How a Nation’s resolve, law, and land stewardship outlasted New Prosperity’s final gasp
The Mine That Would Not Die (Until it did, quietly)
There are resource projects in British Columbia that die with a bang, and then there’s New Prosperity — a mine that spent fifteen years insisting it was still alive while the courts, the Crown, and the Tŝilhqot’in Nation kept checking its pulse and finding nothing but corporate optimism and a faint shareholder heartbeat.
Teẑtan Biny was always the wrong place for a resurrection. The lake has a long memory, and the people who live with it have an even longer one. When Taseko Mines rolled equipment into the territory in 2019 — early, of course, because nothing says “respectful engagement” like showing up before the notice period expires — the Tŝilhqot’in issued a warning that sounded less like a protest and more like a weather advisory. Conflict escalating. Visibility low. Expect delays.
They weren’t wrong. They rarely are.
The company insisted it was just doing “exploratory drilling,” as though the federal government hadn’t already rejected the mine twice. Ottawa had said no under a government that approved pipelines in its sleep. That alone should have been a clue. But Taseko treated the federal rejection like a parking ticket: annoying, but not something that should interfere with their plans.
The Tŝilhqot’in, meanwhile, treated it like law — which, inconveniently for Taseko, it was.
The protests at Teẑtan Biny made the headlines, but the real action was in the courts, where the Nation kept winning and the company kept insisting that this time, surely, the judges would see things differently. They didn’t. In 2020, the BC Supreme Court sided with the Tŝilhqot’in. In 2021, the Court of Appeal did the same, with the kind of judicial patience usually reserved for explaining to a teenager why they can’t borrow the car after crashing it twice. When the Supreme Court of Canada refused to hear Taseko’s appeal, the legal obituary practically wrote itself.
By 2022, the mine existed only in investor presentations and the kind of PowerPoint slides that use words like “long‑term optionality,” which is corporate dialect for “we don’t want to admit this is over.” On the ground, nothing moved. No drills. No approvals. No political appetite to revive a fight that had already cost the Crown more credibility than it could afford.
Meanwhile, the Tŝilhqot’in Nation kept doing what they do best: governing. Their 2014 title case had already redrawn the legal map. Their 2019 stand at Teẑtan Biny reinforced it. Their 2026 rejection of BC Hydro’s overture at Bute Inlet confirmed it. The pattern is now so clear even the province can see it: if you want to operate in Tŝilhqot’in territory, you don’t show up early with equipment. You show up late with humility.
Looking back, the 2019 conflict feels like the last gasp of an old era — the one where companies believed they could push their way into Indigenous territory and negotiate later. That era is gone. The Tŝilhqot’in didn’t just stop a mine. They retired a playbook.
Teẑtan Biny remains what it always was: a place of life, memory, and jurisdiction. The mine is gone, though Taseko will probably keep it on the books until the sun burns out. The lake is still there. The Nation is stronger. And the rest of the country is slowly catching up to a truth the Tŝilhqot’in never forgot: some places are not development opportunities. Some places are not bargaining chips. Some places simply refuse to be turned into line items on a balance sheet.
In the end, the conflict didn’t escalate. It clarified. And clarity, in this province, is rarer than copper.
ADDENDUM: THE NEW PROSPERITY CHRONOLOGY (A CAUTIONARY TALE IN SIX BEATS)
2010
Ottawa rejects the Prosperity Mine. Taseko expresses disappointment, which becomes a recurring theme.
2014
The Tŝilhqot’in win their historic title case. The legal landscape shifts. Taseko does not.
2014 (later)
Ottawa rejects the “New” Prosperity Mine. Same lake, same impacts, new name. The federal government remains unmoved.
2019
Taseko moves equipment into Teẑtan Biny early, as though punctuality might impress the courts. The Tŝilhqot’in issue a warning about escalating conflict. They are, as usual, correct.
2020–2021
The courts rule against Taseko repeatedly. Consultation matters. Federal decisions matter. Maps matter. The company appeals until it runs out of places to appeal.
2022–2024
The mine exists only in investor decks and PowerPoint slides. On the land itself, nothing happens — which is exactly the point.
2026
The Tŝilhqot’in reject BC Hydro’s overture at Bute Inlet with the same clarity they brought to Teẑtan Biny. The province begins to understand the new rules of engagement.
Summary
The project didn’t fail suddenly. It failed slowly, publicly, and with the kind of inevitability that makes you wonder why anyone pretended otherwise. Teẑtan Biny remains intact. The Tŝilhqot’in remain sovereign. And the rest of the province is still catching up.
By Mack McColl, with Copilot assisting for McColl Magazine Daily
