this photo essay explores traditional plant harvesting within cherokee culture. this is a tradition that my family has passed on and continues to keep alive while retaining sustainable practices.

our practices are to ensure that the future generations have access to the same traditions and resources that their ancestors did.

to view the photo essay, please click here.

through social gatherings and workshops led by indigenous mentors, the program seeks to build community and communication skills to empower the next generation of indigenous storytellers. planet forward’s lisa palmer recently spoke with cotnoir and lafrance about what inspired them to create the program. 

palmer: can you tell us about your background and what made you want to focus on creating a space for indigenous environmental storytellers? 

cotnoir: kwaï! ndeliwizi alexander. nojiawi mamlawbagok. my name is alexander, and i grew up along the shores of lake memphremagog. i am a citizen of the nulhegan band of the coosuk-abenaki tribe. my family comes from trois-rivières along the saint françois river, as well as coaticook, quebec and vermont’s northeast kingdom. i’m passionate about food systems and understanding how climate change impacts northern forests, including the species and communities that depend upon them, given my experiences growing up in a family and community that makes maple syrup from the woods behind our home each spring, carrying on our community’s long tradition of making local food. i’ve witnessed firsthand how many of our local practices — from ice fishing, snowshoeing, and ash basket making to maple sugaring — are threatened by warmer winters and the associated influx of invasive species brought about by climate change. 

lafrance: kahay! baalaashe iichiinmaatchileesh huuk. basammalíaxxia biiuuwuutasshiik deelé koon biixúhkaalaxchebaakaatik. binnéesappeele kookakawook. iikooshtakáatbaatchaache kookakawook. hello. my apsáalooke name is fortunate with horses and my english name is joree lafrance. i come from the greasy mouth clan and i am a child of the ties the bundle clan. i come from the river crow band. i am from the mighty few district at the foothills of the big horn mountains on the crow reservation in southeastern montana. 

cotnoir: my passion for environmental storytelling comes from recognizing that, although indigenous communities have contributed little to global carbon emissions, we are disproportionately impacted by the loss of species and habitats brought about by global warming. this disproportionate impact is because our spirituality and identities are formed through interactions with local plants, animals, medicines, land, and waters. thus, anything that threatens the health of local ecosystems threatens our community’s health.

today, my work in science communication is grounded in the recognition that science is but one among several ways of understanding the world. if we are to fully combat and adapt to climate change, we need policymakers and scientists to value other ways of knowing, including indigenous knowledge. indigenous knowledge is powerful because it is imbued with ethics, and it’s time and field-tested. indigenous knowledge teaches us what to look for — so it can help us better predict and adapt to environmental changes. i seek to honor indigenous ways of knowing, as well as the knowledge-bearers that have passed down their experiences to the younger generations through the stories i tell. 

lafrance: i am the 7th generation of chief déaxitchish/pretty eagle, the last principal chief of the apsáalooke nation, and one of the first five apsáalooke delegation members to travel to washington, d.c., on behalf of our people. i am proud to come from families who are known for our horsemanship, horse parade sets, our original red elk tooth dress, kindness, love, and hard work. my ultimate goal is to return to my homelands and continue my heart’s work. i strive to live in a world where my people can be unapologetically apsáalooke and am working hard to be a good ancestor.

palmer: where did the idea for the ilíiaitchik: indigenous correspondents program come from? what are you hoping to accomplish with this program?

cotnoir: we recognized the need for an indigenous space where students interested in sharing their experiences and communicating environmental issues to the general public can gather, form a community, and strengthen their communication skills by learning directly from indigenous leaders in the communication field. 

lafrance: although representation of indigenous writers, podcasters, filmmakers, and storytellers has grown in recent years, reporting about science and the environment has not always been inclusive nor respectful of indigenous communities and knowledge systems. 

cotnoir: in the past, reporting on “native issues” was typically done solely by non-indigenous reporters, with little to no continued connections to the communities they reported on beyond the interview period. today, a lot of work remains to make journalism — a process steeped in colonial ideas about who holds the right to tell stories — more accessible and equitable for native people. 

