In 2015, something rare happened in Canada: hope, passion, mobilization. Carried by the Idle No More movement, a generation of Indigenous people believed that politics could truly change our lives. We elected the highest number of Indigenous Members of Parliament in the country’s history. Voter turnout in ridings with high Indigenous populations saw a remarkable increase. For a brief moment, it seemed that Justin Trudeau’s promise — “no relationship is more important than the one with Indigenous peoples” — was finally coming true.
And yet, nine and a half years later, the results are mixed. Yes, there were victories: the Indigenous Languages Act, Bill C-92 on child and family services, the incorporation of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples into Canadian law. But there were also failures, broken promises, bureaucratic silence, and deep institutional inertia.
The clearest symbol of this failure remains the Indian Act, still in force — a piece of colonial legislation from 1876. How, in 2025, can we still uphold a law that classifies Indigenous peoples as wards of the state? A law that governs our lands, our wills, our civil rights, as if we were incapable of self-determination? Even after a decade of fine words and symbolic reconciliation, this supposedly “priority” relationship was never truly based on real respect. Marc Miller is gone. Justin Trudeau is gone. And the Indian Act is still here. We’ve merely tinkered around the edges of the Canadian system, without ever transforming its heart.
Now, we approach a new election: Pierre Poilievre versus Mark Carney. On one side, a combative, populist Conservative — but at least consistent in his positions. On the other, a well-spoken, polished technocrat — but with no clear vision for First Nations. I’m sure he offers a firm handshake — but has he ever left Bay Street to sit and listen to an Elder by the fire?
I remember meeting Stephen Poloz, former Governor of the Bank of Canada, before the Standing Committee on Finance. The Bank of Canada controls how our economy works — including the economies of Indigenous peoples and communities. They’re the ones holding the reins. I asked him a simple question: “What’s your connection to Indigenous peoples?” He answered, with a faint smile and equal simplicity: “Once, I drove through a reserve while on vacation.” I wonder if Mark Carney is just driving through, too.
I’m not saying Pierre Poilievre would be better. I’m only saying that Indigenous people no longer have trust. Not in the electoral process, not in the promises. In 2015, we had hope. In 2025, we have memory. The memory of Tina Fontaine, of Joyce Echaquan, of Ashlee Shingoose, of Chanie Wenjack. And the memory of a government that, despite ceremonies, conferences, and accolades, chose to preserve the colonial foundations of Canada.
Today, our youth are more cynical than ever. They see elections as a game meant for others. And who can blame them? When we’re still waiting for clean water, decent housing, or justice for our missing and murdered sisters — it’s hard to believe in campaign promises.
But is abstention the answer? Perhaps a Conservative government, driven by necessity, will do what the Liberals never dared: abolish the Indian Act and build a new relationship based on treaties, equality, and mutual respect. Sometimes, a presumed enemy can become an unexpected ally.
It’s time to speak the truth: this country is still afraid to recognize us as nations. It fears our strength, our languages, our economies, our systems of governance. Perhaps it is not Ottawa’s role to define who we are — but ours, through the ballot box or through the rebuilding of our own systems.
The Indian Act, driving through the reserve,
“Yes, Governor, shine your shoes, Governor.”
Always polite, always prompt: “Right away, Governor.”
But do we, at last, have a vision that dreams?
https://ici.radio-canada.ca/espaces-autochtones/2151128/vote-autochtones-abstention-promesses
