as a dena’ina athabascan, ruth stood on the ashes of centuries worth of decisions made for, not by, her people: the visitors who had pockmarked her tribe’s ground and polluted their waters; the visitors who had come and gone on their boats and airplanes; the visitors who had, she soon noticed, never really left. melting permafrost. vanishing caribou herds. oil rigs sprouting faster than the beets and broccoli. the impact of decisions was palpable—all she had to do was take a look around.

ruth grew up in anchorage, the de facto capital of alaska, nestled 180 miles into the cook inlet (tikahtnu in dena’ina), a small body of water shaped like a knobby finger stemming from the susitna, matanuska, and kenai rivers and spilling off into the gulf of alaska. 

the cook inlet basin is alaska’s oldest gas and oil basin. during its heyday in the ‘70s, production topped 230,000 barrels per day, but by the early ‘90s, operations had all but sputtered out, and by 1996, chevron corp. and marathon oil, the two big players in the region, ceased all activity. a year later, ruth was born to two indigenous rights lawyers. one could say she had it lucky.

“growing up i think i had the safety of innocence in that i saw our state blooming and thriving,” ruth said, now 22. “i knew what fresh wild salmon tasted like, what fresh moose meat tasted like. you know, we had access to our subsistence foods and our lifestyles.”

but every now and then, ruth would catch glimpses of industrialization. in 2009, cook region inlet, inc., started the construction of 11 wind turbines on fire island, a small uninhabited island near the head of cook inlet. in 2012, the turbines began feeding into the anchorage electrical grid. still, these projects could hardly deserve the name “industrialization” and anchorage—a city that in 2000 measured 250,000 people and to this day barely cuts 300,000—was a far cry from your typical metropolis.

and yet, the city has long been hailed alaska’s “biggest native village,” home to alaskan native communities from across the state, including yup’iks, inupiats, alaskan athabascans, tlingit-haidas, aleuts, and tsimshians. 

“we joked that either all of us are cousins or all of us have like 100 mutual facebook friends,” said ruth, who grew up immersed in this indigenous diversity, an experience that would later inform her advocacy work on behalf of these populations.

“i was gifted knowledge and wisdom and gifted relationships with people from all across the state,” she said. “and the stories they chose to give me are ones that i have to carry with care in my advocacy work while maintaining, you know, specificity and making sure that i’m not speaking stories that aren’t mine to tell.”

that’s not to say nothing was rotten in the state of anchorage. in the early 2000s, u.s.-indigenous relations in anchorage were souring. a month before ruth’s fourth birthday, three teenagers from eagle river, an anchorage suburb, drove downtown armed with paintball guns and ammunition and wounded several pedestrians. in a recording of their 15-mile drive, the teenagers were heard calling the pedestrians “eskimo(s).” the alaska house of representatives shortly declared the incident a hate crime.

as a multiracial child, ruth’s ancestry was always a sticking point. her mother is a dena’ina athabascan born in seward, a port city on the kenai peninsula about a 100 miles south of anchorage. ruth’s father, on the other hand, is a russian ashkenazi jew, born and raised in new york city.

“he did 23andme and he is like 99.8% russian jewish,” ruth said, “and then the other 1.2% is eastern european. so he was the first person ever in his entire lineage to marry out of the faith.”

you can imagine how this might have been difficult for ruth. before anchorage was an american city, it belonged to the russians. in the late 18th century, the lebedev-lastochkin company erected forts at kasilof and kenai and coerced the dena’ina athabascan people into the russian fur trade. ruth’s father was, of course, not part of this history, arriving much later in the ‘70s. a mountain climbing enthusiast, the alaska range lured the man north, but it was the work that kept him there. he was already a partner at sonosky, chambers, sachse, miller & monkman, an indigenous rights firm, and he opened up an office in anchorage. 

