Diamond Mining in Canada’s
Northwest Territories: A Colonial
Continuity
Rebecca Hall
Department of Political Science, York University, Toronto, ON, Canada;
[email protected]
Abstract: The Canadian diamond industry has been lauded as a new approach to
resource extraction, one whose institutions are characterized by a greater attention to
Indigenous rights and the environment. However, an institutional analysis obfuscates the
terrain of unequal relations that is the context for the Canadian diamond boom; an analysis
of the effectiveness of social and environmental policies in relation to the extraction of
diamonds in the Canadian North suggests that there is an intent on the part of those
instigating this extraction (that is, the Canadian state, Canadian capitalist interests and
international capitalist interests) to protect the Northern environment and to provide
economic benefits to Northern Indigenous communities. This piece argues, instead, that
this assumption is erroneous and that the Northern mining industry is part of Canada’s
project of internal colonization of Indigenous communities, a project that has intensified
and expanded in the neoliberal era.
Keywords: Arctic, indigenous, diamond mining, colonialism, Northern Canada,
accumulation by dispossession
They have been captivating people for centuries. In 1953, movie star Marilyn Munroe
celebrated them in song. In 1971, Agent 007 James Bond pursued criminals attempting
to smuggle them. Now they are setting the economy of the Northwest Territories on
fire. They are diamonds (Bruna Santarossa, International Trade Division, Statistics Canada,
2004).
Ever since Canada’s first diamond mine opened in the Northwest Territories (NWT)
in 1998, diamond mining has been lauded by State and business interests as a
golden goose, both for the Northern economy, and Canadian international trade.
The praise is diverse: there are the profit-driven analyses outlining the rare quality
of Canadian diamonds and their niche in a market with an abundance of lowerquality gems tainted by the high-profile revelation of blood diamonds. There are
the macro analyses of the GDP boom and the proliferation of jobs in the NWT.
And then there are the micro-level, environmental and institutional analysts, who,
to varying shades and through varying means, distinguish this new industry from
the mining of yesteryear in its relative environmental and social responsibility.
Their characterization of the current political climate is generally one of greater
government regulation and public concern, the latter a rather surprising suggestion
given that the weight of neoliberal hegemony has proved so great as to silence the
noisy opposition to northern resource development evidenced through the Inquiry
into the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline of 30 years past.1
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Instead of looking to diamond mining in the NWT as an example of a new, more
responsible mining regime, this piece approaches it as part of the broader landscape
of resource extraction in the North, representing both a neoliberal continuity of
internal colonization of Indigenous peoples and an example of David Harvey’s
“accumulation by dispossession”. An institutional analysis on the effectiveness of
the procedures and agreements surrounding the diamond industry in the North
obfuscates the terrain of unequal power relations upon which these procedures
and agreements have taken place. Indeed, an analysis of the effectiveness of
social and environmental policies in relation to the extraction of diamonds in the
Canadian North suggests that there is an intent on the part of those instigating
this extraction (that is, the Canadian state and Canadian and international capitalist
interests) to protect the Northern environment and to provide economic benefits
to Northern Aboriginal communities. I argue that this assumption is erroneous and,
instead, that the Northern mining industry is part of Canada’s project of internal
colonization in pursuit of capitalist accumulation; a project that, rather than being
softened by environmental and social concerns, has intensified and expanded in the
neoliberal era.
I begin with a brief overview of the contemporary history of diamond extraction
in the NWT. Next, I review analyses interested in the possibility of a new, more
“responsible”, approach to mining reflected in the northern diamond industry.
I then draw upon David Harvey’s theory of “accumulation by dispossession” to
characterize the Canadian state’s ongoing colonization of indigenous populations,
both inside and outside national borders. Finally, I outline three misconceptions
about the diamond industry that can be challenged by a theorization of
accumulation by dispossession: first, that the Canadian state is a neutral arbitrator
between business and community interests; second, that diamond mining in
the North is a benevolent project of development; and, third, that capitalist
development is the only alternative for Indigenous communities.
Diamonds and the Northwest Territories
The land and people north of the 60th parallel—making up approximately
40% of Canada’s land mass and 0.3% of its population—have endured a long
history of white settler-dominated resource extraction, from the fur trade to the
Klondike gold rush to the decades of debate over the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline.
However, what distinguishes the modern period (post World War II) from earlier
engagements is the depth and persistence of state and private capitalist penetration.
For example, in his discussion of past and present development, Mel Watkins
(1977) provides an important distinction between the fur trade—which did not
necessitate the proletarianization of Indigenous populations and instead relied upon
Indigenous modes of subsistence—and later mineral production, which required the
exploitation of both land and people, and thus proved to be far more destructive
for Indigenous populations (87–88). As the combined result of resource extraction
and ongoing state policy, Richard DiFrancesco characterizes the past 60 years as a
period wherein the Canadian government “transformed” the NWT from primarily
a nomadic hunting and gathering society to one based in permanent communities
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and largely engaged with the wage economy (115), “transformed” being a delicate
euphemism for the multiple and aggressive strategies of internal colonization.
The Canadian North is generally defined as the three Territories north of the 60th
parallel: the Yukon, the NWT and Nunavut.2 This piece focuses specifically on the
NWT, as all but one diamond mine in Canada is located in this territory.3 There
are just over 40,000 people living in the NWT, approximately 50% of whom are
Indigenous. Most of the Indigenous population lives in the 32 smaller communities
of the Territory (NWT Bureau of Statistics 2010), while most of the non-Indigenous
population lives in the Territory’s capital, Yellowknife.4 Capitalism in the NWT exists
in a complicated relationship with a variety of different economic systems and
structures, with people carving out livelihoods through a mixture of participation in
the formal capitalist economy, informal economy [selling and trading handicrafts,
like carvings and beadwork, and clothing, including the Dene parkas, the Amauti
(Eastern Inuit parka), and a variety of winter boots and moccasins] and traditional
subsistence living (specifically, through hunting, trapping, and fishing). While
the NWT GDP per capita, at 76,000 CAD, is twice as high as the Canadian
average [Government of NWT (GNWT) 2011]—inflated by a high cost of living
and a concentration of high-paying government and mining jobs—their economy
is characterized by its volatile production cycles5 and by the largest disparities
between rich and poor in the country, disparities that fall along Indigenous/nonIndigenous lines. Cost of living is extremely high in the NWT, especially in the small
communities, making paying for essentials on a low income or social assistance a
very difficult endeavor.
