Canadian Lawyer

"I spent my childhood at meetings, at protests, at government negotiations, at assemblies. When I was young, it was confusing and boring, and I didn't know why it was important, but I'm so glad I did it. . . ." to continue with her post-secondary e ducation. While she wanted to "focus on the cause and being an advocate, they convinced her she'd be in a stronger " position with a degree in her pocket. With two young kids and a divorce behind her, law school was not a straight- forward choice following her graduation with a BA in native studies and his- tory from Fredericton's Saint Thomas University. But in her ongoing work with aboriginal communities, attempting to help them with land claims and funding issues, she increasingly found herself up against a sophisticated opposition in the form of federal government officials and lawyers. Again, her influential family tipped her over the edge. "They thought I really needed some more tools behind me, " says Palmater. An LLB from the University of New Brunswick followed, but clan was still not entirely satisfied. In order to stay one step ahead of her fre- quent adversaries, they encouraged her to join them. After her call to the bar in 1998, Palmater worked for Justice Canada, and later the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, continu- ing her fight from the inside. "My family kept saying, you can get all the education in the world, but unless you know how they think, how they act, and how they make their decisions, we're just going to be guessing, because I worried everyone was going to think I' " she says. "It was just torture, inside government as she was outside, which made for rough relations with some of her colleagues. To take the edge off her own discomfort with the situation, Palmater vowed to steer clear of litigation, which would have pit her directly against the First Nations people on whose behalf she had been advocating for most of her life. "I had to be able to live with myself at the end of the day, Palmater says she was just as vocal d gone over to the dark side." " she says. the Palmater two more law degrees to her resume: a master' Dalhousie University. "Now when they put something in front of me, I know where it' While in government, she also added s degree and doctorate of law from ing is, and how to counter it," she says. "It was a good experience. There are some good people there, who are trying to make a difference, which was encouraging. But ultimately, their plan is the same as it ever was: to assimilate Indians, reduce their financial obligations, and take up the rest of our land. s coming from, what the reason- Those aims were facilitated by the AFN's incumbent national chief, Shawn " Atleo, during his first term, according to Palmater, who claims his friendly relations with the Conservative government have taken the AFN down a "destructive path." Palmater shook up the national chief race when, uninspired by the list of con- tenders, she threw her own name in the ring just seven weeks ahead of the vote, despite never having been a First Nations chief herself. Her community work behind the scenes convinced some of the more than 600 chiefs who participate in the vote that she could do the job. "I'm always tell- ing community members to stand up for their rights, so I figured I have to walk my own talk," Palmater says. A swift, shoestring countrywide tour votes, while six other contenders trailed well behind. One rival candidate, Bill Erasmus, the AFN's regional chief for the Northwest Territories, crossed the floor of the hall to approach Palmater, asking for a "little talk" and telling her that she "has a shot." His entourage of yellow-clad support- ers quickly surrounded the pair and the group swarmed from out of the room in search of a private place to speak. But nothing came of the discus- sions, and two votes later, with the field reduced to three, Atleo crossed the line with 67 per cent of the vote. Palmater was second with 28 per cent. "I decided early on that I wasn't going to make any deals," Palmater says, explaining that she was offering no favours to campaigners, chiefs, or rival candidates in return for their support. "Some people might think that's a political mistake, but I wanted to do it clean and for the cause. It was never about the job; it was always about standing up for the cause and forcing people making a change." that saw her staying with friends and hitching rides with supporters to keep within the $35,000 campaign limit, cul- minated in the vote at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre in July. As her team filed into the cavernous Hall F, Palmater clutched the fan of feathers loaned to her by a Manitoba chief to remind her to always speak honestly, and protect her from the negativity of a sometimes- dirty campaign. Atleo came out on top after the first ballot, with 284 out of 540 votes, not enough to meet the 60-per- cent threshold required by the AFN rules. Palmater came in second with 95 the future of the AFN, but hopes her run has planted the seeds for future change in the organization. "What this election may have done is provided the impetus to make those changes so that all the First Nations across the country are happy with where the AFN is going, and not just half of them. They have to represent everybody, to have the discussion about Palmater says she's worried about University, where she's been a profes- sor since 2009, and is currently chair of its Centre for Indigenous Governance. "Through that, I work directly with First Nations all across the country on differ- ent governance issues. All of that will continue, For now, she'll return to Ryerson " she says. cause, so I'll still be blogging and writing and publishing and helping First Nations leaders with all of these same issues." " she says. "I'm still in it for the www.CANADIAN Lawyermag.com SEPTEMBER 2012 23

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