A State of Erosion: A Legacy of Hydroelectric Energy

Aalaiyah plays on the riprap enforced banks surrounding the community of Tataskweyak Cree Nation in Northern Manitoba, Canada, on 6 June 2019. She wears a hat bearing the name of the 695-megawatt Keeyask mega-dam being built 60km downstream.

Manitoba, the province where I grew up in Canada, is known as a prairie province, and that is what generally comes to mind when we think of it: fields of wheat, yellow canola, and sunflowers to the horizon. Flat and expansive. We are also known for our lakes with their beautiful beaches; Lake Manitoba, Lake Winnipegosis, and Lake Winnipeg which is the 12th largest freshwater lake in the world. There are also the frigid winters and Polar Bears up in the town of Churchill on the Hudson Bay. But everything in between the south and the far north is rarely ever talked about, even though it is home to Canada’s fourth-largest river, the Nelson, the source of the majority of our electricity.

A mural commissioned by Manitoba Hydro depicting indigenous children on the banks of a blue river is a landmark in the city of Winnipeg. 26 August 2016.

I grew up in Winnipeg, the capital city of Manitoba, which sits in the south near the US border. Within 100km of that border resides 66% of our National Population, that’s 66% of our population in 4% of our territory. We are called the Great White North, but the stories of the true North have often gone ignored and it’s easy to understand why.

Canada is a colonialist country with a very dark history when it comes to the treatment of our indigenous people. When I was growing up, this history and the realities of this lands’ original people were very rarely discussed unless it was through racist commentary. Winnipeg has the largest population of indigenous people in any urban city in Canada, so we couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist. Racist narratives served to explain the glaring poverty and addiction we would see on our downtown streets. In 2015, the national magazine Maclean’s had a cover story arguing Winnipeg as Canada’s “most racist city.”

Langford Saunders, president of the Norway House Fisherman’s Co-op at the time, rests in his boat after a day of commercial fishing on Lake Winnipeg in northern Manitoba, Canada, on 18 September 2016. Many fishermen complain of changes to their waterways due to hydro regulation; from green slime and debris getting caught in their nets, to an increase in lower grades of fish such as mullet instead of the higher-priced pickerel and whitefish.

As a photojournalist and documentary photographer, I began my career after studying Cultural Anthropology and leaving Winnipeg for the big city of Toronto. From there I’ve always traveled to do project work. I began documenting indigenous environmental issues in the Athabasca Oil Sands in Northern Alberta. Afterward, I spent time in Brazil documenting life around the construction of the Belo Monte mega-dam on the Xingu River in the Amazon. It was while working on this project in a foreign land thousands of miles away, telling the stories of indigenous people impacted by hydroelectric development, that I reflected back on my home province of Manitoba, and began researching its legacy of hydroelectric development.

I quickly realized I had been photographing a story that had already been playing out in Manitoba for decades, and that maybe it was time to tell a story closer to home. A story that could shed light on some of the reasons for the issues facing indigenous people in my home province.

Children play on the roof of an old cabin in the community of Cross Lake, home to the Pimicikamak Cree Nation. In 1977, Cross Lake and four other First Nations signed the Northern Flood Agreement with Manitoba Hydro and the Government of Canada for compensation for the impacts of Lake Winnipeg regulation and diversion of the Churchill River. The broad agreement, which would last the life of the projects, stipulated that Manitoba Hydro and the federal government would offer economic stimulus to the communities and seek “the eradication of mass poverty and mass unemployment.” The agreement went unfulfilled by the province and Canada until four of the five First Nations settled on new agreements with large cash payments in the 1990s. To this day, Cross Lake has refused to enter into any new agreements and continues to advocate for the implementation of the Northern Flood Agreement.

Manitoba generates 97% of its electricity from Hydroelectric Dams. Over 75% of that energy comes from five dams on the Nelson River system in the north of the province where a sixth mega-dam known as Keeyask is nearing completion. These dams were built on the indigenous traditional territory without consent or proper consultation. They displaced communities, destroyed fisheries, polluted water sources, and transformed life in general. While modernization was part of that long term transformation, the impacts on the local environments and waterways devastated traditional economies and culture.

Jonathan Kitchekeesik, from the community of Tataskweyak Cree Nation, collects medicinal tea on his family's traditional territory on Gull Lake on the Nelson River in Northern Manitoba, Canada, on 10 June 2019. Behind him is the memorial for his cousin Leon who drowned when he was eight after falling through the ice. Named Leon’s Island by the family, the land was flooded during the recent Reservoir Impoundment of the Keeyask Dam.