Resource extraction has been central to the North’s colonial history, and the
promise of diamonds has long been in the field of vision for prospectors coming
up from the South; however, it was not until 1991 that diamonds were officially
discovered in the NWT. I write “officially discovered” because Indigenous peoples
have been mining for centuries—indeed, copper mining is how the Yellowknives
Dene got their name (Bielawski 2003)—and it is very possible that Indigenous
peoples “discovered” diamonds, but chose not to mine them because of the
difficulty and their lack of practical purpose. In 1991 Chuck Fipke, a prospector,
found diamonds of a quality and quantity worth pursuing and partnered with Broken
Hill Proprietary (BHP), an Australian resource giant with over 40,000 employees
working in 25 countries. Their “discovery” triggered, “what has come to be known
as the biggest staking rush the world has ever seen—bigger than the California and
Klondike gold rushes, bigger than the rush to South Africa for diamonds” (Bielawski
2003:29).
On 14 October 1998, after a fast-forwarded “consultation process, BHP opened up
Ekati Diamond Mines.6 Diavik Diamond Mine, just southeast of Ekati and the larger
diamond producer of the two, opened in 2003 (GNWT 2010). It is 60% owned
by Rio Tinto, an international mining company out of Australia and the UK and
operating in more than 40 countries, and 40% owned by Harry Winston Diamond
Corporation. Snap Lake Mine, owned by De Beers Canada, is the NWT’s newest
mine, and De Beers’ first diamond mine outside of Africa. Opened on 25 July 2008
south of both Diavik and Ekati, it is the first entirely underground diamond mine
in Canada (NWT and Nunavut Chamber of Mines 2008:7). All three mines rely on
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seasonal ice roads and airplanes for transportation of employees and goods. In 2008,
the three mines combined produced almost 14 million carats of diamonds, valued at
$2.08 billion (GNWT 2010:7). That same year, the three mines provided 2500 direct
jobs, a significant number in a territory of 40,000. 28% of those employed were
Northern Aboriginals (GNWT 2010). Though these data are 4 years old, they are
the most recently published data on number of people with jobs. The mines publish
annual data on employment, but the numbers are reported in person-years, rather
than in actual people employed. Because of the precarious and inconsistent nature
of employment [overtime in some moments, cancelled shifts in others, 2-week on/
2-week off work for over 80% of mine employees (NWT Bureau of Statistics 2010)
and many short-term contracts], this method of reporting obfuscates the actual
nature of the work, focusing instead simply on the dollars going from the diamond
companies to northern employees.
Beyond these three operating mines, it is important not to underestimate the
impact, environmentally and politically, of ongoing diamond exploration projects.
Diamond exploration projects are the prospecting ventures that determine whether
or not a particular location should be mined. Beyond their physical intrusiveness,
exploration projects are of major importance in mapping out the ways in which
rights over land and resources are handed over to corporations: indeed, the very
act of exploration gives these businesses third party status in negotiations. Laforce,
Lapointe and Lebuis (2009) characterize the Canadian mining as operating through
the principle of free mining, which they define:
as a series of measures that permit and even privilege free access to ownership and
exploitation of mineral resources. In most contemporary societies influenced by Western
law, the notion of free mining includes not only the possibility of freely acquiring
ownership rights of the mineral resources of the territory, but also provides guarantees
concerning the right to engage in exploration to seek out these resources, and, in cases
of discovery, right to extract them (55).
This principle, they admit, prioritizes private business interests over any other (59).
It effectively puts the companies on an equal legal footing to the Indigenous
communities (to say nothing of their economic or strategic footing), particularly
for the northern Indigenous communities who have unsettled land claims (which
will be discussed below), and, as such, do not have legal rights to their land.
Instead, the land is treated as property of the Federal government, while Indigenous
communities only have consultation status, in formal terms. Thus, in this situation,
both the Indigenous community and the business are simply deemed interested
parties, the status afforded to Indigenous communities based on their unsettled
claim, and to the business based on their exploration, which can, rather simply, be
equated with calling “dibs” on a piece of land.
Although mineral exploration in the NWT dropped in 2008 as the financial crisis
hit (from $193.7 million in mineral exploration expenditures in 2007 to $147.7
million in 2008; NWT and Nunavut Chamber of Mines 2008:11), the number
of exploration projects remains high. Of particular note, De Beers Canada and
Mountain Province Diamonds have completed a feasibility study of the Gahcho Kue
Diamond Project, located in the southeastern part of the Slave Province, just north of
Great Slave Lake, predicting that the mine will produce over 50 million carats over an
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11-year period (Diamond Price Guide 2011). It is one of the largest potential
diamond mines currently under development in the world (NWT and Nunavut
Chamber of Mines 2008:12). At the same time, there are 16 other diamond
exploration projects underway, at varying earlier stages.
