How Two‑Spirit Gatherings Build Community and Reclaim Identity
Across Turtle Island, powwows have long been central to Indigenous social and ceremonial life — places where people gather to honour culture, celebrate kinship, and carry forward traditions. But in recent decades, a distinct expression of this tradition has emerged: Two‑Spirit powwows — gatherings that centre Indigenous LGBTQ2S+ people, affirm identity, and build intergenerational community in ways deeply rooted in culture and care.
For many Two‑Spirit people, these powwows are more than dance circles — they are spaces of healing, cultural revival, and connection. Participants speak of not only celebrating their identities but also performing traditions in ways that affirm who they are while honouring their ancestors. At One Two‑Spirit powwow in Syilx (Okanagan) territory, participants talked about how the circle isn’t only about those present — it’s about the ancestors who couldn’t be celebrated openly in the past and the children who now see their whole selves reflected in community life and ceremony.
The term Two‑Spirit itself is modern, coined in 1990 to offer an Indigenous alternative to colonially imposed and often derogatory terms, and to reflect Indigenous understandings of gender and spirit that pre‑date Western binaries. Two‑Spirit powwows respond to this history by providing ceremonies and gatherings where gender diversity is not simply tolerated but revered as part of cultural identity. These events often feature dance categories and activities that are gender‑inclusive and affirming — not limited by Western binary structures — and invite participants to move how their spirit guides them.
Participants often travel long distances to be together, drawn by the opportunity to gather with Indigenous LGBTQ2S+ kin — people who share not just cultural heritage but also lived experiences of navigating identity, family, and belonging. For many, these powwows are among the few places where they can stand fully in both Indigenous identity and queer or gender‑diverse identity at the same time.
Two‑Spirit powwows create community in a way that challenges colonial histories of exclusion and erasure. These gatherings allow Indigenous LGBTQ2S+ people to reclaim their place in cultural life, bringing together elders, youth, dancers, singers, and families in shared ceremonial and social spaces. The significance of this can’t be overstated: powwows that affirm Two‑Spirit identity help fill a gap left by histories of marginalization, offering validation and visibility for identities that have long existed in Indigenous cultures.
Moreover, these gatherings often integrate broader community support — from vendors and allies to cultural education — showing that Two‑Spirit powwows are not isolated celebrations but growing community anchors where identities are honoured and relationships are strengthened.
Today’s Two‑Spirit powwows are part of a burgeoning movement across communities in the United States and Canada. From coast to coast, powwows in Minneapolis, Kelowna, San Francisco, and beyond reflect Indigenous LGBTQ2S+ resilience and creativity as they build spaces that reflect tradition and contemporary Indigenous life.
More than just events, they are living traditions — evolving practices that carry forward Indigenous values of inclusivity, ceremony, and collective belonging. By reclaiming their place in the circle, Two‑Spirit people are not only celebrating themselves; they’re inviting broader communities to witness and support resurgence rooted in dignity, history, and shared identity.
Source:
https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/2025/11/18/two-spirit-powwows-create-community/86314345007/
How Good Intentions in Indigenous Procurement Became a $1.6‑Billion Policy with Big Problems
When the federal government first introduced the Procurement Strategy for Indigenous Business (PSIB) in the late 1990s, the intent was clear: open doors to government contracts for Indigenous‑owned businesses and use public procurement as a tool for economic inclusion and “reconciliation.” Nearly three decades later, the policy has become a $1.6‑billion annual program, but it’s also sparked controversy, criticism, and concerns that it hasn’t delivered the benefits it was meant to create.
At its core, the PSIB was designed to help First Nations, Inuit, and Métis businesses compete for federal government contracts. The idea was that set‑asides — commitments to direct a minimum percentage of federal contracting dollars to Indigenous suppliers — would help build capacity, create wealth in Indigenous communities, and diversify economic opportunity.
Over the past few years, the federal government increased the scale of that commitment, directing at least five per cent of its contracting budget — around $1.6 billion annually — toward Indigenous businesses.
But as the program expanded, problems began to emerge — and internal warnings about those flaws were repeatedly ignored.
