The Water of Youth (L’Eau de Jouvence) – Ernest Renan

About the Work

The material gathered here concerns a young Indigenous environmental advocate named Autumn Peltier, a member of the Wiikwemkoong First Nation on Manitoulin Island in Northern Ontario, who by the age of fifteen had already spent nearly half her life speaking out about water. The notes describe her as the Anishinabek Nation chief water commissioner, a title she inherited from her great-aunt, Josephine Mandamin, herself a celebrated water activist whom Autumn credits as a heavy inspiration. The pieces assembled here are journalistic in form: a news article by Ben Cohen published in The Globe and Mail on 27 September 2019, and a related profile drawn from the same paper, complete with the editorial apparatus—copyright notices, wire-service identifiers, page markers, and promotional links—that surrounds newspaper copy. What they document is not a work of philosophy or fiction but a public life in motion: a teenager preparing to address the United Nations about water issues in First Nations communities across Canada, travelling to New York to speak at the Indigenous march within a global climate strike and to deliver a speech at the Global Landscapes Forum, and doing so as part of a youth-led environmental movement that includes the Swedish activist Greta Thunberg. The subject at the centre of these pages is water—who has it, who does not, and what it costs to go without it in a country that is, by any measure, wealthy.

Context

The context these notes establish is one of stark contradiction. Canada is described as a first-world country, and a rich one, yet the article opens by cataloguing things Autumn Peltier cannot accept: children growing up without access to drinkable tap water; seventy-year-olds walking every day to claim water rations; entire communities unable to shower without risking exposure to a carcinogen. These are not distant tragedies but stories she hears from across the country. The notes give the scale of the problem in concrete terms: fifty-six First Nations communities across Canada living under long-term boil-water advisories, the longest of which have lasted nearly twenty-five years. Boiling, moreover, is not a universal remedy. Some types of contamination resist boiling, and others are toxic even without being consumed. One example named is trihalomethanes, or THMs, which recently forced the Northern Ontario First Nations community of Attawapiskat to declare a state of emergency. THMs are linked to an elevated risk of cancer and can be absorbed through the skin, which makes showering and even hand-washing dangerous—an intimacy of harm that turns ordinary hygiene into a calculated risk.

Against this backdrop, the notes situate Autumn within a broader political moment. Her activism unfolds alongside the 2019 federal election, when the four main parties’ climate policies were a matter of public debate, and alongside a wave of youth climate marching in Canada and abroad. The article’s related headlines point to the wider conversation: where the parties stood on climate policy, the climate impacts young Canadians will have to contend with, and the voice of a Montreal teenager explaining why she was marching. Autumn’s own framing is deliberately cross-cultural. She says she gets a different perspective than some of the other activists because most of her work comes from traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge, and she describes the other young activists as a source of courage—some of them, she says, are really strong and have strong messages, and their example makes her feel that they will be able to get something done. The movement, in other words, is plural: scientific urgency on one side, inherited cultural knowledge on the other, and a shared sense that action is needed now.

Structure of the Book

The notes do not describe a conventionally structured book with chapters and an argument that builds from premise to conclusion. What they describe is a body of journalistic writing organized around a single figure and a single occasion: Autumn Peltier’s second speech at the United Nations in as many years, delivered as she turns fifteen on the same day students across Canada are expected to march in a massive strike intended to disrupt climate-change inaction. The material moves in a loose arc. It begins with the unacceptable facts—the missing tap water, the daily walks for rations, the carcinogen in the shower—and with Autumn’s refusal to accept them, her insistence that people are living in third-world conditions in a first-world country and that this is insane. It then widens to the scale of the crisis: the fifty-six communities under advisory, the twenty-five-year duration of the longest, the contamination that boiling cannot fix, the Attawapiskat emergency. From there it turns to Autumn herself—her trip to New York, her scheduled speeches, her stated purpose of telling people about the importance of water and educating them on a cultural and spiritual level. The later material fills in her biography and her role: her origins in Wiikwemkoong, her succession to Josephine Mandamin’s title, her nomination for the 2019 International Children’s Peace Prize by the David Suzuki Foundation, the stress of a role that requires her to participate in decisions about the Great Lakes, and the odd double life of a high-school student who presides over major environmental questions and speaks to world leaders. It closes on her future: her abandoned ambition to be prime minister, her new wish to become a pediatric nurse for the sake of her younger sister who suffers from epilepsy, and her vow never to abandon her commitment to being a water warrior. The structure, then, is portrait by accumulation—fact, scale, person, role, future—with the editorial matter of headlines, copyright lines, and newsletter promotions marking it as newspaper copy rather than a sustained essay.

