Struggling to keep the peace
20 years after the shooting of Dudley George, policing issues still vex Ontario natives
Justice Sidney Linden couldn’t have been more clear. “There is no reason why residents of First Nations in Ontario should have lowerquality policing than nonaboriginal Ontarians do,” he wrote in the final report of a two-year inquiry into the fatal police shooting of unarmed native protester Dudley George at Ipperwash Provincial Park.
George’s death on Sept. 6, 1995, followed a summer of rising tension as Stony Point natives put increasing pressure on the federal government to return land taken from them decades earlier.
Some of them occupied the park on Sept. 4, less than three months after Mike Harris, toting a tough-on-crime agenda, was sworn in as Ontario’s premier.
George, 38, was shot by Ken Deane, an Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) sniper, during a confrontation outside the park.
But it would take eight more years, and a change of government, before an inquiry was called.
When Linden released his final report in 2007, eight of the more than 100 recommendations dealt with on-reserve police forces.
But now, as George’s family and supporters plan a powwow at the former park to honour him 20 years after his death, little if anything has changed for on-reserve First Nation police services across Canada.
No one knows if a police department at Kettle & Stony Point with more resources would have prevented the clash between native protesters and the OPP the night George died, but someone who was there can speculate.
“They brought in a whole bunch of cops who didn’t even know the people,” said George’s sister, Carolyn. “They shouldn’t be in there making decisions based on their lack of knowledge.”
Carolyn George and her brother Pierre took Dudley to hospital. Tears still stream down her face at the memory.
In his report, Linden summed up the effect of not having a well-equipped community police force on reserves.
“The comparative lack of capital and operational funding for First Nation police services has significant consequences in a number of areas, including their ability to recruit and retain qualified police officers, respond to occupations and protests, provide professional, efficient police services, train and support their officers, and meet even basic capital and infrastructure requirements,” the judge wrote.
Little has changed, say leaders of area First Nations.
“It’s still the same. Our officers are trained, educated in the same colleges as Ontario OPP officers are, but our officers … get less pay for doing the same job,” said Chief Tom Bressette of the Kettle & Stony Point First Nation.
“It is not an essential service. When major crimes occur, the OPP is called. It’s not fair and it’s not right.”
Seven officers police Kettle Point & Stony Point. It has a population of 2,000 that swells to about 5,000 in the summer, Bressette said.
That’s the same number of officers as 2007, the year the Ipperwash report came out.
The challenge of First Nations’ policing is most pronounced in remote communities, where the lack of funding and resources is compounded by other societal issues and isolation.
But the gap between the way native and non-native communities are policed is apparent around London, Ont., as well, area chiefs say.
“It’s definitely frustrating,” said Sheri Doxtator, chief of the Oneida Nation of the Thames. “The OPP have a certain standard. We want to be at that standard.”
Officers hired by First Nations are paid less — a first-class constable starts at about $77,000, compared with the $94,000 earned by an OPP officer at the same level.
Four officers serve Oneida’s estimated population of 2,030. That’s not enough to have 24-hour policing.
“We don’t have the infrastructure here. We can’t and do not house a police station with a holding cell. You’ll need a gun safe, a holding cell, special encrypted Internet access,” Doxtator said. “We’ve never been able to have two officers on duty at the same time.”
Oneida and Chippewas of the Thames First Nation have joined together to have officers patrol both communities in pairs.
Though Doxtator said she appreciates efforts the OPP has made to build relationships with First Nations, the benefits of having familiar faces on the local police force can’t be understated.
“We find that young people are being charged (by OPP) with offences they normally would not be charged with if our constables were involved. Then we get into the whole justice system,” she said. “If it is something chronic, obviously they deal with it, but we know our communities.”
First Nations’ police forces operate under a 1991 policing program agreement.
Since then several communities have joined together to create “self-administered” police forces. Though they still work with the OPP on major investigations, they have their own boards and manage themselves. Among them is the Anishnabek Police Service, which has 16 communities in its jurisdiction, including Kettle & Stony Point. This year’s police budget is just less than $11 million, as was last year’s.
“There needs to be a move by the government to give the designation of essential services to our officers. If there’s no funding, we have no police officers,” Bressette said.
Neither the provincial minister of community safety and correctional services, nor the federal minister of public safety were available for comment.
The federal government has much to answer for, said lawyer Murray Klippenstein, who represented the George family at the Ipperwash inquiry.
“First Nations’ police services because of funding constraints are often treated as second-class police forces, and that leads to problems including the kind that happened to Ipperwash,” he said.
“They are treated by the federal government like a program … where funding is subject to budget cuts and political whims.”
In the wake of the Ipperwash inquiry, the OPP has chosen restraint and negotiation rather than confrontation when native protesters have occupied land, marched or blocked railway tracks.
“We’ve come a long way since Ipperwash,” said Staff Sgt. Alana Jones of the OPP Aboriginal Policing Bureau. “A highlight for the OPP is we certainly took those recommendations to heart.”
She referred to cultural and sensitivity training and new frameworks that require officers to focus on communication in brewing situations.
“It’s a great approach and about mutual respect and respecting everyone’s opinions and differences. The goal is to try to develop strategies that minimize the use of force. It serves everybody if we can resolve the conflict before it turns into a major event.”
Across Ontario the force has 151 “provincial liaison team” officers who are involved in the communities.
“I know some (First Nations’ forces) would like more funding, but that’s not really an option when we have the services and can provide them at no cost,” Jones said.
Several chiefs and First Nation officers say relationships with the OPP are better than they were 20 years ago. Bressette acknowledges he needs their policing help, especially in the summer. But things don’t always go smoothly in a community still healing.
“Every time a (cruiser) drives through here, I get a call, ‘What’s the OPP doing here?’ ” he said. “Healing is still a problem. The friction, the stories about who did what … it’s still eating at people.”
The sweet smell of fry bread rushes out onto the porch, as Carolyn George swings open her front door on Stony Point and welcomes her unexpected visitors without much of an introduction at all.
It’s the first time her fry bread has ever turned out right, George says, making room at her kitchen table by pushing aside a bright white, pink and green quilt she’s been working on.
She needs to get the bread out of her system before next weekend’s powwow, so she can save herself for the fried pickerel that’s sure to be part of the event.
It’s an important one. The powwow is being held to honour her brother and those who stood with him 20 years ago. It is a celebration. The occupation led her here. Home. In an army barrack for now, but on her native land. But it is a time to grieve and this time of year is always difficult.
“Do you ever get used to losing someone?” she asked, the tears springing to her eyes.
“It’s hard, because we do have to talk about it right now. I was real close to Dudley.”
Before the event, she’s been doing a lot of explaining to her grandchildren about the circumstances surrounding her brother’s death.
“They’re having a hard time understanding why cops would be shooting at you. It’s like, ‘Why’d they kill my uncle?’ ”
The community built a memorial arbour for Dudley George at the spot where he was shot.
When Carolyn George visits, she usually sticks a lit cigarette in the ground among the traditional tobacco ties left by mourners.
“I know my brother, he’d want his tobacco lit,” she said, laughing, her eyes wet with tears.
We find that young people are being charged (by the Ontario Provincial Police) with offences they normally would not be charged with if our constables were involved.
SHERI DOXTATOR
CHIEF OF THE ONEIDA NATION OF THE THAMES