The Earth Remembers: Soil, Seeds, and the Future of Indigenous Plant Life

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When we lay our feet upon the ground whether walking through forests, fields, or city streets we often walk unaware of the stories held beneath us. The soil is not lifeless dirt but a vibrant archive, holding millennia of memory. Within its dark layers lie the echoes of fire, flood, frost, and footsteps, stories imprinted by plants that once flourished, medicines that healed, and foods that sustained entire communities. This earth remembers, and if we pause to listen, it will teach us how to heal and regenerate what has been lost. 

The Responsibility of Humanity: Healing Takes Time 

Healing the earth is no simple task. The scars of human impact from industrial extraction to sprawling urban growth are deep and lasting. These wounds are not mended within a single lifetime but unfold across generations, measured in ecological cycles far older than our own. The process of bio-regeneration, the natural ability of ecosystems to renew, repair, and restore themselves, depends on intricate relationships between soil nutrients, native plants, and healthy water systems. It is a slow, fragile, and profoundly relational dance, reminding us that human urgency must make room for earth’s rhythms. 

The Knowledge Beneath Our Feet: Roots, Networks, Life

Indigenous Peoples have long understood that beneath the surface lies a hidden world of interconnected roots, intertwined fungi networks, and microorganisms working unseen yet essential to the health of all life. These subterranean relationships weave resilience and communication, binding ecosystems together. When native plants vanish or are displaced, these lifelines weaken, unravelling the fabric that sustains water retention, nutrient cycling, and soil fertility. 

Restoration is not merely about planting seeds above ground; it is about rekindling these ancient, living connections below the surface. This is where true regeneration begins, life branching out in all its richness, supporting the ecosystem in ways both visible and hidden. 

Plant Foods and the Sacred Return to Place 

The resurgence of Indigenous plant foods, including ancestral varieties of corn, beans, squash, wild rice, and berries, as well as traditional medicines, embodies a sacred act of returning. It is not just about food security; it is about restoring memory, balance, and a sense of belonging. These plants are not strangers but kin, evolved alongside the waters, soils, pollinators, and seasons of their birthplaces. Their reintroduction reignites that timeless conversation between earth below and sky above, between roots and leaves, a reciprocal renewal of biodiversity and cultural survival. 

This symbiotic dance reconnects us to place and each other, reminding us that healing the land means healing the relationships we hold with all living beings around us.  

Plant Memory and Indigenous Worldview: Teachers and Relatives  

In Indigenous worldviews, plants are not mere objects; they are teachers, relatives, and keepers of knowledge. Their memory is holistic, carried in seeds, genetic code, and the stories they bear. These plants remember the pollinators that visit them, the soils that nourish them, and the people who have harvested and cared for them through generations. 

When invasive species erase native plants from a landscape, entire ecosystems lose their stories and identities. Returning to Indigenous plants means reclaiming cultural memory and restoring the deep reciprocity between people, plants, insects, animals, and the earth, a tapestry vital to resilience. 

The Challenge of Invasive Species: Disrupting Balance, Disrupting Culture

Across regions like the Great Lakes, invasive species garlic mustard, phragmites, and buckthorn disrupt soil chemistry, shade out seedlings, and monopolize resources crucial to native biodiversity. Aquatic invaders, such as zebra mussels, choke lakes and rivers, threatening native plants and fish that are central to Indigenous lifeways. 

These invasives are not just ecological invaders; they fracture cultural relationships cherished for generations. Healing the land thus calls for revitalizing native populations, respecting cultural ties, and reclaiming places from disruption. 

The Science of Soil in a Changing Climate: Living Systems Under Siege 

Beneath what many call “dirt” lies a living, breathing community of minerals, fungi, and microbes, all orchestrating fertility and resilience. Climate change, however, exerts a significant impact on soil systems. More frequent droughts, harsh floods, and unchecked erosion strip away nutrients and vitality. 

Without healthy soil, plants falter, medicines become scarce, and entire livelihoods falter. The foundation of plant-based economies, from Indigenous harvests to broader food systems, wavers as soil health declines. 

Indigenous Stewardship: Seeds, Sanctuaries, and Sovereignty 

Across Turtle Island, Indigenous communities answer this call with fierce care. Community seed banks protect ancestral varieties, not merely genetic stock, but living relatives that hold stories, teachings, and ecological memory. Each seed is sovereignty in waiting. 

