Why did it come to this?

The House of Commons’ unanimous support of a New Democrat motion aimed at addressing the crisis of on-reserve child-welfare services is a development both welcome and strange.

Welcome because the need is clear and urgent, and the government’s slow response a persistent source of shame. And strange because, in supporting the motion last week, the Liberal government essentially — and rightly — agreed that it has failed to meet its moral and legal obligations to First Nations communities. If it agrees, why let it come to this?

The issue came to light in January when, after a years-long inquiry, the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal ruled that Ottawa discriminates against indigenous children living on reserves. Communities most in need of mental-health counselling and substance abuse treatment, early childhood education and other services, were provided the least, the tribunal found. At the time, the Trudeau government welcomed the decision and vowed to take action. In its first budget, it earmarked $635 million to address the problem.

But the investment was not quite as advertised. Despite the urgency of the crisis and the tribunal’s legally binding order to address it, the money is to be doled out over five years, with the largest amount coming after the next election in 2019. The $71 million provided in “immediate relief” was nowhere near enough to cover the shortfall and so, in April, the human rights tribunal issued a second compliance order. In October, it determined that Ottawa still had not done what was required and issued a third.

The newly approved motion was tabled by New Democrat MP Charlie Angus, whose riding encompasses the Attawapiskat First Nation, where an epidemic of youth suicide attempts has spurred the poverty-stricken community to declare a state of emergency.

Angus called on the government to invest $155 million immediately and to start applying Jordan’s Principle, which says no child on reserve should be denied services due to jurisdictional disputes, as happens all too often.

In October, the Liberals seemed to oppose the motion. The government’s newly appointed special representative on child welfare, Cynthia-Wesley Esquimax, said the $155-million sum was arbitrary and the government would not “take money and throw it up in the air like confetti and hope it lands where it needs.” She proposed instead a process of consultation with the provinces.

There’s nothing wrong with a government taking time and consulting its partners to ensure it gets the most out of its investment. But as the Human Rights Tribunal has repeatedly reminded the Trudeau government, there is an urgent child-welfare crisis happening right now on reserves; indigenous children have already waited too long. It has been a year since the Liberals took office, and 10 months since the tribunal issued its order, yet almost nothing has been done. Last year, the department of Indigenous and Northern Affairs spent $900 million less than was allocated to it.

The motion didn’t call on the government to throw money like confetti, but simply to fulfil its minimal obligation under the law.

As for the proposed investment? It was based on the government’s own estimates of the pressing need. Predictably, the confetti metaphor didn’t play well and, on Monday, Indigenous and Northern Affairs Minister Carolyn Bennett tweeted that her party would support the motion.

It’s good the Liberals came on board, but we shouldn’t congratulate them too vigorously. Of course the Trudeau government was right to support the motion. Just as it was right to promise a new, more respectful relationship with indigenous peoples and to endorse the recommendations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. But if Trudeau means the things he says, why did it take an opposition motion to force his hand?

If the government is going to make good on its historic commitment to reconciliation, it will not be enough simply to rely on its current recipe: promise respect, provide hope, turn the page, repeat. In the absence of action, symbols soon sour and, as we’ve seen in Attawapiskat, hope starts to fade.