“i cannot imagine a life more devoted to the service other than the one that my dad chose,” ruth said.

bystander no longer

as a child, ruth became a regular participant in her parents’ practice, toted along to various tribal communities in alaska—the tlingit, eyak, yup’ik, cup’ik, and iñupiat—and in chile, nepal, and jordan. as she got older and started to understand what was going on, questions arose: “why is this happening? who’s causing this and why are those causing it not being a part of the solution?”

ruth credits kivalina as the first community she engaged with critically. kivalina is a thin barrier reef island between the chukchi sea and the kivalina lagoon in northwest alaska, only accessible via cargo plane. the island is home to the iñupiat village, a small group of around 400 subsistence hunters.

as early as the 1990s, changes started to occur in the landscape. hunting season, normally in may, was beginning two weeks earlier than before, which meant the ice was also thinning earlier. but the iñupiat only noticed the change years later when this became a habitual occurrence. sea ice was now consistently forming later in the year and melting at an alarming rate in the spring and summer. whaling camps became unsafe and the small island, dependent on the permafrost to keep the land from sliding into the ocean, was now at the mercy of the autumnal storms.

in 1992, the village voted to relocate but hit a wall of expenses, so in 2008 they sued 24 of the world’s biggest fossil fuel companies. these companies, they claimed, were a “public nuisance” that inflicted “unreasonable harm” on villagers through their greenhouse gas emissions. damages were designed to subsidize relocation, but the supreme court dismissed the case on the basis that their claim came under the clean air act, not federal tort law. the iñupiat, faced with the decision of filing a new claim in state court, dropped the case. 

ruth grew frustrated with the law. she couldn’t fathom how fossil fuel companies could get away with parsimony at the expense of her people or how the federal government could be so slow to exact justice. she was tired of playing the bystander.

in 2012, at the tender age of 15, ruth dove headfirst into advocacy work, joining a tribal 2022年世界杯亚洲预选赛结果 called united tribes of bristol bay (utbb). she was stationed in dillingham (also known as curyung), a small city in southwest alaska where utbb was organizing against pebble mine, an open-pit copper and gold mine proposed by pebble limited partnership.

holed up in an old storage unit, ruth talked to local fisherman about what they stood to lose if the project moved forward. dillingham sits on nushagak bay, an inlet of bristol bay, the world’s largest wild sockeye salmon fishery. a mine, even a mile wide, a mile long, and 200 meters deep, she explained, could destroy nearly 3,500 acres of wetlands and 81 miles of salmon streams, meaning thousands of american jobs lost and the death of subsistence hunting, sport-fishing, and tourism. 

the utbb’s efforts have stymied the permitting process, but it remains unclear whether their activism will terminate the project or merely delay the inevitable, a plodding, stop-start trail of paperwork entering its ninth year with no end in sight.

at the recommendation of alannah hurley, executive director of the united tribes of bristol bay, ruth was inspired to try out advocacy work from the inside. the following summer, at the age of 16, she entered the belly of the beast, joining the office of sen. mark begich. (“a senator i supported,” ruth said; begich had served as mayor of anchorage from 2004 to 2009.) working under andrea sanders, sen. begich’s legislative assistant for the senate indian affairs committee, ruth drafted the findings section of the traditional foods and nourishment act of 2013, making her not only one of the youngest interns on capitol hill, but possibly the youngest lawmaker that year. 

every now and then, ruth will be reminded of that law, the impacts of which are felt even today. 

“just last week, i was talking to andrea about bringing traditional subsistence foods into our public schools and that was only made possible because of this law that i contributed to,” ruth said. “it made a world of difference.”

ruth’s experiences on capitol hill have made her keenly familiar with the world of red tape and organizing bodies and you’ll rarely, if ever, hear her eulogize the system. when discussing tribal council meetings and alaska federation of natives (afn) conventions—“like the un”—she’ll eventually bring up robert’s rules of order. (“i think it’s really silly.”) “evil,” “capitalist,” and “colonial” usually go in the same sentence and don’t even get her started on the alaska native claims settlement act of 1971 (ancsa), the law that effectively established alaska native corporations.

‘lip service’

when ruth attended the inaugural u.n. youth climate summit last september, she was surprised to find herself in high spirits and hopeful. for many in attendance (including greta thunberg), the summit was a panoply of firsts—their first time in new york city; their first visit to the u.n. headquarters; the first time young people were being recognized on this scale. but for ruth, a seasoned student leader and burgeoning native rights advocate, this was already her third time inside the u.n. building. that year.