Inside the Book

The opening of the material is a litany of refusals. Autumn Peltier cannot accept that children in Canada grow up without access to drinkable tap water. She cannot accept that seventy-year-olds must walk every day to claim water rations. She cannot accept that entire communities cannot shower without risking possible exposure to a carcinogen. These are the stories she hears from across the country, and at fifteen—having spent nearly half her life fighting against these injustices—she holds the title of Anishinabek Nation chief water commissioner. Her words are blunt: there are people living in third-world conditions in Canada, a first-world country; this is insane; Canada is wealthy, so there should not be places that cannot drink their water. The article places her at the forefront of an environmental movement led by youth like her and by Greta Thunberg, and notes that she is to address the United Nations about water issues in First Nations communities across Canada.

The second strand of the material supplies the numbers and the chemistry behind that outrage. Fifty-six First Nations communities across Canada live under long-term boil-water advisories, the longest of which have lasted nearly twenty-five years. Some types of contamination resist boiling; others are toxic even without being consumed. Trihalomethanes recently forced Attawapiskat, a First Nations community in Northern Ontario, to declare a state of emergency. THMs are linked to an elevated risk of cancer and can be absorbed through the skin, making showering and even hand-washing dangerous. It is against this background that Autumn travels to New York to speak at the Indigenous march within Friday’s climate strike, and to deliver a speech at the Global Landscapes Forum at the United Nations on Saturday—her second UN speech in as many years. She explains her purpose plainly: she is there to tell people about the importance of water and to educate them on a cultural and spiritual level, and people need to know that action is needed now. Her fifteenth birthday falls on the Friday, the same day students across Canada are expected to march in a massive strike intended to disrupt climate-change inaction. She acknowledges that she comes at the work from a different angle than many of the other young activists, since most of her work comes from traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge, and she says the others give her courage—some of those kids are really strong and have strong messages, and this makes her feel they will be able to get something done.

The third strand turns to who she is and where she comes from. Autumn is from Wiikwemkoong First Nation on Manitoulin Island in Northern Ontario. She took over the role of chief water commissioner from her great-aunt, Josephine Mandamin, another water activist whom Autumn says heavily inspired her; Autumn is about fifty years younger than Ms. Mandamin was when she took the title. She has recently been nominated for the 2019 International Children’s Peace Prize by the David Suzuki Foundation for her environmentalism. She describes the role as “kind of stressful, because it’s a big role.” She has to look after and make decisions for the Great Lakes, and any decision made about the Great Lakes she has to be there for and participate in. When she is not presiding over major environmental decisions or speaking to world leaders, she is in high school—a dichotomy she admits is “weird.” Her peers help bridge the gap: her friends are very supportive of what she does and think it is “really cool.” Previously she aspired to one day be elected prime minister. Now she says she wants to become a pediatric nurse to help people like her younger sister, who suffers from epilepsy. Regardless of her career, she says, she never plans on abandoning her commitment to environmental activism and being a “water warrior.”

Around these three strands the notes preserve the ordinary furniture of newspaper publication: the reporting credit to The Canadian Press, the attribution to The Globe and Mail, the tag identifying the United Nations as the subject, the headline under which the story appears online—”Autumn Peltier, 15, to address United Nations about water issues in First Nations communities across Canada”—and a promotion for the Morning Update and Evening Update newsletters, written by Globe editors to give a concise summary of the day’s most important headlines. There are also the wire-service identifiers and indexing codes, the “DOW JONES” and “THE GLOBE AND MAIL*” marks, the strings of letters used for editorial classification, the designation “National,” the language designation “English,” and a Factiva copyright notice dated 2023 with a page marker reading “Page 1 of 2.” These are the traces of how journalism is packaged, licensed, and retrieved, and they sit alongside the substantive reporting without belonging to its argument.

