Drew Anderson

Regina Noel and her son, Greg, at Black Bear Crossing. 'I’m going to stand by my mom until they help her,' says Greg. 'Because no one else will'

They say Black Bear Crossing is almost empty now, and the former military barracks certainly looks that way. Many doorways and windows at the Tsuu T’ina housing complex are boarded up. Others yawn open. To the southwest, trees on the reserve are awash in rich autumn colour: golds, yellows and reds. Still further, the Rocky Mountains rise above the horizon, painted pink by morning sunlight.

There’s a cold beauty to the early October scene where the eastern border of the Tsuu T’ina Nation reserve touches Calgary’s city limits at 37th St. S.W. The silence is disturbed only by the dull roar of traffic on nearby Glenmore Trail. The scratch of a dry leaf on pavement. A dog’s yip.

For Tsuu T’ina elder Regina Noel, this is home. Her unit looks as dilapidated as the rest from a distance; the light blue paint above her doorway is badly chipped. But the tall flowers that flank her front door hint at the neatness and warmth inside. Her hardwood-floored living room is decorated with native art, family photographs and several elder awards recognizing the former teacher’s contributions to the Tsuu T’ina community. On the wall by the stairway, countless lines and names document the heights of her 11 grandchildren and 23 great-grandchildren. “This is my place,” she says. At 69, Noel has a face carved with deep lines from years of both laughter and sorrow. “My family are here, and this is where I want to die and be buried.”

There’s one problem: her home is slated to be demolished, along with the rest of the 180-some units at Black Bear Crossing. Two years have passed since the band evacuated the complex after Health Canada declared it “unfit for human habitation” because of asbestos, and the band ultimately decided to level the old military married quarters and leave green space in its stead. If the demolition goes ahead, housing on the Tsuu T’ina reserve for the band’s 1,400-plus members will be nearly halved from 412 units to 231 units, according to Indian and Northern Affairs Canada.

Noel, however, stands in the way, along with two other elders still holding out in the complex, siblings Fred Fraser and Florence Peshee. While the three all consider themselves Tsuu T’ina, none of them are on the band’s membership list. Noel was born and raised on the reserve but lost her band membership when she married a Sioux man in 1956. “I had to sign a paper saying I’m married off,” she says.

Almost 30 years later, the Canadian government passed Bill C-31, a set of amendments to the Indian Act that restored Indian status to aboriginal women who’d lost it through marriage. Bill C-31 was meant to bring the Indian Act in line with the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and while it restored Indian status for women who “married out,” it didn’t restore band membership to women who lost theirs by marrying men from another band. “They recognize me on paper,” says Noel. “Gave me a paper saying I’m a Tsuu T’ina. But they won’t recognize me as a band member, as ‘on the list.’ That’s what it’s all about. On the list.”

That list is important because the band has arranged transitional housing for ex-Black Bear Crossing Tsuu T’ina members through an agreement with the federal government. Members are being put up in Calgary apartments and condos. Those not on the list, meanwhile, are left to find their own housing in Calgary’s competitive rental market. “We’re all on low incomes,” says Fraser, 64. “We have no place to go.”

Fraser and Peshee aren’t on the list because their mother married a Métis man before 1985. Her status and band membership were restored by Bill C-31, but the bill stopped membership from being automatically passed to her children. “It was wrong what happened to me, and it was wrong what happened to my mom because we’re women,” says Peshee, 74. She was also born and raised on the reserve, and one of her sons and a grandson is now living with her at Black Bear Crossing.

In early September, the Tsuu T’ina band announced it wanted everyone out of the complex by the end of the month. The deadline’s passed. It’s October 3 and these three still remain. Now the band has applied to have them evicted and each elder has been served with an order to appear in court October 15.

They all plan to stay put. “I’m not moving,” Noel says calmly. Her son, Greg Noel, isn’t on the band list either, but says the band offered to find him a place in the city if he’d get his mother out of Black Bear Crossing — “extortion,” he says. Instead, he’s chosen to keep living with Regina at Black Bear Crossing. “I’m going to stand by my mom until they help her,” says Greg, 40. “Because no one else will.”

THE FIRST NOEL

“Natives take over army homes,” declared the Calgary Herald on the morning of August 18, 1998. The military had disbanded CFB Calgary the year prior, leaving behind 3,200 hectares of reserve land it had leased from the Tsuu T’ina for more than 80 years. With the army gone, Harvey Barracks sat empty, and one of Regina’s sons decided to move in with his young family. “There’s nothing for housing on the reserve,” Chico Noel told the Herald as he settled into his unit at 3806 Liri Avenue S.W.

