Canada’s diamond mines and the infrastructure that supports them sit in caribou country. By Michael Ganley

In January, near the end of a public hearing in the small Dene village of Lutselk’e, NWT, a 28-year-old mother-of-three took the microphone and addressed the assembled crowd with a trembling voice: “If I could give my opinion to the world, go on City TV and say ‘I’m Gloria Enzoe. I’m from Lutselk’e. You may not know me, I may not be popular, but I’m here’, then I’d tell them that if we don’t protect our animals, our birds, our water, our land, then it’s all going to be spoiled. We’re not going to have anywhere to go. We’ll have mining on all sides and be stuck in the middle, with nowhere to go and with pollution coming towards us.”

It was an emotional ending to two long days of hearings held by the Mackenzie Valley Environmental Impact Review Board. The matter on the agenda was an application by a uranium exploration company to do some drilling northeast of Lutselk’e, in Akaitcho Dene territory.

The note struck by Enzoe, and by the dozens of other Lutselk’e residents from a 12-year-old boy to a 97-year-old elder, is not reserved for uranium exploration. It’s the same for gold, lead, zinc – and certainly diamonds: We don’t want any more mining on our land. Not now. Not while there is already so much mining going on, not while the environment suffers and we don’t benefit, not while nobody can say why caribou populations are dropping.

Diamonds have been mined from the NWT land for almost a decade now. They have brought wealth and opportunity for many and are a key driver of the Northern economy. But there has always been opposition, too, particularly from aboriginal residents: concerns about environmental degradation, the loss of culture and a way of life. Clearly, with three diamond mines in operation in the North and two more in development, the supporters have been getting their way.

These days, however, with a decade of experience to draw on and with the precipitous drop in caribou populations to galvanize them, opponents are gathering momentum. With the diamond mines squarely in caribou ranges, the industry has found itself embroiled in the debate. De Beers’s Gahcho Kué mine – in Akaitcho Dene territory like the proposed uranium exploration – has been one target in the crosshairs.

It can be difficult for southern Canadians to appreciate the importance of caribou to people of the North. The long-legged ungulates roam the top of Canada in massive herds from the Yukon to Labrador. They have, from time immemorial, been the primary source of food, clothing and tools for aboriginal groups across the North. They are entwined with aboriginal mythologies and cultures.

Even today, many Dene rely on caribou to provide them with their daily protein.
So when caribou populations plummet, it is a crisis. Wolves. Climate change. Natural fluctuations. Mineral exploration and development. Over-hunting. All have had the accusing finger pointed at them. But the truth is nobody really knows the cause. More accurately, nobody knows how the various causes relate to one another.

What is known is that herds across the North have been in decline for a decade. Across the board, it’s estimated that the number of barrenground caribou has declined somewhere between 40 and 85 percent since 1996. In an effort to understand the problem better, the government of the NWT spent $1-million monitoring the herds in 2006. Preliminary results show herds declining across the board.

In the meantime, many people advocate caution. So when De Beers and its project partners Mountain Province Diamonds and Camphor Ventures filed permit applications in late November for Gahcho Kué, the project immediately became a lightning rod for public concern. “People are in a position now where they feel they can say no,” says Monica Krieger, manager of lands and environment for the Lutselk’e band. “Does it help to throw something else in there when we don’t have all the answers? Not if you’re trying to take a cautious stance.”

It’s not that Gahcho Kué is a particularly big project. The three main kimberlite pipes to be mined are expected to produce 2.1 million tonnes of ore and three million carats per year over a 15-year mine life. It’s small compared to Ekati or Diavik. But it’s the one on the table now, it’s in the caribou range, and it’s in an area with tremendous cultural and historical significance for the Dene, so it’s getting the attention. (Diavik has also experienced opposition recently to its application to extend its water licence for another 15 years – another sign of a reversing tide of public opinion.)

Public concern about the impact of the Gahcho Kué mine resulted in the MVEIRB sending the project for an environmental impact review. De Beers has challenged the decision in court, maintaining that the board did not adequately conduct the environmental assessment before sending the matter to the generally more time-consuming and onerous Environmental Impact Review (EIR).

But the board maintains that public concern is growing and is sufficient to require the EIR. In particular, the board has heard concerns about the caribou and the cumulative impact of mining in the Slave geological province. The fact is, all the diamond mines in Canada’s North, much of the exploration, and of course the ice roads, are in a fairly concentrated area.

“The winter ice road is one place where you can really say that the impacts actually are adding up,” says MVEIRB environmental assessment officer Martin Haefele. “Each mine adds to the amount of traffic on the road.” Outfitter Tom Faess, who has been leading tours into the Thelon Game Sanctuary for more than 30 years, says it is now impossible to fly over the Slave province and not be within sight of at least three human structures.

The matter is, of course, far from black and white. The same week that Gloria Enzoe was making her plea to the MVEIRB Lutselk’e was celebrating the opening of its first ever indoor hockey rink. Situated at one end of the village of 400, the rink was paid for largely by money that the community receives from the diamond mines under impact and benefit agreements.

There are also employment opportunities. One of Enzoe’s brothers works at Gahcho Kué, and two others have seasonal jobs building the ice roads to the mines. So feelings around the Enzoe dinner table, let alone around town, are not unanimous. But Gloria remains adamant. “We already have enough mines,” she says. “If Gahcho Kué goes up they’ll just be destroying another piece of land that the caribou walk on. If it doesn’t go up there’ll be nothing in their path.”

Other Dene communities, particularly those in and around Yellowknife and on Highway 3 headed south, have had greater opportunity to benefit from the mines by forming joint ventures and bidding on contracts. Lutselk’e, a more traditional community and without road access, has been unable to take advantage of some of these opportunities.

But concern about caribou cuts across all divisions. And Dene tradition is to let the community closest to a development make up their mind, and then for other communities to follow their lead. If that holds true for the Gahcho Kué project, it seems unlikely that the project will get the support of the Dene of the NWT.

Promises of jobs and wealth creation don’t carry the weight they did 10 years ago, when diamond mining began. Those in the communities who want to work at a mine or in one of the support services are doing so. Others have tried it and found the shifts of two weeks in and two weeks out too hard on family life. And with a booming economy, there are other opportunities for those in the North who want a job.

The government of the NWT has taken some steps to reduce pressure on the caribou herds. It has cut the quota for non-aboriginal Northerners by more than half and that for commercial outfitters by a third. Amazingly, there is even talk of limiting the aboriginal hunt, which is far larger than the others (estimated to be around 20,000), and to date has been off-limits to regulation.

If such a previously unimaginable step might be taken – and it has support even from some aboriginal residents – then is it just possible that a major project such as Gahcho Kué could be stopped?

Monica Krieger likes to think so. “It will definitely be a battle because these big projects have major economic benefits for the NWT as a whole that you have to argue against. But if the whole community united on this and we get the media involved I think it’s a possibility especially because of all the caribou concerns.

“People are starting to think ‘we need to be a bit more careful here and try to figure out what’s going on, not just throw more and more big projects into the range.’”