Main Arguments

The central argument running through the material is a contrast between wealth and deprivation, and an insistence that the contrast is intolerable. Canada is described as a first-world country and a wealthy one; the notes have Autumn say directly that there should not be places in Canada that cannot drink their water. The claim is not merely that some communities lack clean water but that the lack is a contradiction of the country’s own self-image—people living in third-world conditions in a first-world country, which she calls insane. The argument gains force from the specificity of its examples: not an abstraction called “water insecurity” but children without drinkable tap water, seventy-year-olds walking daily for rations, communities where a shower carries a risk of cancer. The fifty-six communities under long-term boil-water advisories, and the nearly twenty-five years of the longest advisory, turn the contradiction into a measurable fact. The chemistry of trihalomethanes sharpens it further: boiling does not always help, and some contamination harms through the skin, so the ordinary acts of washing and showering become hazardous. Attawapiskat’s state of emergency is the point at which the argument becomes an event.

A second argument concerns the nature of the response. The notes present Autumn not as a lone crusader but as one participant in a youth-led movement, and they present that movement as plural in its sources of authority. Autumn says she gets a different perspective than some of the other activists because most of her work comes from traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge. At the same time she draws courage from the other young activists, describing some of them as really strong with strong messages, and saying this makes her feel they will be able to get something done. The argument here is implicit but clear: the problem is urgent enough to require many kinds of knowledge, and the movement’s strength lies partly in its ability to hold scientific urgency and inherited cultural understanding together. Autumn’s own stated purpose at the United Nations reflects this—she is there to tell people about the importance of water and to educate them on a cultural and spiritual level, and to say that action is needed now. Education and urgency are not alternatives; they are the same task.

A third argument, quieter but persistent, concerns responsibility and continuity. The role Autumn holds was passed to her by her great-aunt, Josephine Mandamin, a water activist who inspired her, and Autumn is about fifty years younger than Ms. Mandamin was when she took the title. The title itself—chief water commissioner—carries obligations rather than honors: Autumn says she has to look after and make decisions for the Great Lakes, and that any decision made about the Great Lakes she has to be there for and participate in. The notes also record her nomination for the 2019 International Children’s Peace Prize by the David Suzuki Foundation, which places her work within a wider framework of recognition for young environmentalism. And they record her vow that regardless of her career she never plans on abandoning her commitment to environmental activism and being a “water warrior.” The argument, if it can be called that, is that this work is not a phase of youth but a lifelong inheritance, and that the passing of the role from one generation to the next is itself part of how the cause survives.

Key Concepts

Several concepts recur across the notes and give the material its shape. The first is the boil-water advisory—a formal, long-term designation under which fifty-six First Nations communities across Canada live, the longest of which have lasted nearly twenty-five years. The concept matters because it converts a general complaint into an administrative fact with a duration, and because the notes immediately complicate it: some types of contamination resist boiling, and others are toxic even without being consumed. Boiling, the standard household remedy, is not a solution to every kind of contamination.

The second concept is trihalomethanes, or THMs, the contaminants that recently forced Attawapiskat to declare a state of emergency. THMs are linked to an elevated risk of cancer and can be absorbed through the skin, which makes showering and even hand-washing dangerous. The concept is important because it shows how contamination can bypass the act of drinking altogether, turning the body’s ordinary contact with water into a route of exposure.

The third concept is the role of chief water commissioner of the Anishinabek Nation, held by Autumn Peltier and previously by her great-aunt Josephine Mandamin. The role is described in terms of responsibility rather than ceremony: Autumn says she has to look after and make decisions for the Great Lakes, and that any decision made about the Great Lakes she has to be there for and participate in. She calls it “kind of stressful, because it’s a big role.”

The fourth concept is traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge, which Autumn identifies as the source of her distinctive perspective within the environmental movement. She says most of her work comes from this knowledge, and that she is at the United Nations to educate people on a cultural and spiritual level as well as to convey the importance of water.

The fifth concept is the youth-led environmental movement itself, exemplified by Greta Thunberg and by the students across Canada expected to march in a massive strike intended to disrupt climate-change inaction. Autumn is described as being at the forefront of this movement, and the notes record her sense of solidarity with other young activists—that they give her courage and that she feels they will be able to get something done.

The sixth concept is the “water warrior,” the phrase Autumn uses for the commitment she says she will never abandon, whatever career she pursues.