In the modern age, it has become more difficult for governments and corporations to simply push through large projects on indigenous lands like they once could. Manitoba Hydro, a government-owned utility, was forced to partner with the impacted First Nations communities to gain approval for the new dam, offering them part ownership in a project that would impact their land and future. The choice to partner with them divided the people, from those who saw the future in modern terms, and those who clung tightly to their indigenous values. In the end, all four communities, Tataskweyak, Fox Lake, York Factory, and War Lake nations, signed on as partners in the project. Many community members who voted for the project believed the dam would be built with or without them.

The Keeyask dam construction site at Gull Rapids on the Nelson River in June 2019. The dam will create a flood reservoir that will cover 93 square kilometers. A hydro impact report for the Fox Lake Cree Nation notes that, due to more than 50 years of hydro development, the community has permanently lost the sound of “Kischi Sipi,” or the voice of the rapids, at each of the dam locations.

Built primarily to export energy to the United States, the profitability of this dam and partnership has been threatened as the project has run billions of dollars over budget, while energy costs have plummeted due to the fracking boom. Since 2012, the price tag for the dam and transmission line has grown from $9.8 billion to nearly $14 billion.

Cohen Moose (10) sits on the antlers of a half butchered moose killed by his grandfather Robert Spence at his trapline on the Churchill River in Northern Manitoba, Canada, in September 2018. The meat is flown back by plane and shared with elders in the community of Tataskweyak Cree Nation. In recent years, fewer moose have been successfully hunted in and around the community and many believe it is due to the loss of willows, a favorite food source along the riverbanks due to erosion from the dams.

Tataskweyak Cree Nation Councillor Robert Spence amassed a series of images he believes point to the damaging effect of hydroelectric development on his community of Split Lake and their traditional territory. The images include remains of his ancestors that have eroded onto the shoreline, polluted water, and drugs that have invaded his community since the construction of the Keeyask Dam, as well as personal art that expresses his feelings about the destruction. September 2018.

Kara (left) and her twin sister Fara Blacksmith (right) embrace while visiting the grave of their late father Abrose Thomas Ross, who died in 2015 after falling through the ice while driving an ATV in the community of Cross Lake home to the Pimicikamak Cree Nation. The water levels on Cross Lake fluctuate widely due to the nearby JenPeg dam which regulates the levels of Lake Winnipeg. This causes unstable ice conditions and dangerous travel in winter, a common concern for many northern communities living near the dams. 23 February 2019.

Tataskweyak Cree Nation Councillor Robert Spence combs an eroded shoreline where human remains were recently found, near his community of Split Lake in northern Manitoba, Canada, on 19 September 2018. Erosion caused by fluctuating water levels has unearthed numerous historic burial grounds in the area. The situation will likely get worse after the completion of the Keeyask Dam 60 km downstream, which will raise water levels on the lake.

A cemetery is illuminated by the Aurora Borealis in the First Nations community of Tataskweyak Cree Nation in Northern Manitoba, Canada, on 22 September 2018. Manitoba Hydro was forced to reinforce the banks surrounding the cemetery after erosion from fluctuating water levels began the threaten it.

While the Keeyask dam was an entry point for this project, the story is one of legacy. How have decades of environmental colonialism affected these communities? Do modern models of offering agency in the process of environmental exploitation create hope? While these are not questions I can answer definitively, they are questions I believe are important to explore.

Tataskweyak Cree Nation Elder Betsy Flett stands outside her home in Split Lake Manitoba. “I have no hope for the future,” she says. “You won’t be able to live here, because it’s gonna flood. It’s already flooded where our loved ones rest. I tell my kids when I die, why don’t you just throw me in the water, because that’s where I’m gonna end up anyways.”

Aaron Vincent Elkaim is a Canadian freelance photographer whose work explores environmental issues through postcolonial narratives of industrialization, land rights, and power structures.

He is one of six selected visual storytellers of World Press Photo’s 6x6 Global Talent Program in North and Central America.

“Aaron Vincent Elkaim uses storytelling and photojournalism to address critical issues. Through his work, he documents how the traditional communities are connected to their land.” — Heidi Romano, Australia, independent artist, curator, design consultant, and 6x6 nominator.

In a rolling process of nomination and selection, World Press Photo’s 6x6 Global Talent Program identifies six under-recognized talents from each of the world’s six continents and connects them to a global audience.

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