After the Smoke Settles

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As she looked up and saw airplanes streak across the smoky sky, Norah Whiteway knew she had to abandon her home.

In 2017, wildfires drew close to Wasagamack First Nation, 470 kilometres north of Winnipeg, forcing more than 2,000 people to evacuate, including Whiteway. The community has no road access and the nearest airport is a 9.5-kilometre boat ride away in St. Theresa Point.

Whiteway, 63, remembers the fear, anxiety, and chaos that swept through her community when news of the nearby fires reached the reserve. She hoped her family could prepare to leave, but Canadian Red Cross hadn’t said they could evacuate yet.

As the sky went black with smoke, Whiteway watched white ash and fiery embers fall like snow.

“It was like a bomb went off when the heat reached the sky,” Whiteway said.

Once people heard the whirring planes overhead, people raced to the docks where local fishing boats were waiting. Whiteway said no official notice was given to evacuate. She only had time to pack a few clothes, some water, and her ID.

Whiteway said goodbye to her home and her husband, not knowing if she would see him again. He was staying behind to protect their house from the flames.

Elders, people with breathing problems, and children were the first to leave. Walkers, canes, and wheelchairs got loaded onto the boats. Whiteway, who was a health worker at the time, remembers the trip being fast and frightening as the vessels sped through the archipelago of islands dotting the lake to St. Theresa Point.

Community members flew to Winnipeg. When they landed, Whiteway’s four children and five grandchildren were scattered. Ambulances waited at the airport to take some of the Elders to the hospital because of smoke inhalation.

Whiteway and one grandson were taken to Brandon with some Elders so she could care for them at a hotel. One of her daughters stayed in Winnipeg, while the other, her grandson’s mother, later joined Whiteway in Brandon. Whiteway said many Elders were stressed and scared during the evacuation.

“They didn’t know where they were going, or what was really happening to them, or where they were being taken to,” she said. “We had to struggle to survive.”

At the hotel, there were few resources for the community members. The Four Arrows Regional Health Authority, which oversees public health for Wasagamack, only came once a week to monitor, Whiteway remembers. She watched the Elders, who rarely left their rooms, slip into depression and anxiety. Some were hospitalized because of mental breakdowns. Whiteway would sit and pray with Elders, which would help put them at ease. Whiteway stayed with the Elders in the hotel for 30 days until they were told they could go home.

“They wanted to go home so bad,” said Whiteway. “We’re not used to being stuck in one place all the time, because we have a big open place there where the kids could play around. But in the hotel, they can’t play there or anywhere else.”

She worried about her youngest daughter, Talia, 24, because she had never been to a big city and would have easy access to alcohol. Wasagamack is a dry reserve, meaning no alcohol is allowed in the community.

Whiteway lost contact with Talia after leaving for Brandon. She only heard from her when someone from Four Arrows Regional Health Authority called and said Talia was in hospital because she had been stabbed in the back outside The Marlborough Hotel in Winnipeg. The knife narrowly missed her vital organs. Talia was about to be sent to another hotel in Victoria Beach, 98 kilometres north of Winnipeg, before she was stabbed. After getting treatment at the hospital, Talia joined her mother in Brandon.

“I was very upset and felt like there was nothing I could do. I really wanted to see my daughter, and I didn’t know where she was,” said Whiteway.

After the stabbing and when the evacuation lifted, Talia returned home to Wasagamack. She’s still scared of going to Winnipeg, said Whiteway. After eight years, she said, many people still have traumatic memories of the evacuation and the chaos it caused.

“I don’t think they forgot about it yet. I don’t think they will ever forget it,” Whiteway said.

Whiteway’s 59-year-old brother and her 60-year-old cousin got pneumonia after developing respiratory problems from the wildfire smoke. They both died during the COVID-19 pandemic. The smoke weakened their lungs, and they couldn’t fight the virus.

“We don’t want this to happen again,” Whiteway said.

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First Nations communities are nearly 18 times more likely to be evacuated during a natural disaster than non-Indigenous communities, according to the Assembly of First Nations. As more evacuations happen, experts and community members say more needs to be done to address families being separated, poor living conditions while displaced, and access to mental health resources after returning home.

Evacuations have forced 15,887 Indigenous people in Manitoba from their homes between 2020 and 2024, according to Indigenous Services Canada data. Wildfire smoke was the leading cause, making up 43 per cent.  Flooding was the next largest, with 28 per cent. Severe weather and long-term power outages also caused evacuations in the province.