Investigations and internal government documents reveal that warnings about systemic weaknesses in the PSIB date back decades. As early as the late 1990s, civil servants cautioned that without proper verification and oversight, the program could be vulnerable to misuse. Despite those warnings, the policy continued to grow without systemic reforms to address the risks.
The key concern was that some companies were being listed as “Indigenous” for the purposes of procurement eligibility without genuinely meeting the criteria of Indigenous ownership or control. In some cases, evidence suggests that non‑Indigenous firms partnered with Indigenous companies in ways that enabled them to win lucrative contracts without delivering real economic benefit to Indigenous communities.
This pattern was highlighted in two of the most controversial contracts awarded under the program: work on the ArriveCAN mobile app, which ballooned from a small project to a costly federal contract. Some of the companies involved — including a small Indigenous‑registered firm and a larger non‑Indigenous partner — were found to have significant operational overlap, raising questions about whether the policy was being exploited rather than driving meaningful Indigenous participation.
For Indigenous entrepreneurs and communities, procurement dollars can be a lifeline — funding businesses, creating jobs, and building economic independence. But when weaknesses in verification and oversight allow companies that don’t genuinely qualify to benefit, the original promise of the policy is undermined.
As one Indigenous business owner told investigators, these kinds of arrangements can “distort the playing field,” making it harder for legitimately Indigenous‑owned firms to compete and grow.
This disconnect has broader implications for Canada’s reconciliation agenda. Economic reconciliation involves not only symbolic commitments but actual, measurable advances in Indigenous wealth, capacity, and control over economic opportunity. When procurement policies open space for exploitation instead of empowerment, it weakens trust in institutions and stalls progress.
In response to years of criticism and public scrutiny, Indigenous leaders and business associations have called for major reforms to the program. Recommendations include stronger verification of Indigenous ownership, better oversight and auditing mechanisms, and, in some cases, transferring authority over the Indigenous Business Directory to Indigenous governance bodies themselves.
There have also been calls for the Auditor General of Canada to conduct a full audit of the procurement strategy to examine how well the policy is working and whether its implementation aligns with its stated goals.
The PSIB represents a critical test case in how government policy can — and cannot — support Indigenous economic development. On paper, the idea of reserving a share of public contracts for Indigenous businesses is powerful. In practice, without strong accountability, meaningful verification, and Indigenous leadership in governance, well‑intentioned policies risk perpetuating inequity rather than correcting it.
For Indigenous entrepreneurs and community leaders, the priority remains clear: ensure that Indigenous procurement programs deliver real opportunities and real benefits for Indigenous communities, not just increased government spending with minimal accountability.
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In debates over trans prison policy, the focus often falls narrowly on gender identity — but recent policy shifts in Quebec and beyond show that these discussions are inseparable from broader questions of Indigenous rights, colonial violence, and systemic discrimination.
In 2025, Quebec’s Minister of Public Security announced a rollback of trans‑affirming policies, returning to a system that houses incarcerated people according to their “anatomical sex.” This mirrors similar efforts in the United States, where federal policy has targeted what some politicians call “gender ideology.”
While trans people make up a small portion of the prison population — in Quebec, that number is estimated at just 0.1% of incarcerated people — the stakes are high. Policies that disregard gender identity can increase vulnerability, discrimination, and physical danger for trans, non‑binary, and Two‑Spirit people behind bars.
Indigenous people are disproportionately represented in Canadian prisons: they comprise roughly 30% of the federal prison population and 50% of those in women’s facilities, despite being a small minority of the general population. In some provincial systems, the figures are even higher.
Given this context, it’s perhaps unsurprising that nearly half of those housed under trans‑affirming policies in federal prisons are Indigenous — most often Two‑Spirit people. For Two‑Spirit Indigenous people, prison policy isn’t simply a matter of gender identity but directly tied to historical and ongoing colonial oppression.
Fallon Aubee, a Métis Two‑Spirit trans woman and prison justice activist, exemplifies how these issues intersect. In 2017, Aubee became the first person in Canada to be transferred to a women’s penitentiary based on gender identity, not sex. That victory came after years of advocacy — but didn’t end her struggle. Even after the transfer, institutional records continued to classify her as “male,” prompting her to file a human rights complaint.
