HIGHWAY 17—On August 14, the steady pulse of Highway 17 through Serpent River First Nation slowed to a crawl. Cars idled as Elders and allies stood on the asphalt, handing out pamphlets and warnings, calling for a moratorium on aerial glyphosate spraying across Anishinaabek territory.
The message was plain and sharp: glyphosate — the herbicide known in forestry as Vision and to the public as Roundup — harms not only the trees and undergrowth it is designed to kill, but the people, animals, waters, and medicines that rely on those forests for life.
By the end of that same week, the Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR) and its corporate partner, Interfor, quietly announced that the scheduled aerial spray over the North Shore, Serpent River and Pineland forests would not proceed this year. The cancellation followed directly on the heels of the protest and is being hailed by organizers as proof that collective voices — rooted in Traditional Ecological Knowledge and treaty rights — can still shift the direction of policy.
For people like Jenifer Brousseau of Serpent River, who has long worried about gathering berries and medicines in forests she fears may be laced with poison, the reprieve comes as both relief and a reminder of what is at stake. “It’s kind of scary because I don’t know where I can gather anymore,” she said earlier this summer. “I have to be very mindful — has there been forestry here? Are they gonna be spraying here?”
The August 14 demonstration, led by TEK Elders, was backed by the Chiefs of Ontario, who have reached consensus to reject glyphosate use on all First Nations lands. Their demands were sweeping but clear: abolish glyphosate-based herbicides in Anishinaabek and other Ontario First Nations’ territories, implement sustainable and non-toxic alternatives in true consultation with Indigenous nations and respect Indigenous and Treaty rights regarding land and water protection.
The reasons for opposition are as layered as the forest itself. Protesters cited ecological devastation — blueberries, moose, fish and medicines like sage, cedar and sweetgrass all at risk. They pointed to health hazards flagged by scientists worldwide, with the International Agency for Research on Cancer naming glyphosate “probably carcinogenic to humans.” They rejected the provincial narrative that glyphosate is “necessary” for forest management, countering that sustainable alternatives exist but have been ignored.
Their voices echoed a growing chorus. Moonbeam, a small Northern Ontario municipality, has already passed a resolution opposing spraying, citing fears of drift into local wells, gardens and farms. West Nipissing is calling for a moratorium until proper research is done. Nickel Belt MPP France Gélinas has pressed the province to suspend spraying, noting the “glaring absence” of independent, region-specific science and the exclusion of Indigenous knowledge in decision-making.
For Elder Allan McDonald of Garden River First Nation, the issue is simple: “Quebec banned glyphosate on its Crown land forests back in 2001. And they seem to be doing OK. So why is it that Ontario can’t follow suit?”
The ministry’s original plan was to begin aerial spraying on August 18. But after the Highway 17 protest — and a rally the next day at Nipissing MPP Vic Fedeli’s office — Interfor confirmed by email that the spray program for the North Shore, Serpent River and Pinelands forests has been suspended until at least 2026. The company cited “contractor safety” as its reason.
For activists like Isaac Murdoch of Serpent River, who received confirmation directly from Interfor’s management, the suspension marks a victory — though a temporary one. “The hope is that this is just the beginning,” he said.
Not all of Northern Ontario has been spared; aerial spraying is still scheduled in other regions. But for the communities along the north shore of Lake Huron, the forests have been given a year’s breath of reprieve.
Grace Manitowabi of Sagamok put it bluntly: “The blueberries are all dead now. Our medicines are dying. And our moose are sick.” To her and others, halting the spray is not only about protecting food and medicine — it is about survival.
As Highway 17 traffic returned to its normal summer roar, the protest lingered like a signpost: proof that when Elders, chiefs and grassroots people take their stand together, even the biggest machines — government and corporate — can be made to pause.
For now, the planes are grounded. The land, for at least one more season, breathes easier.