Since 2020, nearly half of the province’s 63 First Nations have evacuated at least once, with Peguis First Nation, Long Plain First Nation, and Nisichawayasihk Cree Nation each evacuating three times over the five years. Nationally, Manitoba ranked second and third respectively for the most flood and wildfire First Nations evacuees between 2014-2024, as per Indigenous Services Canada data. Millions of dollars are paid every year to move thousands of people during these evacuations. To do that requires multiples levels of bureaucracy working together.

Who handles evacuations?

Indigenous Services Canada holds primary responsibility for supporting First Nations People who live on reserves during evacuations. They provide funding through the Emergency Management Assistance Program to cover the costs associated with evacuating. The federal department enters into service agreements with provinces and service providers that outline responsibilities during  evacuations.

For Manitoba, the federal government reached a deal with the Canadian Red Cross in 2017. The five-year service agreement means the Canadian Red Cross is the boots on the ground during evacuations. The non-profit handles everything from emergency food and clothing, to finding housing for evacuees, according to its website. Since 2017 that agreement has been renewed annually. The federal government pays the bill and offers some services directly.

Indigenous Services Canada lays out a step-by-step plan for what’s available during and after evacuations. It also offers health benefits like refilling and replacing medication and medical equipment and funds the Hope for Wellness Hotline, which has “culturally competent” mental health counsellors, fluent in languages like Cree and Ojibway, its website said.

When evacuations happen, Indigenous Services Canada is in regular contact with service providers, like the Canadian Red Cross and provincial governments, while offering advice to affected communities. After the evacuation, Indigenous Services Canada divvies up the money and reimburses the organizations involved.

So far, the federal department has paid out nearly $29 million in reimbursements to the Canadian Red Cross and Manitoba First Nations to cover the evacuations in 2024, according to Indigenous Services Canada. A department spokesperson said that number is not final because they haven’t received complete documents from some communities and the Canadian Red Cross.

Evacuation aftershocks

Amy Christianson, a senior fire advisor for Indigenous Leadership Initiative, a national Indigenous conservation group, has researched how evacuations impact First Nations communities in Alberta.

Christianson said Elders and children are the most vulnerable when communities are displaced. Some Elders experience culture shock and may have difficulty with things like reading street signs or knowing how to cross a busy street.

“They got removed from their place, their routine. They maybe would eat more traditional wild meats, and had their daily schedule that they would follow, and then all of a sudden, they’re being displaced,” Christianson said, adding that it’s also logistically complicated due to some communities being remote and not having road access or airports.

From the communities she spoke with, government agencies left Elders feeling neglected and isolated because they were separated from family. A study co-authored by Christianson found some Elders were placed in hotel rooms designed for two people with eight others instead. Elders who couldn’t speak English didn’t have translators, and in some cases, they had to sleep on stiff cots on gym floors.

Throughout her research, Christianson found it’s common for some people to stay behind and refuse the evacuation orders. The reasons people stay behind are varied. Sometimes they stay to maintain critical infrastructure like communication systems or to help fight the fires. In other cases, they simply don’t want to leave their community or don’t trust the government.

“We do a huge disservice by pretending that people don’t stay behind during evacuations and that it’s a rare thing,” said Christianson.

She said during evacuations Indigenous Peoples become vulnerable to using drugs and alcohol as coping mechanisms. Being isolated from family in an unfamiliar city exasperates the issue and can lead to mental health problems that linger long after people return, she said.

A 2021 study on the Ashcroft Indian Band’s 2017 wildfire evacuation in British Columbia reported community members found that the “scariest” part of the evacuation was separating from family and the rest of the community. One evacuee tried searching for mental health support and called a helpline multiple times because they were depressed.

“I was scared I might do something. She never returned my call. I was like, ‘What the hell,’” the evacuee said in the study.

Christianson said when the government arrives to tell people they must evaculate their community, it can bring up residential school trauma for Elders. Some evacuees from The Ashcroft Indian Band said the institutional housing, waiting in seemingly endless lines, and complicated registration processes triggered vivid memories from surviving residential schools.

Christianson ties the chaotic nature of the evacuations to the federal government’s chronic underfunding of First Nations communities. Many community members still had unresolved trauma five years after the initial evacuation, with some developing PTSD. Once communities were cleared to return home, many mental health supports — like counselling services — that existed while people were displaced ended because they were only designed for the evacuations.

“Every time that they would see or smell smoke, they would have a panic reaction, or every time that they would have to leave their community, they’d get flashbacks of not being able to return,” she said. 