Responsible Extraction? Examining Regulation
and Governance
In the beginning years of the diamond industry, Richard DiFrancesco (2000)
argued that legislative and policy conditions must change in order for the
benefits of resource extraction to reach Aboriginal communities. This was not a
new argument: since the Berger inquiry of 1977, which advised the Canadian
government to stop progress on the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline until land claims
had been settled, allowing for Indigenous consultation and participation, there
has been attention to building northern institutions to enable more “responsible”
extraction. Today, Canada’s diamond industry is distinguished internationally
in its attention to community impact (Fitzpatrick 2007; Laforce, Lapointe and
Lebuis 2009); institutionalized, in particular, by impact benefit agreements (IBAs)
between diamond companies and affected Indigenous communities. Caine and
Krogman (2010:77) note that these IBAs are an important historical development,
representing an “opportunity for Aboriginal people to not only gain economically
from resource extraction but also affect the trajectory and scale of development”.
Because of these IBAs, and related institutional monitoring structures, it is suggested
that Canada is leading the world in developing avenues for more socially responsible
resource extraction (O’Faircheallaigh 2006).
As such, it is unsurprising that there is a great deal of analytical interest in these
institutions. Theorists have assessed these institutions, seeking to answer whether or
not this is indeed an era of “responsible development”. Patricia Fitzpatrick (2007)
answers in the affirmative in her procedural analysis of the first two diamond mines in
the North, arguing that “unlike in previous eras when it could count on government
and public support, the case of Canadian diamond mining illustrates the complexity
of new mineral development processes in an era marked by environmental concerns
and the entrance of new actors, like aboriginal groups, into the mineral policy
process” (93). She reviews the public participation in the development process
of both Diavik and Ekati; in particular, she argues that the new environmental
assessment regimes and environmental socioeconomic agreements between the
diamond companies and the GNWT are evidence of a new, “responsible” staples
economy.7
Laforce, Lapointe and Lebuis (2009) do not come to same optimistic conclusion,
though, they, too, engage with the transformative possibilities of new regulations
in the Canadian mining sector. In the context of diamond mining in the NWT,
the authors assess the potential of agreements between mining companies and
Aboriginal populations, generally formalized through IBAs. These are signed
between mining companies and Indigenous communities “in order to establish
formal relationships between them to reduce the predicted impact of a mine and to
secure economic benefit for affected communities” (65). Upon signing an IBA, an
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Indigenous group provides access to their land and official support to the resource
project (Caine and Krogman 2010). Economic benefits are generally written in these
agreements simply as targets for Northern Aboriginal employment. However, the
agreements are informal in the sense that their regulation is outside of state purview.
In observing the authorization processes of BHP Diamonds Inc’s Ekati diamond mine,
the authors argue that the community benefit of IBAs is negligible. The authors argue
that the four Aboriginal communities who entered negotiations on the Ekati mine
were treated as business partners, rather than the holders of rights of the territory
where the project was proposed (67). This approach helped negate the possibility of
their not agreeing to the mine.8 The authors conclude that free mining still presides
as the governing value of mining in Canada, and that “as a result of the asymmetry
of power relations that seems to still characterize the Canadian mining industry. . .
[Aboriginal] claims must be expressed as part of a process that clearly influences the
determination of which demands are receivable and which are not” (71).
Literature on new northern institutions can provide detailed, useful accounts of
changes in the resource extraction landscape in the NWT; however, it is ultimately
limited in its lack of meaningful engagement with colonialism, and the material
relations behind colonial ventures. The characterization of asymmetrical relations as
the result of institutional regimes ignores broader political and economic asymmetry;
specifically, it obfuscates the colonial nature of “negotiations” between the capitalist
class and Aboriginal communities who have spent the last 500 years defending
their lives against colonial assaults. Unlike Fitzpatrick, Laforce, Lapointe and Lebuis
acknowledge the colonization of indigenous populations; however, they articulate
it as the “heritage of colonialism” as though colonialism is antiquated. Instead, I
argue that the development of the diamond industry can best be understood as a
collusion between the Canadian state, Canadian capitalist interests and international
capitalist interests in a colonial pursuit (with the state as an active player, rather than
arbitrator). To suggest that this asymmetry can be challenged simply through policy
or procedural change is to undermine, or even miss altogether, this context. The
following sections will develop and expand on this point, first theoretically and then
empirically.
Theorizing Canadian Colonialism
Colonial legacies and contemporary practices of disconnection, dependency and
dispossession have effectively confined Indigenous identities to state-sanctioned legal
and political definitional approaches. . .Such compartmentalization results in a “politics of
distraction” that diverts energies away from decolonizing and regenerating communities
and frames community relationships in state-centric terms (Alfred and Corntassel
2005:600).
Inequality in mining relationships does not stem simply from institutional structures,
or as the “natural”, albeit unfortunate, result of the progress of white-settler
Canadian development and wrong-headed, though perhaps well meaning, social
engagements with northern Aboriginal communities. I argue, instead, that colonial
capitalism is what fuels and shapes northern “development” and by using and
building on anticapitalist critiques we can contribute to a critical analysis of this
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process. In The New Imperialism (Harvey 2003), Harvey builds on Marx’s theory
of primitive accumulation—which entails “appropriation and co-optation of preexisting cultural and social achievements as well as confrontation and supercession”
(146)—for a theory of “accumulation by dispossession” (Harvey 2003, 2006, 2009).
Harvey argues that accumulation by dispossession is capitalism’s answer to its
inherent problem of overaccumulation. He writes:
Overaccumulation, recall, is a condition where surpluses of capital (perhaps accompanied
by surpluses of labour) lie idle with no profitable outlets in sight. The operative term
here, however, is the capital surplus. What accumulation by dispossession does is to
release a set of assets (including labour power) at very low (and in some instances
zero) cost. Overaccumulated capital can seize hold of such assets and immediately turn
them to profitable use. In the case of primitive accumulation as Marx described it, this
entailed taking land, say, enclosing it, and expelling a resident population to create a
landless proletariat, and then releasing the land into the privatized mainstream of capital
accumulation (2003:149).
