THEY KNEW!!!!  I recently joined a Zoom call with Daniel, a member of the Grassy Narrows Solidarity Group. What he shared was heartbreaking, but not new. It was a reminder of a truth many Canadians still don’t fully grasp: the community of Grassy Narrows First Nation has endured one of the longest-running environmental health crises in our country—one that continues today.

Grassy Narrows is a small Anishinaabe community in northern Ontario, near the town of Dryden. For more than sixty years, its people have lived with the devastating effects of mercury poisoning. Three full generations have been impacted. 

Today, over 90% of residents show symptoms consistent with mercury exposure: tremors, numbness, impaired vision, neurological damage, and chronic pain. These are not abstract statistics. These are grandparents, parents, and children who have watched their health and livelihoods crumble. Because of these health impacts, Grassy Narrows faces a suicide rate three times higher than other Indigenous communities—communities that already experience rates three times the national average. 

The crisis began in the 1960s and early ’70s, when the Reed Paper mill in Dryden dumped 9,000 kilograms of mercury into the English-Wabigoon River system. As CBC reported, the river’s fish—once a staple food and a source of income—became dangerously contaminated. The people of Grassy Narrows, who relied on that river for generations, consumed the fish and suffered the consequences. At that time, the commercial fishery collapsed, livelihoods disappeared, and the community entered a cycle of harm that has never been resolved.

What is even harder to accept is that Grassy Narrows still does not have safe drinking water today, they remain under an active long-term drinking water advisory.  Despite decades of advocacy, despite studies, promises, reports, and high-profile visits from politicians, the community continues to wait for proper cleanup, medical support, compensation, and meaningful government action. Instead, new industrial projects threaten to worsen an already polluted ecosystem.

Some might try to justify the decades of inaction by saying, “Well, people didn’t understand mercury poisoning back then.” But that excuse falls apart when we listen to our own memories. I trained in the nursing field in 1977–78, just a few years after the dumping occurred. I can still hear the warnings from my instructors: “If a mercury thermometer breaks, you do not touch it. You do not sweep it up. You step back immediately and call housekeeping”, who would then follow strict hazardous-waste protocols to clean it.

We understood, even back then, that a few drops of mercury on a tiled hospital floor was dangerous. We were taught it could cause neurological damage, that it had to be handled with extreme care, that it posed a serious risk to human health.

So how can we possibly believe that dumping thousands of kilograms of mercury into a river system—one feeding entire communities—was simply a mistake of ignorance?

They knew, industry knew, government officials knew. In moments like this, many turn to the wisdom of Scripture, which urges communities to “speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice” (Proverbs 31:8–9 NLT). This call to justice resonates deeply with the ongoing struggle of Grassy Narrows.

If this story moves you, consider taking a moment to learn more, share what you’ve learned, or contact your elected representatives to advocate for cleanup, compensation, and long-term health support for Grassy Narrows. Your voice can help push for justice.