Aubee’s experience highlights how Western gender binaries and colonial frameworks have been imposed on Indigenous peoples, obscuring understandings of identity that existed long before colonization. For many Indigenous cultures, gender was traditionally not defined by strict male/female binaries. The English term “Two‑Spirit” — coined in 1990 to describe Indigenous gender and sexuality identities — reflects a reclamation of these traditions.
Policy decisions about where a person is housed, how they are identified, and how their identity is respected inside prison walls may seem technical. But for Two‑Spirit and trans Indigenous people, these policies impact their safety, dignity, cultural connection, and human rights.
Beyond prison walls, the struggle is fundamentally about decolonization and Indigenous self‑determination. Indigenous Peoples have the right to define and live their identities according to their cultures and traditions, free from colonial constraints. This principle is codified in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which Canada has committed to implementing.
Aubee and other advocates call for a comprehensive review and reform of trans prison policies that centers Indigenous voices and needs. This includes recognizing Two‑Spirit identities in culturally meaningful ways, ensuring accommodations reflect lived realities, and creating pathways for incarcerated people to reconnect with their cultures rather than being further alienated by colonial systems.
The impacts of current policy changes extend beyond individual cases; they reveal deep flaws in systems that continue to marginalize trans, non‑binary, and Two‑Spirit Indigenous people. Meaningful change requires moving beyond defensive debates about identity and toward policies that uphold self‑determination, cultural dignity, and human rights.
Reforming prison policy is not just about housing assignments or terminology — it’s about recognizing the full humanity of Two‑Spirit and Indigenous trans people, valuing their cultures, and challenging systems that were built on colonial violence. Only through this lens can policy transform into support rather than harm.
Source: https://xtramagazine.com/power/politics/trans-prison-policy-two-spirit-indigenous-rights-276887
Indigenous Housing Inequality in Canada: A Crisis of Health, Cost, and Climate Resilience
Across Canada, access to safe, adequate, and climate‑resilient housing remains a persistent and urgent issue for First Nations, Inuit, and Métis communities. New research from the Canadian Climate Institute — developed in partnership with Indigenous Clean Energy — makes clear that without coordinated policy change, the ongoing housing gap will continue to drive up both health risks and long‑term costs, and deepen inequities rooted in colonial legacies.
A home is far more than a physical structure. It is a critical foundation for physical, emotional, cultural, and community well‑being. Yet today, Indigenous peoples in Canada are almost three times more likely to live in homes requiring major repairs than non‑Indigenous Canadians. These substandard living conditions are not just uncomfortable — they have direct implications for long‑term health and safety, and are compounded by climate change impacts such as extreme heat, wildfire smoke, flooding, and erosion.
Substandard housing contributes to chronic health issues — including respiratory and cardiovascular illnesses — and can exacerbate stress and mental health challenges. Poor ventilation, mold, overcrowding, and insufficient heating or cooling make homes dangerous places to live, especially for children, elders, and people with pre‑existing health conditions.
The report highlights that safe housing, energy systems, and climate resilience are deeply interconnected. Climate change exacerbates existing vulnerabilities in Indigenous communities: homes that already lack proper insulation or ventilation are more vulnerable to wildfire smoke and extreme heat, increasing risks of hospitalization and illness. In northern and remote communities, logistical barriers and high costs of materials further limit the ability to build or retrofit healthier homes.
Addressing these interconnected challenges requires more than short‑term fixes. It calls for approaches that treat housing as a social determinant of health, linking policy decisions with outcomes in well‑being, climate resilience, and economic stability.
To close the Indigenous housing gap, the report proposes the “Healthy Energy Homes” policy lens. This framework prioritizes energy‑efficient, climate‑resilient housing that supports well‑being while advancing Indigenous self‑determination and reconciliation. Key recommendations include:
Co‑coordinate and integrate government action on Indigenous housing to reduce duplication and streamline support across jurisdictions.
Co‑develop policies and programs with Indigenous leadership so housing reflects cultural needs and regional climate conditions.
Commit to long‑term, flexible funding agreements that provide stability for community planning and implementation.
Measure broader benefits of improved housing — including health, social, cultural, and environmental outcomes — in policy decisions.