Thus, colonialism, internal or external, provides what Harvey calls a “spatio-temporal
fix” (2006:439) to the inherent failings of capitalism; that is, since capitalism will
consistently run into crises of overaccumulation, it will—each time—need to find
outlets for this capital surplus. Geographical expansion and spatial reorganization
provide a temporary fix to this problem. It is central to this theory that the “fix” is a
temporary one, one that will succumb to the inherent contradictions of capitalism
that propelled it in the first place. As such, capitalism will continue to seek out
new “fixes” through violent dispossession, and, finally, through violent destruction
of capital (Harvey 2006). “Accumulation by dispossession” explains the drive for
what Harvey describes as the destruction of pre-capitalist economies and cultures
by capitalism (2006:416). Thus, to describe the relationship between Indigenous
communities and the capitalist interests that penetrate them as symbiotic in some
way is simply to miss the point: it is a parasitic imposition wherein the latter destroys
the other for its own self-preservation.9
What this approach enables is an understanding of the exploitation of Canadian
Indigenous peoples both as the particular processes of internal colonization—
and, thus, distinct from other processes of capitalist exploitation, particularly in
its spatial and racial orientation—and as a process that is necessitated by capitalist
exploitation. Thus colonialism cannot be understood as a particular policy choice
that can be counteracted by better institutions or different leaders. This argument
has been made by scholars like Luxemberg and Lenin in reaction to turn-of-thecentury imperialism and is made today by Indigenous scholars regarding their
own experiences of imperialism and colonialism. Indeed, just as Lenin stated that
if capitalism helped the poor it wouldn’t be capitalism (Lenin 1939 [1916]:63),
Howard Adams (1995) writes of internal colonization, “The important question
then becomes: Is a capitalist government willing to hand over sufficient resources in
Canada to give Native people genuine self-government, i.e. real self-determination
involving social justice and first class citizenship in Canada? The answer to this
question can only be ‘no.’ To allow for this would mean taking those resources out
of the hands of the rich and powerful class of people in Canada—and it is these
same people who run the government state in Ottawa” (151).
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While it is beyond the scope of this piece to engage with the parallels in much
detail, it is worth noting the international continuities of this process. Writing on
Canadian mining in Latin America, Todd Gordon and Jeffery Webber note that,
“at the centre of the mining industry is dispossession. Like other industries within
the natural resource sector, mining investment in most instances simply cannot
proceed without a community—often indigenous—being disposed of their land,
natural resources and livelihoods” (2008:67–68). And, as will be discussed below
in the case of Canada, this cannot be read as a concession by the government to
the corporate elite, or as weak government in Latin American or Canada. Indeed,
North, Clark and Patroni (2006) detail the ways in which Canadian corporations and
the Canadian government, particularly through its role in the IMF and the World
Bank and its “aggressive promotion of FTAs” (7), work together in this project of
dispossession.
Diamond Mining in the Northwest Territories:
A Colonial Pursuit
Working from this theoretical framework, in the remainder of this paper I address
three misconceptions about the diamond industry that can be challenged by a
theorization of accumulation by dispossession: first, that the Canadian state is a
neutral arbitrator between business and community interests; second, that diamond
mining in the North is a benevolent project of development; and, third, that
capitalist development is the only alternative for Indigenous communities.
The Canadian State is not a Neutral Arbitrator
We are a Northern Country. The true North is our destiny—for our explorers, for our
entrepreneurs, for our artists. To not embrace the promise of the true North, now, at the
dawn of its ascendency, would be to turn our backs on what it is to be Canadian (Prime
Minister Stephen Harper, August 2008, Inuvik, NWT; Canada 2009:3).
Implicit in naming diamond mining a project of ongoing colonization is the
refutation of the supposition that the Canadian state is a political arbitrator between
business and community. Instead, I argue that the diamond industry is an example
of a capitalist collusion between state and business, both domestic and international.
Here, I will outline the Federal government’s very pronounced interest in northern
diamond mining, demonstrating that their role has been far from neutral.
The GNWT was created simply as an Act of Parliament, and all of its current
rights and responsibilities are a result of discretionary measures by the Federal
government that can be revoked at any time. As such, the NWT does not have the
same jurisdiction over its resources as a Canadian province does, and the Federal
government is implicated both in the administration of the diamond mines and
in taxing the profits. Not surprisingly, given the real and potential profitability
of jurisdiction over northern resources, the Federal government has opted not to
devolve rights over land and resources to the Territory.10 Instead, Aboriginal Affairs
and Northern Development Canada (AANDC) is responsible for the administration
of mineral resources in the Territories through the Canadian Mining Regulations
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and the Territorial Lands Act (Santarossa 2004:6). AANDC estimates that over the
life of the three NWT mines, the Canadian government will generate “royalties
of $1.6 billion, federal business taxes of $2.6 billion, territorial business taxes of
$1.3 billion, and employee and other business income taxes of $4.7 billion”
(Santarossa 2004:6). This does not include the income tax generated from ancillary
industries and the other sectors mentioned above that have grown with the mines.
Thus, Canadian State analyses of the diamond industry prize it as an unspeakable
piece of good luck, providing 3% of Canada’s GDP, and the third largest source
of diamonds in the world (Byrd 2006; Santarossa 2004).11 The diamond industry
is characterized as catapulting the NWT, written as “underdeveloped” (which can
be read as insufficient capitalist penetration), into an era of prosperity. Craig Byrd
(2006), writing for Statistics Canada, notes that the NWT’s GDP increased at an
annual rate of 12.5%—three times the national average—from the first diamond
exports in 1999 to the end of 2005, compared with 1.7% in the pre-diamond
period. He notes the wealth of the diamond mines has spread to other sectors as
well, with retail sales increasing in the NWT at higher rates than the rest of the
country, and the manufacturing industry, which declined at an average annual
rate of 12.5% in the 5 years before the first diamond mine opened, increasing
at an average annual rate of 38% between 1999 and 2005 (the national average
at that time was 2.8% a year) (Byrd 2006:7–8). Bruna Santarossa (2004), also
writing for Statistics Canada, summarizes that, as a result of diamond mining, “the
Northwest Territories is flourishing both socially and economically with increases in
gross domestic product and in high-paying jobs” (2).
