Ideas - 'Accidental activist' links resource extraction to MMIW

Episode Date: March 2, 2026

Connie Greyeyes describes herself as an ‘accidental activist.’ After her cousin was murdered and her childhood best friend went missing, she started organizing vigils for missing and murdered Indigenous women in Fort St. John, B.C. — then asking questions about the relationship between resource extraction and violence against women. This episode is the first in a series of profiles of human rights defenders, recorded alongside the 2025 CBC Massey Lectures. 

This program is brought to you in part by Specsavers. Every day, your eyes go through a lot. Squinting at screens, driving into the bright sun, reading in dim light, even late-night drives. That's why regular eye exams are so important. At Specsavers, every standard eye exam includes an advanced OCT 3D eye scan, technology that helps independent optometrists detect eye and health conditions at their earliest stages. Take care of your eyes. Book your eye exam at Specsavers today from just $99, including an OCT scan.

Book at specksavers.cavers.caps are provided by independent optometrists. Prices may vary by location. Visit specksavers.cavers.cai to learn more. This is a CBC podcast. Man, you know, Stacey Lynn Rogers was the most amazing, tough, kind, and caring friend. There was just something about her where you just knew that if you were her friend, she had your back. Fort St. John, Northern British Columbia, 1988. There was a crew of, you know, guys that listen to Metallica, headbangers, we call them.

That's kind of the crew that we hung around with, you know, when you had the plaids with the sleeves cut off. Those kind of, they were my kind of tribe, they still are. She had the best hair, too, you know what she had, a mullet. Like it was short in the front, party in the back. She dyed it black too. People think like black is actually a hair color. It's not. If you dye your hair black, it looks unnatural.

I've done it many times and it was like, why is your hair like that? It's like, I dyed it. It's black. Yeah, no. We thought we looked cool, though, with the black mascara to match. Welcome to Ideas. I'm Nala Ayyad. This is the first in our series of profiles of human rights defenders

recorded alongside the 2025 Massey Lectures. How much was violence against Indigenous women on your radar? Was that something that you thought about guarded against as you were moving through the world? No, not one bit. You know what? I never, ever thought growing up, anything of it. All of us are Indigenous, Stacey was as well.

The name calling, you know, being called a squaw or, you know, a dirty Indian. It didn't happen that much to us. because we were all tough. And if you said it, then you were going to be sorry that you said it. So we kind of all protected each other in that way. And it never came onto our radar how lucky we were at the time until Stacey went missing. Stacey Lynn Rogers went missing on April 20, 1988.

She's never been found. For a long time, her friend Connie Grayeyes tried to pretend it didn't happen. We shut it out. Four years. Four years. It was just like, okay, that, did that happen? You know, starting to navigate our own addictions

and going through that as well and not being able to really cope with the fact that, you know, you have one of your best friends is gone and just fell off the face of the earth. And back then, man, you know how we handle it? We handled it through drinking and drugs. And it wasn't until years later. I went and seen this lady that kind of,

she talks to people on the other side or that's her, what she does. I kind of tested her a little bit. But then she told me that there's a girl here. And she has black hair. And she looks like a rocker kind of type person. And she said, and she's here, and she wants to know how come you didn't look for her. And it just hit me right in the heart. Ever since that Bailey told me that, that she won't, there's a girl here and described Stacy to a T.

She said she's like pushing her way to the front. Like she said that every time that she does readings with me that I have dozens of ladies around me, I've been told that when I'm in lodges or, or any ceremony that I have women. that surround me. And she said she's pushing her way to the front. She wants to be heard and she wants to know why he didn't look for her. And that's right, I didn't. But she's been looking for her ever since.

Connie Grayeyes describes herself as an accidental activist, who started organizing vigils when she wondered why so many indigenous women in her hometown of Fort St. John were going missing or being murdered. Over the years, she's become a formidable, advocate, taking on some of the biggest forces in her region, and raising questions about the links between violence against women and resource extraction. And I don't think I even knew the word at that time, resource extraction. I just knew that I

come from a town that had a lot of oil field workers in it. You know, and I had a background in that because I worked in the oil field as well. And she sparked a new conversation about what human rights mean in an era of nation building projects. He goes, I build the pipelines and you protest them. And I said, here's a news flash for you, hubby. Is that I've never said, industry. What I have always fought for and what I will always fight for is consent. Meaningful consent.

From Fort St. John, producer Pauline Holdsworth brings us. this profile. Go ahead, hey, hey, hey, hey, Waba. This one doesn't listen to all. When you come to Connie Grayey's house, you're greeted right away by two very sweet, very snugly pit bulls.