More than 10 years later, 38-year-old Chico sits in his Bridlewood rental condo and rolls a cigarette as he recalls the early days of Black Bear Crossing. “I was the mayor,” he grins. “Everything was cool. Copacetic.” The band, however, was concerned about the safety of the site.

A decorated hatchet in Chico’s living room tells part of the story. He found the axehead in the 1990s while working on a crew that scoured the military lease site for unexploded bombs. After Chico moved into the barracks, the band expressed worry that there could be explosives beneath the buildings. Chico and the others were ordered to leave.

The Department of National Defence (DND), which was still leasing the site at the time, echoed the eviction order. By week’s end, however, DND agreed to hand over control of the houses to the Tsuu T’ina Nation. The department said there were no safety worries. “If we had thoughts that asbestos was a worry five years ago, we would have cleaned it up five years ago,” the DND’s director general of realty policy told the Herald.

More Tsuu T’ina families started moving into the complex. “It was in good shape,” recalls Regina of the early days. “Lawns were nice. It was clean.” Soon Harvey Barracks was full of not only Tsuu T’ina, but aboriginal people from other bands as well. By June of the following year, the Tsuu T’ina band said most Black Bear Crossing residents were from off the reserve.

Packed with some 800 residents, Black Bear Crossing eventually got its own Tsuu T’ina police office. “The whole place got wide open,” says Regina. “And then when problems started happening — drinking, drugs, fighting — [chief and council] didn’t know how to deal with it.” While some units were kept up on the inside, the old barracks eventually fell into disrepair.

Problems aside, the elders have good memories of life at Black Bear Crossing. “It was a nice area,” says Peshee, who moved into her unit in 1998. “You could hear people singing outside and barbecuing and doing funny things. Kids skipping or dancing…. In the other area, there’d be somebody else singing Indian songs, pow-wow songs.” Kids would come to Peshee’s door for candy and call her “grandma.”

Chico remembers it as a tight-knit community. “If we got bored, all we had to do was walk next door or down the road — say ‘hey guys, what up?’ That’s what I really enjoyed about Black Bear Crossing. All the family was around.”

That suddenly changed in October 2006 when the band evacuated Black Bear Crossing and the federal government put homeless residents in city hotels. The band had previously arranged testing of three units and asbestos was discovered in the linoleum and other parts of the homes. Because the units are so similar, Health Canada told the band the likelihood of asbestos being present in all units was “very high” and recommended the complex be evacuated.

Some Black Bear Crossing residents were skeptical about the evacuation’s timing. “All of a sudden — asbestos! But the government is not going to put their people in harm’s way with asbestos,” says Chico, referring to the military staff who formerly lived in Black Bear Crossing. “They want to keep their people healthy…. That was just a gameplay to get us out of there.” At the time of the evacuation, the band was building its new Grey Eagle Casino about a kilometre north of the complex, and Chico and others suspect the evacuation had more to do with cleaning up the area than safety concerns.

After the evacuation, Fraser ended up at the Carriage House Inn on Macleod Trail. Regina and Peshee, however, chose to stay in their homes against the band’s instruction. “They’d give me one hotel room,” says Peshee. “I said no. ‘What about my dogs?’ I said. ‘And my cats? And my grandson?’ He was going to school at the time. It interrupted so many lives, that move…. It was sad.” Black Bear Crossing soon went silent. “It was so quiet, and the sound of kids was gone,” recalls Regina.

After the hotel money ran out, Indian and Northern Affairs Canada paid for the band to rent condos and apartments for ex-Black Bear Crossing Tsuu T’ina members. (All told, the federal government spent over $5 million to temporarily house Black Bear Crossing evacuees.) Non-members were left on their own and many, including Fraser, went back to Black Bear Crossing. “We asked the band to help us, and they said no,” says Fraser.

The band fixed up some of the Black Bear Crossing units and in December 2006, several were declared livable by Health Canada. In an affidavit for the latest eviction application, band special projects manager Peter Manywounds says the units were meant to be “occupied for a short time.” He says the band has offered to pay moving costs for Fraser and Peshee but “cannot provide them with ongoing accommodation expenses.” Manywounds’s affidavit says the band has offered Regina several houses she could live in to assist “her transition away from the BBC unit.” Regina, however, says she hasn’t been offered anything. “No one’s approached me,” she says.