Unfortunately, it is difficult to access analysis of the socioeconomic impacts of
diamond mining on Indigenous communities that has not been conducted by the
State or by the diamond companies themselves because monitoring and evaluation
of this has been characterized by the same power inequalities that enable and justify
this project. In 2005, as local communities were attempting to build their own
monitoring projects of the diamond mines, the NWT implemented a governmentsponsored study of communities impacted by the mines, effectively squeezing out
both funding and human capacity for locally driven impact assessments. Elder Judy
Charlo asked in a Yellowknives Dene Working Group “Who is this research for? The
white people? Or is it for the Native people” (in Tsetta et al 2005:69).
Bolstered by their own “uncontested” analysis, then, the Federal and Territorial
government have worked together to support marketing of Canadian diamonds
internationally. The first in the world to do so, the GNWT issues Government
Certified Canadian Diamond (trademarked) certificates of authenticity to stones
that are mined, cut and polished in the NWT. BHP has jumped on the bandwagon,
establishing their own brand of Canadian diamonds, Aurias, and the CanadaMark,
a lasered hallmark to guarantee Canadian origin. Other Canadian branding includes
the Polar Bear and Polar Ice brand diamonds. The Canadian brand is meant to signify
the “purity” of the diamonds, both geologically and politically. This speaks, in part,
to Canadian diamond mines’ characterization as environmentally “clean mining”,
which, I would argue, may have more to do with what they are compared against—
gold mines in the NWT, for example, that have left 250,000 metric tonnes of arsenic
in the ground (Cizek 2003)—than the actual materiality of their impacts. Just as they
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have been lauded as environmentally responsible, diamond mines have also been
characterized as socially responsible. Canadian diamonds emerged on the world
market in the late 1990s, at the same moment that “conflict” or “blood” diamonds
became a concern in diamond marketing. Not surprisingly, given the competitive
advantage it offers, Canada has been a leading country in international initiatives
confronting “conflict diamonds”, including the Kimberley Process, an international
certification scheme launched in 2003 (Santarossa 2004:12). With a predictably
smug tone, the GNWT Diamond Industry Report of 2007 claims that, 2the popularity
of Canadian-origin branded diamonds has proven that all diamonds may appear to
be equal, but some are (sometimes) more equal than others, an encouraging lesson
for all those currently heading down the branding route” (GNWT 2007). To the
contrary, I argue that the political “purity” of Canadian diamonds is a fallacious and
cynical mischaracterization; Northern diamond mining is responsible for social and
economic destruction taking place in Indigenous communities across the NWT.12
Nevertheless, institutional analyses of Canadian diamond mining consistently and
effectively obscure the neocolonial nature of these projects of extraction.
Northern Diamond Mining is not a Project of Benevolence
In this section, I will outline a few particularities of the negotiation process preceding
mining and the mining projects themselves that give lie to the notion that northern
diamond mining is benevolent in intent, aiming to help Indigenous populations
better their situation. I should note that I’m not arguing the former: it would be
inaccurate to depict these projects as malevolent, with destruction as their purpose.
The point is that their purpose has nothing to do with Indigenous populations. It
is profit, capitalist accumulation at all cost, and the cost, in this case, is ongoing
exploitation and destruction of Indigenous communities.
In 1996, the NWT was facing a move to austerity as the Federal government
decreased transfer payments for Indigenous social services (DiFrancesco 2000),
pushing Indigenous groups to fill the financial void by engaging with so-called
business opportunities. The business opportunity that presented itself was, of course,
diamonds, and it was only 2 years later that the first diamond mine was up
and running. It is inaccurate to simply characterize Indigenous agreements with
diamond companies as the result of marginalized groups choosing between a
rock (diamonds) and a hard place (no funding for services).13 Because, at the
time of diamond mine negotiations, many land claims in the NWT were not
settled—which means that there is a legal disagreement between the State and
Indigenous communities regarding the rights Indigenous communities hold to
land and resources—Indigenous communities were not recognized by the State
as bearing any official rights to these land or resources, and thus, they entered
into diamond negotiations with no state-recognized claim; only with the obscure
and malleable title of “stakeholder”. Thus, negotiations around the diamond mines
proceeded with Indigenous communities being treated as “interested parties” rather
than as First Peoples bearing rights to land they have been living on and with since
long before the Canadian nation was even an idea; and in a bureaucratic landscape
rife with inequalities, structural and strategic. In her narrative of the Lutsel’ke
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community—one of the five Indigenous communities who entered into negotiations
with BHP—Ellen Bielawski provides a snapshot of the pervasive inequalities that
characterized the negotiations leading to the opening of the NWT’s first diamond
mine, BHP’s Ekati.14
For no stated reason, the Canadian government imposed a 60-day deadline
for negotiations between BHP, the five Indigenous communities affected by the
diamond mine, and the GNWT. If Indigenous communities did not attend the
meetings that were scheduled frequently, and usually in Yellowknife, the territorial
capital (an expensive and difficult flight for many of the communities concerned),
they were recorded by the Federal government to have “no concerns” (Bielawski
2003:57). This unnecessary 60-day deadline squeezed Indigenous communities into
a near impossible negotiating position, made all the more difficult as the first 30 days
fell in August, a time when many Northern Indigenous communities are relatively
empty as their populations are fishing, trapping or attending major family gatherings
that tend to be scheduled in the (very limited) warmer months. That the negotiations
began with this unnecessary and deeply frustrating imposition is just one example
of the fictional nature of “equal negotiations” between the Canadian state; the
resource giant, BHP; and, Indigenous communities with tiny populations and very
limited capacity, both financially and in Western-style negotiation procedures.