lafrance: although indigenous communities are disproportionately impacted by climate change and global biodiversity loss, only a very small percentage of scientists, professors, and science journalists at u.s. universities and news organizations are indigenous. despite modest increases in indigenous representation among stem professionals in recent years, recent research from the institute for scientific information shows that between 2010 and 2020, there “was virtually no change in the representation of black, hispanic, and native american researchers among authors of scientific publications” a symptom of structural inequality, including underfunding of bipoc academics. this lack of resources and representation influences the coverage and perspectives around environmental justice, climate adaptation, and environmental policy issues while perpetuating harmful stereotypes about native communities. 

now is the time for indigenous people to write their own stories about their communities. we have the power to tell our own stories, we just need the space and the right tools. as indigenous graduate students working in environmental storytelling, we have worked hard to build the ilíiaitchik: indigenous correspondents program in the hopes that it will create a native space where our voices and perspectives inform and uplift one another.

***

stay tuned to planetfoward.org for an introduction of the incredible indigenous correspondent team and updates from the program!

• indigenous peoples to get $1.7 billion in recognition of role in protecting forests. this pledge is part of an ambitious goal to reverse forest loss and land degradation by 2030, and was announced one week ago on the first day of cop26. learn more about the motivations and results of this historic moment.

• indigenous communities are at the forefront of climate resilience. a chair of the pawanka fund says that “indigenous knowledge includes the interrelationship between human being, mother earth, and cosmos.” learn what this means and why indigenous people are so essential to climate change resilience.

• the disproportionate impact of climate change on indigenous communities. explore why some of the communities that contribute the least to climate change are the most impacted, and why their voices need to be heard.

• indigenous territories fight climate change. read this quick q&a with a researcher about the results of her study examining the importance of indigenous territories in climate change mitigation across panama and the amazon basin.

• what western society can learn from indigenous communities, detailed in this essay from the opinion section of the new york times (note: this site is subscription only). learn about how the new zealand government is embracing indigenous knowledge, how this can improve the management of ecosystems and natural resources, and the global implications.

check back tomorrow for more info on what is being explored at cop26 — and good reads to keep you informed!

i recently had the opportunity to speak to the indigenous peoples’ liaison for north america with the food and agriculture organization of the united nations, mikaila way. today, her work is focused on building relationships and partnerships with the indigenous nations in canada and the united states focused on revitalizing indigenous peoples’ food systems. 

indigenous peoples’ communities’ challenges and priorities of “food security, food sovereignty, and health have accelerated and intensified during the covid-19 pandemic,” she told me in an interview. way began her job with fao one month before covid-19 changed the world. concerned about how the pandemic would affect indigenous peoples’ communities, she worked with the fao indigenous peoples unit and the liaison office for north america to support communications and network building internationally and regionally. throughout the regional and global coordination, indigenous youth have been and continue to be central in the work to protect and revitalize their food systems and the ongoing response to the pandemic. 

here is our conversation about the expanded and existing collaboration between fao and indigenous youth. the transcript was edited for length and clarity.

q: what do you do in your job? 

a: many different things! the main objective of my work is to connect the work of the indigenous peoples’ unit based in fao headquarters in rome with indigenous peoples in the north america region (canada and usa), with the fao liaison office for north america in washington dc, so we can implement a coordinated work plan. we have done amazing activities, including an introductory series of dialogues with more than 120 indigenous leaders, a high-level expert seminar on north american indigenous peoples´ food systems, a webinar highlighting indigenous women’s role in food systems, and a film screening with the producers of the documentary, “gather” which i strongly recommend all the readers to watch. in preparation toward the un food systems summit, we have coordinated with indigenous youth of north america to develop unified messages and key priorities for global leaders to include in plans for food system transformation. 

q: with the impacts of covid-19 and climate change, how is fao prioritizing opportunities to support and empower indigenous youth?

a: since 2017, the fao has offered an indigenous youth internship program, which is now remote. it is a yearly opportunity that goes out to all regions for indigenous youth internships at fao headquarters in rome, as well as regional offices around the world. the internship supports efforts related to raising awareness on the sustainable development goals (sdg), particularly sdg2 to achieve zero hunger through wide dissemination of fao’s work in this area, with a specific focus on including the voices and opinions of indigenous peoples’ communities.