This is Baba. That's the first dog that I ever got for my family. And the littler one is Jacks. And they're both very, very dear to me. They're my babies. Literally my babies.

It was actually about two weeks into having Bubba that I found out for real that they were pit bull, that he was a pit bull. I thought he was just a bulldog. And they were like, no, he's a pit bull. And I was like, no, he's a bulldog. And I never ever wanted a pit bull. I had that fear of them. My husband showed me some pictures of baby pit bulls. And he looked just like them. And you know what? Like they've helped me so much. The walls are covered with Jays and Kinex memorabilia, and there's a small but mighty kitchen.

This is where all the magic happens for my baking. So I do a lot of baking. I'm known for meal prepping and baking in the community and making candy apples and things like that to give to kids. And then there's my beloved Kinnock stuff. And I like this. I'm a huge hockey fan. I love the Vancouver Canucks. And this is one of my favorites. It says I call myself a fan of hockey. therefore I'm fluent in cursing and think that a jersey is a high fashion. Stanley is synonymous with sacred and icing isn't only for cupcakes. I asked Connie to show me her Fort St. John, the places that shaped how she thinks about human rights. Where are we going to head out to? The first place that I'm going to take you guys to is my childhood home. And the place that my mom and dad had raised all of us.

You know, back in the early days, you know, it was not common for an indigenous man to own a home in the late 60s. Certainly not one in the middle of Fort St. John where it was hustle and bustle and my dad had bought a double lot. So we grew up right where the ice hockey rinks were. We grew up. The hospital was up the street. The co-op mall where they used to give us free donut holes was just down the street. and, you know, we never had to go to residential school. Most of my family has gone to residential school,

and my dad and mom spared us all. Both of Connie's parents grew up in northern Alberta. Her mother is from Big Stone Cree First Nation, and her father was born in a place called Bear Lake. They were both sent to residential school. Then, they met in the mid-1940s at a dance. So my mother and my father, both had children before they met.

They both had girls. They both had girls that were the same age. And they both had girls named Mary Rose. So here's how my mom and dad met. My mom went to a dance in Wabasca. And my dad happened to go to that dance and he's seen my mom. And he walked up to her and my mother was married. She was married to a very abusive man.

And my dad said, one day I'm going to come back here and I'm going to get you and I'm going to take you back to BC. And, you know, my mom didn't think anything of it. And one day my dad showed up and said, I'm here to get you. Let's go. And my mom would tell stories about her then husband, how he would come home in a drunken stupor. And he'd take all the plates and the dishes and he'd smash them all over the ground and he'd throw her down and make her clean it up. And just to be clear, you know what, my father in the young years was abusive as well. You know, I'm not going to sugarcoat that, you know what, my dad was just like this angel.

He wasn't what he made the effort to change his life and who he was. And my dad was a logger. And he took her down the highway to 101, past 101, and there was a camp there. And my mother was the camp cook and the cleaner took care of the camp. And my dad was a logger. And he brought her to BC and they never went back. So, yeah, this is my childhood home. My mom lives here still.

And my sister and her daughter live here to take care of her. Instead, they came here to a house with a sprawling yard, not far from the heart of Fort St. John. Everything, everything good about my childhood is here. I always attribute that on the way that I am because of the way that my mom and dad raised me, we were really close to town, right? So my dad would always bring homeless people home. And he would buy his tools back because they would take them from the yard and go,

will you buy this? And he'd be like, sure. And we asked him, like, why do you do that? And he'd say, because I don't want to make people feel like their bums or anything. So I'll buy it back for a couple bucks, you know? Like that's, and then you don't make them feel it. bad and he'd bring them home and and if they were drunk he'd tell us make them a sandwich and tea and we would and then he would send them on their way they didn't get to hang around if they were drunk

if they were sober then yeah they could stay and visit but if they were drinking he would get us to make them something to eat and then he'd send them on the way right all of like me and all of my siblings are all uh we're all prime examples of the way that our parents raised us you know all of us work for community in some way, every single one of us. This is also where Connie got her first education about violence. My very first experience with actual murder happened here, too, as one of my childhood friends, Sonia's mom lived here with her boyfriend, and she stabbed him.

And it was a domestic violence situation, and his hat was found right here. I don't know why his hat was in our yard And then kitty corner that way at that very end There was a, I had a friend named Jimmy And I only, I don't remember his last name, but he was burnt That's how I can, like he was a victim of like a burning, a fire And his mom was murdered in that By her boyfriend

That was the reality of this town too There's dozens of people that were murdered here In this small town You know, there's, there's, one family that has several family members that had been murdered. You know, I've talked to people and they're like, I don't even know one. I don't even know one person that's been murdered. And, you know, for indigenous people here, we know dozens. So what was Fort St. John like when you were growing up here? You know what? It was very, very cowboys and Indians. It really was,

you know, down the street, there was a, there was a family. And I'll never, they were the finches. And they were like, you know, tough guys too, but my brothers were tough. And all of this neighborhood was like a lot of native people. But this was very like turf. You know what I mean? Like this was our area. I think that one of the big takeaways that I've always had from growing up is that we never ever felt poor or that we needed things.