These communities are already stretched to meet the bureaucratic requirements
imposed on them by the Canadian state, so to somehow find people with the
linguistic and legal background to participate in these negotiations was a very
heavy burden. As these negotiations proceeded, Indigenous communities learned
that diamond mining would happen with or without their consent, and, by
giving their consent, the communities could receive a slightly-less-inadequate
economic reward. Thus, this “consent” was granted by all five Indigenous
groups.
The end result of these “negotiations” has been a process of diamond exploration
and mining, unhampered by the social and environmental agreements made with
the GNWT and the Indigenous groups. In the next section, I will speak more
particularly to Aboriginal participation in the diamond mining industry: here I will
note two aspects of the resulting agreements that speak to the neocolonial nature
of this project. First, diamond business and the Territory both report on the impact
of diamond mining by separating the social impact and the environmental impact,
and Impact Benefit Agreements are not treated as environmental agreements (Caine
and Krogman 2010:78). This separation is an erroneous and tactical one, one
that ignores the reality of ongoing traditional economies in these communities.
Instead of looking at the disruption of the caribou herds, for example, as a
disruption of a livelihood, Indigenous environmental interests are framed through a
conservation mentality that ignores the distinct relationships and differential impacts
environmental degradation has on different populations and peoples. For example,
in their monitoring, both Diavik and Ekati report that mining has allowed for
more traditional activities, like hunting, because people have time to do so as they
are participating in shift work (GNWT 2010). This suggests that, at best, caribou
hunting is “cultural heritage” that is to be protected, or, at worst, that an Aboriginal
person’s caribou hunting can be equated with an INAC bureaucrat’s desire to go
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camping on pristine territory in their time off. Furthermore, there is a tangled irony
in asserting that diamond mining is providing Indigenous peoples with the shortterm ability to hunt while it is eroding the long-term possibilities of this form of
living. At this point, the long-term impact of the mines on the fragile caribou herds
is unknown, but already the roads and other mining infrastructure around the herds
have disturbed caribou migration patterns (Diamond 1998; Ganley 2007). Caribou
herds are central to the lives of many northern Indigenous populations. As Bielawski
writes:
[C]aribou still provide most of Lutselk’e’s meat. In winter when the caribou are within
the forest and the meat is fresh, Lutselk’e Dene eat two to three caribou meals per day;
in summer, when the caribou meat is frozen, fish and moose may be a larger part of the
diet. Still caribou meat, dried or frozen, is part of the daily diet. Caribou hides are still
made into exquisitely beaded jackets, gloves, shell bags, moccasins (2003:185).
Caribou herds are only one example of the northern social/environmental fabric
that is under attack by the diamond mines. Hunting, trapping and fishing all
remain central economic and social activities in most small northern Indigenous
communities. In the Dettah community, for example, which is located just outside of
Yellowknife, families continue to live from the land, “as indicated by the percentage
of people reporting hunting, fishing and trapping activities—43% in Dettah—along
with those who report eating country food [that is, locally hunted, trapped or
fished]—67.2% in Dettah (Bureau of Statistics 2003)” (Tsetta et al 2005:61). The
BHP mine alone has resulted in seven fish-bearing lakes to be lost permanently,
through the Orwellian-sounding “de-watering process2, the draining of lakes either
to mine the lake bottom or to create a reservoir in which to dump waste from
the mining process. While The Water Board, a local committee, ostensibly held the
responsibility for deciding whether or not mining companies are allowed to drain
lakes, the Federal government maintained jurisdiction over the fish in the water
(Bielawski 2003:73–75). This meant that the lakes were de-fished before even a
mirage of consultation took place, again, refuting the possibility that negotiations
are a misguided, but well-intentioned attempt at partnership, or responsible
development.
The loss of these lakes provides a good example of the way social/environmental
destruction is twisted into the discourse of the Canada state’s “charity” towards
Indigenous communities. In taking away this renewable source of subsistence and
pocketing the corporate compensation for themselves (as, according to their own
rules, the Crown owned the fish in these lakes), Canada’s Department of Fisheries
and Oceans announced that they would use the profits they accrued to provide
grants to Indigenous communities who wish to undertake environmental initiatives
(Bielawski 2003). Thus, after being deprived of the means of their subsistence,
Indigenous communities, whose resources are already stretched to the maximum,
are asked to compete for the “charity” of the State by writing proposals in a language
that is not their own to compete for small, short-term government grants. The offer
of “environmental” funding—in exchange for the permanent loss of just that—
points to the absurdity of the fragile bureaucratic veil covering the very violent,
destructive nature of the diamond mines.
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Indigenous “Participation”
Unlike previous mining projects, the three diamond operations are constrained by
socioeconomic agreements (SEAs) signed with the GNWT, which, working alongside
the IBAs between the Indigenous communities themselves, set targets for the
employment of northern residents (non-Aboriginal) and northern aboriginals. While
none of the diamond mines have attained the target outlined in their agreements of
40% Northern Aboriginal employment, the 28% Northern Aboriginal employment
is celebrated in State and company socioeconomic reporting (GNWT 2010). And,
indeed, the number of Aboriginal people employed by the three diamond mines is
significant, particularly as these diamond mines have infiltrated communities with
very limited wage-based employment, flying employees from the mines to their
communities (usually in 2-week-on, 2-week-off shift work). However, instead of
characterizing this significant impact on local economies as “development”, these
short-term jobs must be viewed through the broader socio-economic processes
of eroding traditional socio-economies in favour of mobilizing an Indigenous
proletariat.15 Accumulation by dispossession is not simply an accumulation of land
and resources: it is also an accumulation of labour power.
