CSIS 'actively' investigated Ipperwash land dispute before fatal shooting of Dudley George, documents show

The mysterious man claimed to be "Rocky Robart," an investigator with Canada's spy service in Windsor — and he claimed the Anishinaabeg at Ipperwash had guns.

In May 2006, while testifying at a public inquiry called to investigate the Ontario Provincial Police's fatal shooting of unarmed, peaceful protester Dudley George in 1995, Staff Sgt. Wade Lacroix recounted a "strange" visit he got that summer from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.

"He came to see me and proceeded to tell me that there were weapons on the base," Lacroix said.

The base in question was Camp Ipperwash on Lake Huron's scenic southeastern shore, about 200 kilometres west of Toronto.

The land was previously the Stoney Point reserve, or Aazhoodena, but the federal government expropriated it in 1942 under the War Measures Act, evicting families and moving or bulldozing their homes. Members of the Chippewas of Kettle and Stony Point First Nation had been occupying the military ranges since 1993. In July 1995, they occupied the barracks and evicted the military.

"I said, 'Well, there's been unsubstantiated intelligence of it, there's been shots heard, but nothing seen,'" Lacroix continued.

"And he proceeded to tell me that they were watching it and this was a great concern to them."

At least four more witnesses at the inquiry testified CSIS was involved in some way in the tragic events of 1995, yet when Justice Sidney Linden tabled his report, CSIS wasn't even mentioned. Since then, the intelligence agency's role in the land dispute has been the subject of questions and speculation without confirmation — until now.

Newly declassified internal documents obtained by CBC Indigenous confirm CSIS was conducting a secret and previously undisclosed countrywide investigation into "Native extremism" in 1995, which included an active investigation at Ipperwash in the weeks before George was killed.

Not only that, Canada's spies may have been circulating false information by claiming the activists were armed when they actually had no guns, as multiple investigations later found.

In a top secret annual report from 1995-96, CSIS called the conflict at Ipperwash an example of "Native extremists" embracing the Mohawk Warrior Society's "model of armed standoff as a tactic to accomplish their political goals."

Terrorism, in other words. The papers include multiple "counter terrorism weekly reports," indicating CSIS viewed the occupation as a possible terror threat.

"That's not who our people are," said Kettle and Stony Point Chief Kimberly Bressette in an interview at a 30th anniversary gathering held last weekend at Stoney Point.

"They're strong, they're resilient, and it's not who they are. It's very gross and disrespectful for them to speak like that against our people."

For the Stoney Point people, the wait was long and frustrating.

Canada had promised to return their territory after the Second World War, but after 50 years of patient advocacy they decided to act. The Stoney Pointers occupied the military camp barracks in July 1995, before moving into nearby Ipperwash Provincial Park on Labour Day weekend.

That's where, on Sept. 6, 1995 during a botched raid fuelled by faulty intelligence, police opened fire and OPP sniper Kenneth Deane shot and killed George, who was 38. Linden's inquiry later concluded the activists had no guns, just bats, stones and sticks.

At the anniversary, people described George as a kind-hearted, fun-loving person who cared deeply for his family and land.

"It's good to always remember and continue to keep that legacy alive, to continue to talk about it and continue to honour those ones that stood up for the land," said Bressette.

"It's an ongoing fight."

CSIS initially refused to confirm or deny the records even existed, a position the information commissioner endorsed following an investigation in 2022. But after CBC News filed a court challenge three years ago, CSIS backtracked and offered to release some heavily censored records that were delivered this year.

"Toronto Region is actively investigating the potential for serious violence at Ipperwash," reads one counter terror report dated July 27, 1995, more than a month before the shooting.

"Many Natives are armed," claims another report from March 22, 1996.

"Some non-Native residents are also alleged to be armed and have vowed to defend themselves and their property."

It goes on to say insurance companies would no longer guarantee coverage, "as they view Ipperwash to be in a 'state of insurrection and rebellion.'"

Layton (Kaluhyatá:hutí) Elijah, a peacekeeper from the Oneida Nation who lived at Stoney Point for 11 years starting in September 1995, dismissed this report as "all lies."

"That's all wrong. They were just trying to cover up what they were doing: It was wrong," Elijah said in an interview at Oneida Nation of the Thames near London, Ont.

Elijah testified at the Ipperwash inquiry about an encounter he had in 1995 with an undercover operative.

Jim Moses was an Oneida freelance journalist from Six Nations of the Grand River near Hamilton, Ont., who outed himself as a spy in 1999.

Moses told reporters he was a paid informant for both CSIS and the OPP at Ipperwash, but Elijah said he already knew that.

"He got caught three times on three different reserves by the same guy," Elijah said.

"This guy was me."