My dad always, like I have to say that out of all of my siblings, I was my dad's baby. So I was the spoiled one. You know, it's a running joke that I got the Easy Bake Oven and I got the Barbies with the bendy legs, the real Barbies. And, you know, I remember I was always a tomboy and I seen this BMX and I think it might have been at the Hudson Bay or something. I can't remember it was at one of the hardware stores. And there was this silver and blue BMX and I wanted it.

so bad and I got it. So I had, when I was a young girl, I actually had a silver and blue BMX that I would cruise around on because my dad got it for me. So how old were you when your dad got sober? I was six. Before then, there's actually pictures of me like sitting with my dad and my dad has a beer in his hand. And, you know, like we all have, like, we all have trauma from it, you know, from my dad's drinking. You know, he was a mean, mean drunk.

And he abused my mother. You know, all of us are not lost on that. And how resilient and strong that my mother was, you know, because she wasn't going to leave, you know. And when my brother died because of alcohol, that was it. Connie's older brother, Georgie, died in 1977. He had this really cool car. and him and my cousin Ben and my brother's girlfriend,

Lynn Laffernier and Ben Cardinal, they were driving around and they were going to go out for the evening and they got some alcohol and they went to Lovers Lane and they parked and they actually passed away from carbon monoxide poisoning. After that, my dad quit drinking. And so I always have known that, you know, I get praised a lot for being the first person in my family to get sober and it actually wasn't me.

It was my dad. my dad quit drinking and and so we got the best of him you know we got the sober version of my dad and and after that my dad cherished my mother you know like in every sense of the word my mother my mother is not um she doesn't she doesn't read or write she will speak english she doesn't really like to and she has like words that she's made into english and kree because she'll call a trachatra kumah and she just adds things to it so that it's still kind of Cree, but it's not. But you know what?

Like my dad was a true, true example that you can come out of that trauma and you can change the way that you live your life. And he did, you know. All of us, as my dad grew older, all of us had that love and admiration for him. I still mourn my dad very much. I was my dad's babies.

So, you know, the fact that he bought this in those days, through that all. And, you know, we, I can picture right where you're standing. My brother Georgie would come home, and he would bring, like, he always had salt and salt vinegar chips and a pop. For me and my little sister, he would chase us around with the garden hose, and I can picture him standing right there, you know, and the memories that we have in this house. Connie's beloved father died in 2004. The pain of my dad is like very, very frost, always, and it's been over 20 years. You'd think people talking to me, think my dad just passed away, you know, a couple years ago,

and it's been like a long time, but, and it's not that, you know, I hang on to it, but I just loved so deeply. Today, Connie works for the Indian Residential School's Survivor Society as a wellness worker and supports the families of missing and murdered indigenous women and girls. And it's so funny because I'm always like, yeah, I'm a grief and, I specialize in grief and trauma. You know, and this one is just so hard for me. We have a guy in town, his name is Larry Evans. He was the fire chief.

He was a counselor. I used to deliver papers. And I had 34 people on my paper route. And the fire hall was one of them. And that's how I first met Larry Evans. And the story's going somewhere. So I met Larry Evans. And it was the best because every day.

day when I'd do my paper route, I would slide down the little pole he'd let me, and I'd give him the paper, and then, you know, on special days, I would always have a gift there. They'd be a box of candies on Halloween, Valentine's Day, Easter, Christmas, they always gave me something, a really nice gift, right? And years later, he joined our powwow committee. We called Larry Red Sister, and he's beloved in our family. His wife was a nurse. and helped with all of us. And so we were having a pow-all wrap-up meeting, and we were at his house, and he just lives over there.

And he started talking about the old days when he was the fire chief and what they used to do. And he said, back then, we collected the bodies. And we're like, what? And he goes, yeah, there was no, like, corner. Like the fire chief, the fireman would go and get and help. And then so I'm like sitting there and thinking, okay, he's telling us, for a reason, right?