Ensure funding accessibility by tailoring programs to community capacity and needs.
These recommendations are grounded in the idea that housing solutions should not be imposed, but co‑created with the communities most affected. By centring Indigenous leadership, policies can uphold cultural priorities, equity, and long‑term resilience. I
Investing in Indigenous housing is not only a moral imperative — it also makes economic sense. Estimates suggest every dollar invested in Indigenous housing yields roughly $6.79 in social returns, including cost savings in government services like healthcare. For example, the high cost of treating respiratory illness among Inuit infants — sometimes exceeding $60,000 per hospital visit — illustrates how inadequate housing drives avoidable health expenditures.
At a policy level, this means that improving homes can reduce strain on healthcare systems, cut energy costs for families, and support community stability — outcomes that benefit all Canadians.
The creation of the $13‑billion Build Canada Homes agency presents a significant opportunity to embed these recommendations in national housing policy. But success hinges on long‑term, flexible funding and meaningful partnerships with Indigenous nations — not short‑term programs or siloed policy responses.
Closing the Indigenous housing gap will require governments at all levels — federal, provincial, and territorial — to act with urgency, coordination, and respect. And while the cost of inaction is high, the potential benefits — healthier families, stronger communities, and more resilient futures — are even greater.
Conclusion
Indigenous housing inequality is not simply a housing issue. It is a matter of health equity, climate resilience, community well‑being, and justice. By rethinking housing policy through a lens that centres Indigenous leadership and lived experience, Canada can take a significant step toward reconciliation — one home at a time.
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Why Indigenous Engagement Matters – Beyond Compliance
In today’s world, organizations working on policies, projects, or decisions that affect Indigenous lands and peoples can no longer treat Indigenous engagement as optional — it’s essential. Whether you’re in government, business, nonprofit work, or community planning, engaging with Indigenous communities respectfully and meaningfully is both an ethical responsibility and, often, a legal necessity.
Indigenous engagement refers to the process of consulting with Traditional Owners and Indigenous groups when your work impacts their territories, rights, or cultural heritage. This isn’t just about ticking a box — it’s about listening, learning, and building relationships in ways that genuinely respect Indigenous knowledge, rights, and aspirations.
At its core, consulting with Traditional Owners means more than sending a memo or holding a meeting. It involves proactively reaching out to Indigenous communities whose land, rights, or way of life could be affected by your work. This might include seeking permission, gathering advice, and ensuring their perspectives are actively incorporated into decisions that affect them. Traditionally, this work is rooted in Indigenous laws and protocols, and so must be approached with cultural sensitivity and respect.
Why Indigenous Engagement Is So Important
Here are key reasons Indigenous engagement should be central to your planning and decision‑making:
1. Human Rights and Self‑Determination
People have the right to participate in decisions that affect them — a principle affirmed by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Indigenous engagement supports their right to free, prior, and informed consent and recognizes Indigenous peoples as active partners in decisions about their lands and futures.
2. Respect for Cultural and Land Connections
Indigenous peoples often have deep cultural, spiritual, and historical relationships with their territories. Failing to consult with Traditional Owners before making decisions about those lands is not only disrespectful — it can erode trust and lead to harm.
3. Avoiding Harm and Increasing Understanding
Engagement helps identify cultural sites, environmental priorities, and community concerns before plans are finalized. This foresight can prevent decisions that inadvertently damage sacred places, disrupt ecosystems, or undermine community wellbeing.
4. Promoting Equality and Inclusion
Many Indigenous communities face longstanding disparities in education, health, and economic opportunity. Prioritizing their voices in engagement processes helps ensure that decisions aren’t made about them without their input — closing gaps in participation and influence.
5. Tapping into Unique Knowledge and Insight
Indigenous peoples often hold generational knowledge about land stewardship, ecology, and sustainable resource use. Engaging with them can enrich projects with insights that lead to better outcomes for everyone involved.
6. Reducing Conflict and Building Acceptance
When Indigenous voices are genuinely heard early and throughout a project, it reduces the risk of disputes, legal challenges, or delays caused by inadequate consultation. Meaningful engagement lays the groundwork for trust — not just compliance.