It is important to separate the argument that I am making from one that argues
that all Indigenous peoples or communities feel worse off as a result of the mines. Of
course, this is not the case. Neither am I simply arguing that it is the responsibility
of Indigenous communities to consistently reject capitalist development. Indeed,
it would be naı̈ve and presumptuous for me to proclaim that all Indigenous
communities in Northern Canada must reject capitalist development at all costs:
capitalism is relentlessly asserting itself around the globe, and how communities
respond can neither be generalized nor prescribed. What I am advocating, instead,
is an anti-capitalist challenge to the façade of benevolence.
The mining companies and the GNWT have, for example, embarked on joint
initiatives to train Aboriginal miners16 in skills that will, almost exclusively, not be
useful outside of the mining industry, and certainly not in skills that can be brought
back to their community. Furthermore, as Bielawski (2003) notes, most Indigenous
people who are working at the mines are people who were already trained in
some capacity and were working for their community. Thus, skilled workers are
being taken outside of their communities, undermining their capacity for their
own development. This problem manifests in less time and energy for training and
mentoring in traditional activities; as just one example, in a 2003 workshop on the
impact of diamond mining, representatives from the Yellowknives Dene expressed
concern that their language could be lost, as, with the advent of mining, less people
are training for and becoming language interpreters (Tsetta et al 2005:62).
Furthermore, an argument based on GDP or work-force participation ignores
shifting social and interpersonal dynamics in Indigenous communities. While, to my
knowledge, this also has not been undertaken on this particular subject17 (beyond
state and state-funded NGO analysis of initiatives and analysis around greater
employment of women in the mines), a gendered analysis of the impact of diamond
mining on Indigenous socioeconomies and their social reproduction would provide
insight into the limits of this “economic development”. As diamond mining is shift
work, it has resulted in precarious family units: in particular, single-parent homes
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and children being raised by grandparents (Tsetta et al 2005:60). Employment
in the diamond mines is vastly male dominated (in 2008, for example, Snap
Lake mine reported 18% women in the total workforce while Ekati Mine reported
14%; NWT and Nunavut Chamber of Mines 2008). Because social assistance and
social housing are determined based on the income of “families” (whether or
not the money earned actually goes back to the “family”, a major concern in
an industry characterized by off-shift partying, especially for the many Indigenous
workers who are forced to spend at least one night after their shift on layover
in Yellowknife), including common-law partners, diamond mining increases the
economic dependence women have on their partners, which, in a Territory with
rates of domestic violence five times higher than the national average, is a dynamic
that can have disastrous consequences. When the benefits of capitalism are judged
based on capitalist criteria, as these mines have been, it is no surprise that losses
and vulnerabilities, such as those outlined in this section, are undermined, or
missed altogether. Unfortunately, capitalism as the only alternative is the consistent
framework both of state and private analysis and action, and institutional analysis.
It is to this assumption that I turn in the final section.
Development need not be Capitalist
What the different institutionalist approaches share is a refusal to take non-capitalist
Indigenous economies and the colonization of them seriously, or, indeed, the
possibility that the answer to the question of capitalist development is “no”.
Capitalism is taken as both natural and good, and it is assumed that Indigenous
development means developing a capitalist economy. Rauna Kuokkanen (2011)
insightfully points to the naturalized assumption that there is no alternative to global
capitalism as a reason for the ignorance of traditional subsistence economies (and, I
would argue, in the case of Canada, many mixed economies). She writes that, “By
dismissing subsistence economies as backward and primitive, it is possible to devalue
them and make them invisible while at the same time to exploit them to subsidize
and uphold the process of capital accumulation” (227). If, hypothetically speaking,
equal negotiations were truly the goal of the Canadian state, there would have to be
the option for Indigenous communities to say no to resource extraction, to say no to
capitalist development, more broadly. This is not the case: as this piece has argued,
the development of capitalist accumulation, not the development of equality,
is the goal of diamond mining in the NWT. Accumulation by dispossession is
asserting itself, and whether the means is through what Adams (1995) calls “colonial
constitutionalism”—referring here to the constitutional and legal arrangements
that enable ongoing colonialism—or more overtly violent means, the project is
unrelenting and uncompromising. Institutional arrangements have indeed shifted
to give some well positioned people in some well positioned communities access to a
small amount of the profits derived from mining, as well as providing new avenues
for negotiation, monitoring and participation. However limited and problematic
these arrangements may be, their study is important insofar as they are one of
the frontlines of ongoing colonization, offering avenues both for capitalist colonial
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penetration and resistance to it. What institutional arrangements cannot veil is the
ongoing project of accumulation by dispossession: the control of land, labour and
resources by one process of production at the expense of another. As this piece
has argued, an institutional analysis separated from the colonial capitalist context
obfuscates the aggressive intent of these projects.
Most discussion about the diamond industry in the NWT does not look too far into
the future: with the longest estimated mine lives reaching only 30 years (and even
this, particularly since 2008, is probably a stretch), this is an extremely short-term
pursuit. It is possible that new diamond deposits will continue to be discovered,
that diamond companies will dig deeper, losing profit margin but gaining years,
prolonging the boom. Regardless, sooner or later, the boom will end, and the
diamond companies will abandon their infrastructure, just as all resource extraction
companies do, leaving behind a territory scarred with massive holes, roads that
have become useless, and waste deposits with unknown substances and unknown
consequences. This is certainly not the first time this has happened in the North, nor
will it be the last. And what will become of the people who have been so thoroughly
“developed”? The roads that have been built by mining companies and the State
do not connect communities to one another. They connect resource and regional
centres to the provinces underneath them. Much like the Mackenzie Pipeline, which
is likely to become the Next Big Thing of the North, the roads transport Northern
riches south, leaving Indigenous communities the option of agreeing to the forms
of “participation” that are offered to them, or simply watching as their land is
drained.