And so he goes inside and I follow him. And I'm like, hey, Larry, I go, so were you the, were you, like, were you supposed to, did you do that in 1977? I finally just blurted it out and he's like, yeah, I did. And I said, so you found my brother. And he said, yeah, I did. And then he said, Connie, your brother's girlfriend, Lynn, used to be my, our babysitter. And he said, we didn't even, you couldn't even recognize them because they died from carbon

monoxide poisoning. And I said, yeah, my dad, my dad never really got over that. And he said, yeah, he goes, you know, if he just didn't park in that one spot. And I go, what? And he's like, well, when he backed in, there was just one little mound of dirt, a little dirt pile. And your brother had backed into it and plugged off his tailpipe. And I said, are you serious? And he goes, yeah, he goes, that's how they ended up getting carbon monoxide poisoning.

and this whole time my dad lived the rest of his life thinking it's because he didn't fix that on my brother's car and I was just like oh my god so you know when you think about like the pain and trauma that that our elders and our loved ones carry just not only from that but from you know the alcoholism that the contributing factor was residential schools that you know all of that results in, you know, all of this pain and loss that we all experience and don't know how to deal with. So, you know, when you see all of the alcoholism, the drug addiction, the suicide, man, like, if you, if you have that understanding of the trauma and everything that happened at residential schools, you can actually start to empathize and understand, I don't see alcoholics and drug addicts and things. I see like pain. When I see somebody like just annihilated like that, I see pain. What was your own journey around sobriety like? I abused drugs and alcohol as early as 13.

I was actively doing cocaine in grade 9 probably, hung out with older people, you know, that could get the alcohol and drugs and readily shared. them with us all. And it wasn't until 2003 that I was doing drugs in my friend's basement and Dede called me. My friend that was at the event yesterday, she said, hey, your family's trying to get a hold of you. And I answered the phone because it was her. And I said, why? What's going on?

She was, I think something's going on with your brother. You need to go to the hospital. get showered, put some clean clothes on, and I will take you there. So I was like, okay, so I did. And I got to the hospital just minutes after they called, called it. So my brother-in-law, my sister that I just showed to her house, where my brother had passed away, her husband had had a massive heart attack and died. And I remember standing there looking at him.

and I was just like, I was like, man, like, look at you just playing with your life and this good man who had children he was raising is gone. You know, like, and that right then and there, I decided I was going to quit. And on February 13th of 2003, I went out. I had my last drink. I probably, I don't really remember if I was doing drugs that night or not. and I was dating Chris at the time. So Chris and I were together in my addiction. He wasn't really aware of how bad it was.

All of a sudden I was just gone and he had no idea where I went because I didn't even tell him that I was going to treatment. I didn't tell my family. I just went. And I've been sober ever since. You know, like I just, I made the decision that I was going to go there and I was going to put everything out there and then I was going to leave it. So I talked about, like, sexual abuse, assaults, my own stuff, you know, the pain that I caused

other people, stealing, lying. And that was the only thing that saved me from myself was letting it go and knowing that, you know what, like, that's such a hard thing for people to do is to forgive themselves. you know because you did something horrible depending on what it is i mean there's like obviously like you know you murdered somebody like you you have a lot to you have a lot if you've done something like that but i'm meaning like you know if you've stolen from your friend or you know or did things like that that you have to forgive yourself for it even in those even in those brutal things like that

that person has to forgive themselves and come to terms with that. But if you don't and you want to hang on to it and go, oh, it was such a terrible person, I did that. And like, you're going to spend your whole life doing that. Why? You know, it's just if you don't ever let go of that and you don't forgive other people, forgiving people doesn't mean that it was okay. It just means that I'm not carrying that around.

I've forgiven people that have sexually assaulted me, that beat me up. I've made amends with people that I've beaten up, you know, that I was bullied. I've made amends to people that I've bullied. Because you know what? I'm not going to carry that around. I don't want to. My friend Justin has this really great way of working with community,

and he does a visual of what that's like to carry trauma around. So he's like talking to all these elders. We're at the La Jax School reunion elders gathering. and he gets this cameraman and he's like, hey, he goes, you're my trauma. Okay? So you're everything bad that ever happened to me. That's you. And then he's like, okay, you guys all see, he's my trauma.

He's this, he's that. He did this and this. And like, he's my sexual assaults. And he's everything that I've done too. And he goes, so this is him. And then he looks at the guy and he goes, no, get on my back. And he's standing there. and he's like this and he's waiting and the camera guy's like what and he's he's not from the nations or

anything he's just a guy there working and so he's like get on my back you're my trauma i'm gonna pack you around so the guy jumps on his back and then he's walking around pretty soon he's panting and he's sweating and he's like man this guy's getting so heavy oh can barely carry you like you're heavy trauma and then finally he's like, okay, I've had enough. He goes, I'm going to let you go. I'm not going to pack you around anymore. Get off my back. I'm going to do the work.

