The Greening of Ian Gill

Larry Pynn | Image: by Mark Mushet | Published: July 01, 2005

Ecotrust Canada president Ian Gill squints into the sun and huddles against the wind as our water taxi pulls away from Tofino harbour on the 40-minute journey to the Ahousaht reserve on Flores Island. Around us, sandy beaches glimmer with the polish of white teeth and branches of an ancient Douglas fir sag under the weight of a bald eagle nest. Somewhere in the distant mists, grey whales break a surging cobalt sea. One can be forgiven for wanting to lock the whole place up, protect this beauty forever against the brutish indiscretions of modern man. That would not be Ian Gill’s vision.

The 50-year-old native Australian with boyish good looks and charm is something of a guiding light between the old and new economies, between the extremism of pillage and protection. “There’s a third way, not just an industrial economy and not just calling it a park and throwing away the key,” he explains. “People want to live in a prosperous place, but not at the expense of nature or people or cultures.”

Gill is part of a strange new breed of environmentalist. He is more likely to be found chained to a boardroom than an old-growth cedar or sipping cocktails with the corporate elite than herbal tea with a Raging Granny. He draws his strength from what’s becoming known as “the conservation economy,” a philosophy that sees profit as good, provided it remains respectful and sustainable.

Since founding Ecotrust Canada 11 years ago, Gill has risen to the corporate top of B.C.’s environmental movement based largely on the generosity of America’s leading philanthropic foundations. Today his organization is spreading economic roots, seeking new strategies to become more self-reliant as it continues to quietly bankroll a green revolution: mapping and categorizing coastal natural resources; producing business plans for First Nations and other communities; and financing high- risk loans to help launch sustainable businesses that might otherwise be turned away by the more conservative banking establishment.

“I’m not a financial genius by any stretch of the imagination,” he allows, watching the matchbox houses of the Ahousaht reserve come into view over the aluminium bow. “But I know that conserving capital and living off the interest is a lot smarter than blowing your brains out and spending all your capital at once.” The truth is, Gill views a ustainable economy as a cautious investment and the squandering of the world’s natural capital faster than it can be produced as the riskiest proposition of all. In any revolution, there are bound to be fallen soldiers. Even the temperate rainforest can be a cold and unforgiving business climate. Earlier in the week, bailiffs acting for Ecotrust Canada repossessed a $30,000 boat from an aboriginal entrepreneur on the Ahousaht reserve whose ecotourism business floundered. Now Gill is cautiously heading back to that very same village, this time to convince band officials to invest in a completely different venture, the purchase of a six-year-old seafood processing plant in nearby Tofino.

Gill isn’t sure what to expect. “Watch what you say,”

he advises with a smile. “We don’t want to be lynched.” It is a short walk from the village wharf along a dirt path to the band’s modest offices. Inside, we are shoehorned into a small square room distinguished by stained and chipped ceiling tiles. We take our place on blue plastic chairs alongside five Ahousaht representatives just as the room’s heavy steel door slams tight behind us. The president of Ecotrust Canada wastes no time in introductions. “Hi, I’m Ian Gill,” he says with a raspy Aussie accent. “Good East Indian name.” A moment of silence, then a series of belly laughs. So far so good. A lynching seems unlikely.

Gill leaves the opening sales pitch to Brenda Kuecks, his program coordinator for the Clayoquot-Alberni region. She explains she has secured an option to purchase Trilogy Fish Co., the small but thriving seafood processing plant. The current owners, John and Donna Fraser, are about to sell, but are giving Ecotrust Canada first crack at putting together a pool of buyers from the local community. The plant primarily deals in live crab, the processing of sport-caught salmon and the sale of oysters processed outside the community.

It’s worth noting that Gill loves to dine on oysters, especially at the high-end Raincoast Restaurant in Tofino, just down the street from his two-bedroom, waterfront condominium overlooking Meares Island. Problem is, it makes him sick to think that the ones on his plate might have been caught in Clayoquot Sound, trucked to Fanny Bay on the east coast of Vancouver Island for processing, only to be hauled back again to Tofino to be sold. His solution: a small-scale plant run by the local community, processing local product under a Clayoquot Sound label.

The Ahousaht aren’t convinced. Band councillor Sydney Sam is wrestling with an ethical dilemma: natives are concerned about the impact of sport fishing in their traditional area and the Trilogy plant makes a neat profit from sport fishers. They also want to see the plant for themselves, in part, to ensure it even exists. Gill assures them that it does, and that Ecotrust Canada is also for real and in the business of putting sustainable assets into community hands. “It’s not swamp land in Florida,” he jokes of Trilogy and its foreshore lease. “It’s swamp land in Tofino.”

Which begs the larger question: exactly who is this man that artist and former Ecotrust Canada director Robert Bateman calls “the absolute key” to that grey area between environmental advocacy and the old economy?

Ian Gill’s journey to the capitalist heart of the B.C. rainforest began in Adelaide, South Australia, as the son of a lumber broker who made frequent business trips to Canada’s West Coast. The family lived in a show home crafted from imported B.C. wood and kept a copy of Beautiful British Columbia magazine – a gift from one of his dad’s clients – on the table.

Gill spent three years after high school roaming the island continent as a reporter for community and small dailies before following a girlfriend to Vancouver in 1981. He recalls the interview with an out-of-touch Canadian immigration official in Sydney who spoke of a surfeit of newspaper jobs in Canada. Gill knew different. The daily Winnipeg Tribune had just shut down, newspapers were consolidating, journalists were being tossed out on the street. Gill may be a talkative individual, but there are moments that cry out for stony silence. He soon found himself in Canada as a landed immigrant.