CRIME GANGS GET FREE ROAM ON CANADA INDIAN RESERVES

KANESATAKE, Quebec -- The crime-scene tape surrounding the charred
ruins of Grand Chief James Gabriel's home snapped and shredded in the
frigid wind whipping off Lake of Two Mountains.

The Jan. 12 arson attack caused the chief and his family to flee for
their lives from this Mohawk enclave about 30 miles west of Montreal.
And as the flames shot into the night sky, gangs of self-described
"warriors" -- many with reputed ties to biker gangs that control drug
trafficking and other smuggling in Canada -- blockaded local roads.
Then, for 36 hours they besieged the tribal police chief and more than
50 Indian law officers inside their barracks.

Anywhere else in North America, the incident would have triggered a
massive police response, with tactical squads quelling the disturbance
and teams of investigators pouring in to determine how law and order
could go so horribly awry.

But this is Indian territory, where Canadian elected leaders -- as
well as federal and provincial police agencies -- dare not tread
because of political sensitivities, according to police, analysts of
Indian policy, and the few Indians willing to risk retaliation by
speaking out against the increasing lawlessness on some reserves.

"If they can burn out a chief, they can burn out anyone," said a
46-year-old Mohawk woman in Kanesatake who, with her grown daughter,
spoke briefly with a reporter after insisting on anonymity. "People
who want a normal life are frightened. But there is nowhere for us to
turn. The smugglers, and the pot growers, and the goons for the Hells
do whatever they please."

The "Hells" are the Hells Angels, who with other motorcycle gangs have
become deeply entrenched on dozens of Indian reserves from Nova Scotia
to British Columbia. Several Mohawk settlements in Quebec, including
Kanesatake and the Akwesasne reserve, are considered the worst cases
by law officials. Police and other specialists say these tribal realms
have become critical "safe zones" for large-scale criminal activity,
including marijuana production, cigarette bootlegging, and the
smuggling of narcotics, guns, and illegal aliens to and from the
United States.

"Because aboriginal issues are such a hot potato, no politician wants
to push for normal policing [of reserves]," said Staff Sergeant
Jean-Pierre Levesque of the Criminal Intelligence Service of Canada.

"So organized crime, mainly biker gangs, has moved onto reserves where
they can operate without interference. They have outdoor pot
plantations and hydroponic labs" for growing marijuana indoors. "They
do a big business in smuggling -- people, cigarettes, weapons, drugs.
In some cases, the criminals are controlling reserves through
intimidation."

A Royal Canadian Mounted Police intelligence study last year described
the Akwesasne Mohawk territory straddling Quebec and Ontario along the
upstate New York border as "a primary portal for illegal goods moving
in and out of Canada, including narcotics, firearms, illegal migrants,
alcohol, and tobacco."

Some analysts say Canada's "hands-off" policy toward Indians is
largely to blame. While the government funnels about $4 billion a year
to chiefs and tribal bureaucrats representing about 400,000 aboriginal
people on hundreds of tiny reserves scattered across the country,
there is nearly no oversight of tribal governments (Canada's
population of Indians and Inuit is 811,000, but more than half live
away from the crime- and poverty-racked reserves).

"Canada has a deliberate `blind eye' policy to all controversial
matters on Indian reserves," said Gordon Gibson, senior fellow in
Canadian studies at the Fraser Institute, a think tank in British
Columbia. "There are progressive reserves where Indians are trying
hard to break the grip of poverty. But there are too many Indian
communities where the ordinary writ of law doesn't run, where
democracy is subverted, and where power is concentrated in the hands
of Indian elites answerable to no one."

Kanesatake abuts the Quebec town of Oka, scene in 1990 of a violent
78-day standoff between the Canadian military and Mohawk militants
protesting plans to expand a golf course by bulldozing land that
Indians said held an ancestral graveyard.

"Oka traumatized the government to the point where no one today really
dares interfere on the reserves, even when there is [criminal]
activity that would never be tolerated anywhere else," said Gibson,
who writes regularly on government policy regarding Indians.

According to specialists on organized crime, the Hells Angels and
subsidiary biker gangs that dominate drug trafficking and other
Canadian crime sectors have muscled their way onto reserves in recent
years, operating through disaffected members of "warrior societies,"
which were once organizations of political activists, but today often
are little more than strong-arm outfits for tribal bosses. In western
provinces, the traffickers operate through aboriginal youth gangs.

Kanesatake residents and federal police say marijuana is cultivated
openly in clearings during summer months in year-round indoor
hydroponic operations. Biker gangs smuggle much of the potent and
hugely profitable hydroponic product to the United States.

Meanwhile, Indians working with outlaw bikers obtain tax-free
cigarettes -- under the law, natives are exempt from paying taxes for
"personal use" tobacco. The cigarettes are peddled to bargain-seeking
Canadians at illegal shacks operating openly on reserves or under the
counter at biker-controlled bars from Halifax to Vancouver, a trade
worth tens of millions of dollars.

The criminal connection exploded into controversy earlier last month
when Kanesatake's Chief Gabriel, a tough-talking advocate of law and
order, fired the community's incumbent police chief for being "soft on
crime," then enlisted dozens of tribal law officers from 18 other
reserves in what was thought to be a prelude to raids on pot
production labs and cigarette bootleggers.

The reaction from self-described tribal dissidents was
swift.

Within hours, Gabriel's house was in flames; the chief and his family
barely escaped. The mob, wielding baseball bats and axe handles, then
surged on to the police station, affixing the banner of the Mohawk
Warrior Society to the perimeter fence, hurling stones, and trapping
the new police chief, Terry Isaacs, and more than 50 officers inside.

Rather than rush to the rescue, Quebec authorities cut a deal with the
besiegers -- making no arrests, in exchange for the release of the
tribal officers. Control of Kanesatake was turned over to Gabriel's
opponents, who stripped the elected chief (Gabriel was serving his
third term) of membership in the Mohawk band on the grounds that he
had "abandoned the community."

Premier Jean Charest of Quebec boasted of defusing a crisis. The
Montreal Gazette, usually a champion of Charest's government,
denounced the province for ducking issues of crime and justice in
favor of "a cowardly solution."

The chief's opponents, meanwhile, sought to portray the violence in
Kanesatake as "political protest," saying Gabriel had become obssessed
with crime. "It's wrong that his house was burned down, but he was too
fixated on drugs," said Steven Bonspille, a member of the dissident
faction. "We are no different than any other community when it comes
to social problems."

Analysts say the unrest at Kanesatake was not about politics, but
about protecting multimillion-dollar operations for growing marijuana
and smuggling cigarettes. "It's about [keeping] a safe place for
organized crime," said Guy Ouellete, a former Quebec provincial police
investigator and leading specialist on North American biker gangs.

Gabriel, still in hiding late last month, was stunned by the turn of
events.

"It's disgusting that the people who burned down my house are
portrayed as victors and that the ministry of public security handed
them that victory on a silver platter," he told the Canadian Press
news agency.