I'm going to do the work to get well. So get off my back trauma. And then he gets it off and he's like, see? Like, oh, man, I can walk again. My back doesn't hurt. My mind. I'm not sweating and uncomfortable. And he's like, that's how easy it is to forgive and let go of that.

From Fort St. John, that's Connie Grayey's. This is part one in our series of profiles of human rights defenders recorded alongside the 2025 CBC Massey lectures. You're listening to Ideas. I'm Nala Ayad. This program is brought to you in part by Speck Savers. Every day, your eyes go through a lot, squinting at screens, driving into the bright sun, reading in dim light, even late-night drives. That's why regular eye exams are so important. At Specsavers, every standard eye exam includes an advanced OCT 3D eye scan, technology that helps independent optometrists detect eye and health conditions at their earliest stages.

Take care of your eyes. Book your eye exam at Specsavers today from just $99, including an OCT scan. Book at Spexsavers.cavers.cai,a. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Prices may vary by location. Visit Spexsavers.cavers.cai to learn more. This ascent isn't for everyone. You need grit to climb this high this often.

You've got to be an underdog that always over delivers. You've got to be 6,500 hospital staff, 1,000 doctors, all doing so much with so little. You've got to be Scarborough. Defined by our uphill battle and always striving towards new heights. And you can help us keep climbing. Donate at lovescarbro.cairbro.ca. I'll get an extra large double-double and a large coffee with... Producer Pauline Holesworth spent two days driving around Fort St. John, BC, with Connie Grayeyes,

from her childhood home to the McDonald's drive-thru. This is my favorite place to get coffee. I will drink a coffee at 1 o'clock in the morning. Really? I do, yeah. I do. I do. I think it does.

I'm like, oh, I can't sleep. And it's like, okay, you had like five pots of coffee today, but you're good. You're good, Connie. and I drink old coffee. Like, I'm going to drink that. Connie is a tireless human rights activist who has devoted her life to fighting for the safety of indigenous women and girls.

You mentioned this crowd of women that the reader said that she saw around you as well. Can you tell me about some of the other women here that you've known and loved? Yeah, you know what? another one, she was so awesome. Her name was Ramona Schuller. She had fire or red hair. And she was short. She was small, like a spitfire, but like really freaking tough. Like she, she was known to, like, kick ass in town. And because she was so pale and she had red, red hair, people didn't

know that she was actually indigenous, right? So she got to hear those, probably those conversations. and she was known as a real tough girl. You know, on more than one occasion, like people would say ignorant stuff to me and she had jumped in and was like, no, I'm going to kick your ass and did, you know. So like I said, like, you know, having this group of women in this community

that we all stuck up for each other, you know. But Ramona, my whole family loved her dearly. Our families are interconnected. We're from the same nation. She is also from Big Stone. Like she hung around with my older sisters. As the years went on, I hung around with her. It was also really a lot of the partying type lifestyle that we found ourselves in.

But she has lovely children that she had. And I was so grateful and lucky enough that they welcomed me into their lives to help support them. And her son, Robert, actually, had gifted me a drum he made specifically for me. Ramona went missing at age 37 in November 2003. She has not been found. There's also Sandra Kellehason. She looked like, I'm not even kidding, she looked like Priscilla Presley.

She was beautiful, like stunning. She had like the buffoon kind of puff hair wore. Like her makeup was really quite simple, but eyeliner and she always had lipstick on. and she was somebody that babysat us. And then in the end, I ended up helping to babysit her kids as I got older. She lived across the alley from my mom's, you know, when we were in my mom's driveway, if you look straight ahead, there's a red and white apartment there,

and she lived in that apartment. And she was like, she was really, really nice. Sandra went missing in 1997. Her remains were found along Highway 16, also known as the Highway of Tears, the following year. And then there's Shirley Clethro. Shirley was somebody that I played house bingo with. We partied.

We played cards. We played bingo. We played softball. Somebody that was always kind of in my life since I was a little kid. I knew of her and then started, ended up having a relationship of friendship with her. The very last interaction I ever had with her was we were playing house bingo. And it was like three o'clock in the morning or something. And she's like, hey, I got a bottle.

And I'm like, what? And she's like, you want to go have a couple of drinks? I was like, sure. So we took off from the house bingo players. And they're like, where are you guys going? We're like, oh, we're going home. But we actually went out. And we just went and parked and we just talked about life and had a couple of drinks.

