‘Where are the girls? Where are the girls?!’
Relative recalls blaze that claimed 4 lives — and the inadequate fire services that put First Nations residents in peril every day
MISHKEEGOGAMANG, ONT.— Maxine Skunk woke up to pounding on her front door.
Down the street, her sister’s home was engulfed in flames.
“Where are the girls?” Skunk screamed as she raced toward the fire. Neighbours ran around the home, crying. “Where are the girls?!” Her two nieces, 6-year-old Serenity and 3-year-old Kiralyn, were trapped inside the burning house.
Both died that night in February 2014, along with Skunk’s sister Joyce Wassaykeesic, 30, and her nephew Nathan, 21.
A Star investigation has revealed that at least 173 people — 25 of them children — have died in house fires since the federal government stopped tracking the death toll in 2010.
Government data obtained by the Star shows that even when communities have firefighting equipment, it is often in poor operational condition.
The Indigenous and Northern Affairs ministry says only two per cent of First Nations are “underserviced” — defined as a site with no fire prevention — and six per cent have “limited services” — some prevention and limited protection, like a fire station or truck — when it comes to fire safety.
“I’d see little flames come out of the chimney, hitting the ceiling. That happened a lot.” MAXINE SKUNK WHOSE SISTER AND TWO NIECES DIED IN A HOUSE FIRE THAT INVESTIGATORS TOLD HER LIKELY STARTED AT THE WOOD STOVE
A Star analysis of raw government data, obtained through a freedom of information request, shows however that although the general condition of firefighting assets in First Nations is rated an average 6.8 out of 10, the operational effectiveness of those resources is an average of 2.8 out of 10.
In a 2014 government survey, which included responses from 78 First Nations, about 4 per cent said their fire halls were “non-operational.” Nearly 20 per cent described fire hall operations and maintenance conditions as “poor.” More than half said their water supply couldn’t be relied on to fight fires because the pressure was inadequate.
A 2011 report on factors influencing insurance coverage in First Nations, prepared for Indigenous Affairs by Compliance Strategy Group, showed that of the 550 communities surveyed, 43 per cent have little to no fire protection. Twenty-six per cent have no fire protection services at all. Of the 56 per cent that do have adequate fire services, about half have agreements with nearby municipalities to provide fire protection.
“This is one of the systemic outcomes of government cutting funding,” said Ontario regional Chief Isadore Day of the Serpent River First Nation.
“If your fire truck is operating but has a substandard maintenance schedule, and you’re not able to afford a tire . . . it leaves your equipment inoperable.”
Skunk witnessed the effects of inadequate fire services the day her sister died three years ago.
The community’s lone firefighter arrived with the only fire truck within 30 minutes, but there was nothing that could be done to save the home or the four people inside.
The night before, the truck was used at a separate fire. No one was killed in that blaze, but because the community didn’t have a heated facility to store the truck, the water inside froze. By the time the fire broke out at the Wassaykeesics’ home a day later, the truck had been rendered useless.
The house itself was dilapidated — “an icebox,” Skunk recalled — heated by an old wood stove with a rusted chimney. Nathan would often sleep by the stove, replenishing it every few hours to keep the house from freezing. There was no smoke detector or fire extinguisher in the home.
Investigators said the cause of the fire was “undetermined” because there was more than one possible cause. Skunk said fire officials told her the fire had probably started at the wood stove.
“I’d see little flames come out of the chimney, hitting the ceiling,” Skunk recalled. “That happened a lot.”
In addition to proper equipment to fight fires, First Nations leaders have been calling for years for mandatory adherence to building and fire codes, which would help ensure people are sleeping in safe houses.
They also want a First Nations fire marshal’s office that would be responsible for collecting data on fatal house fires and overseeing fire inspections, investigations, education and outreach in First Nations communities.
In a letter to her predecessor in 2013, Carolyn Bennett, then Liberal critic for Indigenous Affairs, called fires on First Nations reserves a “public safety crisis” and urged the ministry to implement the long- sought recommendations.
After more than a year in power, the Liberals have not enacted any of the recommendations from the 2013 letter.
Down the road from Skunk’s home, Donald Spade watched his 2-yearold son, Minaateh, playing near the family’s wood stove. Cold wind blew in through the door, which hung crookedly in its frame.
The house, shared by two families, has no reliable electricity. The kitchen sink won’t drain because the pipes keep freezing.
“Yeah, I worry about it when I go to sleep,” Spade said. “If it gets too hot, something might light up. This stuff right here might light up,” he said, pointing to the stacked fire wood, paper and boxes piled near the stove.
“At night, we just let it burn down and then light it up again in the morning,” he said.
But, like the Wassaykeesic home before the fire, that only works if the weather co-operates. When the temperature drops to -30 C or colder, Spade has no choice but to stay awake and keep the fire going all night. It produces so much smoke the home’s only smoke alarm rings incessantly. He took the battery out because it wouldn’t stop going off.
Mishkeegogamang still doesn’t have a fire hall to store its fire truck. Instead, the truck sits next to a bulldozer and other heavy equipment in the local public works garage.
Chief Connie Gray-McKay said the reserve got the truck after a 2008 fire destroyed a home where seven people lived. No one died, but two local residents received the Governor General Medal of Bravery for running into the home and saving a 13year-old boy. There is just one hydrant in the community.
The federal government committed $27 million for fire prevention services last year. The money is doled out based on the size of each First Nation, an average of about $43,000 per community.
Shawn Jackson, an Indigenous Affairs spokesman, pointed to $255 million over two years in government funding from the 2016 budget. Along with fire protection, that money is earmarked for everything from roads and bridges to energy systems, disaster infrastructure and broadband Internet connectivity.
The whole $255 million represents only 8 per cent of the total need in First Nations communities, which the government itself has pegged at $1.7 billion.
As an order paper response shows, by December 2016, nine months after the funding was announced, the department hadn’t decided what to spend it on.
In the meantime, First Nations are trying to take matters into their own hands and raise awareness about fire prevention.
A few minutes down the winding road from where Maxine Skunk’s sister died, students at the Mishkeegogamang Ojibwa First Nation school are gathered for a presentation about fire safety. They squeal and fidget in their seats as they are told what to do when they hear the alarm go off on a smoke detector.
After a 2016 fire in Pikangikum that killed nine, the Nishawbe Aski Nation, a group that represents 49 First Nations in northern Ontario, launched Amber’s Fire Safety Campaign, named after the 6-month old who died in Pikangikum.
One of the major focuses of the campaign is reaching students in schools and teaching them the importance of fire prevention and safety.
“Teaching kids at this age to have fire safety in the back of their minds is so important,” said Larry Laviolette, a retired fire prevention officer who is helping with the campaign. “Hit the kids first and by the time they’re adults, we’ll have a standard developed in their minds. Hopefully it will one day mean better buildings, and safer homes in the community.”
Today, Skunk is in charge of housing in Mishkeegogamang and works in a small office beside the building where the fire truck is now stored.
Sitting on her desk is a framed picture of her and a smiling Kiralyn peaking from behind her shoulder. Kiralyn was always asking for hugs, and loved snuggling in Skunk’s lap.
“I have this here as a motivator for me,” Skunk said, pointing to the picture. “I’m trying to improve housing, trying to do my best, trying to avoid something like that happening again.” With research by Astrid Lange