YELLOW QUILL, Sask. - For nearly two decades, Robert Whitehead has criticized the way his band has been run. Over that time, he has been beaten, sued, had his home fired upon and his water supply cut off.

"I've lost jobs. Lots and lots of jobs, more than I can count," said Mr. Whitehead, a 47-year-old, married father of three.

In March, Mr. Whitehead was fired from his job as an addictions counsellor after he wrote an open letter criticizing teachers, social workers and other responsible band members for stumbling around drunk, in plain view of children.

These days, he supports his family on $300 a week by driving a school bus. A university graduate, he suspects that after this story is published, he may be unemployed again.

"If they fire me, the bus won't move. There's nobody else around here who can drive it. There's a lot of impaired drivers around here who are disqualified," he said.

Mr. Whitehead has sought accountability among band governments. When he sat down in his kitchen this week, he had just returned from a meeting with band counsellors at which he tried unsuccessfully to have an audit of the band's finances.

Yellow Quill is one of 10 bands in Saskatchewan that independent accountants have taken over finances because of mismanagement. The band has a deficit of $3.2-million, accumulated over the past three years.

Mr. Whitehead has not been able to obtain even rudimentary financial documents from the band's budget, about $3.3-million a year.

Mr. Whitehead wants more information on the band's $29-million treaty land entitlement; cash paid by federal and provincial governments for outstanding land claims. It is a mystery, he says, because Chief Hank Neapetung has joined about 1,200 of 2,000 members in Saskatoon, 240 kilometres to the west, where the band has invested millions in a housing and golf course development.

To Mr. Whitehead's recollection, the last public meeting on the reserve was held in June, 2000. He said band members are not updated about the progress of the project.

On the reserve, housing is scarce and, on many days, yellow water pours from the taps, prompting Mr. Whitehead to pour rubbing alcohol into his tub before he takes a bath. He does not know if this sterilizes the water. It does help kill the stench, he said. "Usually that's how I tell if I'm dirty enough to take the bath -- if I get in despite the smell," he said.

George Peequaquat, a former band councillor, is organizing a class-action lawsuit on behalf of band members over the poor water quality at Yellow Quill. They have not yet decided who to sue.

Mr. Peequaquat said Mr. Whitehead is not alone in his search for information on band finances. Even when he was a councillor, he had difficulty obtaining information. "They're unhappy when anybody opens his mouth. I got a lot of the same treatment," he said.

"I just want them to be accountable to the people. In these positions, you should represent the people, not the leadership. That's how I looked at it, how I spoke on it."

Robert Neapetung, the Chief's brother and the man responsible for the reserve's water, said last May that he has been fighting to get his training and the facility he runs upgraded.

Yellow Quill's Chief Neapetung did not return phone calls.

According to Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, bands are required to disclose financial information to the government and band members. Many bands don't bother with even this limited disclosure.

Bands are not required to hold regular public meetings. Chiefs and counsellors make their own rules regarding tendering of contracts, nepotism or other ethical questions on how money is doled out.

Problems on dozens of the 70 reserves in Saskatchewan illustrate the lack of governing rules. At Poundmaker, some 350 kilometres west of here, Chief Ted Antoine and his brother Duane Antoine, a councillor, received about $270,000 in band funds during the last fiscal year. In addition to salaries and travel expenses, the men awarded themselves more than $190,000 in untendered contracts for capital projects, water treatment, grading and "environmental programs," according to an audit report obtained from a band member.

In the report, the auditor complained that many records, including budgets for several departments, were not available for review.

Mr. Whitehead can only watch such disclosure with envy. Last year he was in charge of an addictions program at Yellow Quill. For several weeks, a superior refused to tell him what the budget was for his program. Later, he discovered the budget was $44,000 even though he was paid $28,000 and there were no other expenses.

Bands across Saskatchewan have seen occupations, suspicious fires and violence between band leaders and dissidents over alleged corruption and mismanagement. The Saskatoon StarPhoenix recently concluded a seven-part series titled "Our Third World," much of it dedicated to familiar tales of nepotism, suspected corruption and undemocratic behaviour on many reserves.

At Waterhen, Sid Fiddler, the newly elected Chief, had his home torched and the band office occupied after he was elected. Mr. Fiddler, who appointed his brother to direct band operations, was not from the family that usually held power on the reserve. He promised to end the long-held practice of playing favourites in hiring and other band affairs.

At the Sweetgrass reserve an hour west of Saskatoon, renovations are underway at the brick split-level home of the councillor in charge of housing, while down the road, 20 people crowd into a dilapidated house.

At the Saulteaux and Piapot reserves, leaders have been accused of squandering hundreds of thousands of dollars in treaty money for luxury vehicles, travel and other expenses.

When Chief Mary Anne Sokowaypinace of the nearby Little Pine reserve took office four years ago, she gave the RCMP information on the band's financial situation. Enraged band counsellors tried to depose her and name an interim chief. She sometimes attended her office escorted by RCMP officers during her administration.

None of the chiefs mentioned in this story responded to interview requests. This does not surprise Mr. Whitehead. "The chief is the almighty. He's got the absolute power. He answers to no one," he said.