for all intents and purposes, the summit was a full-day program of panels, presentations, and photo-ops designed to galvanize young activists, innovators, entrepreneurs, and change-makers into climate action. u.n. secretary-general antónio guterres was in attendance, as well as heads of state, big business executives, and olympians (who got their own afternoon panel). the conference featured events such as a segment called “youth take the mic!” led by nonprofit founder yusuf omar and youtube influencer penny tovar, two peppy millennials with inexplicable 11 o’clock energy that appealed to the youthful crowd. (their voices nearly busted my speakers over the livestream via which many digital denizens, like me, tuned in around the globe.)

the conference ran smoothly for the most part, but was not without its hiccups. it’s pollyannaish to put impassioned, teenaged environmental activists in a room with middle-aged, white men entrusted with billion-dollar (carbon-intensive) corporations and not expect some friction. a particularly memorable episode was during the q&a portion of the “youth take the mic!” session, designed as a diplomatic forum for the young attendees to interact with the who’s who of the private and public sectors. the room went riotous when a girl who looked no older than 15 seized the mic from omar and, with eyes darting nervously around the room, pilloried microsoft chief environmental officer lucas joppa for his business dealings with oil companies. 

“let’s keep it civil,” omar said after taking back the floor.

setting aside these sporadic lapses in organization, the summit appeared—at least virtually—to achieve its goal, providing “a platform for young climate action leaders to showcase their solutions at the united nations and to meaningfully engage with decision-makers on the defining issue of our time.” according to the u.n., the summit was “was action-oriented, intergenerational, and inclusive, with equal representation of young leaders from all walks of life.”

ruth called foul.

“i found that the u.n. youth summit was seriously lacking in productive action,” she said. “i believe that there was a lot of lip service paid. from a youth perspective, i think that it was almost a convening to let off steam because what are global leaders going to walk away with from this? that youth care about the environment?”

for the youth climate movement, including greta thunberg’s fridays for future and jamie margolin’s zero hour, whose work is predicated on the attention of world leaders, the summit was a huge step forward. in fact, the whole week of sept. 20, was a huge step forward. the september 2019 climate strikes, which have since come to be known as the global week for future, consisted of several protests across the world demanding action from the highest levels of government. they generated inertia that was instrumental to the success of the youth climate summit. but ruth wasn’t so sure the summit was an effective climax of the movement’s efforts.

“if our protests did not make that clear (that we care),” she said, “if our entire movement did not make that clear, this conference did not particularly feel like it added more perspective.”

there were larger issues, too, to be found in the “equal representation” that the u.n. press releases have extolled.

ruth could not find many faces that looked like hers at the conference. it seems that economic struggles, especially acute amongst alaska’s native communities, can compound issues, affecting indigenous representation in spaces where indigenous representation matters most.

“if actual inclusion and acceptance was a priority for the u.n., then i would have expected to see many more youths who have been feeling the front lines of these climate change issues for years, not only the youths articulate enough to speak at a conference, but also the youth who have been chaining themselves to pipelines,” she said. “(the ones) who are protesting now in mauna kea. and the youth who may not be able to pay their way to a summit like this, for whom it may not be acceptable to miss school.”

in the dena’ina language, the traditional form of greeting is the phrase naghe nduninyu, which literally translates to “you came to us.” over the course of her life, ruth has spoken these words countless times and yet, their truth is becoming more and more uncertain.

although the summit opened with an indigenous prayer, the conference seemed to ruth to ignore the indigenous presence in the debate. the rest of the day was devoid of any mention of the people in closest relation to the earth, prioritizing lessons like “instagram on purpose” and the “viral video masterclass.” it was as if, ruth articulated, the summit was trying to blot out an irrefutable fact:

“we are still here. despite the efforts of genocide, despite massive pandemic, that wiped out our populations, we are still here. and we are still advocating for the sustainable and life-giving practices that we have learned from living in relationships with the environment for so long.”

marching forward

in december, ruth and two fellow native rights activists started an online platform for indigenous voices called always indigenous media. the organization, as the title suggests, aims to elevate the voices of indigenous people in the digital sphere, making that most egalitarian of communication modalities, the internet, service their needs. their content can be found on the defend the sacred alaska’s facebook page, a nonprofit group fighting for state-wide indigenous visibility.

ruth’s activism since the summit has taken her to the cop25 meeting in spain, where she marched alongside half a million other activists to the tune of “canada’s warrior woman” by martina pierre. currently, she’s back in anchorage, putting together a task force of high school-aged youth from across the state as part of the alaska youth for environmental action. on black friday, they staged a climate strike to bring awareness to the violence of the thanksgiving story and, as ruth puts it, to “encourage people to resist the consumerism and capitalism of black friday.” 

last may, ruth graduated with an undergraduate degree in development studies from brown university. her thesis, on the changing definition of indigeneity, explored how u.s. policies like ancsa have twisted native identity into something no longer recognizable. in an addendum, ruth included a letter attributed “for my grandmother, to my grandchild.” 