The band declined to comment for this story. “We aren’t at liberty to speak about [Black Bear Crossing] because there’s a court action underway,” says spokesperson Morten Paulsen. When asked if he could give basic information on housing available on the reserve, Paulsen said the band couldn’t do any “housing related” interviews.

Chico is confident his mother will stand her ground. “I wish I could stand guns with her,” he says. “I was the first one in. I wanted to be the last one to leave.” Because his father was a Tsuu T’ina, Chico got voted onto the band list. However, he and his girlfriend Marlene Heavenfire have no love for the suburban neighbourhood they moved into in early October. They’d rather be on the reserve. “I want to go back to BBC,” says Heavenfire. Adds Chico: “We’re all reservation kids. Living in Calgary — it’s not us.” City life, he says, feels too enclosed. “I’m a country bumpkin. I’m a rez man. I’m a First Nation. I don’t dwell right in Calgary. This ain’t my dwellin’.”

As for Regina, her thoughts often wander to the young Tsuu T’ina families now living in Calgary. “It’s like destroying the family unity when they scatter them out into the city,” she says, her eyes wetting with tears. “Who do they have to turn to?” As one of the few people on Earth who can still fluently speak the Tsuu T’ina language, Regina’s also concerned about its future. “What’s going to happen when the language dies?” she wonders aloud. “You’d think they would try and preserve it by keeping us all together.”

ON THE LIST

On the morning of October 15, Regina rides the No. 18 Lakeview city bus to the new Calgary courthouse. The beadwork pouch hanging from her neck triggers the metal detector at the entrance, and she laughs about it afterwards as she waits for the others to show up, her eyes pinching into merry moon-shaped crescents. By 10 a.m., the three elders are sitting in a Court of Queen’s Bench courtroom on the 10th floor as a judge works through a long list of applications. The elders watch the proceedings quietly.

The courtroom isn’t a new environment for these three. When the band tried to evict non-Tsuu T’ina people who had returned to Black Bear Crossing in December 2006, a group of residents, including Peshee, took the band to court, arguing they have a constitutional right to live on the reserve land. After a back-and-forth legal battle, the Alberta Court of Appeal eventually ruled in February that Peshee, Fraser and Noel — plus 26 other people living in Black Bear Crossing — couldn’t be evicted until the constitutional issues surrounding their membership were resolved. The decision meant the three elders and others could stay in their homes. The ruling, however, also said that if the band were to demolish the entire complex and evict everyone without distinction, the band “might be able to obtain possession of all the units” without having the constitutional issues resolved first.

In his affidavit, Manywounds says the long-term plan for Black Bear Crossing has been to demolish the complex “and build other housing units elsewhere” on the reserve. That housing, however, hasn’t been built as quickly as expected, and in early September, Manywounds updated the Black Bear Crossing holdouts on the situation in a letter. “The first 25 homes in the North Sarcee development will be ready for occupancy in early September 2008,” wrote Manywounds, adding that the homes are being “allocated based on a priority points system that included many BBC evacuees from 2006.” A second set of 33 units, he continued, have been approved and another 70 units should be built sometime in 2009. The new houses, Manywounds wrote, will “ensure the priorities for the 300-plus members on the housing list are met.”

After more than two hours, Justice Jo’Anne Strekaf finally reaches the Tsuu T’ina application. “The demolition is scheduled to begin as soon as possible,” Tsuu T’ina lawyer John McDougall tells Strekaf. He points to section 20 of the Indian Act, which says no Indian can own reserve land without consent of the chief and council. The elders, however, don’t have a lawyer present, and Patty Fraser, Peshee’s and Fred Fraser’s niece, pushes for an adjournment until they can find one. Fred jumps in, making a plea of his own. “We need time,” he says. Later, he adds: “We were willing to move as long as we were treated equally.” Ultimately, Strekaf reschedules the hearing for two days later: Friday, October 17.

Afterwards, outside the courtroom, Patty fills reporters in on the significance of the case. “We’ve been fighting Bill C-31 for over 20 years,” she says. Patty says that as children of a woman who regained status and band membership through Bill C-31, her Uncle Fred and Aunt Florence have a right to membership. She adds there are many women on the reserve who are similarly being excluded. “[They’re] sitting back and being quiet because they’re afraid they’re going to get kicked out,” says Patty.

The band, meanwhile, has been fighting Bill C-31 in court as well, but for different reasons. Together with the Sawridge First Nation of northern Alberta, the Tsuu T’ina have argued for over 20 years that the amended Indian Act is unconstitutional because it restricts First Nations’ ability to determine membership. The bands have no problem with Indian status being restored to women who lost it before 1985, but they contend band membership for these women should be left to the band’s discretion.