Restoration efforts abound: the Haudenosaunee nurture seed libraries that preserve heirloom plants, while the Anishinaabe work tirelessly to heal wild rice beds ravaged by industry. These projects are ecological and profoundly cultural, reinforcing responsibilities that begin beneath our feet. 

Returning the Mind to the Earth: Reciprocal Healing

The soil is a patient teacher, reminding us that life thrives on reciprocity and balance. When humans take without giving back, the earth remembers. To restore ecosystems, revive plant medicines and foods, and safeguard biodiversity, we must ground our minds and spirits in the wisdom of the earth itself. 

Healing is a long journey, a patient’s work of bio-regeneration and restoration. Returning Indigenous plants to their homes and honouring their relationships is a practice of humility. It calls us to be kin, caretakers, and students of the land’s memory. 

Only then can we fully step into our role as stewards of the soil, the plants, and the possibilities for generations yet to come. 

 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Erone Stuff, Unsplash)

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Healing the Land, Healing Ourselves: Climate Grief and Indigenous Ceremonial Practices

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Climate change is not only a physical or scientific crisis but also a spiritual and emotional one. As forests burn, waters rise, and species vanish, people around the world are experiencing a deep, often overwhelming sorrow known as climate grief. For Indigenous Peoples, this grief is profoundly layered. It is grief for the land, for sacred places lost or polluted, for ancestral foods no longer harvested, and for cultural practices threatened by environmental destruction.

Yet in the face of this grief, Indigenous communities are turning to ceremony, not as a retreat from reality, but as a powerful form of response, resistance, and renewal. Ceremony offers a space for collective mourning, connection to ancestors and land, and healing across generations.

What Is Climate Grief in Indigenous Contexts?

Climate grief among Indigenous Peoples often encompasses:

  • The disappearance of animal relatives and medicinal plants is integral to cultural identity.
  • The loss of seasonal rhythms that guide ceremony, harvesting, and kinship practices.
  • The disruption of sacred responsibilities to care for water, land, and future generations.
  • The emotional toll of witnessing ongoing ecological injustice tied to colonialism and extractive industry.

This grief is not abstract—it is experienced viscerally and communally, and it is inseparable from histories of land dispossession, forced relocation, and cultural suppression.

But where colonial systems pathologize grief, Indigenous knowledge systems validate and honour it. Grief is a necessary process that can reconnect us to responsibilities, reawaken our relationships with the land, and inspire transformative action.

Ceremony as Climate Healing

Across Turtle Island, Indigenous-led ceremonies are emerging—or re-emerging—as sacred responses to ecological loss and planetary crisis. These ceremonies do not attempt to “fix” grief or offer quick closure. Instead, they create sacred space to sit with the pain, acknowledge intergenerational trauma, and begin the process of relational repair with Mother Earth.

Some powerful examples include:

  • Grassroots Indigenous communities across the Great Lakes, Prairies, and West Coast organize land-based grieving circles. These gatherings often involve fire keeping, songs, and shared storytelling, honouring ecological loss and cultural resurgence.
  • Fasting ceremonies, long used for spiritual clarity and prayer, are now undertaken by youth and Elders alike in response to climate emergencies, including pipeline resistance, biodiversity loss, and drought. These fasts are often held on the land and accompanied by teachings, songs, and tobacco offerings.

Healing as Collective and Relational

Indigenous ceremonial responses to climate grief are profoundly relational. They are not individual acts of self-care, but collective acts of care for land, ancestors, and future generations. They reassert Indigenous sovereignty by centring traditional governance, gender roles, and spiritual protocols, while inviting emotional honesty and humility into spaces of climate discourse often dominated by technical language.

Recommendations for Readers

  1. Support Indigenous-Led Healing Events and Ceremonies
  1. Attend public ceremonies where invited, donate to ceremony organizers, and share their events. Respect protocols and follow the lead of Indigenous organizers—these are sacred spaces, not spectacles.
  1. Create Space for Grief in Your Climate Work
  1. Make room for emotional truth in your activism. Whether through storytelling, group reflection, or spiritual practice, recognize grief as a valid and necessary part of climate justice.
  1. Read Indigenous Voices on Climate and Loss
  1. Works like All Our Relations by Tanya Talaga explore the intersections of grief, cultural resurgence, and land-based healing. Reading Indigenous authors is one way to understand the emotional dimensions of climate change from lived experience.
  1. Practice Relational Accountability
  1. Ask yourself: Whose land am I on? What ceremonies have been practiced here? What responsibilities do I hold to this place and its people? Learning and acting from this position of relationship helps turn grief into grounded action.