No choice to be there

Blazing wildfires forced Bunibonibee Cree Nation, a fly-in community 575 kilometres north of Winnipeg, to evacuate in August 2024. More than 2,400 people left their community on chartered and Royal Canadian Air Force Hercules airplanes. Trisha North and her four-year-old son, Adonis, were among those who left. A summer heat wave was in full swing, and North remembers multiple people fainting or having seizures during the chaotic evacuation.

The Canadian Red Cross placed North and her son in Winnipeg’s Viscount Gort Hotel. North said others were sent to hotels in Brandon. Last year’s wildfire season triggered evacuations in nine Indigenous communities, according to Indigenous Services Canada. Some people slept on cots at the University of Winnipeg because there weren’t enough hotel rooms, North added.

While she was grateful to have a stable place to stay, North said her community experienced racial discrimination while at the hotel.

Soon after community members arrived at the hotel, staff closed the pool, one of the few activities for children. North asked a staff member when the pool would re-open, and they replied, “When you leave.” She recalls a different staff member asking children waiting in the lobby where their parents were and if they were passed out drunk.

“It just was really disheartening, and it wasn’t necessary, especially because people are having to leave their homes behind and living in these hotels and not knowing when they can go back home,” said North. “What could they really do? They had no choice to be there.”

‘Here we go again’

Manto Sipi Cree Nation also evacuated last summer because of wildfire smoke. The fly-in community near God’s River, 590 kilometres north of Winnipeg, had to evacuate nearly 500 people — almost half of its population. They were displaced for 15 days.

The evacuation’s scale triggered memories for Chief Michael Yellowback of his first evacuation during the 1989 wildfires.

“Here we go again, traumatized,” said Yellowback.

He remembers scrambling up the ramp of a Royal Canadian Air Force Hercules aircraft as a teenager, with nothing besides the clothes he was wearing. He was flown to Winnipeg, along with his entire community. During the evacuation, his grandmother developed pneumonia from the smoke and was taken by ambulance to a Winnipeg hospital when the plane landed. She died a few weeks later. Yellowback said her death still sticks with him.

In 1989, 19,000 people from 16 Indigenous communities were evacuated — the most in the province’s history at the time, according to an archived Winnipeg Free Press article from July 25, 1989. Then-Premier Gary Filmon announced a state of emergency. Many evacuations were delayed because the smoke stopped planes from landing.

An archived article from The Vancouver Sun said many families were ripped apart during the traumatic evacuation.

“I have no idea where my 82-year-old granny is, and I’m going crazy trying to find her,” said Linda Shewchuk, a University of Winnipeg criminology student. “She got on a plane at God’s Lake Narrows and that’s the last we’ve heard of her.”

Besides Yellowback’s grandmother, at least one other person died during the evacuation, an 86-year-old woman from Cross Lake who had a heart attack. “Stress caused by the fires,” was a possible reason for her death, the Winnipeg Free Press article reported.

Manto Sipi Cree Nation’s 2024 evacuation was also because of smoke. Wildfires were directly north and south of the community. The grey smoke was so dense, Yellowback said he couldn’t see anything three metres ahead of him. He remembered his grandmother and was worried about the Elders and children in his community. He decided to call Indigenous Services Canada, expecting they would begin evacuating people who were most at risk from the smoke.

What he thought would be a simple process ended up taking much longer. It took a whole day for someone from the department to respond, said Yellowback. He expected to hear from a staffer immediately.

Yellowback and band counsellors coordinated chartered flights to Brandon, but since the smoke was so thick, no planes could land until the following day. As the planes were landing and taking off, he knew it would be a painful experience for his community.

 “We had to do everything on a whim, but it was a good learning experience for us,” said Yellowback.

Some Elders refused to leave. They didn’t trust the federal and provincial governments or the Canadian Red Cross to take care of them. Yellowback said there were frequent communication breakdowns. When his community members arrived in Brandon, they got little help from the Canadian Red Cross because it wasn’t set up yet to book hotels or offer food. There were no cultural supports for the evacuees, like Cree-speaking first responders or foods Elders were familiar with, Yellowback said. The First Nation was forced to find hotels on their own.

To plug the gaps, the community had to send their staff to take care of Elders and organize services when people started arriving. The community paid for the hotels, the flights, the food, and offered extra spending money for community members.The First Nation also used its own money to set up mental health services for people staying in Brandon, Yellowback said.

Yellowback says the federal government still hasn’t reimbursed his community.

Some community members struggled with alcoholism and depression during their time in Brandon, and some got into trouble with the police.