fao’s focus comes in direct response to the loud call echoed by indigenous youth and elders for global support in the intergenerational transmission of knowledge and empowerment. this transfer of intergenerational knowledge is one of the key priorities for indigenous peoples’ climate change adaptation strategies. we are working with the global indigenous youth caucus as well as global indigenous youth leaders to ensure their voices and priorities are centered in global debates for covid-19 response, collective rights, and climate change adaptations. 

q: what are the highlights activities of the fao collaboration with indigenous youth?

a: fao offers various opportunities for indigenous youth to participate in the (october) world food day celebrations and the world food forum––from attending online events to participating in the poster and poetry contest. fao north america will be hosting indigenous youth for a world food forum launch event on october 6. the following week, they will be hosting indigenous chefs and producers from the americas for an indigenous peoples’ day and world food day event celebrating indigenous peoples’ cuisine across the region and emphasizing the importance of intercultural education about food systems for indigenous youth.  

over the past year and a half, indigenous youth have been contributing to the global dialogues leading up to the un food systems summit (september 23, 2021). during the summit, youth can use social media to make an impact. social media is a powerful tool to raise their voices and make sure they are seen.

this summer, fao and the global indigenous youth caucus organized the global forum on indigenous youth. due to  covid-19, the forum was held online. the silver lining of the online event was, indigenous youth and fao were able to bring together a larger global audience, and it was powerful to see people calling from their communities and territories. the global sessions focused on bringing together speakers on climate change, innovation, ecological knowledge, food systems transformation, the path forward, and the transmission of intergenerational traditional knowledge. the outcomes from these discussions were reflected in a strong statement and recommendations on sustainable and resilient food systems for global leaders to reference.

there are many other upcoming activities. follow the @faoindigenous and @faonorthamerica twitter accounts to get all the information from firsthand. 

information on the opportunities above, as well as fao’s partner organizations that provide similar opportunities, is available on the fao indigenous peoples unit website, as well as fao north america’s site.

—

about this series: the planet forward-fao summer storytelling fellows work was sponsored by the north america office of the food and agriculture organization of the united nations (fao), and the fellows were mentored by lisa palmer, gw’s national geographic professor of science communication and author of “hot, hungry planet.”

“loko i`a,” or fishponds, have nourished hawaiians and sustained cultural practices since ancient times. some 488 fishponds once dotted the hawaiian islands. while few fishponds remain operational, renovating ponds and maintaining them includes reuniting native hawaiians with one of their most honored traditional practices. 

restoring loko ea began over a decade ago. in 2008, volunteers started an informal community workday program. a year later, kamehameha schools suggested the volunteers create a non-profit that would have “kuleana,” or responsibility, for the restoration. james estores and venson lee founded the mālama loko ea foundation, a non-profit that has since expanded its activities beyond physical work; it now educates the community, fosters a return of traditional native hawaiian practices, and raises fish and food for the community.

when the pandemic hit the organization did not spend their time idly; instead, they sought new ways to reunite and support the community. they applied for a cares act support grant, which allowed them to do outreach by bringing people in and to provide nutrients and food resources to the community in the form of hot and ready plates distributed at the north shore food bank. continuing within cdc guidelines, the mālama loko ea foundation held a food drive where they provided about 400 plates a day to their community, with the help of a few community members, which was significantly economically impacted by covid-19.

“the food drive had been happening for years through a partnership with the north shore food bank, but we were able to increase it through the help of the grant. the entire situation was a pretty amazing sight. also, sad because we’re providing food for the community but hard to see the demand was so high and it kept growing and growing every month,” sayo costantino, loko ea’s operations and education program director, said. 

this food drive not only allowed them to provide for their community but also create a stronger sense of the community. with recent loosening restrictions, they are slowly able to host groups again, as more people came by to “talk story,” ask when they can volunteer, and talk about the food they ate during the food drive.

while the community has always been central to the work of the mālama loko ea foundation, it began in an effort to restore the land from its overgrown and unmaintained state. 