“someone told me that our blood remembers,” she writes, “it remembers being spilled out, it remembers drowning in the air, it remembers each drop that was taken from the body it cared for, left as dry as drought. that the land couldn’t turn away as they turned against her. that we were forced to watch, as they started taking, harming, scratching, clawing at her. pickaxing up the soft down of her legs, opening her arteries with oil rigs, pulling out her golden and copper teeth.” 

all ruth can hope is that her descendants, generations down the line, will read those words and remember who wrote them.

as developed nations continue to draw up lofty blueprints of expanded industrialization, one no longer needs to turn an eye on history to find examples of environmental injustice. how about the scheduled drilling of the pristine arctic wildlife national refuge or the destruction of the tongass national forest in alaska? maybe the recently approved kinder morgan trans-mountain pipeline system rings a bell, sending crude oil through established first nation territories in alberta? with every baseless federal proposal and every entangled tribal nation, the line is thinning between indigenous rights and climate activism.

or, at least, so says ruth miller, a recent brown graduate and dena’ina athabaskan alaska native youth leader leading the charge for indigenous representation in the ongoing global climate change debate. i had the pleasure of chatting with miller about her thoughts on the youth climate summit on sep. 21, which she attended at the u.n. headquarters. her responses elucidate the progress we’ve made as an international community and, just as saliently, how far we have yet to go.

q: the youth climate summit on the 21st made ample mention of small island developing states and the unfair climate burden they are being subjected to. but, do you think there was enough talk of indigenous communities in the u.s. and canada, and how their climate concerns are not being addressed?

a: i found that the u.n. youth summit was seriously lacking in productive action. i believe that there was a lot of lip service paid. from a youth perspective, i think that it was almost a convening to let off steam, because what are global leaders going to walk away with from this? that youth care about the environment? well, we’ve been saying that in many different ways for years. if our protests did not make that clear, if our entire movement did not make that clear, this conference did not particularly feel like it added more perspective. 

there were not many indigenous youths attending. those that i was lucky enough to meet were equally frustrated. many were not given particular access to, for instance, the global leaders summit on monday, things that might initiate serious and impactful dialogue about what can be changed. and to me, it was not only this underrepresentation of indigenous people, but the only mention of indigenous people that i saw at the un felt to check a box. if actual inclusion and acceptance was a priority for the u.n., then i would have expected to see many more youths who have been feeling the front lines of these climate change issues for years, not only the youths articulate enough to speak at a conference, but also the youth who have been chaining themselves to pipelines, who are protesting now in mauna kea. and the youth who may not be able to pay their way to a summit like this, for whom it may not be acceptable to miss school. there are so many different kinds of involvement that could have been made acceptable and weren’t. for me, the only real indigenous recognition that i witnessed was an opening prayer.

q: about this youth caucus, in what way did they not adequately address the problems that indigenous communities encounter? was it that they weren’t the true representatives or victims of climate change?

a: i would not put the blame on those individuals, on those youths who are taking the time and energy and sacrifice to occupy these spaces. for me, the blame is much more on the fact that they were not given a platform, they were not given an opportunity to integrate their wealth of knowledge and their experience into a space like a climate summit that is not decolonized and indigenized. if youths, particularly indigenous youths, had been given a workshop, a lecture, a session, anything that would have been able to communicate the importance of integrating indigenous youth voices. but i didn’t see any meaningful engagement with what it means to center indigenous voices in the climate change struggle. the only deep decolonization work that i saw in my time involved with these issues in new york was at the march for the climate on friday, sept. 20, when indigenous youth did take the stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people, to talk about their communities, their issues, what they were doing and what they recommended others to do. that was beautiful and that really set the bar that the united nations did not meet. 

q: i’m astounded that they didn’t have a indigenous communities panel, i just assumed that they would.

