, I thought, 'What am I going to do now?' I was so used to our routine, and all of a sudden it was gone."

Everyone goes through that when they lose a loved one, says Favel.

"The pain can be so excruciating. I couldn't do much, I would start to do something, then sit down, and do something else."

Having Shayna's daughter to look after helped, she says. She eventually told herself, "I have to get my act together, and I have other children to look after."

Favel says she has always felt caring for family was her priority. It's integral to her belief as an activist that First Nation children have been let down by the system, their leadership and often their parents.

Like many First Nation parents, Favel was a drinker. She quit cold turkey in 1995 when she came back to Sweetgrass after living six years in Alberta.

"It was heavy drinking," she says, "but I had my kids, I was still taking care of my family."

Children are suffering partly because of "the residential school thing," says Favel. Many survivors, or their children, are now leaders, and "they treat the people they way they were treated in school."

Where's the common sense, she asks.

"These residential school survivors, they haven't healed," says Favel. "There was money sent here for them to have workshops and get together and talk and start healing."

But nothing's really changed, she says.

"There are so many people on our reserve that drink and do drugs, because there's nothing for them," says Favel. "They've been stripped of their values."

Favel says, if they are doing something for the kids, it's not reaching the children at all.

"Some of the elders, they want money to go and talk to the children Sure, they are given tobacco and cigarettes, but they are also given a cheque."

She also questions the necessity for leaders and elders to travel as often as they do.

"They get paid to go from here, then they get paid at the other end, too," she says.

Favel is not alone in her concerns, she says, but other people are not prepared to be vocal.

"They say, 'you say it. I don't want to say it.'"

A lot of people have given up, she says. They just say never mind.

"Ke-yam, never mind."

Favel says, "I'm not like that. I'm going to say something."