And, you know, just about the things that were going on in our lives and, you know, sharing. And that was the last interaction I ever had with her. And then she went missing not long after that. It was crazy that all the same. sudden she was just gone and knowing, you know, the stereotypes that people talk about when women go missing, especially indigenous women, like, they're partying and, you know, they couldn't care less and they just took off on their kids. That would never be her. She loved her kids, man. Like, she was a good mom. So when she went missing, it was really tough because

you know right off the bat that if she's not calling and checking on her kids, something is wrong. Shirley went missing at age 45 in June 2006. She is not a lot of her. She is not a lot of her. She is been found. Yeah, those are three that always, whenever these events come up, I always think about them. And of course, my cousin, my cousin Joyce. Connie's cousin Joyce Cardinal had an intellectual disability. She got lost while walking home alone in Edmonton in 1993. She was attacked, doused in gasoline, and set on fire.

When she got murdered, the community was like, really like, how could they, just how could somebody harm her like that when she didn't she didn't do anything wrong to people you know she was lost and that was the only thing that happened that night was she was lost and she knocked on the wrong door to ask for her how to get out of it

it's like a big giant townhouse a whole bunch of townhouses and that guy happened to be bragging at a party and I want to say it was Colonna bragging that he had done this and somebody from that party was like He can't be for real, right? And called and said that this guy was bragging about murdering this woman, that he burnt her.

And here it was true. And that's how he got caught. You know, my family was very lucky that we had justice. You know, he got 25 years. And, you know, for murdering an indigenous woman, we all know in this country, that's unreal that he actually was given the full extent of what could happen. Thank you for telling me a little bit about them. Yeah.

When is it that you started getting involved in vigils? It was probably my son would be three, so 17 years ago. He was at the very first vigil. My son is a grass dancer. And my friend Desiree's little daughter was a little tiny jingle dancer. So we had these two youth with their medicine. and dancing around a smudge bowl to honor the families, that very first vigil.

And it was so beautiful. I can picture them still. And they're so tiny, and they were just little not realizing how much power and how much medicine they were giving the families. You know, I can picture Shirley's sister looking at them, and she just had this look on her face, like knowing how special it was that these two little kids,

you know, were there to dance for them. In 2012, Connie started going to vigils in Ottawa. One year I showed up and I was talking about it. The next year I was invited back, I had a banner with some names on it. The banner carried the names of Stacey Lynn Rogers, Ramona Schuller, Sandra Callahason, and Shirley Clathrow, as well as so many others. Renee Gunning, Crystal Knott, Molly Epsasson, Lynn Mavis Gautier. Well, the next year when I went back, my friend Sonia wasn't around to make me a new banner.

So we just started adding to it. Pictures, we would just staple them on or tape them on to this banner. And then the following year there was more. And that's when Jackie and Craig reached out. Two staffers from Amnesty International Canada came up to her and asked why there were so many missing and murdered indigenous women from Fort St. John. Like, what did I think was the cause of it? And I said, well, I think it's, you know, I come from a town that's nicknamed the energetic city. You know, I come from a town that's very resource extraction.

And I don't think I even knew the word at that time, resource extraction. I just knew that I come from a town that had a lot of oil field workers in it. You know, and I had a background in that because I worked in the oil field as well. Connie started working with Amnesty on a report called Out of Sight, Out of Mind. which trace the impacts of resource development on local communities. And I first started having those conversations when I used to volunteer at the Women's Resource Center because we knew and seen and worked with women that would come in that would tell us. You know, it was this guy I'd just seen and he was working here for so-and-so.

He was a driller or, you know, he was working at this business or this company. and he's from here, and we just knew that there was this something dynamic that would happen in the winter. Our hotels would get filled right up with workers. The bars and everything would be filled with people that you never knew. You know, we're in a small town. We all know each other.

And soon it just got to be like, where are all these people coming from? And it was right around then where, you know, the Women's Resource Center started to notice and make that connection too. We all did. That was on the board of directors there. We all made that connection that, okay, this isn't like something just random.

These are actual things that we can link it to. And, you know, but when we made that link, the community went crazy. You're a blaming industry. It's not that. And it's like, but it is. We have the stories to prove it. You can imagine what that's,

like for a woman that's been assaulted by some transient, to go to the police and say, well, yeah, I met him. And then, you know, he assaulted me. I don't really know what his name is. His name was Tom. And he worked for, I think, enzyme. You know, like, how do you hold him accountable? So part of the mitigation is that they need to hold their staff accountable and mitigate the impacts that they have when they come into community. You know, some of the solutions can be as simple as that if you're driving, here's your sign. You know, because a lot of people get to use their work track, their own personal vehicles, right?

Here's the sign that you're going to put a magnet you're going to put that you're not from here, that you're working with so-and-so so that you know what, if somebody sees you doing something shady in community, it was a blue dodge and they had this sign on it. This was the number. You know, those are simple solutions to help keep a community safe.