7. Building Lasting Relationships
Authentic engagement opens doors to long‑term partnerships, mutual respect, and shared success. It supports broader reconciliation efforts by addressing past wrongs and fostering cooperation rooted in respect and shared goals.
Engaging respectfully with Indigenous communities means more than a one‑off meeting when you have to. It involves thoughtful planning, cultural awareness, and ongoing communication. Some key steps include:
Identifying the right communities and Traditional Owners who have cultural, historical, or legal ties to the land or issues at hand.
Honouring cultural protocols and communication practices, rather than imposing your own timelines or formats.
Seeking input early and often — not just after decisions are made.
Listening with the intent to act, and incorporating community concerns into project design.
Negotiating agreements where appropriate, and documenting understandings in ways that reflect mutual respect and clarity.
Valuing Indigenous knowledge as a critical contribution — not an add‑on.
Real Outcomes — What Happens When Engagement Works (…and When It Doesn’t)
Examining real‑world examples shows why Indigenous engagement matters:
In Western Australia, a major gas project was halted because Traditional Owners successfully challenged the approval process due to inadequate consultation — underscoring the legal and operational risks of poor engagement.
Conversely, in South‑East Queensland, collaborating with the Kabi Kabi people to name a new city ensured that the community’s language and cultural heritage shaped the outcome, leading to broader acceptance and respect.
In Ontario, legal disputes over road projects and housing legislation highlight the consequences when Indigenous voices are overlooked, triggering community resistance and legal challenges.
These examples make it clear that Indigenous engagement isn’t an abstract ideal — it has real, tangible effects on project success, community wellbeing, and social cohesion.
Engagement as Respect and Responsibility
Indigenous engagement isn’t merely a procedural step — it’s an ethical imperative rooted in respect, justice, and shared humanity. By consulting early, listening genuinely, and acting collaboratively, organizations can move beyond tokenism toward authentic partnerships that honour Indigenous nations, knowledge systems, and rights.
When done right, Indigenous engagement strengthens decisions, builds community trust, and contributes to more equitable, sustainable outcomes for all.
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In the northern Inuit community of Kuujjuaq, Quebec, a quiet but powerful transformation is happening. Small pride celebrations and public expressions of 2SLGBTQ+ identity are becoming more visible — but for many Two‑Spirit Inuit youth, acceptance is still a work in progress.
At just 16 years old, Niivi Snowball is already making waves. During a local music event — Aqpik Jam — Niivi performed a song for their then‑girlfriend. What felt ordinary to Niivi was seen by others as an act of bravery. Walking off stage, someone told them they were “so brave” for coming out publicly — a moment that helped Niivi recognize the impact of their visibility in a small town.
Despite that visibility, Niivi also faces challenges. Some members of the older generation have become distant, and Niivi sometimes encounters overt hostility, like hearing slurs in school. They cope through creativity — turning difficult experiences into music — and through support from family and chosen community.
Niivi’s family plays a central role in their story. While their parents sometimes forget pronouns, they continue learning and adapting. Niivi’s dad proudly encourages them to be true to themselves, even if it takes time to understand. Meanwhile, their mom has worked to educate herself about gender diversity with help from community resources. The family dynamic reflects both love and the ongoing process of understanding what it means to be Two‑Spirit.
Support isn’t limited to biological family. Two‑Spirit youth like Aputi Arnatuinak have carved out a chosen family of queer peers. Aputi remembers befriending classmates who eventually came out as LGBTQ2S+, creating a community in the process. They’ve also been part of organizing Kuujjuaq’s first pride parade in 2021, an important milestone for visibility and celebration.
Another friend, Tobi Nashak, came out as trans at age 13 and now identifies as Two‑Spirit while studying near Montreal. Tobi’s traditional Inuit tattoo, a vertical line on the chin that symbolizes acceptance of femininity, represents how identity can intertwine cultural tradition and personal experience.
For someone like Tommy Sequaluk, who came out as gay at 18, the journey has shown how much can change over time. Although his community — heavily influenced by Catholic traditions — wasn’t initially accepting, Tommy says attitudes have shifted. What was once met with discomfort is now largely seen as normal, especially as more people participate in pride events and visibly support one another.
