MONTREAL — The purpose of the Building Canada Act is simple. By provisioning for a World War-level of infrastructure investment, Prime Minister Mark Carney reckons Canada can at once unite itself and shield its economy from Donald Trump’s America.

Though the act is now law, there are bureaucratic roadblocks galore to the friction-free building of pipelines and the like. In Kahnawake, a 20-minute drive from downtown Montreal, the potential roadblock is literal—and it underscores how Indigenous communities could grind the so-called fast track to a halt.

Earlier this month, Kahnawà:ke Grand Chief Cody Diabo said his government was considering erecting toll booths on the two main highways running through the territory’s 48 square kilometres, with the proceeds going to the Kahnawà:ke band council.

The main reason, Diabo said, was to offset the impending cuts to federal ministries by 15 per cent in the next three years, which he says will exacerbate existing social and economic problems in Indigenous communities. Yet he also said the idea was a reaction to the Building Canada Act. Diabo said he’s never seen Canada pass a bill so fast, and doesn’t think Carney paid any attention to the concerns he and some other Indigenous leaders have raised about it. He said he doesn’t know if the bill and the funding cuts are a calculated affront to Indigenous communities that have spoken out, or whether Carney is “doing something for the sake of just doing something.”

Tolling the two highways in the territory would be lucrative. The Kahnawà:ke Mohawk territory, which is on Montreal’s suburb-dense South Shore, sees roughly 120,000 vehicles passing through every day, according to Diabo. Many are likely en route to the Honoré Mercier Bridge, the main western entry point to the island. 

“It’s not about anything against the Canadian citizen. It’s more about the government not doing what it’s supposed to do in good faith with us. So we’re kind of left with no choice at this moment,” Diabo told me. The Kahnawà:ke band council has already funded an engineering study on toll booth placement. Diabo couldn’t say how much a drive across Kahnawake would cost; provincial tolls on Autoroute 30, which skirts the territory’s southern flank, run for almost $5. 

If the math is telling, so too is the potential fallout for the federal government. The tolls wouldn’t only draw the ire of hundreds of thousands of commuters. The Building Canada Act repeatedly underscores the importance of Indigenous consultation, just as Carney often trumpets the concept. Putting a price on access to one of the country’s busiest bridges would be a daily reminder of how those words ring hollow in Kahnawà:ke.

Now consider this: there are over 630 Indigenous communities across the country. Many have expressed grave concerns about the legislation, while others have opposed it outright. And many have highways running through their territory. Imagine the sheer chaos, and the subsequent international black eye, should even a handful of them take a page out of Kahnawà:ke’s book.

For the federal government, securing consent from these communities won’t be easy. The Building Canada Act was written and enacted post haste to help wean the country off its reliance on the American market. As such, it proposes the kind of accelerated timelines that seem to take Indigenous buy in as a given, not a process. Diabo himself walked out of a meeting with Carney in July, saying the whole thing reeked of a publicity stunt. The prime minister “didn’t really hear anything we were stating,” Diabo told me. 

Of course, erecting toll booths on provincial highways is strictly the purview of the provincial governments, meaning Kahnawake technically doesn’t have the right to charge for highway access through its territory. Yet a stroll through the territory shows the extent to which it has exercised its autonomy, regardless of what is written in the law. 

Apart from regularly hosting the World Series of Poker tournament, Kahnawake’s Playground Casino offers blackjack and roulette games, along with acres of gaming machines—even though the Quebec government claims it is the lone arbiter of gambling activities in the province. Smoke and marijuana shops sell their wares, in apparent contradiction to provincial law.

And it’s not just Kahnawake. At some gas stations I’ve been to in Kanesatake, a Mohawk territory north of Montreal, you get a joint with every fill up. Not only do marijuana dispensaries loudly and brightly advertise their wares, a violation of Quebec law, they do so mostly in English. At least one shop has video lottery terminals and peddles Ozempic. The whole place feels like a Technicolor middle finger to the provincial and federal governments.

“We aren’t opposed to development,” Diabo told me. Kahnawake has worked with governments before. In 2024, Kahnawà:ke and Hydro-Québec signed a co-ownership agreement for the utility’s transmission line to the U.S., which passes through the territory. It’s one reason Kahnawake has the leverage to make itself heard. And if the government doesn’t listen, it’s worth remembering that a crucial rail line and the country’s most important seaway pass through Kahnawake as well. 

Martin Patriquin is The Logic’s Quebec correspondent. He joined in 2019 after 10 years as Quebec bureau chief for Maclean’s. A National Magazine Award and SABEW winner, he has written for The New York Times, The Guardian, The Walrus, Vice, BuzzFeed and The Globe and Mail, among others. He is also a panelist on CBC’s “Power & Politics.”