Chapter Thirteen
…at the Band Council meeting…
“This is alarming.” The words were baldly stated.
Stocky and resolute, Washington George sat impassively, waiting for a response from the other band council members. Predictably, it was Roberta Wright who spoke first.
“That’s exactly how I would characterize it.” She agreed, in the cool monotone she affected at meetings.
University educated, he always felt she was laughing at him behind a mask of civility.
There was no question she wanted his job someday. Frankly, he couldn’t think of a better successor. That wasn’t up to him, and he would never tell her such a thing. Let her enjoy the hot-seat of power, reconciling impossibly contradictory demands from all quarters. And there were never enough resources to accomplish even the half of it.
She might get used to none of the credit and all of the responsibility, and sometimes much of the blame.
“This report says eighty percent of the emissions are considered toxic.” Sammy James spoke next. “The sixteen and a half million tonnes of greenhouse gases are almost an afterthought.”
All the councilors sat there troubled, silent and reflective. The Nassagewaya reserve was surrounded on all four sides. Across the St. Irene River American industries were contributing their fair share. Directly across the river, the Quebec-based Agro-Nation Polymers Group released a high amount of toluene on a yearly basis from their facility in Port Nugent, Michigan.
“We can hope that these results will act as a catalyst, on all the levels of government.” Wright sighed. “How they can continue to ignore this stuff?”
“There is a mountain of circumstantial evidence.” This was Cleve Walks-in-the-Shadows.
Cleve was a slender middle-aged man, with glasses and a moustache.
A former member of the Canadian Forces, he always held himself with great dignity. Twenty years in bomb disposal had given him a steady nerve and some personal reserve. A hard man to get to know, but once he let you in…he was the best friend. The very best.
“Toxic exposure has resulted in a variety of health issues in this community.” Washington noted for the group. “These include miscarriages, cancer and asthma, to name a few.”
His own diabetes was the result of the huge environmental changes his people had faced in the last five hundred years.
“Heavy metals and pesticides in the environment do affect the brain.” He took a long, deep breath, looking around at all of them. “Oddly enough, we’re not alone. There’s this Brubaker character who’s in the paper all the time. And there are other leaders. The media have been pretty active. Sixteen percent of all the emissions in the province, in a province of over thirteen million people, and a county and city combined of maybe a hundred and twenty-five thousand people.”
He thought for a moment.
“It’s hard to believe all that filth and toxicity aren’t causing some harm.” Washington could only conclude.
“It would require quite a stretch of the imagination, ah, to think otherwise.” So Roberta agreed, rather wryly.
The chief saw that a small group of individuals lobbying for a grant to set up a drop-in center were ready to go now. The center would counsel substance abuse victims and survivors of other forms of abuse. Sometimes his heart just ached. Too little, too late. But it was best to stay positive. He had conquered his own anger many years ago, and knew he was a better person for it. It was the grief that wouldn’t go away.
“Will you give me a resolution for the next meeting?” George’s eyes sought out Roberta’s.
“Yes.”
Cleve and the others indicated approval.
He nodded thanks. She would come up with something fairly diplomatic, yet condemn the government’s inaction on the pollution issue.
“All set then?” He asked the chairman of the community centre committee.
Receiving a nod, he moved on.
“Next item on the agenda…”
Ready to go on the next delegation...
END
Images. Louis.
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