And it's not millions of dollars. It's a dollar to make a magnet to put on, you know. And you know what? You have a responsibility. you're coming into communities and you're making millions of dollars and you can't try to hold your workers accountable for how they behave in communities. Do criminal record checks on the people that you're hiring. Here's the thing is they make us that work in services with communities,

you know, that are working with vulnerable people. Do criminal record checks. They need to make sure that, you know what, I'm not somebody that has abused other people and sexually assaulted people, but they don't make, like, industry workers do that. When they can go into a community where there's hundreds of young ladies and young men and children,

but they don't make them do some kind of criminal record check. Resource booms can also drive up the local cost of living and overwhelm social services. The week we spoke, Connie said her son had just spent close to $200. on a single bag of groceries. When you're going and spending $200 and you've got one bag full of groceries, that's disgusting.

But you know what? Who cares? Because those people that are working on those jobs can afford the $100, $200 bag of groceries, whereas most of us can't. So when they come to town, like everything gets driven up, like housing, all of our social services being just maxed right out, the woman's resource center, Salvation Army can't keep food on their shelves because it's just everybody is in so much need.

And you know what? Like there was a lady that posted on social media and I've seen it on Fort St. John now. She's like, I know like I work and I feel really bad that I have to ask this. But I'm really wondering if anybody has any fruit or vegetables because I can't afford it. And you know what? I'd love to be able to give my son some fruit, even a couple oranges if you have to spare. And you know why?

Because when you go buy a bag of oranges, it's $10. You know, like, nobody can afford that. You know, and it's only getting worse. So, you know, single mom might have to take a job at night and walk home at 10 o'clock at night. And in this town, in this time is dangerous. We put ourselves, we have to put ourselves in harm's way so that we can live just in poverty. You know, that's like having two jobs and not being able to dig to not be in poverty after having two jobs.

Like how? So then comes into play, you know, we call that when people have the money, you know, women stay because there's this imbalance where, you know, husband makes all the money and works in the oil patch. you're going to stay and take it because if you don't, you don't have anything, you don't have anywhere to go, you don't have a job, you've got the kids, where are you going to go, who's going to pay for all your food, who's going to pay your rent? Because I'm not. And you have this dynamic where you have no choice but to stay. You know, anybody that is a parent will do anything so that their kids have food, so that their kids have a place to stay and live, even if it means that you're getting beat up every day.

You will stay. The Out of Sight, Out of Mind report also raises concerns about the collision of high stress and high wages. For some, the report reads, high pressure work conditions lead to unhealthy patterns at the end of long shifts,

including binge drinking and drug abuse. You know, I used to be an industry worker, and I remember our rig crew going into the bar in Fort Nelson, and it was just like, you know, you've got thousands of dollars You're splashing it around. You know, you're inviting people to come to your room because, you know what? You have like an gram or an eight ball and, you know, you've got money.

I actually just said this today to a, I had a meeting this morning and we were talking about this town and, you know, how the money that is made in the oil and gas industry and how I was like, yeah, it got my, it got my, it got my, it got my, sons. You know what? Like when you've got, you're making, you know, $3,500 or more every two weeks, it's really hard to go, hey, you want to go to school and become a social worker? Or, you know what I mean to do like that kind of work? Because you're asking them to go, hey, you know what? I want you to go to school. And then I want you to come back to Fort St. John. And I want you to be somebody that works in social services, helps and serves the community. Oh, but you'll make like $3,000 less. You know what I mean?

And I just said that today. Like I feel like I lost my kids to oil and gas, you know, and that's a tough one for me, especially for me because I know what kind of atmosphere it can be sometimes. And I don't want that for my boys. You know, I'm glad they at a young age have been experienced. opposed to feminism. And what that means to be a good and healthy young man. Connie's husband, Chris, also works in oil and gas.

What have been the kind of conversations that you've had here with people who are working, you know, Chris's coworkers or, you know, your neighbors? What have been the kind of conversations either? Me and him have had it. He goes, I build the pipelines and you protest them. And I said, here's a newsflash for you, hubby. is that I've never said industry.

What I have always fought for and what I will always fight for is consent. Meaningful consent. Me telling you, hey, you know what, this is going to be harmful and we can't allow that. And you saying,

okay, we hear you, but we're not going to do anything about it. We're going forward. That's not meaningful consent. I said, that's what I've always fought for. always will until the day I die. First Nations here have a greater say in resource development projects than they used to. But Connie says that's brought its own tensions.

So now the worst part of that is that yes, finally, you know, communities are kind of having a little bit of say in what happens. But now those goddamn Indians are stopping us from working and now we can't make money. Why do they get to say yes or no or just, give the permits, you know? And that's such a double-edged sword because finally you get a saying what happens in your territory and in your community. You know what? Like, this is one of my biggest arguments when people are trying to come at me about communities. And, you know, they're like, that's my livelihood.