Acknowledgements
Sincere thanks to Greg Albo and Tyler Shipley for their insightful commentary and kind
encouragement. Thank you also to the editorial staff at Antipode and to the peer reviewers
for their thoughtful feedback.
Endnotes
1
In 1977, a report by Thomas Berger advised the Canadian government to stop progress
on the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline, a plan to transport natural gas 1700 km from the Beaufort
Sea across the fragile Arctic Tundra to Northern Alberta. Vehemently opposed by northern
Indigenous communities and activists, the proposal was a given a 10-year moratorium
because of the huge environmental and social impact it would impose on Indigenous territory.
Last year, in December 2010, the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline project was quietly passed (Braun
2011).
2
This definition varies. The “Canadian North” also sometimes comprises northern Quebec,
northern Ontario and northern British Columbia.
3
Diamond mining in Canada has almost exclusively been restricted to the Northwest
Territories. In January, 2007, Canada’s third diamond mine, The Jericho Mine (100% owned
by Tahera Corporation), was opened in Nunavut, 80 km Northwest of the Ekati mine. It was
projected to deliver ‘a total of 4.7 million carats over a 9 year mine life with an average price
of US$95 per carat (Government of the Northwest Territories 2007). However, start-up costs
were higher than expected because of an early closure of the 2006 winter ice road; and both
grade and output were below predictions in the mine feasibility plan. On January 16, 2008,
Tahera filed for protection from its creditors under the Companies Creditors Arrangement
Act and the mine closed. It has since been bought by Shear Diamonds, and is set to re-open
in 2012 (Wright 2011).
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4
In this, I am including a few bigger towns, like Hay River, Fort Smith, and Inuvik, which,
with populations ranging from 2500 to 4000, are much larger than most Indigenous towns.
They also have significant non-Aboriginal populations. By far, most Aboriginal communities
have less than 1000 inhabitants, with the smallest, Kakisa, having only 55. It is also worth
noting that some writings count the number of NWT communities as up to 60, depending
on what is counted, demonstrating that Northern Indigenous ways of moving and settling
simply do not fit neatly into Western data collection.
5
DiFrancesco (2000) argues this is a result of the NWT’s narrowly defined economic base,
relying as it does on government and mining jobs, and the corresponding ups and downs of
government funding and resource booms and busts.
6
While this paper is focusing solely on diamond mining in the NWT, the NWT is also home
to Canada’s only Tungsten mine which, in 2008, accounted for 3% of the value of mineral
production in the NWT (Northwest Territories and Nunavut Chamber of Mines 2008:9).
7
Here, Fitzpatrick is referring to Harold Innis’s “staples theory”, which argues that, since the
fur trade, Canada has relied on the export of “staple” (unprocessed) goods. While it is beyond
the scope of this article to provide a discussion on the topic, it is interesting to note that this
staples theory has provided a basis both for theories of Canadian political economy that
ignore Indigenous populations and for dependency-theory analyses that track the ongoing
exploitation of these same populations (see, for example, Watkins 1977). Abele and Stasiulus
(1989) provide a good critique of Innis’s theorization of Indigenous populations within his
theory.
8
Ken J. Caine and Nicole Krogman (2010) provide a power analysis of IBAs offering many
examples of the restrictions imposed on negotiations, limiting the playing field to an unequal
capitalist interaction; as just one example, confidentiality clauses were imposed, which
restricted knowledge of the content of IBAs to anyone outside of the negotiation process,
making meaningful community participation impossible.
9
Todd Gordon (2006) makes this point, linking Canada’s imperial project of dispossession
both inside and outside its borders.
10
This paper is not attempting to frame the GNWT simply as an arm of the Federal
government, as a voice for local northern populations or as a mediator between the two. The
role of the GNWT in diamond negotiations has been extremely limited and subordinate in real
terms (though seems expansive on paper because of its role in monitoring and evaluation).
However, the broader characterization of the GNWT, and all Territorial governments, is, of
course, complicated and is beyond the scope of this paper.
11
Though this number oscillates year to year, Canada tends to remain third in the world in
terms of value, and in the top six countries in terms of carats.
12
Beyond the internal social and economic violence of diamond mining in Canada, Canada
has also been accused of laundering conflict diamonds from Africa through its process of
mining domestically, cutting and sorting internationally (and allegedly mixing with diamonds
from Africa), and returning the diamonds to Canada for polishing and branding (Smillie in
Bielawski 2003:245). This accusation is largely centered on the inconsistency in numbers of
carats of diamonds in the various stages of this process.
13
While this metaphor is certainly heavy-handed, it is a tame reproduction of the “cute”
language that colors industry and state communications and analysis of the diamond
industry.
14
Ekati is a South-Slavey word that has been trademarked by BHP, a literal “accumulation
by dispossession” of a piece of Indigenous language (Bielawski 2003:244).
15
Howard Adams (1995) provides an insightful history of government-funded Aboriginal
training programs, which gave the Canadian government access to cheap labour (163–164).
16
See, for example, the Mine Training Society (http://www.minetraining.ca/mts_aboutus.
php); the Northern Women in Mining, Oil and Gas Project (http://www.statusofwomen.
nt.ca/women_in_industry.htm); and the Introduction to Mining Program (http://www.
auroracollege.nt.ca/_live/pages/wppages/ProgramInfoDisplay.aspx?id=74&tp=PRG)
at
Aurora College, the NWT college.
17
However, for an excellent gendered theorization of Indigenous subsistence economies,
see Kuokkanen (2011).
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