This year’s pride parade — the largest to date — was a deeply emotional experience for many. For Tommy and others, seeing broad attendance and public celebration was a sign of progress, however incremental.
While pride events in Kuujjuaq are meaningful, there’s also a sense among youth that larger cities offer a different kind of freedom and authenticity. Niivi spoke about the contrast between the comfort of home and the openness they felt when leading a pride delegation down south. Yet even amid judgment in a small town, the pull of home, family, culture, and shared history remains strong for many.
For Niivi and Tobi, being Two‑Spirit isn’t just a modern identity — it connects deeply with pre‑colonial Indigenous understandings of gender. Before colonization, Inuit and other Indigenous cultures often recognized and respected diverse gender roles and expressions, including people who embodied both masculine and feminine spirits. Embracing this history offers strength and context as Two‑Spirit youth navigate identity in the present.
Conclusion: A Journey of Visibility, Belonging, and Cultural Continuity
The stories from Kuujjuaq reflect both the progress and complexity of growing up queer in the North. Through music, family relationships, chosen kinship, and community events, Two‑Spirit Inuit youth are asserting their identities — even as they work toward broader acceptance and understanding. These experiences highlight the importance of visibility, cultural connection, and supportive communities in shaping both individual and collective futures.
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In a world where rights that were once hard‑won feel increasingly fragile, the voices of LGBTQ2S+ elders are more important than ever. These elders — activists, community builders, and Two‑Spirit leaders — have lived through decades of struggle, resilience, community formation, and transformation. Their advice to today’s youth carries both reflection and urgency: it’s grounded in history and aimed at shaping a more just and compassionate future.
Barbara Findlay, a trailblazing queer lawyer, reminds us that the fight for justice has always been collective work. In earlier decades, the LGBTQ2S+ community had no legal protections at all — and survival meant banding together, even in fear and isolation. While legal and social landscapes have shifted, Findlay warns that individualism can weaken the community’s power. Instead, she urges youth to organize, build networks, and lean into collective strength rather than going it alone.
“Youth looking to fight back shouldn’t agonize, they should organize. What’s going to save us in the end is community.”
This message is particularly relevant for young people navigating intersecting identities — including Indigenous LGBTQ2S+ youth who have long understood the strength of community bonds and shared cultural resilience.
Two‑Spirit Cree‑Métis elder Richard Jenkins speaks from a place of compassion and long experience. For Jenkins, it’s not just about fighting injustice — it’s about creating places where youth can truly be themselves. He emphasizes that safety, belonging, and dialogue are essential for wellbeing. That means conversations about consent, relationships, identity, and emotions should happen openly and supportively — ideally before young people have to navigate them in confusion or isolation.
He also encourages youth to remember that tough moments don’t last forever — and that celebration and joy are part of the healing process.
Kimberly Nixon’s story — a long legal battle for transgender inclusion in women’s spaces — shows youth that change often takes time, persistence, and visibility. Through decades‑long work, Nixon helped shift how community services include trans people, proving that bravery and tenacity matter.
Even while acknowledging setbacks — like rising anti‑trans laws — elders emphasize that each generation builds on the work of the last. Progress isn’t linear, but it matters deeply.
Another key thread from elders is the importance of visibility and voice. Too often, discrimination thrives in silence. By being loud about who you are and what you stand for — whether through activism, art, dialogue, or community care — youth help protect not just themselves but others who may feel unseen.
“Stand up, make noise, fight back and be visible … and bring others along with you who face the same kind of marginalization.”
Celebrate the Present While Imagining the Future
The elders’ message isn’t only about struggle — it’s about hope. They see in youth “bright, wonderful potential” to live fuller lives with dignity and freedom. By learning from history, building resilient communities, and nurturing joy, young LGBTQ2S+ people can shape futures that honour identity, safety, culture, and love.
The wisdom shared by LGBTQ2S+ elders is a powerful blend of history, strategy, and heart. In a world that still grapples with discrimination, that blend reminds us that:
community is strength,
connection heals,
visibility liberates,
change is possible — and
joy is revolutionary.
Young people today carry both the legacy and the promise of those who came before. Listening to elders isn’t just about respect — it’s about grounding ourselves in stories of resistance, solidarity, and hope that can light the way forward.
