This column was originally printed in the Winnipeg Free Press on Oct. 7, 2015

When governments chose between secrecy and openness, the default should always be for people to have as much information as possible. It’s access to basic information that’s at the core of The First Nations Financial Transparency Act. The act requires First Nations leaders to publish their salaries and expenses as well as each community’s basic financial information.

The Liberals promise to repeal the act if elected. The NDP hasn’t said whether it will repeal or amend the legislation, but its members voted against the legislation in Parliament. If the law is destined to disappear, voters should know what kind of information will disappear with it.

Kwikwetlem First Nation Chief Ron Giesbrecht, from British Columbia, was last year’s headliner. In 2013-14, Chief Giesbrecht received $930,793. It turned out that $800,000 of that money came as a bonus for selling the community’s rights to a piece of land. The windfall surprised Chief Giesbrecht. How could he have known he’d turn up the band-error-in-your-favour card?

He wasn’t the only one surprised.

“If it wasn’t for this new transparency act, I don’t think we ever would have known,” said Kwikwetlem band Councillor Marvin Joe.

Last year’s second highest paid leader was from the oil fields of Alberta where Fort McKay First Nation Chief Jim Boucher’s salary and expenses totaled $764,957. Many First Nations haven’t filed their latest figures, but he’s the clear leader this year. His income was $700,400 with another $39,092 in expenses in 2014-15. Is that too much? Too little? That will be for his band members to decide, but it looks like Chief Boucher is delivering results, as Statistics Canada reports the average income on the reserve is $64,344 – well above the provincial average in Alberta.

The First Nations Financial Accountability Act also weaves fascinating details throughout the wider narrative. For example, last year Donovan Fineblanket from Makwa Sahgaiehcan First Nation in northern Saskatchewan received a cellphone allowance of $6,000. Makwa Sahgaiehcan’s financial management later made news because it didn’t have fire protection after failing to pay a bill for $3,380 – a fact that came to light after a home burned down and two children died.

Then there are unheralded leaders who obviously deserve commendation. Near Kamloops, BC, Boneparte Indian Band Chief Randy Porter says he already has a good job and he’s willing serve his community for free. Not only has he forgone pay for two years, he was “blown away” by some of the high salaries that were disclosed in other communities.

Some First Nations leaders say legislation isn’t necessary because they’re happy to provide information directly to their members. That may be true in many cases. But even if true, why should First Nations people have to ask the band office for basic information that any other Canadian can get with a Google search? What protection is there for people on reserves who are worried about their jobs and homes and the jobs and homes of loved ones because they’re asking for sensitive documents from the chief and council that also controls band employment and housing?

One activist from Peguis First Nation, north of Winnipeg, summarized the issue.

“We’ll be able to get the information we want without being verbally attacked or intimidated,” said Phyllis Sutherland. “With the implementing of Bill C-27, [band leadership] will be more prudent with how they handle funding.”