In court, the bands have argued it’s their tradition to exclude women from membership when they marry outside the band — the women follow the men. Many aboriginal women, however, challenge that interpretation of history. “This is the way it is for white people’s culture — it’s the men that rule,” says Vera Marie Crowchild, Regina’s sister. “But in our culture, it was never like that.”

Patricia Monture, a sociology professor at the University of Saskatchewan who researches aboriginal justice, agrees exclusion isn’t rooted in tradition. “Traditional practice is we’re more about inclusion,” says Monture, who is Mohawk. “Where do the kids come from? They come from women. How can you dispose of the women and still think you’re going to have a community? It defies logic.”

FIGHTING FOR FAIRNESS

Sitting at her paper-strewn kitchen table with the TV on in the background, Peshee laughs when telling the story of her living room’s pink walls. After she’d moved into her unit, she said to one of her sons that everything looked great — except she’d like pink walls in her living room. She meant it as a joke, but it turned into reality. “When I came home one day, that’s what my son was doing. Painting the walls ice pink,” she says as her white kittens roll around playfully on the floor.

Thanks to legal delays, Peshee and the other elders can enjoy at least a couple more weeks in their homes. They found a lawyer by October 17, and eventually the band requested an adjournment to review more evidence submitted by the elders. Laura Snowball, the elders’ lawyer, told Justice Strekaf she wanted to be sure the elders’ utilities would remain connected until the application is resolved. “We don’t want a passive eviction,” said Snowball in court October 20. Tsuu T’ina lawyer John McDougall countered that the band could “do whatever they wish” because it owns and controls the complex, but Strekaf ultimately said the status quo must be maintained at Black Bear Crossing — and she said that means the utilities stay on.

In the days following, the situation at Black Bear Crossing is more tense. A concrete barrier partially blocks the street entrance to the complex, and a chain is draped across the street. Regina suspects the barricades are there to prevent ex-Black Bear Crossing Tsuu T’ina members from returning to their homes when the rent runs out. “They’re going to need a place to come back to,” she says.

The band has also put security staff at the complex, but they don’t make the Black Bear Crossing holdouts feel very secure. Greg sports a cut over his left eye — dealt to him, he says, by security staff in the early morning of Saturday, October 18. “They were really drunk,” says Greg, adding the two men were smashing windows in the complex when he confronted them and asked them “what the hell” they were doing.

Tensions escalate further on October 28 when the Tsuu T’ina police show up to disconnect power to the units. Regina shoos them away from her unit and informs them of Strekaf’s instruction, but Fraser and Peshee are downtown at the courthouse filing affidavits and power to their units is cut. The elders also say the band has completely blockaded the entrances to Black Bear Crossing at times, and they’re concerned about what would happen if they needed an ambulance. “It’s getting crazy,” says Patty Fraser. “They’re taking the law into their own hands.”

The morning of October 29, Noel, Peshee and Patty are in court again to ask for the power to be turned back on. That’s exactly what Justice Scott Brooker orders. “You can’t do indirectly what you can’t do directly,” he tells McDougall, adding that the band can’t blockade the entrances either. Snowball tells the court she eventually plans to apply for a contempt of court order.

Outside the courthouse, Manywounds makes a brief statement to reporters regarding the judge’s instructions. “When the court order is done, we’ll present that to chief and council and they’ll deal with it,” he says. “Secondly, we’re in a situation where Black Bear Crossing is unsafe habitation. That’s one of the reasons we’re demolishing it…. There’s a court process that will be followed through, and we’ll see where that ends up.” He refuses to answer reporters’ questions and walks away.

As they await their next court appearance in early November, the Black Bear holdouts note that band elections for chief and council are happening soon: November 26. Regina’s nephew, Emmet Crowchild, is running for council and his campaign material emphasizes the need for fairness and honesty on the reserve. “There’s not a lot of fairness, as you can see with the situation with my aunt,” says Crowchild. “She’s a fluent Tsuu T’ina speaker. She should be back on the band list.”

The elders, meanwhile, all acknowledge that Black Bear Crossing can’t be around forever. “I can see it’s going to be demolished one of these days,” says Regina. “But what they should have done was have homes for everyone before they started moving and demolishing.” Regina, Peshee and Fraser are resolute: they’re going to stay at Black Bear Crossing for as long as possible. Regina has been told the bulldozers will run her right over if she stays. “I said, ‘Yeah? Go ahead. You can bury me here.’” And she laughs.