“I was told our community was branded with the same brush, like they were all bad,” he said. But, Yellowback said, most community members were well-behaved.

During the evacuation, Yellowback developed pneumonia, like his grandmother had in 1989, and he was flown to a Winnipeg hospital. He credits his council members for stepping up to organize the evacuation.

“I felt very helpless that I could not do anything for my people,” he said. “I wish I could’ve been in Brandon. I wish I could’ve been with the people who stayed back [in the community].”

Longstanding issues

Concerns about the federal government’s handling of Indigenous evacuations aren’t new.

A 2022 parliamentary report by the Auditor General of Canada revealed issues surrounding funding mismanagement, gaps in emergency agreements with Indigenous communities, and a lack of evacuation standards.

The report found Indigenous Services Canada was spending 3.5 times the money on emergency responses and recovery rather than helping communities prevent and prepare for emergencies. It also found the federal department had no way of knowing if First Nations had culturally appropriate services during evacuations.

Only Ontario had an official evacuation service standard that was agreed to by First Nations, service providers like the Canadian Red Cross, the provincial government, and the federal department, the report said. These standards set the minimum level of services, like housing, food, and cultural supports, evacuees receive when displaced. After evacuations, the federal department didn’t address the access to mental health or health care resources in communities. Many of the issues shown in the report were found during a similar audit in 2013.

“Overall, Indigenous Services Canada did not provide the support First Nations needed to manage emergencies such as floods and wildfires, which are happening more often and with more intensity,” the report said, adding the department’s actions were more “reactive than preventative.”

The report made seven recommendations, including establishing evacuation standards, improving monitoring mechanisms, and increasing emergency preparation and prevention investments in First Nation communities.

Indigenous Services Canada accepted all recommendations. Last July, the department released its national interim service standards guidelines, promising to consult with First Nation communities on their needs. The interim guidelines include standards like making sure evacuee housing has spaces for ceremonial practices and that emergency staff know how to respectfully treat Elders, including having translators available. The department also created a follow-up report so communities could give feedback on the service quality they received during evacuations.

The department set up a permanent First Nation advisory committee to oversee the response to the auditor general’s recommendations, an email from an Indigenous Services Canada spokesperson said. As of last April, it has dedicated funding for 260 Emergency Management Coordinator positions across Canada in First Nation communities. The coordinators handle the planning for evacuations and emergencies.

By April 2027, Indigenous Services Canada will establish new service agreements between governments, First Nations, and service providers, along with mutually agreed services standards, according to the department’s Management Response and Action Plan

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Those consultations and guidelines aren’t enough, said Manitoba Keewatinowi Okimakanak Grand Chief Garrison Settee. He remembers only one meeting happening with federal officials four years ago.

“They took their notes, and then they walked away,” he said. “It’s just not adequate. It’s not sufficient. It has to be Indigenous led in order for it to be really effective in our north.”

He said both the federal and provincial governments have repeatedly failed to recognize First Nation communities’ needs during and after evacuations. Mental health services, like grief counselling, aren’t provided when people move back home, Settee said.

“A lot of people assume, ‘Okay, you’re ready to go back, and everything is okay,’ but they don’t realize that everything is not okay. There’s a lot of trauma,” Settee said in an interview from Thompson, Man.

He said government officials rarely follow-up with communities after they return.

Settee sees a need to transform how First Nations communities in Northern Manitoba view emergency management services. He wants to see Indigenous people take control away from the federal and provincial governments and give it back to First Nations communities when dealing with emergency services. This is the only way to make sure culturally appropriate measures are in place for First Nations communities, Settee said.

“No matter how well planned the Canadian Red Cross is or whoever is in charge, it’s always chaotic,” said Settee. “We want to be able to eliminate chaos and eliminating all kinds of problems that come because the people that work with our people don’t know our people.”

He wants to see Indigenous organizations, like MKO, take over responsibility for evacuations from the Canadian Red Cross. Settee believes returning control to First Nations is an act of reconciliation. He said First Nations are taking over more governance in child welfare and education from the federal government, and evacuations should be next.

“We have people on the ground, we have our experts, and we could do this just as well as the [Canadian] Red Cross,” Settee said.

The Indigenous advocacy group has previously been called upon to help communities during evacuations, he said. It spent its own resources and money, because of the federal and provincial governments failed to respond, Settee added.

All levels of government need to show more compassion toward communities before, during, and after evacuations, he said. Settee wants to see more federal funding directly for MKO and other First Nation groups to manage evacuations.

“We can do it ourselves. We just need the resources,” Settee said.