Reciprocity on the Fireline
By Brady Highway
October 12, 2021
As a child I remember my parents going through great lengths to ensure I went to school, passed my classes and advanced into a career to support myself and my family. For sure I wouldn’t be where I am without their constant support and consistent nagging to finish homework and move forward. I value this, but as I look back, the majority of my education came from learning how to live and flourish in the lands that my family occupied for generations.
It was on Iskwatam Lake where I learned the most valuable lessons I carry forward. I recall my Granny saying in Cree, “If you look after the land, the land will look after you”, instilling the responsibility of respecting our lands and its people; humbly accepting the rewards offered to you after hard work.
The way I learned on the land was vastly different from meeting the expectations of school. On one hand, you were only a small thread of an interconnected system that required balance and patience. On the other hand, you needed knowledge and influence to control that very same system.
These were different ways of knowing and opposite dichotomies that were hard to explain to my mom who couldn’t speak a word of Cree, and even harder to explain to my Granny who couldn’t speak a word of English. As I moved into my teenage years, I recall picking and choosing which perspective worked best in certain situations when walking in two worlds.
A Career in Fire Rooted in Reciprocity
This came into focus when I was 15 and a forest fire jumped across the lake and threatened our camp. I recall our family being told to evacuate which was devastating. Knowing that our way of life was at risk of being wiped out, I asked my dad if we could stay and help save our land. I had no knowledge of fire behaviour or the dangers of working in this job. All I remember is adhering to the values instilled in me to preserve and protect our lands.
Since this event, I’ve been involved in over 250 forest fires. If I started counting prescribed burns and structural fires, the number of incidents I’ve attended is closer to 300. I’ve been involved in fire management for decades. My career choice was not made to exercise influence over my crew to control something “wild”, it was made out of an obligation for reciprocity to the land where I humbly acknowledged the gifts it has rewarded me over the years.
Working on a fire earlier in my career. Photo: Brady Highway
I am now 42 years old. Based on the standards established by fire agencies across the country, the very ones I loved working for, I’m now considered too old to continue this work. The culture of firefighting has drastically changed since I started. Youthful strength and endurance are favoured over knowledge and experience, and many of the crew members I worked with have been forced out of the job. Their knowledge has been permanently removed from decision making, and their experience ignored as they were replaced by younger men and women, eager for an adrenaline rush and the personal accolades of posting an extreme selfie on social media.
Returning to a Changed Landscape
In the summer of 2021, I was contemplating ways in which I could restore some involvement in fire. I knew that I had much more to offer, particularly as the country started experiencing record-setting heat waves, severe storms and at least two provinces that had exhausted all available resources. As all eyes focused on western Canada, I received a call requesting that I come out of retirement to lead a crew of newly trained firefighters. This was the chance to see how the fire management industry has changed at ground level. I wanted to see how well new recruits were prepared for the adversity involved in this work. More importantly, this was a good excuse to ditch my computer for a few weeks and get back into the bush.
I arrived at the fire base where I was paired up with a group of firefighters from Red Earth Cree Nation. Like other crews I’ve worked with, they were all vastly different from one another, each with varying degrees of comfort and confidence heading into the job we were about to take on. Naturally I was challenged by a few men, questioning why they needed an outsider to lead their team. This was the first time I had met any of them, but going in I knew that an outsider leader could cause issues amongst a large crew from the same area.
As I was becoming accustomed to the ‘n’ dialect they were speaking, I overheard one of the men ask “Kina na government puppet?”. Holy smokes I laughed because at one point I was entirely invested in the agency’s I was working in. The opportunities afforded to me were drastically different than the ones offered to them, and so I appreciated the way they questioned me as an outsider and worked hard to ensure every crew member had a voice.
Cotton Coveralls and Systemic Racism on the Fire Line
Working as a nationally certified Type-1 wildland crew leader for a number of years, then proceeding into roles within Incident Management Teams, I had forgotten the realities of working as a Type-3 on ground level. Instead of flying to the fire in a helicopter, my crew rode in a school bus. Instead of being issued appropriate protective equipment, my crew was given cotton coveralls. I had brought my own Nomex 2-piece protective equipment, but because my pants and shirt were the wrong color, and resembled agency staff they made me take them off.
As a former safety officer, it was strange that they made me remove perfectly functional protective equipment, replacing them with orange cotton overalls which didn’t even fit. Instead of government-issued camping gear, my crew's camping gear was stuffed into garbage bags. Extra garbage bags were used for rain gear, as the crew had no means to purchase their own. It was a disgrace. They were only being paid a few cents over the minimum wage, but expected to put their lives on the line each and every day. And wearing garbage bags when it rained.
After our first 12-day shift, I recognized the potential of my crew and agreed to return. Members of Shoal Lake Cree Nation joined us, becoming the largest contingent of firefighters on the same crew. I knew that the fire behaviour we were working on required appropriate protective equipment so I sought donations to purchase fire resistant coveralls that protect workers from radiant heat.
A generous (anonymous) donor gifted us with $1,600, and using personal funds, I covered the difference to purchase every member of my crew a new set of Nomex coveralls. I’ll never forget the sense of pride they had after being recognized as professional firefighters. It was the most rewarding feeling I’ve experienced during my career, and drove me to work harder and pay extra attention mentoring them to become the best crew in Saskatchewan.
A member of the crew wearing the safer, fire-resistant coveralls. Photo: Brady Highway
Still, I couldn’t help thinking about what it cost the government of Canada to bring in Australian firefighters from halfway around the world versus the government commitment to building regional capacity, and having to resort to asking a private donor for help. While those of us on that fire were all on the same team and working towards the same goals, the institutional norms had camouflaged the disparrancy of treatment where the colour of coveralls were more important than the protective function they provided. This is an example of systemic racism. Instead of giving Native firefighters garbage bags as raincoats and spending millions on importing foreign fire crews, we should be restoring authority and autonomy of First Nations, and building sustainable capacity in local communities.
About a month later in October, the city where I live became engulfed in smoke. News reports started flooding in about a restart of the Bell fire causing public health warnings and evacuations of Red Earth and Shoal Lake. The next day I received a call from several crew members who stayed behind to protect their communities. Two of my crew leader trainees had their own crews, and they called me to thank me for offering mentorship into those positions.
This is just one snapshot of what is possible. With more training, investment, and resources, more First Nations will take the lead on managing and responding to fire. That’s why in this phase of my career, I’m working with the Indigenous Leadership Initiative to expand the role of Guardians programs in making our lands and communities more resilient in the face of climate change.
As I look back on the entire experience of the 2021 fire season, I will always remember how each member of the crew stepped up with no expectation of reciprocity. They already embodied the ethics I grew up with, and carried out their obligation to steward the land each and every day. Knowing that I trained them in a way that fosters this obligation gives me peace. All we needed was the opportunity.
After we did careful training in helicopter safety, other crews started asking us for tips and advice. Photo: Brady Highway
