First Nations leaders say it will take years to create the conditions where women can step into leadership roles, but change is happening.
For the past two years, the Minerva Foundation has published a report that tallies the number of women in senior leadership roles at some of British Columbia's largest corporations.
In 2015, there were no aboriginal women on the list. This year, the research foundation surveyed 50 companies. Again, there were no women of aboriginal descent on senior management teams or boards.
Chastity Davis, a consultant and chair of B.C.'s Advisory Council on Aboriginal Women, says those zeroes have a direct correlation to the tragedy that unfolded across Canada as First Nations women went missing or were murdered.
"We are invisible in the corporate world and our women are invisible as well, going missing and murdered without a trace and no people being held to account for that," Davis says.
"Our lives are of less value in this country than mainstream women, and that's why this has been allowed to happen."
Davis isn't the first aboriginal leader to note the link between economic inequality and high rates of violence against First Nations women.
According to the RCMP, aboriginal women encounter violence at a rate that is nearly three times higher than that for non-aboriginal women.
In a landmark 2014 report, it estimated that nearly 1,200 aboriginal women have gone missing or were murdered between 1980 and 2012.
Many say poverty lies at the heart of the crisis and until progress is made to address the economic imbalance, the violence will continue.
"Where do you see indigenous women in your life, right?" asks Davis.
"Not many places, not next door to you, not in the office next to you, not in power."
Instead, the stereotypical view of a First Nation woman is negative, Davis says: as an addict in downtown Vancouver or on a missing-person poster.
It's in this economic context that the numbers of missing aboriginal women rose over the years, she adds.
Last August, the Trudeau government vowed to address that tragedy when it announced the establishment of a formal inquiry into Canada's missing and murdered aboriginal women.
The $54 million inquiry, which is expected to make recommendations on how to remove systemic violence against aboriginal women, will report its findings in 2018.
Its mandate is broad, and experts know that a complex web of social and historical conditions has led to the violence, including racism, poverty, the overrepresentation of aboriginal children in the child-welfare system, poor housing and transportation, addiction, colonialism, and the effects of the so-called Sixties Scoop, which refers to the mass removal of aboriginal children from their families into the child-welfare system in the 1960s.
"It's a domino effect," says Karen Ogen, CEO of the First Nations LNG Alliance, which supports a liquefied natural gas industry in British Columbia.
"The Sixties Scoop, lack of education, lack of housing. All of these negative effects: alcohol, lack of cultural identity. Those sort of play with what happens in our community and the lives of our women. What can we do to overcome some of these issues? Where do we start?"
Many say the starting point is meaningful employment.
The 2014 RCMP report, also noted that aboriginal homicide victims were less likely to be employed than non-aboriginal victims.
Ogen, who was previously a social worker and First Nations chief, says good jobs are key to ensuring the safety of aboriginal women.
In B.C., high-paying jobs are primarily in the resource sector, she says, adding she wants First Nations people - especially women - to go after them.
It's a delicate argument for a First Nations leader to make in B.C., where many aboriginal communities have opposed large resource projects near or on their traditional territories.
Two years ago, Ogen, former chief of the Wet'suwet'en First Nation, signed a $2.8 million agreement with the province to support the proposed Coastal GasLink pipeline, which would supply a proposed LNG export facility in Kitimat.
The move drew criticism from First Nations and environmental groups across the province.
But she maintains that these projects provide a path out of poverty for her people.
She notes that women have flocked to training programs - some subsidized by industry - to become welders, electricians, millwrights and heavy equipment operators.
"We have long-term possibilities here for our people, long-term stability, post-secondary degrees, certificates," Ogen says.
The alternative is despair, which feeds violence, she adds.
"Lots of taxpayers see First Nations as living off taxpayers, money, and how do we change that image?
"It's about business. It's about economic development. It's about changing the face and the landscape of how First Nations view themselves, and how do we get ahead?"
In Prince George, more than 200 women have completed programs to prepare them for trades training, says Karin Hunt, executive director of the Prince George Nechako Aboriginal Employment and Training Association.
Kristy Luggi, 28, a millwright apprentice in northern B.C., is one young woman who pursued a trades career. Luggi is halfway through a four-year training program, and, in November, she spent weeks at the Red Chris copper mine in northwestern B.C. Most of the time, she's the only woman on crews.
She loves the work. "I like problem solving," she says, "figuring out what's wrong with something and the physically demanding part."
The tough part is leaving her eight-year-old son for weeks on end.
"It's hard at first," she says. "But I go through it because it will be better for him in the future, and he understands."
Young women often contact her for career advice. "I do feel very proud of myself. I am - how would you say it? - a role model for younger people."
Other First Nation leaders say better access to post-secondary education is also crucial.
Shelly Johnson, a social work professor at the University of British Columbia, says the lives of First Nations' women won't change until every young person has a real shot at getting a post-secondary education.
Johnson, a member of the Keeseekoose First Nation, says there's a myth that all First Nations in Canada get free post-secondary education. The federal government does provide education grants for status Indians, but those funds are given to individual band councils to disburse as they wish.
On the Musqueam reserve near the University of British Columbia, for example, Johnson notes that there are 300 people on the waiting list for education grants.
The band hands out grants to about two to four students per year.
At that rate, it will take about 60 years to clear the list, she says.
Johnson says universities can address that inequity by waiving tuition for qualified First Nation applicants.
She wrote to UBC president Santa Ono asking him to consider this, but has not had a response. The former president, Arvind Gupta, ignored her request, she says.
She says First Nations women are hungry for education.
Statistics show that a higher percentage of First Nations women attend and graduate post-secondary institutions than their male counterparts. According to 2011 Statistics Canada data, 55 per cent of aboriginal women had post-secondary education credentials compared to 48 per cent of men. And 13 per cent obtained university degrees compared to 7.6 per cent of men.
Johnson says a post-secondary education not only is a path out of poverty for an individual woman, but can also change the lives of her children. Five of Johnson's six children have university degrees, she says.
But First Nations women face barriers that non-aboriginal women rarely encounter.
As a girl growing up in Quesnel, Johnson was one of a handful of aboriginal students at her school, she says.
She had no role models until an Aboriginal exchange teacher from Australia took her aside and told her she was a strong student.
"He said: 'Your future well-being will depend on how well you can do in this system.'"
Without that encouragement, Johnson says she wouldn't have had the confidence to apply to university.
That Australian teacher was the only indigenous teacher she had until she reached graduate school.
"I was 10 years old, 45 years ago. When he said I can be successful, that changed everything."
Many First Nations activists want the inquiry to make recommendations that focus on providing not just tuition for post-secondary training, but also support - such as child care and counselling - to ensure women complete their education.
The Minerva Foundation, which published the annual leadership scorecard, also provides leadership training for aboriginal women.
First Nations leaders say it will take years to create the conditions where women in their communities can step into leadership roles in business. But change is happening.
Aboriginal women have arrived in academia, politics, government and, increasingly, the trades sector.
"The possibilities are endless for our people," Ogen says.
"It's happening. It's not happening overnight, but it's happening.
"As far as I'm concerned, women are the backbone of our society. Everything rests on it."
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