92 Time November 8/November 15, 2021
going on and what’s going to be carried on throughout
our land.” Bostock says he did attend one meeting about
Sun Cable’s planned location, where he asked company
representatives what the local benefits would be—he
recalls specifically asking whether the project could help
provide electricity to the community. He also recalls
getting no clear answer.
This sort of discord isn’t inherent in renewable-
energy development. Indeed, there are more than
100 medium- to large-scale clean-energy projects
operating across Canada that have active Indigenous
ownership or co-ownership, and a slew of government
policies and programs aimed at helping Indigenous
communities access financing. For example, about
1,000 miles north of Vancouver in the shadow of the
northern Rocky Mountains, the Fort Nelson First Nation
is working to transform an almost depleted natural gas
field into a geothermal- energy project. The project is
expected to generate up to 15 megawatts of electricity
in its initial phase—enough to power about
10,000 homes. Fort Nelson First Nation
plans to use excess heat to warm homes in
the area and build dozens of greenhouses to
grow food during the frigid winter months,
when temperatures hover around 0°F. “Major
projects are one of the few development
opportunities that can bring meaningful
change to our communities,” says Sharleen
Gale, the chief of the Fort Nelson First Nation.
“We think that this geothermal project is
really a gift from our ancestors, being able
to harness the heat from the earth.”
Across the U.S. border, on the windswept
Great Plains, six Native American tribes have
formed the Oceti Sakowin Power Authority
(OSPA), which is working to bring the first
utility-scale wind-power projects to tribal
lands. “These are our natural resources, our lands. I
think we should have a say over how they’re used,” says
Lyle Jack, the chairman of OSPA.
Even elsewhere in Australia—some 2,000 miles from
Elliott, on the southwestern coast of the country —an-
other renewable- energy megaproject is putting itself
forward as an example of how the green-energy revo-
lution could develop alongside Aboriginal people. The
$75 billion Western Green Energy Hub (WGEH) will
take up an area larger than Connecticut, on the tradi-
tional lands of the Western Australia Mirning People.
The Mirning have been given a minority equity stake in
WGEH, as well as a permanent seat on the board of the
consortium running the project. Its corporate charter
also includes promises to create “shared well-being,” not
to undertake activities on Mirning land that they don’t
agree with, and to recognize and try to fix the “historic
and ongoing disadvantage” that Aboriginal people face.
Brendan Hammond, the chairman of the board of the
WGEH, says that although there aren’t laws mandating
that it partner with the Mirning in this way, he thinks
a new playbook is necessary for how project develop-
ers engage with local communities. “Legislation is put
there as a bare-minimum criteria,” he says. “Our job is
to operate not just inside the guardrails, but way, way,
way, way, way beyond.”
Some opposition lawmakers are pushing for legis-
lation to enforce greater cooperation in Australia. In-
dependent member of parliament Helen Haines has
introduced legislation that would establish an agency
to support the development of community- driven
renewable- energy projects. It also sets out a require-
ment for any new large-scale renewable developments
to offer 20% of the ownership to local communities.
Haines says the plan would ensure that there is “gen-
uine and legitimate consultation with local commu-
nities,” but it remains unclear how such communities
could afford to put up the funds for that sort of stake in
multibillion- dollar projects.No matter what the law sets out, some
businesspeople with experience in mining
say it’s simply bad business not to offer wide-
ranging benefits to Aboriginal communities
when undertaking projects in them. “There’s
lots of agreements in place with mining com-
panies which are very transactional, like, you
pay us the money and we’ll just look the other
way, and ultimately they fail everybody,” says
Bruce Harvey, who spent more than 30 years
at mining giant Rio Tinto. For example, he
points to plans by foreign developers to build a
wind park in Oaxaca, Mexico, which triggered
protests—and the suspension of the project—
from Indigenous communities claiming that
adequate consultation had not occurred. And
on the flip side, he notes how when the com-
pany OZ Minerals wanted to develop a copper
mine in South Australia, the firm created a comprehen-
sive partnership agreement with the Kokatha People liv-
ing on the land, and the two groups now work together
on a wide range of issues.
Harvey says renewable-energy projects, which may
be in operation for decades, have a special responsibil-
ity to build better ties with local communities—to en-
sure that sustainability is defined by respect not just
for the land but also for its historic stewards. “Pre-
suming that you’ve got a green halo because you’re in
a renewable- energy business doesn’t mean you auto-
matically will be doing everything that’s acceptable and
right by local people,” he says. “If you’re paying hom-
age to a global concern, very frequently you’re riding
roughshod over local concerns.” —With reporting by
eloise Barry/londonThis story was produced in partnership with the Special
Broadcasting Service (SBS), Australia’s multi cultural
and multilingual broadcaster. SBS correspondent
Aneeta Bhole reported from the Northern TerritoryC S G
‘What we’vebeen doing hascreated andentrenched notjust climatechange itself,but grossinequalities.’—Kirsty Howey