Is a document that has gone through 5 drafts over 20 years going to get any better?
War and Peace wasn’t written in a day.
But the 13 years Leo Tolstoy took to finish one of history’s greatest (and longest) novels might seem speedy in comparison to the nearly two decades it has taken to come up with a land-use plan for Nunavut.
Next year will mark 20 years since 2006, the year work began on the Nunavut Land Use Plan. Over that time, five drafts have been presented to the three signatories responsible for its passage — Nunavut Tunngavik Inc., the Nunavut government and federal government.
The plan, which remains an outstanding contingent of the 1993 Nunavut Agreement, will lay out a comprehensive guide to areas of Nunavut open to development, areas that will be partially protected and areas off limits to development.
The latest version has been sitting on the desks of its signatories for two years. What is going on behind closed doors?
Are there people actively working on it, or are the decision-makers letting the plan collect dust while exploration companies reportedly amp up claims around the territory in hopes they can get their interests grandfathered into the final version?
How long needs to pass before what we consider to be careful deliberation is actually just stagnation?
Nobody is going to walk away completely happy when those advocating for the environment go up against business interests.
Nunavut’s geology hasn’t been sufficiently explored, argues Karen Costello, executive director of the NWT & Nunavut Chamber of Mines, when asked earlier this month for her thoughts on the issue.
It’s absolutely fair to be concerned that Nunavut could lock away areas that might hold untold mineral potential, especially as Canada, alienated from its closest trading partner, struggles toward a more independent economic future.
On the other hand, this same economic uncertainty drives prices up everywhere, including the North. When access to affordable, nutritious food is a perennial struggle in Nunavut, there are serious consequences to potentially separating Inuit hunters from the traditional foods that play such a vital role in sustaining their communities.
As Tagak Curley and Qajaaq Ellsworth so eloquently put it in their letter to the editor last week, “Nobody wants to trade access to the land, the ocean, the lakes and river; access to nattiq, tuktu, iqaluk, qilalugaq — our sustenance — for part-time labour, hunting restrictions and grocery store vouchers.”
The plan’s latest iteration, created in 2023, was revised from a 2021 version after consultation with communities.
Let’s accept the reality that there are simply too many cooks in the kitchen and when industry, hunters, environmentalists and politicians are all invited to add their own spices to the stew, not everybody at the table is going to like what ends up in their bowl.
We can also depend on the fact that the Nunavut Land Use Plan is a living document. What’s protected today could hypothetically be accessible in the future, through amendments.
With that in mind, let’s consider this: how is a document that has gone through five revisions over nearly 20 years going to get any better?
Don’t make perfect the enemy of good. Adopt the Nunavut Land Use Plan.