I can't feed my family now because now there's no work. And I said, but it's okay for you to bombard and go. right through somebody's trap line or hunting grounds that they rely on to feed their families, their traditional foods and their traditional meats and show their children how to trap and how to hunt. It's okay for you to go through there so that you can feed your family, but it's not okay for them to go, hey, wait a minute, we need to protect this because this is where we hunt. This is where we get our fish from, you know. So with the boom and bust, it hasn't changed the way that people,

feel about communities. You know, everything is being blamed on indigenous people and communities across this country for everything. You know why? Because we want a better life for our kids. It's okay for you to want a better life for yours, but we don't get to. And that's because this country, since time of memorial, have taught the citizens how to treat us that we're less than,

that our rights and the things that we want to have a good life aren't worthy of it. of fighting for. Those are some of the same tensions that drove the debate over the site sea dam, which flooded 93 square kilometers near Fort St. John,

including ecologically and culturally significant habitats. My son asked me to give a letter to Justin Trudeau about the site sea dam, and I gave it to him, and there's a video of me and Lori Oject, Lori standing there like,

right? She's like, yeah, kind of type, you know, the person where you're like yacking and there's, you got your friend that's going, yeah, right? You know, I have the video of that, me giving him the letter and saying, you know, if a young boy knows how terrible of an idea this is and the impacts that there's no going back of what's going to be lost, that if a young boy can figure this out, why can't you? At the end of our two days together, Connie took me to a spot overlooking the dam. So this is the Peace Valley that we're coming out to look.

It's just beautiful in the fall. You can see the colors. It's a very steep drop-off in some spots. You know, there's places where people can actually walk down a little further. I'm like so scared of height, so I don't ever come past this little spot here. But you can see the destruction and the damage that was done. I'll actually send you a picture of what it looked like. before they put the dam up.

Site C became fully operational in August 2025. I'm not one to say, hey, you know what, like F, site C and, you know, these nations, most of them signed on, and I had to be okay with that. I had to accept that. You know, that they felt what they did was best for their community. Because truthfully, they were going to do it anyway. So I can understand as a leader why they were just like, okay, they're going to do it. And we might as well get something out of it.

Still, she holds fast to her original concern. What does large-scale resource development mean for local communities? I was in the Aboriginal room in Parliament. And I was sitting in there and we were having a, I think it was like an advisory council for, indigenous women and girls safety. We were sitting in there and they had all of this stuff in there and I asked that person that was sitting in there and I'm like,

you know, you have all of these things like all of these things and you're taking such good care of them you've got them enclosed in glass, you know, you dust them, you make sure they're okay, you take great care in these items that you have collected from indigenous communities. And I said, why can't you actually do that for people?

Connie's human rights advocacy has taken her across Canada to other communities grappling with the same questions. But her heart is always in Fort St. John. I'll never ever leave this town. You know, it's everything good in my life has been cultivated by living here and the people that I surround myself with. Being here has given me the opportunities to help others

so that I can heal. So there's the saying that, you know, when I heal me, I heal you. And I believe that. And I live that. I really sincerely live that way. You know, my mom and dad raises to be helpers. And I know that there's a reason that I'm here in Fort St. John, you know, as an indigenous woman, to show that, you know what, like, you don't have to have a million dollars to help somebody.

you know it's as simple as saying i see you and i'm going to go buy you some apples and oranges for your kids last question what does it mean to you to be a human rights defender especially in this place you know what it's there's nothing in the world that i would rather be than somebody that cares about another human being that you know what those sleepless nights that uh when somebody's gone missing, where I'm up trying to get posters out or get the word out, those sleepless nights where, you know, something terrible has happened in a community, where, you know, they need me to come and meet them at the hospital, those nights and those days where, you know, the real heart stuff is happening. And what it means to me is that all of that is worth it.

that the footprint that I leave behind in this community are that I cared for people. You know, I tell my children that all the time that, you know why, when I'm gone, I want you to know that I did the best I could, for people and for you. You know, that when I finally leave this earth, that my kids can proudly say that was my mom. And she helped and loved people. Looking out over the Peace Valley in northeastern British Columbia, that was Cree Human Rights activist Connie Grayeyes. This episode was produced by Pauline Holdsworth.

Special thanks to Alex Neve for introducing us to Connie. Our web producer is Lisa Ayuso, technical production Sam McNulty, senior producer Nicola Luxchich. Greg Kelly is the executive producer of ideas, and I'm Nala Ayé. For more CBC podcasts, go to cBC.ca.ca slash podcasts.