The first time was in 1990 at Oka, Que., during the standoff between Kanien'kehá:ka (Mohawk) warriors and the Canadian military during what's known as the Oka Crisis or the siege of Kanehsatà:ke. Elijah was in charge of security at the solidarity peace camp.

Elijah immediately felt Moses was asking "weird" questions that made him suspicious. Elijah said later that day his suspicions were confirmed. Some other people approached him and warned him to keep quiet: "You were talking to an undercover."

Elijah confronted Moses two days later and told him to leave the camp, he said, but that wasn't the end of the story. A few years later in Oneida Nation of Thames, Elijah was called to a meeting with local leaders. Jim Moses was with them.

"He was talking about guns," Elijah said, adding that Moses had come to suspect a stockpile of weapons was taken from Oka and cached at Oneida.

Moses was told to leave a second time — with a warning not to be seen again — said Elijah, but that isn't how it turned out. In 1995, Elijah was authorized by his chief and clan mothers to go to Stoney Point to help.

"I couldn't believe it," Elijah said.

There was Moses again, posing as a reporter living on the beach earning the Stoney Pointers' trust. Elijah said he outed him to the Stoney Point people, before telling Moses to leave for a third time.

Decades later, he remains puzzled by the affair.

"I have no idea why a Native would do that. I have no idea why he would turn against his own people and spy on his own people — and only his own people," Elijah said.

Moses died in 2017 but his writings shine some light on his motives. He believed the warriors were a dangerous "self-appointed paramilitary group" that became corrupted by guns, violence and the lure of easy money from tobacco smuggling and gambling.

He feared reserves were "up for grabs" politically and that, in a law enforcement vacuum and favourable media environment, the warrior society would successfully export an ideology of armed resistance elsewhere.

"He was quite concerned that this problem of organized crime was destroying Native governance and the Haudenosaunee communities," said John Bacher, an author, historian and environmentalist who was friends with Moses.

Bacher believes it was admirable and courageous for Moses to blow his own cover in 1999. Moses claimed he told both the OPP and CSIS the activists were unarmed.

This helped expose the OPP's "Big Lie" — meaning a gross distortion of the truth used as political propaganda — that they were fired on first, Bacher said. For that, Moses nearly paid with his life.

On Dec. 31, 1999, he awoke to the sound of a shattering window followed by a growling sound and a red glow he could see through a vent. Someone had firebombed his house in Thorold, Ont., in what Moses believed was an attempt to murder him for his undercover work, the St. Catharines Standard newspaper reported.

"He was not like an agent provocateur. He was the opposite of that," Bacher said in a recent phone interview.

"He was trying to calm situations. And by telling the OPP that the Natives were unarmed, he was again trying to prevent bloodshed."

CSIS will not confirm or deny it possesses any documents on Moses. The service declined an interview request for this story and provided a statement instead.

"CSIS acknowledges that investigations on Indigenous activism and the term 'Native extremism' were contained within the documents from the 1990s," wrote spokesperson Magali Hébert.

"However, CSIS no longer uses that term. As well, CSIS does not base its investigations on specific communities."

"As part of the Ipperwash Inquiry, CSIS was not named once in any of the findings nor were any of the recommendations directed toward CSIS," the service added in response to written questions.

The documents don't disclose the level of intrusiveness in the Native extremism probe. One researcher called it disappointing but unsurprising CSIS continued to refuse to confirm or deny anything about Ipperwash so many years later.

"It really shows that they're not terribly interested organizationally in having a little bit of accountability," said Jeffrey Monaghan, an associate professor of criminology at Carleton University in Ottawa.

"It really kind of demonstrates that they're a little bit doing the 'Men in Black' routine where they don't need to be accountable."

For Jason George, a Stoney Point descendant who was part of the land reclamation in 1995, there is accountability in transparency.

"Open these up," he said in an interview, pointing to the heavily censored CSIS papers.

His wife, Lori George, is Layton Elijah's daughter. She saw her father leave for 11 years to support the Stoney Point reclamation, without pay, because Oneida leaders asked him to.

"All of these systems portray us in this light," she told CBC Indigenous in response to the CSIS papers.

"And I agree with Jason: transparency needs to come forward because we are just protecting what's rightfully ours."

Some new housing has been moved on to the territory at Stoney Point but the old army buildings still stand. Signs around the perimeter warning of unexploded ordnance, or UXO.

"They're stuck in time over there, and that's all because of lies," Elijah said.

The Canadian government and the Kettle and Stony Point First Nation reached a land claim settlement in 2016 that included $95 million and safe return of land, but it must be cleaned up first.

"They're saying that it may not be done in our lifetime. In my lifetime, I'd like to come home. I'd like to build a house here," said Jason George.

"Until that happens, I'm still displaced. I've been displaced my entire life because of this, so there's still a lot of healing that has to happen in our community."

Chief Bressette said it could still take 20 to 30 years to finish the remediation process.