a: it’s almost a dangerous assumption, right? and i was almost scolding myself, like ‘ruth, you knew you would be disappointed. why are you surprised?’ you know, i’m committed to being in this space; this is my third summit that i’ve attended at the united nations in the past year. i came from alaska! i had this hope and i’m deeply frustrated that this organization with global leverage, with the resources, with the funding can’t do better, honestly. and i think it’s more important not to just complain about what patterns, what habits those in power are replicating that are maintaining this unsatisfying status quo and think about what can be changed. so, for instance, this whole youth summit was not facilitated and it did not appear to be organized by any youth. the entire program, the schedule of events, everything — i admit i do not know how those events were decided upon, but zero part of it was facilitated or led or moderated by a youth representative, so it almost felt like a playground.

these older adults setting a schedule for what we would be listening to, where we would be sitting, and i don’t even want to say what we would be talking about because we didn’t particularly have any opportunity for dialogue. the breakout sessions were focused on how to make a viral video and how to use instagram effectively, which is fine and useful. i definitely don’t know how to do that. but why in the world are we sitting down and learning how to make a viral video when we are being invited into this extremely elitist space as global leaders — we’re not being treated as such.

what could have been so much more effective would have been workshops to increase the network-building amongst these youth or breakout sessions that were regionally-specific or issue-specific, saying let’s have this room devoted to adaptation to climate change in urban centers, let’s have all the youth who work towards that, who are doing incredible, mind-blowing, innovative projects to solve these problems. that’s why they’re here. let’s have another room for those who are confronting climate change in the arctic and in each of these rooms. let’s set community norms and standards of accountability that we will take into account the fact that we are not representative of all the youth who are experiencing these issues on a day-to-day basis. we are simply those who got enough attention to be invited to a space like this. like, let’s acknowledge how we can decolonize our own institutions and organizations when we leave here. let’s talk about how we can bring other people up with us because none of this happens outside of community and none of this matters if you’re not uplifting the community that got you here. 

if i can come up with this off the top of my head in two seconds, did no one think about how to make this conference more effective and not just an entertaining playground for a day? i definitely got the impression that they expected us to be grateful and satisfied to just to go to the u.n. no! we are demanding action, we are demanding measurable, meaningful, and permanent change. and it was frustrating, it was extremely frustrating to never have an opportunity for dialogue. i am grateful that i had the opportunity to go. it’s an opportunity that most people i know have not had. but what do i bring back to my community after (the conference)? i met some amazing individuals who are doing really cool work. how do i help the people in alaska who are facing the life-changing impact of climate change today? like it’s really cool to invite students who are working on this issue, but why are we not speaking to the people who are living this issue?

perhaps one of the most reported stories in recent weeks leaves much to be desired. in the space of just 48 hours, 2,500 fires had been started in the amazon rainforest, not only placing at risk the trees that absorb 5% of annual emissions, but also the more than 10 million species of animals who claim the rainforest as their home. and, as usual, twitter is abuzz with haunting images of burning trees, most of which come from last decade, but hey, it’s the thought that counts! #prayforamazonas.

which begs the question, considering just how deadly these fires are, brazil must be scrambling to stamp them out, right? if this was what you thought, you’d be surprised.

because the only thing that catches faster than forest fires is a viral phenomenon known as the trump effect. it’s crossed the atlantic, reaching so far as england,/ and now, it could be spreading into south america. the latest victim is brazilian president jair bolsonaro, a long-time opponent of environmental advocacy in brazil, so much so that his people have dubbed him captain chainsaw, which isn’t a becoming title for someone in charge of 60% percent of the world’s largest carbon sink.

with this in mind, it should come as no surprise that when the amazon fires started, he told reporters, “the ministry of justice can send 40 men to combat the fight, but do you understand that? forty men. there are not enough resources. we are in chaos.” 

his failure to meet fire with fire (or in this case, water) was just one act in a docudrama of negligence.

bolsonaro reportedly spent the evening of aug. 23 watching standup from a prominent christian right-wing comic. and to add to the irony, he did this while his pre-recorded speech was broadcasting, the one apologizing for his inaction.

with a national emergency formally declared (48 hours of noxious destruction later), bolsonaro finally had grounds to call in the brazilian army to lend a hand (and pail) to the fire. but a bad taste still lingers in the mouths of many international spectators. 

