As a police officer working in Ontario’s far north, Const. Joel Heroux comes face to face with danger regularly, but the threats don’t end when he goes home.
Instead of being a safe haven, Heroux’s home in the fly-in First Nation community where he works is rife with life-threatening hazards, like mould, carbon monoxide and frigid temperatures.
Aylmer is one of the 140 officers that make up the Nishnawbe Aski Police Service – a force that polices 35 of Ontario’s most remote First Nations communities in a geographic area the size of France.
Many of the NAPS officers fly in to work on their own dime – a cost that can reach upwards of $2,500. Once they get there, the band council is expected to find housing for them.
It can be a tall order for communities – many of whom have made headlines for struggling to provide shelter for their own people.
“There are not enough houses so we’re taking what’s leftover and usually the community members won’t live in them,” Heroux said.
For Heroux that meant living in a house where the mould was so thick it seeped through the walls, covered the windows and its stench filled the air.
“I instantly got a headache and felt ill. After so long of living in there, I started to vomit blood,” he said.
He moved out temporarily, but ended up back in the home because there was nowhere else to stay.
Heroux’s life came close to ending one night when the temperatures dipped below -46 C and his furnace shut off while he was asleep. He woke up to a song playing somewhere in his subconscious.
“I don’t think without that music that I would have survived. I think I would have frozen to death that night,” he said.
But Heroux only left a few months ago when the building was condemned after carbon monoxide detectors were brought in and showed levels were through the roof.
Read more: Third-world conditions taking a high toll on First Nations police force
Funding needed to make homes safe
Heroux didn’t want to disclose the name of his community out of concern it would be faulted for his situation – blame, he says, is better borne by the lack of funding provided by governments.
“We need help. We need more money, more assistance and we are not getting anything,” he said.
NAPS is part of the First Nations Policing Program, funded jointly by Ottawa at 52 per cent and Ontario at 48 per cent.
Global News toured residences in four of the 35 communities policed by NAPS. The tours almost always turned up the same things – mould, leaks, ventilation issues, building code violations, fire hazards and general disrepair.
For more on the Nishnawbe Aski Police tune into Global National Monday at 6 p.m.
On the Nunavut-Ont. border, in the James Bay community of Kashechewan, the deprivation faced by the police officers comes in stark contrast to other emergency services.
The community’s paramedics have relatively new apartments built by the government, outfitted with laundry, nice kitchens and even a view.
Police officers should get the same treatment, according to NAPS police chief Robert Herman.
“Start treating us the same way you treat health workers, teachers and all sorts of services,” he said.
NDP MP Charlie Angus, who represents many of the communities, said solving the problem isn’t rocket science.
“I have officers tell me they have to stay in a place you wouldn’t let a dog sleep, that’s not acceptable,” he said.
When he raised the issue in a letter to Public Safety Minister Vic Toews, the minister wrote back saying Ottawa provided $400 million for on-reserve housing as part of its economic action plan – a sum in addition to the $270 million in annual funding the issue.
Dilapidated detachments led to deaths
Work offers no escape from the squalid conditions for many of the NAPS officers, where they trade mould and leaks for bed pans and fire hazards.
Fifty kilometres south of Hudson Bay in Peawanuck, Ont. NAPS officers are forced to throw prisoners into bare cells without lights or a toilet.
“It’s a bucket and that’s what people use,” Herman said, as he toured the jail with Global News. “That’s what people use and then the officers have to empty that.”
The cells are made of plywood, and despite the fire hazard, there is no sprinkler system. They are also too small to meet provincial standards, without even enough room to lie down in.
“It’s totally unacceptable the way it is, the conditions of the cell. I would hope I would never have to spend a night here,” said Deputy Grand Chief Alvin Fiddler of the Nishnawbe Aski Nation, which is responsible for running the program.
But the only alternative is to hold prisoners in the back of a police vehicle and leave it running all night.
The following is a video of a NAPS officer residence on the Kashechewan reserve in Ontario:
And this video is a tour of an EMS worker’s residence in the same area:
The conditions have had a high price. Earlier this year in Kasabonika First Nation, a young woman was held in the back of a police truck because the police station had no heat. She ended up killing herself.
In 2006, Ricardo Wesley and Jamie Goodwin burned to death in a makeshift prison cell in Kashechewan. The jail cells had no sprinkler system and the community lacked the firefighting equipment to put out the blaze.
The inquest following the deaths did result in some money for new detachments, but the terms and conditions of the FNPP limit the funding available for permanent “brick and mortar” facilities. Under the current program, there is a limit of $900,000 for minor repairs and $1.2 million for transitional accommodation.
Peawanuck broke ground on a new detachment four years ago – but it is now rotting away, sitting half-finished as snow and the elements take their toll.
“We have some issues with the contractor to complete it. Promises were made to have these buildings complete in a certain period of time and they haven’t been met,” Herman said. “It not only puts the community at risk, but it puts the officers in a bad situation, because they’re working in substandard facilities.
The construction deal was struck between the band and the contractor, but NAPS has stepped in and used money allocated for other things to try and preserve the building while the issues get resolved.
“You can imagine how disheartening it is for the officer that has to drive by this building every day,” said Herman.
Herman said Ottawa can help speed the process by cutting through the red tape. First Nations can’t own property, so the detachments are owned by the band council which have to enter deals with Ottawa to get it built – a process rife with potential for delays and problems.
But the longer it takes for homes and detachments to see improvements, the harder it gets for officers like Heroux.
“I love the career, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay up North,” he said. “I signed up to help people. I didn’t sign up to hurt myself.”
Comments