PHOTO GALLERY: a glimpse of life in Ontario’s far north, images from Big Trout Lake and Round Lake First Nations

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Conventional wisdom around the idea of ‘justice’ says the rule of law is the bedrock of our society. Without it, there can be neither peace, nor order, nor good government.

There are places in Ontario’s far north that bear little resemblance to Canadian society as most would recognize it. In remote First Nations communities, isolation, chronic unemployment and poverty in concert with escalating social problems, organized crime influences and staunchly independent tribal governments have created tiny nations unto themselves — places that have their own ways of doing things.

How does the law of our land function in those communities only accessible by air, or roads over frozen lakes or muskeg?

The Honourable Justice Peter T. Bishop might caution you against getting ‘too academic’ about it. Bishop has been working in a variety of remote communities as both a judge and lawyer for the Ontario Court of Justice for 29 years. There are aspects of the Judge’s appearance that say a lot about his practical, no-nonsense demeanour — the Sorel snow boots that emerge from beneath his stately judicial robes; his ‘crash bag’, a plush green velvet sac embroidered with his initials containing a satellite phone and other survival gear to be used in the event that one of his frequent Northern flights crashes in the remote boreal forest.

Despite the traditional ritual trappings of his profession, Bishop seems tuned to his surroundings to a greater degree than other visitors to this realm.As a representative of the province, Bishop’s ventures into remote communities is not without its share of politics, though he says the court’s relationship with remote communities has been more about building trust at a personal level.

“The more we come here, the more we become like them and the more they become like us,” said Bishop. “It’s a reciprocal arrangement. There has to be mutual respect.”

During  Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwug (KI) First Nation’s much publicized battle with mineral exploration company Platinex — which led to the incarceration of six band members on contempt of court charges, Bishop postponed court proceedings in the community.“I was met by about 50 people at the airport,” said Bishop. “They said, ‘Our leaders are in jail, please don’t have court here, we’ll talk about it when we get this resolved.’ I understood that. As soon as the KI-six were released we were invited back on an even keel. There has to be law and order, there has to be people taking charge and people taking responsibility for their actions.”

Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwig (KI) First Nation chief Donny Morris says that his community, despite political differences of opinion and a prickly past relationship with the province, recognizes the importance of staging court in their community. He adds close relations with Bishop extend back to his grandmother Marion Anderson, the first female band councillor in Ontario.“We have to show that respect,” said Morris. “We build up trust with government officials. The native, non-native thing does not exist.”

Addiction problems escalating

The community of 1,200 people, also known as Big Trout Lake, has seen a disturbing spike in addiction-related crime, mingled with growing gang influences.

As in many neighbouring communities, Oxycontin abuse is being called an epidemic. Some 500 kilometres north of the Trans Canada highway, the highly-addictive narcotic painkiller can fetch as much as $100 for a single 80 mg dose.

The effects of addiction have been devastating on families and the community, says Band Councillor and Youth Worker Darryl Sainnawap. Last year, KI approached Tikanagan Child Family Resources in hopes of gaining access to a former youth camp facility, no longer in use on the reserve. Since June 2010, The Mamow Against Drugs Healing Program has offered addictions treatment for up to six people in the community.

“It’s specifically for people who recognize they have a problem and want to get to get off (drugs). It’s voluntary,” said Sainnawap. “They’re isolated from the community for 30 days. The aftercare is where we have a problem because they go back into the community where they are surrounded by the problem.”

A day in court

Groups of smokers stand just outside the community hall in Big Trout Lake, the metal doors to today’s makeshift court proceedings emblazoned with gang insignia of The Native Syndicate.

Inside, a tight rectangle of tables seat the Judge and court staff. Across from them, the accused and defense council are seated. The Crown attorney, interpreter and bailiff operate from either side of the rectangle. Probation officers look on from a table off in the corners.

Children crowd around a visiting lawyer’s iPad, food is being eaten and defense council are hurriedly looking around for clients — an unconventional atmosphere to dispense justice.

“We’re sitting in a gymnasium,” says Bishop. “If you come to a court in Dryden or Kenora, it’s very formal — the judge sits way up here. Here’s it’s more like a circle, a conversation between the lawyers and litigants. It’s much more informal, but the standards still apply. You gain respect by meeting people on their level.”

Members of the communities’ justice committees often take part in proceedings.“Sometimes they make representations to what they think the community needs in terms of a sentence for an individual,” said Bishop. “They bring that information about the community.”

Bishop says 98 per cent of the cases that come before him are rooted in substance-abuse issues.“It’s the same, to a much lesser degree in the southern communities,” he said.

Defense attorney Simon Owen says that it can be very difficult for those who operate inside the court process to get an accurate picture of the community’s needs in the frantic timetable of six to seven hours in which court is staged.

“There is an issue and I think it speaks to a deeper dissatisfaction in some communities more than others with the way the court system imposes its own cultural assumptions, biases upon a community without really knowing what makes a place tick. What are the dysfunctions?  We just deal with the surface issues, the symptoms that have their own underlying problems.”

Necessary, but by no means perfect, Owen says he believes that the fly-in courts are just one element of ‘public order’ that needs to be better integrated with grassroots community efforts to improve the sense of well-being and community engagement in the far north.

“Part of the problem is people like me trying to answer that question without first listening — and the listening is harder than I initially thought it would be,” said Owen. “Who do you approach as a voice, or spokesperson for a community? Is it band council? Is it the elders? The youth are the majority in these places. You can try all the alternative, or traditional dispute resolution practices but if you’re not being responsive to the new generations, who have their own cultural contexts, then we’re not going to get the results.”

By Chris Marchand