Source:
https://www.indigenouswatchdog.org/update/advice-lgbtq2s-elders-have-for-youth-today/
A recent announcement by provincial and federal governments is bringing renewed hope to survivors, advocates, and communities across Manitoba. Over $12.5 million has just been committed to 32 initiatives working to prevent and respond to gender-based violence (GBV), helping stabilize and expand supports for survivors, families, and marginalized communities.
The funding is part of the long-term National Action Plan to End Gender-Based Violence (GBV NAP) — a 10-year commitment by Canada and provincial partners to fight GBV, support survivors, and tackle root causes.
Manitoba has allocated these funds to 32 community-based initiatives, including prevention programs, healing services, outreach, culturally informed supports, and crisis services.
The supported initiatives target groups that often face disproportionate violence or barriers to services: Indigenous, Black, racialized, immigrant and refugee women and girls; 2SLGBTQI+ people; people with disabilities; and those living in rural, northern, or remote communities.
Gender-based violence isn’t just an individual problem — it’s a social justice, human rights, and community well-being issue. Investments like this send a strong message: survivors deserve safety, culture-sensitive support, and real access to healing and justice.
For many communities, especially Indigenous and racialized ones, this funding could be a step toward rebuilding trust, offering culturally grounded services, and challenging systemic inequities in how violence is addressed.
Moreover, expanding support means more people — not just in urban centers but in remote, rural, and underserved areas — can access help when they need it most.
With this funding, community organizations are better equipped to:
Offer prevention programs that engage men, boys, and entire communities — not just survivors.
Provide culturally informed healing and support services for survivors of GBV, especially Indigenous, 2SLGBTQI+, and marginalized communities.
Maintain crisis hotlines, safe housing, counselling, and wrap-around supports for those fleeing violence or abuse.
Build long-term, community-led solutions to GBV — justice, prevention, awareness, and structural change.
Funding is a crucial step — but it doesn’t solve everything overnight. Challenges remain:
Ensuring initiatives are truly accessible and culturally safe for all communities, including 2SLGBTQI+, Indigenous, newcomers, and rural populations.
Sustaining long-term commitment beyond initial program cycles — GBV is a long-term issue.
Holding systems accountable so that policies, funding, and services translate into real safety, justice, and healing.
Ending gender-based violence is not just a women’s issue — it’s a community issue, a human rights issue, a justice issue. As funding flows and new initiatives launch, there’s an opportunity for collective transformation: safer homes, stronger supports, and a future where no one lives in fear because of their gender, identity, or history.
The recent investment in Manitoba gives cause for cautious optimism — but also a call to stay engaged, informed, and committed. Let’s watch these programs closely, support them, and demand that this funding becomes real change.
The federal government has announced a major shift in how large-scale projects in Canada will be reviewed and approved. Under a new “nation-building projects” approach, Ottawa is preparing to fast-track infrastructure, energy, mining, and export-corridor developments it considers nationally significant.
For many, this signals economic opportunity. For Indigenous Nations, it signals something much bigger: a turning point in how land, governance, consent, and long-term community well-being will be respected.
The federal government’s new framework creates a streamlined process for approving “nation-building projects,” a category that may include:
Critical minerals and mining projects
Large infrastructure and trade corridors
Clean-energy and hydro transmission initiatives
Northern and remote-community ports
Transportation and export-route expansions
Ottawa’s goal is to accelerate projects that support economic growth and national competitiveness — especially in Northern and Prairie regions.
But for Indigenous communities, these projects intersect directly with:
Treaty rights
Land stewardship
Wildlife and water systems
Cultural practices
Long-term community development
This means the stakes are high — and so is the need for strong Indigenous governance and informed decision-making.
These projects often cross or impact traditional territories. That means they must uphold Indigenous rights, Treaty relationships, and Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) — not as a checkbox, but as a foundation.
Indigenous Nations can benefit through:
Equity ownership
Revenue sharing
Training and employment
Long-term industry partnerships
Infrastructure development
But those benefits only materialize when agreements are negotiated on Indigenous terms, with strong legal, governance, and policy support.