“(loko ea) wasn’t helped and invasive grasses were covering over and the community was not allowed in,” costantino said. “the community felt that as a big sore and wanted access and wanted to do restoration here.” 

in seeking to return to traditional native hawaiian practices, and ultimately raise fish and food for the community, education comes first. “the education is important right now because people don’t know these fishponds can be an actual food source and we want to get that there and be that example for this community,” costantino said. “we may not be able to produce for everyone in hawaii, but we can produce what we are able.”

loko ea is doing this by facilitating a fish parting system in which they take what the fishpond naturally gives, instead of pushing the system to a potential breaking point. “profit is not the goal; it’s for our community,” costantino said. the pond produces between 300-500 pounds of fish per acre per year, which provides for the community and alleviates the need for other sources of food. this is not simply the work of the staff, but also the community who assists in this yearly production.

using education as the most immediate tool in this restorative process, loko ea offers a variety of educational programs for all ages. beginning at their roots, community workdays are open to all age groups. the work is based on the needs of the pond. 

“usually what we like to do with volunteers is, if it’s a community workday, we will start with an introduction with the history of the pond so that whoever is here will have an opportunity to learn about the place they will steward at and get a perspective that is suited to better understand the impact the work will have not just for the place but also the surrounding area,” makua perry, loko ea’s malama ‘Āina outreach coordinator and technician, said. 

after this, volunteers move into “malama ʻāina,” or work, which sometimes includes water activities such as pulling weeds. they also might remove invasive species, repair rock walls, plant native plants on the property, or even clear the land to plant in the future. some volunteers simply help prepare for an event by transporting things around the pond or helping with administrative tasks. “no day in loko ea is the same, and it really depends on what she needs from you when you come,” costantino said.

workdays are not the only opportunities that loko ea provides for the community. for those who are able to commit more time they also offer a variety of leadership, mentorship, and internship programs. these are opportunities to not only learn but act––not only for the land but also to ensure the survival and cultural continuation of their people.

after proudly helping their community in the midst of the pandemic and forging new connections, loko ea plans to maintain this momentum moving forward through the power of “mo’olelo.” 

“when it comes to history and tradition, genealogical connections to place, and people, mo’olelo plays a huge part in all of those things,” perry said. “at loko ea, there is a framework that has been created by a generation of storytellers within our culture that helps us understand what we do or don’t see with our eyes because it’s not there. it’s those types of stories that are traveled through our ancestors that kinda create and maintain the cultural integrity of space and the people.”

he continued, “look at the genealogical chant of the kumulipo, written for a chief who was born and recited this 2000 long long history that extends from po which is darkness and created all of these living beings. life starts in the ocean within our genealogical chant. through this chant, we see the story that is told through the creation of the world, and creation of hawaii and man to walk on this earth.”

embedded in this chant are lessons, behavior management, etiquette, and so many layers, hidden layers where they can unravel some things through mo’olelo. makua said, “land is everything that flows through it and everything that grows through it. that’s why it is important to teach protocol, sacredness to land, and culturally significant places like this; there is cultural and spiritual sacredness and it is something that needs to be nurtured. use it for the benefit of all things involved, and learn how to feed your people for generations and generations.”

witnessing the sheer passion of the staff and the community members, i am certain that in due time this is exactly what they will do. the mālama loko ea foundation is not just an organization, but it is becoming a home and beacon of light for many community members on the north shore of hawaii where native hawaiian traditions and practices are being returned to the “ʻāina.” they are reclaiming agriculture and aquaculture work in hawaii and showing the community why these fields are important so that hopefully the next generation will also give back to the land. just as she did for me, when you visit, loko ea will tell you what she needs.

for more information on how you can get involved with the mālama loko ea foundation, please check out their website here: https://www.lokoea.org/. also, if you’re interested in learning more about the history of loko ea and the surrounding area of haleʻiwa, please see diane naomi canon’s story.

—

about this series: the planet forward-fao summer storytelling fellows work was sponsored by the north america office of the food and agriculture organization of the united nations (fao), and the fellows were mentored by lisa palmer, gw’s national geographic professor of science communication and author of “hot, hungry planet.”

