A message Canadians need to hear

When my great-grandfather Albert stepped off a train in Coleman in 1905, he could not possibly have imagined that his great-granddaughter would one day stand before a room full of coal executives from across Canada and tell them why their industry matters.

He came from Poland for a chance at a better life. A job in a coal mine gave him that chance. Five years later, his wife joined him, and our family’s Canadian story began.

Last week, that story took me to Vancouver, where I was asked to deliver a keynote address at the Coal Association of Canada’s annual convention.

There I was, a community newspaper publisher from the Crowsnest Pass, speaking to the people who lead an industry that has shaped generations of my family.

And I was following W. Brett Wilson.

You may remember the entrepreneur and philanthropist from Dragons’ Den. He is also one of the funniest, most genuine people I have met in a long time. Brett has a way of connecting with a room that makes following him a daunting assignment. He was a tough act to follow, but I had something to say, and I was determined to say it.

My speech was called “Beyond the Mine Gate: Why the future of coal depends on telling a better human story.”

That is where I believe this industry needs to take its conversation.

As I told the room, “People often assume I’m passionate about coal. The truth is, I’m passionate about community. Coal just happens to be my community.”

If I had grown up in a forestry town, I would be talking about forestry. If I had grown up in an oil and gas community, I would be talking about oil and gas. My passion comes from knowing the people whose lives are shaped by the industry around them.

I did not go to Vancouver to explain how to design a mine. There were more than enough people in that room who could do that far better than I ever could.

I went to explain what a mine means to the people who live around it.

My grandfather worked his way from timber packer to tipple boss at Coleman Collieries. My father worked at the Devon gas plant in Coleman. Lyle has spent more than 30 years as a geological engineer in the Elk Valley. My middle son recently graduated as a mining engineer, and my youngest is completing a mechanical engineering co-op with Elk Valley Resources.

Apparently, engineering runs in the family. It just skipped me.

They build things. I tell the stories about the people who build them.

For our family, this conversation is personal. It is personal for plenty of other families, too.

For 25 years, I have told this community’s stories. I have celebrated births, covered championships, reported on layoffs and written obituaries. I have sat with families on some of the best days of their lives and some of the worst.

That experience has taught me that a person’s story can reach someone in a way a corporate presentation never will.

As I told the executives, “People don’t connect with industries. They connect with people.”

A mining paycheque pays a mortgage, buys groceries and supports local businesses. It gives a young person a reason to come home after university. It creates the possibility of building a life in the place where you grew up.

One passage from my speech sums that up:

“People measure this industry in tonnes. Production. Exports. Revenue. Communities measure something different. Whether their children can stay.”

After eight years on municipal council, I know how quickly an economic discussion becomes a household concern. Roads, water systems and protective services have to be paid for. When a community lacks an industrial tax base, residents carry more of that burden.

As I said in my speech, “That’s not economic theory. That’s a bill somebody gets in the mail.”

I have also seen what happens when opportunity disappears. Businesses close. Families leave. Young people begin to believe their future has to be somewhere else.

Those consequences belong in the national conversation about coal.

So does the resilience of the people who built these communities.

In my speech, I recalled being asked by a writer whether coal was the tragedy of the Crowsnest Pass.

My answer was no.

We have known tragedy, from the Hillcrest and Bellevue mine disasters to the devastation of the Frank Slide. We also mourned young men from our community who lost their lives in the Westray mine disaster.

Families paid an unimaginable price to build the community we inherited. We honour them, and we always will.

But tragedy does not define us. There is also determination, resourcefulness and a stubborn willingness to keep going.

That is part of our story, too.

I spoke about what it feels like when people outside a community become some of the loudest voices telling its story, while the people who live there struggle to be heard.

Others have every right to express their views. But we have a right to ours, too.

“You don’t have to agree with us. You don’t have to support coal. But if you’re going to tell my community’s story, have the humility to come and understand it first.”

That challenge was not reserved for activists. I challenged government, too.

Come here. Tour the proposed mine site. Meet the engineers. Meet the people who support it and those who oppose it. Ask about water. Ask about selenium. Challenge the answers. Then make up your mind.

As I asked in Vancouver, “When did educating yourself become controversial?”

But I also challenged the executives.

Be proud of what you do. Fight for your industry. Give Canadians an honest account of the families, businesses and communities your operations support.

I understand why companies are cautious. They operate under intense scrutiny, and every word matters. But excessive caution has a cost when it leaves important parts of the story unheard.

As I said in Vancouver, “Maybe you’ve been telling too much of your story from the mine gate in, and not enough from the mine gate out.”

I asked whether they knew their community impact with the same precision as their production numbers. How many families do their operations support? How many local businesses depend on the activity they create? What do their companies and employees contribute to the places where they live?

Measure it. Know it. Tell it.

There is nothing embarrassing about creating jobs or investing in a community. Those contributions should be documented and explained honestly.

I also asked them to give their communications teams the freedom to find the people behind the statistics and tell their stories.

An industry cannot leave its human story untold and then be surprised when someone else defines it.

Another speaker reinforced why this conversation matters well beyond our valley.

Dr. Yukihiro Kubota, general manager and head of the Coal and Coke Research Department at Nippon Steel Corporation’s Ironmaking Research Laboratory, told us in no uncertain terms that metallurgical coal’s role in steelmaking is not going away. His outlook extended its use well beyond 2050.

That is a message Canadians need to hear.

We should also be asking why metallurgical coal is absent from Canada’s critical minerals list.

The United States and New Zealand already include it on theirs. The European Union recognizes coking coal as a critical raw material.

I believe Canada should recognize the strategic importance of steelmaking coal, too.

We have this resource. There is international demand for it. My position is straightforward: develop it responsibly, get it out of the ground and let Canadian workers and communities benefit.

Near the end of my speech, I brought the conversation back to the people who will live with the consequences of the decisions made today.

“History will remember the coal you mined. Communities will remember the future you made possible.”

That future deserves a voice.

At the end of my speech, I received an ovation.

It came from an industry that has been maligned, beaten up and vilified. I had asked its leaders to stand taller and tell Canadians what their work makes possible.

If they follow through, if they speak honestly, proudly and persistently about their industry, we just might win over more of this country.

I’m proud of Albert. He took a chance on the Crowsnest Pass. He moved across the ocean for a chance and five generations later, my family is still in the Crowsnest Pass. Coal created this community, coal has to potential to make it thrive, yet again!