Themes

The most insistent theme in these notes is the gap between a nation’s self-image and its realities. Canada appears here as a wealthy, first-world country, and yet the notes describe children without drinkable tap water, elders walking daily for rations, and communities where showering may expose a person to a carcinogen. Autumn’s language—”third-world conditions in a first-world country,” “this is insane,” “Canada is wealthy, so there should not be places that cannot drink their water”—frames the situation as a contradiction that ought to be impossible and is not. The theme is not poverty as such but the specific scandal of poverty inside plenty, and the way that scandal becomes visible only when someone refuses to accept it.

A second theme is inheritance and continuity. Autumn took over the role of chief water commissioner from her great-aunt, Josephine Mandamin, whom she says heavily inspired her, and she is about fifty years younger than Ms. Mandamin was when she took the title. The notes do not dwell on the ceremony of succession, but the fact of it structures everything else: the work is older than the person doing it, and it will outlast her. Her vow never to abandon her commitment to environmental activism and being a “water warrior” belongs to the same theme. So does her change of ambition—from wanting to be elected prime minister to wanting to become a pediatric nurse for the sake of her younger sister, who suffers from epilepsy—because it shows a life being reimagined without the cause being set aside.

A third theme is the double life of the young activist. Autumn presides over major environmental decisions and speaks to world leaders, and she is also in high school, a dichotomy she admits is “weird.” Her friends help bridge the gap; they are very supportive of what she does and think it is “really cool.” The notes present this not as a contradiction to be resolved but as a condition of her work—a fifteen-year-old moving between the scale of the Great Lakes and the ordinary social world of a teenager.

A fourth theme is the plurality of knowledge in the environmental movement. Autumn says she gets a different perspective than some of the other activists because most of her work comes from traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge, and she describes the other young activists as a source of courage. The notes thus present the movement as a coalition of different kinds of authority—cultural, spiritual, scientific, generational—rather than a single voice. Her stated purpose at the United Nations, to tell people about the importance of water and to educate them on a cultural and spiritual level, is an expression of that theme.

A fifth theme, present throughout but rarely stated directly, is urgency. Autumn says people need to know that action is needed now. The strike she joins is intended to disrupt climate-change inaction. The boil-water advisories have lasted nearly twenty-five years. The state of emergency in Attawapiskat is recent. The notes do not argue about timelines; they simply arrange the facts so that delay looks indefensible.

The Author’s Conclusions

The notes do not present a formal conclusion, because they are drawn from news reporting rather than from an argument that builds to a verdict. What they offer instead is a set of positions that Autumn Peltier states and that the reporting supports. The first is that the conditions she describes are unacceptable and that their unacceptability follows from Canada’s wealth: there should not be places in Canada that cannot drink their water, and the existence of such places is insane. The second is that action is needed now, and that part of her task at the United Nations is to say so—to tell people about the importance of water and to educate them on a cultural and spiritual level. The third is that her own perspective is grounded in traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge, and that this grounding is a source of strength rather than a limitation. The fourth is that she draws courage from other young activists, including Greta Thunberg, and believes that together they will be able to get something done. The fifth is that her commitment is permanent: whatever career she pursues—and she now wants to become a pediatric nurse to help people like her younger sister, who suffers from epilepsy—she never plans on abandoning her commitment to environmental activism and being a “water warrior.” The notes close, in effect, on that vow, and on the image of a fifteen-year-old who has spent nearly half her life fighting for water and intends to keep fighting.

Significance

The significance of this material lies in what it documents about a particular moment and a particular person. Autumn Peltier, at fifteen, is the Anishinabek Nation chief water commissioner, a role she inherited from her great-aunt Josephine Mandamin, and she is preparing to address the United Nations about water issues in First Nations communities across Canada for the second time in as many years. She has been nominated for the 2019 International Children’s Peace Prize by the David Suzuki Foundation. She is part of a youth-led environmental movement that includes Greta Thunberg, and she speaks from a perspective shaped by traditional Indigenous cultural knowledge. The notes also record the facts she is speaking about: fifty-six First Nations communities under long-term boil-water advisories, the longest lasting nearly twenty-five years; contamination that resists boiling or harms through the skin; trihalomethanes and the state of emergency they forced in Attawapiskat. And they record the ordinary texture of her life—high school, supportive friends, a sister with epilepsy, a changed ambition from prime minister to pediatric nurse—which keeps the public role tethered to a person rather than a symbol. What the material leaves behind is a portrait of advocacy as inheritance and as daily practice, carried on by someone who was a child when she began and who says she will not stop.