Indigenous communities are at the frontlines of protecting water, wildlife, and ecosystems. Nation-building cannot come at the cost of land, culture, or sustainability. Indigenous stewardship must guide environmental decisions from the beginning — not after damage is done.
Manitoba is positioned to play a major role in Canada’s infrastructure and resource expansion, particularly in the North. Many projects will rely on access through Indigenous territories and Métis homeland, making Indigenous leadership essential.
This moment calls for:
Clear governance structures
Strong policy analysis
Transparent information-sharing
Community-driven decision-making
Skilled negotiation and rights-based frameworks
These are the core supports Indigenous Nations will need to navigate — and influence — Canada’s new nation-building direction.
Nation-building will not succeed without Indigenous Nation-building.
As Canada moves forward with this accelerated agenda, Indigenous communities must not be observers — they must be decision-makers, rights-holders, and co-designers.
The Power of Community: How Collective Advocacy Drives Lasting Change
At Kíwétinohk Consulting, community is at the heart of every project and partnership. Time and again, Indigenous and northern communities demonstrate that the strongest change comes from working together—lifting voices, sharing knowledge, and mobilizing action. But what does “community” really mean in the context of advocacy?
Community-Led Change: Lessons from Indigenous Engagement
Recent initiatives across Canada highlight how national strategies benefit from Indigenous engagement at the community level. When governments partner with First Nations, Inuit, and Métis groups to shape policy—such as on environmental justice or racism—results are more equitable, relevant, and enduring. Early engagement conversations in 2025 showed that two-way communication builds the trust needed for collaborative action].
One standout example is the new Joint Committee between Aamjiwnaang First Nation and government, piloting community-driven solutions to environmental justice and stewardship. Lessons learned from these kinds of partnerships help guide larger policy frameworks, informing others nationwide.
Empowerment, Equity, and Social Justice
Community is foundational in empowering marginalized voices and addressing complex social issues. Programs supporting Indigenous women’s leadership, such as those highlighted by Land Is Life, foster gender equality and economic growth while strengthening the fabric of local society. As these initiatives show, capacity-building and shared space for learning and advocacy create ripple effects—spurring durable support systems and safeguarding tradition and territory.
Grants and resources from partners like Native Voices Rising have further multiplied the impact of grassroots organizing. Native-led organizations receiving this support have transformed community advocacy into practical solutions on climate, health, youth, and cross-generational mentorship.
Building Resilience for the Future
Stronger communities are not just safer or better resourced. They are more resilient, able to adapt to challenges, and better equipped to advocate for justice and environmental sustainability[4]. Supporting movements that connect local action to broader national and international conversations is key to sustaining this momentum.
Why Community Matters to Kíwétinohk Consulting
All these examples reinforce the deep belief that belonging, shared vision, and collective effort are what drive real change. Whether through facilitating engagement, amplifying Indigenous leadership, or supporting program design, Kíwétinohk Consulting stands with communities striving for equity, justice, and cultural vitality.
This summer, Manitoba made history. With the passing of Bill 43, the province’s Human Rights Code now explicitly protects gender expression.
In plain terms, that means people cannot be discriminated against because of how they express their gender — whether through pronouns, clothing, names, or other outward expressions of identity. For many, this change provides validation and safety. It sends a message: in Manitoba, everyone deserves to live authentically, without fear of exclusion.
Some critics raised concerns about free speech, as reported in the news. But legal experts are clear: the Human Rights Code already balances rights. What Bill 43 does is close a gap — ensuring protections extend to everyday realities of gender expression.
For our northern and Indigenous communities, where barriers can be higher and resources fewer, this matters deeply. At Kíwétinohk, we bring this law to life through workshops like Reclaiming Two-Spirit & Indigiqueer Identities and Two-Spirit & Gender-Diverse Care in the North. These sessions foster understanding, dialogue, and action that ripple out to create safer spaces.
Bill 43 is not the end of the road — it’s a beginning. By working together, communities can move from policy on paper to lived change on the ground.
Sources
Centre for Human Rights Research. Bill 43 – the Human Rights Code Amendment Act: Adding Gender Expression as a Protected Characteristic (2025).
Global News. Manitoba Tories say bill to protect gender expression could infringe on free speech (2025).