‘We were kind of duped’ on the Sisson mine, says Indigenous leader

The deal is so old, the references to “Maliseet Nation” seem from a different era.

In January 2017, the provincial government and the six chiefs of what is now called the Wolastoqey Nation signed an accommodation agreement for the proposed Sisson Mine – a project that has barely inched ahead over the last nine years.

Two of those chiefs have been replaced, and New Brunswick has had its third premier since then. On top of that, Wolastoqiyik people no longer accept the term Maliseet, a word from the neighbouring Mi’kmaq people that pokes fun of the way they speak.

Nevertheless, the eight-page agreement is being dusted off. Prime Minister Mark Carney has cited the Sisson Mine about 100 kilometres north of Fredericton as a nation-building project.

The Liberal government in Ottawa says it could help supply democratic countries with tungsten, a strategic mineral whose reserves are mostly controlled by authoritarian China.

The prime minister and Premier Susan Holt have suggested that Canada and other nations considered allies could guarantee a minimum price for the commodity, a move that would finally convince investors to put enough money in to start construction of the open pit mine.

Dominic LeBlanc, the federal minister responsible for major projects, repeated the message at a Dec. 16 news conference in Fredericton.

With the premier beside him, the political veteran told reporters Ottawa’s major projects office was working directly with the mining firm Northcliff Resources, and its principal owner, Todd Group from New Zealand, “to figure out the right series of financial instrument necessary to allow an investment decision of hundreds of millions of dollars of private capital to begin putting the mine in construction.

“Understandably, the shareholders of these companies want the right series of assurances, reliable assurances, that China is not simply going to cut the price once the mine goes into production to make sure it’s no longer viable.”

LeBlanc, who runs the office, said he would soon recommend a series of options to the Canadian government.

“I’ve committed to the premier that I will share with her and her government those options,” he said, “to lead to that final investment decision that a private company would make, which would mean thousands of jobs and millions of dollars in our province over many years.”

The Liberal government in Fredericton says the mine would create at least 500 good jobs during its construction and 300 more during its operation in an area of the province that’s economically depressed.

The mine would also generate more than half a billion dollars in taxes and royalties over its nearly three decades of operation that could be spent on hospitals and schools.

But questions remain over whether a key milestone in the mine’s approvals – the old agreement with the Wolastoqey Nation – will stand up after so much time has passed.

Patricia Bernard, one of the chiefs who signed the original deal, is torn by the proposed mine.

“We were kind of duped in 2017 when we signed the accommodation agreement,” she said in an interview in her office at Madawaska First Nation, near Edmundston, last month. “They didn’t fulfill many of the points.”

Among them is a promise by the provincial government to find property that would replace Crown or public land for the mine that the Wolastoqey Nation considers their traditional territory.

The mine would require disturbing 1,973 hectares – or close to 4,900 acres – of Crown land that the chiefs say their people use for hunting, fishing, trapping, tree harvesting, gathering, subsistence, and spiritual purposes.

As part of the agreement, the province, in consultation with the chiefs, was supposed to buy the same amount of timberland from a private property owner and turn it into Crown land for public use. It specifically mentions “freehold,” a piece of the large properties owned and operated by large timber firms.

Bernard, who is also a lawyer, believes the deal also has a unique clause that’s unusual in such arrangements.

Although the First Nations accepted payments for the proposed mine – including $3 million upfront when Ottawa signed off on its environmental impact assessment, and almost 10 per cent of future mining royalties from Sisson, which could be worth $28 million over the next few decades – the deal also speaks of the Indigenous people being rights holders in the mine area, which is in the remote woods.

“We clearly said in the accommodation agreement that we were not in favour of the mine,” Bernard said. “It’s an oddity because we signed it, but we basically said we didn’t want the mine.”

The chief said normally in such negotiations, lawyers on the other side insist on taking out clauses that seemingly are at odds with the overall thrust of the agreement.

Specifically, the agreement states that the Wolastoqey Nation “asserts Treaty rights and Aboriginal rights, including Aboriginal title” to the area affected by the project and the provincial government recognizes the six First Nations as rights holders.

It goes on to say that the provincial government acknowledges the Wolastoqey Nation’s “concern that replacing the Project Lands only partly offsets the adverse effects of the Project” on Wolastoqey rights.

Bernard wouldn’t say if this would be a bargaining chip should the Wolastoqey Nation seek to sweeten the deal.

She said no talks have been held between the sides on Sisson, although the premier and provincial Indigenous Affairs Minister Keith Chiasson have talked about the First Nations getting an ownership stake in the mine. Northcliff has left the door open to such an arrangement, without committing either way.

Complicating the picture is the fact that Woodstock First Nation, the community whose 1,200 members would be closest to the proposed mine, signed a separate cooperation agreement with Northcliff Resources in 2017 that remains confidential. Bernard said she doesn’t even know what’s in it.

It came about after the First Nation held a referendum on whether it should strike a deal.

A company news release from nine years ago said in broad strokes the separate agreement would provide financial benefits, scholarships, training and employment at the mine, and environmental protection provisions for Woodstock First Nation members.

But it did little to persuade some grassroots members.

A mother and son from Woodstock First Nation who protested the decision, took direct action, blocking workers from accessing the proposed mine site where preparations were under way. Eventually, the firm obtained a court injunction last year to remove them from the site.

Over the years, about a dozen or so other protesters, including Indigenous grandmothers, have occupied the site, setting up a camp.

Bernard admitted the idea of a mine scarring their traditional territory was unpopular among grassroots Indigenous members.

“It’s a hard thing to do because we say we don’t want certain things, but yet, I have a cell phone, I have a computer. My husband plays golf. These are all things that use this mineral,” she said of tungsten, one of the world’s hardest and heaviest metals that can be used for a wide variety of products, including heavy weapons. “And at what point do we have to say we are going to do things that aren’t necessarily pretty?”

It’s not just Indigenous folk who have concerns. Many people who live near the proposed mine worry about the firm’s plans to build a large earthern dam to block a toxic tailing pond from entering the headwaters of the pristine Nashwaak River.

The Nashwaak flows 113 km south to Fredericton, where it drains into the St. John River, which the Wolastoqiyik call the Wolastoq, or the bountiful river. The river is so important to them that the people’s name is derived from it.

Bernard is hoping that more modern techniques that have been proposed for the toxic mining waste – such as dry stacking tailings – could replace the plans for a huge, poisonous pond at the mine site.

She’s seen enough horror stories from leaks from tailing ponds at other mine sites to know that’s the last thing she’d want on her people’s traditional territory.

“The thought of that is terrible. If the Nashwaak gets polluted, so does the Wolastoq. So what do you do? I’m hoping for dry stacking.”

The firm says it is busy doing a new feasibility study on the mine that won’t be ready till mid-2026 and won’t comment on the tailings issue.

“New Brunswick’s a poor province and we need to have something that can help us,” Bernard said. “Look at Alberta. They have all that oil and they’re a well-off province. How do we get that without punching ourselves in the face with environmental concerns?”

John Chilibeck is a Local Journalism Initiative Reporter for the Daily Gleaner. This article originally appeared in the Telegraph-Journal on Jan. 4, 2026.