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?

surrounded by protected forest, residents of ambodivohitra and land managers at the world wildlife foundation reveal how commodity crops and wood use affect on-the-ground conservation practices in the rainforests of northeast madagascar. 

learn more about the people and forests of madagascar in my story below:

being amskapi pikuni (blackfeet) in a culture dominated by western ideals is something none of us are prepared for when we’re children. this direct clash between a family-based system and a property-based system has resulted in the world we now live in, and the issues we’re now scrambling to solve. as a child, these polar concepts were confusing to me. my young self couldn’t see the simplicity of the truth, so i rebelled. i chose to actively suppress my ancestral ways and stopped believing in the wisdom i learned from the cultural practices i’d participated in as a boy. this was the end of my childhood, and the beginning of my journey toward learning what it means to be a man, and toward realizing my own identity as a warrior.

alcohol abuse, drug addiction, and misdemeanors became the dream of my life. i didn’t know at the time, but i was living a dream of hell. eventually, my rebellion waned, and my war for freedom began. i explored everything i could find for over a decade trying to find the answer to something my ancestors knew without words. i was searching for the truth.

although i’d attempted college in 2003, i walked away from that after four years, again falling into drug addiction, and again falling away from a path some would call “the straight and narrow.” i bounced from methamphetamine to cocaine to alcohol and back again for a couple of years while my true passions burned deep within. my truth was hidden by a tapestry of lies, woven into a perfect masterpiece of self-deception. then i experienced something that had a profound impact on my entire existence. this moment shifted my paradigm and got me taking small steps toward the things in life i knew were the real expression of the real me.

i came home from work one night and sat on the couch, turned on the computer, and softly placed my palm on my chest. i remember feeling the jaguar’s claw digging into my skin as i leaned back, my palm laid gently over the necklace under my shirt. i focused my attention on that beautiful and powerful animal. the jaguar…

suddenly, i was frozen, i couldn’t speak, i could barely breathe, and my non-functioning body sensed an overwhelming euphoria wash over it! as i experienced this rush of sensation, i watched a dark figure come through the wall and stop in front of me. my vision twisted into a distorted tunnel at this moment, forcing me to focus very intensely on this thing. it moved toward me and the feeling intensified. when i just couldn’t take anymore, the figure withdrew and i knew something was exchanged. this became the first experience in my adult life that was true without the need to rationalize it. once i finally regained control of my body, i realized i was crying.

the reason i tell this story is that at this point in my life i was completely against practicing my culture. i thought my traditions were bullshit, and that they were simply superstition and metaphors. boy was i mistaken. i remembered those ceremonies where people prepared for these kinds of things. i remembered preparing as a child and then walking away to learn in a different way as a young man. i wasn’t prepared for this experience, and it shook me to my core.

i continued to go about business as usual after that night, but something had changed inside me. a spark had been rekindled and i knew the land and my ancestors were there to guide me. but that it’s up to me to listen, and it’s up to me to learn.

with my new-found strength, i picked up the pieces of my young life. i forced myself onto a tribal college campus and into the enrollment office. everything seemed to move at the speed of light. before i’d even realized what happened, i was learning again and filled with a childlike joy that i hadn’t felt in years. the spark that kept me going in my darkest moments grew into a flame that set my world ablaze with beauty!

i successfully completed degrees in environmental science, forestry, and geospatial science. but these accolades are unimportant in the larger scheme of things. we’re facing unprecedented issues in the modern world. climate change is poised to change the face of the earth, but indigenous science teaches us to be adaptable. water shortages will force nations to war, but indigenous science can lead us back to the land. and food disparities will bring us to the brink of starvation, but indigenous science gives us the wisdom to reconnect to place and learn to listen. integrating indigenous knowledge into every discipline will be a vital step toward a hopeful future and a sustainable way of life.

this perspective comes from a strong indigenous upbringing, as well as the dissident path i followed. with these roots, i was able to flourish in a nation that’s oppressed my people for 150 years. now i can teach others that it’s not important to go to college to be successful, or to get a degree, or to learn in a certain way. no. it’s important to learn how to listen.