as early as aug. 28, when these fires first made international news, bolsonaro was calling out environmental ngos in his country, professing that “there is a strong suspicion that people from the ngo’s lost the teat.” he suggested that environmental protection agencies were intentionally destroying swaths of the amazon to “bring about problems for brazil” after losing government funding. and if that sounds like a crackpot idea, it’s because it is.

when reporters asked bolsonaro for the basis of his so-called suspicions, he shot back, “for god’s sake, there’s no proof of that, nobody writes, ‘i will set fire to that.’” because of course, no one could possibly be careless enough to leave a paper trail of environmental neglect. except, that is, if you’re bolsonaro.

in the wake of this amazon disaster, open democracy uncovered incriminating powerpoint presentations used at a february meeting between bolsonaro’s government officials and leaders in the para state of brazil, home to the amazonia national park. one slide read, “development projects must be implemented on the amazon basin to integrate it into the rest of the national territory in order to fight off international pressure for the implementation of the so-called ‘triple a’ project.” triple a here refers to a group of multilateral conservation projects in the amazon rainforest, the andes mountains and the atlantic ocean, all of which bolsonaro has doggedly opposed.

what’s more? the powerpoint continues, “to do this, it is necessary to build the trombetas river hydroelectric plant, the Óbidos bridge over the amazon river, and the implementation of the br-163 highway to the border.” bolsonaro made it easy for us; there is no prevarication here, nor misdirection. the objective is loud and clear: stymie conservation efforts by damaging brazil’s natural resources. and, if you’ll kindly recall bolsonaro’s unfounded accusations of ngos working in his country, it seems he was guilty of the very behavior he decried.

in spite of all this inculpatory evidence, i think the mainstream media gives bolsonaro a lot of undeserved credit. how much of his decision to confront the amazonian conflagration is attributable to his altruistic and justified concern for brazil, and how much is just, uh…sem bolas?

shortly after his whole “40 firefighters” statement, france’s golden boy, president emmanuel macron, publicly threatened bolsonaro with an obstruction of the eu-mercosur free trade agreement, a groundbreaking trade deal between the two blocs that eliminates tariffs on agricultural goods from the mercosur bloc. macron, and virtually any other un member state, would have known that this was an incontrovertible pressure point, not just for brazil but also for argentina, paraguay, and uruguay, the other members of mercosur. 

the timing of this threat and bolsonaro’s reinstated commitment to the amazon fires just seems too quick, too reactionary, too…apprehensive. and, as usual, bolsonaro made his intentions clear when, in his aug. 23, evening speech he said, “forest fires exist in the whole world and this cannot serve as a pretext for possible international sanctions.” i don’t know, what could he possibly be nervous about? 

thankfully for him, a few leaders have stepped in to offer a reassuring squeeze. ok, more like one. in a recent tweet, president trump said, “our future trade prospects are very exciting and our relationship is strong, perhaps stronger than ever before.” sounds like trump really empathizes with bolsonaro’s plight. or maybe their priorities just align really well. after all, both are right-wing capitalists, climate change deniers, and have structured their entire campaigns around building stronger, more self-sufficient economies (fine print: through an unadulterated bashing of foreign competition). 

but the similarities don’t end there. bolsonaro’s rhetoric also displays uniquely trumpian tones, occasionally producing bewildering gems like “brazil is like a virgin that every pervert from the outside lusts for.” in all seriousness, that comment does deserve a second look because it offers us an incisive, behind-the-scenes peek at the primary motive behind his vehement anti-environmentalism: political control. 

bolsonaro has given the logging, mining, and farming industries in brazil clearance to annex land owned by native communities on the sole basis that they manage what he considers unreasonably vast amounts of wealth. similarly, he cannot distinguish between foreign aid and sovereignty infringement. look, for example, at how his administration views norway’s and germany’s generous donations to the amazon fund.

“we’re not naïve,” said brazilian chief of staff onyx lorenzoni, “there’s a view out in the world, sponsored by nongovernmental organizations, that relativizes brazil’s sovereignty over the amazon. here’s a little message: ‘don’t play around with us.’” 

the point is, bolsonaro is digging himself a precipitous hole, especially when he lets his own ego stand in the way of him and a $20 million donation from the g7. 

meu deus. the good people of twitter may need to change their tune. #prayforbolsonaro.