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Rather than embrace inadequate provincial policy, Aboriginal communities have begun to develop their own internal processes for dealing with archaeology that more closely match their community interests. Overwhelmed by the volume of requests triggered by the engagement requirements of the new Standards and Guidelines, many First Nations find themselves without the time or capacity needed to review and work with that hefty document; instead, they fall back on what they know, trusting the community’s own

needs to guide their response. If their approach clashes with the vision of the province, that is of little concern:

“It’s more of what they [First Nations] need and what they want, because it’s coming to that. It’s in that time now where they’re done doing exactly what the province wants them to do [. . .] So a lot of

internal stuff that they do, it’s what the community wants, what the elders want, what they think is best for the future of the community – whether it clashes with what the government wants or not.” [B02]

There are many varied reasons why Aboriginal communities may decide to create their own approach to archaeology and engagement. One representative felt that the

requirement of engagement during Stage Three came much too late in the process, far past the point when the community could provide input on “the quality, thoroughness, [and] effectiveness” of Stages One and Two [B01]. In addition to wanting to be involved earlier, another respondent revealed his/her community’s push for more meaningful and

mutual engagement as part of its policy. S/he explained that this was born out of the need for more of a reciprocal dialogue than the current system permitted, allowing the

community to share its knowledge and concerns with the archaeologist [F07]. Finally, one Aboriginal participant explained that his/her community viewed archaeology as an educational tool, with which to better understand their own history and culture; this internal priority conflicts, s/he said, with the province’s vision of archaeology, which

focuses on the resources as objects to be managed [F05].

Many of the Aboriginal participants with whom I spoke identified that internal policy came not from some sanctioned, physical document, but rather emerged from an atmosphere of cultural interest shared by the First Nation. Some admitted that the community was continuing to work to develop this internal policy, as the influx of requests for engagement was still so new. Two participants revealed that they had turned to archaeologists for help, enlisting them to work alongside the community in creating an archeological master plan or designing internal policy [F04; F07]. Some have found archaeological master plans, which document sites in the community’s traditional

capacity. However, one Aboriginal representative explained that working with

archaeologists on a tool for the community’s use requires a bond of trust and the proper

approach on the part of the archaeologist:

“When we sent out our request for proposals, it was an invitation to provide a proposal on conducting an archaeological master plan and the intent was that [the archaeologists] would work with us. So [Company X] were really intrigued when they saw the words ‘work with’ instead of ‘for us’ [. . .] From

the beginning they got it right and that’s the firm we chose.” [F04]

According to one participant, while it is important for First Nations to develop their own internal policy, in his/her experience proponents generally dislike it when they realize that they cannot come in and tell the First Nation exactly how engagement is going to happen [F04]. S/he explained that some people have complained that his/her community has “a big stick,” but said that the real reason it is important to build capacity is so that

the community has something of value to bring to the table during engagement [F04]. For example, this might include relevant and insightful comments on the project at a larger scale, so that his/her First Nation can be sure it will benefit the community.

Those Aboriginal communities without a fully developed internal response protocol or the capacity to implement one may not be able to be involved in archaeology to the extent that they may wish to be. We will revisit this topic in chapter five. However, it has been suggested that First Nations may be able to collaborate more among communities. In this vein, one participant explained to me that his/her community turns over all their requests for engagement to an agency of their traditional council, that has the capacity to provide administrative, technical, legal, and tactical support on their behalf [F02]. If that agency did not exist, s/he informed me, the community would be forced to rely on the goodwill of the proponent and the archaeological firm during the course of engagement. At least one archaeologist I interviewed made note of this phenomenon, remarking:

“We talked to some people at [First Nation X] and they said, ‘We’re not allowed to do it; we have

to turn it over to [the agency of the traditional council].’” [A01]

For archaeologists, on the other hand, most agreed that they were obligated to comply with the MTCS’s standards and half (three of six respondents) explained that they had no

formal, written policy on engagement beyond those requirements [A01; A03; A04]. Instead, many of the archaeologists with whom I spoke commented that they were committed to fostering a culture of positive and proactive treatment of First Nations within their firm and instructed their employees to treat community representatives with respect. Two archaeologists cited the fact that their company was engaging Aboriginal communities before it was required by the Standards and Guidelines as proof of this attitude [A01; A03]. While one individual acknowledged that nothing in the Standards and Guidelines prevents an archaeologist from engaging the First Nation before Stage Three, s/he admitted that ultimately the decision to do so rested with the proponent, who must pay for any additional work [A04].