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Patrick Hendry, Unsplash)

 

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The Language of the Land: Revitalizing Indigenous Languages for Ecological Understanding

Indigenous languages are more than tools of communication—they are living repositories of ecological knowledge, shaped by millennia of close relationship with the land, waters, skies, and all living beings. Each word, verb, and inflection embed understandings of place, seasonality, climate cycles, and human responsibility to the natural world.
 As climate change accelerates, there is a growing recognition that language revitalization is climate action. Restoring Indigenous languages is about preserving culture and restoring knowledge systems that contain detailed and relational understandings of ecological processes. These languages offer insights urgently needed to adapt to and mitigate today’s environmental crises.

How Language Encodes Ecological Knowledge

Indigenous languages often describe the world relationally, not just descriptively. Many Indigenous terms describe relationships, behaviours, and responsibilities rather than naming things in isolation.
 For example:

  • In the Nuu-chah-nulth language on the west coast of Vancouver Island, there are multiple verbs for water movement—words that distinguish between rippling, trickling, flooding, or rushing. Each verb carries specific environmental cues: changes in rainfall patterns, seasonal flow, or flooding risk. 
  • In Anishinaabemowin, “Aki” refers to Earth as an animate being, reflecting a worldview where the land is not a passive backdrop but a living relative. This linguistic structure affirms that humans are in relationship with land, not dominion over it. 
  • In Gwich’in, different words for caribou describe their life stages, movements, and ecological roles. These linguistic distinctions hold knowledge about migration routes, mating cycles, and the health of the land.  

Such examples reveal how Indigenous languages encode local environmental indicators, climate memory, and survival strategies within everyday speech.  

Language and Climate Resilience: A New Frontier  

As climate change disrupts familiar patterns, Indigenous languages offer tools to interpret these changes through a culturally grounded lens. Revitalizing these languages strengthens identity and cultural continuity and equips communities with local and regional knowledge systems that can assess and respond to ecological disruption.

In many communities, land-based language camps teach youth the names of medicines, constellations, and animals, alongside the protocols and stories accompanying them. This strengthens climate resilience through:

  • Intergenerational knowledge  
  • Cultural pride and ecological responsibility 
  • Reinforced relationships with land, language, and community 

Colonialism, Language Loss, and Environmental Consequences

Colonial policies and practices—including residential schools, forced relocation, and assimilation—aimed to sever the ties between Indigenous Peoples and their languages. Today, many Indigenous languages in Canada are critically endangered, and with their loss comes the erosion of place-based ecological knowledge that is not documented in Western science. 

As communities work to reclaim their languages, they are also reclaiming their role as land stewards, drawing on ancestral teachings that define how to live in balance with all of creation. 

Revitalizing Indigenous languages is thus not only cultural preservation but also environmental justice. It challenges extractive paradigms and reasserts worldviews that prioritize reciprocity, care, and interdependence with Mother Earth.

Recommendations for Readers

  1. Support Language Revitalization Programs 
  2. Contribute to immersion schools, land-based learning camps, and Indigenous language organizations. These initiatives are vital for climate and cultural resilience. 
  3. Incorporate Indigenous Languages into Environmental Education 
  4. If you’re an educator, integrate local Indigenous terms into your climate, geography, and ecology lessons—always with appropriate consultation and permission. 
  5. Attend Workshops and Learn Locally 
  6. Participate in language classes or workshops offered by nearby Indigenous Nations. Learning a few words for local species, landforms, or weather phenomena can deepen your ecological awareness. 
  7. Explore the Language–Climate Connection

 

 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Getty images, Unsplash)

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Indigenous Climate Indicators: Reading the Land Beyond Western Metrics

In the face of accelerating climate change, many scientific institutions rely on advanced technologies like satellite imagery, weather models, and big data to monitor environmental shifts. Yet, for thousands of years, Indigenous Peoples have observed and interpreted climate changes through finely tuned systems of relational knowledge, deeply embedded in land-based practices and generational memory.

These Indigenous climate indicators are not just data points—they are stories, teachings, and warnings, passed down through time and rooted in the interdependence of human and ecological systems. They reflect a worldview where the land, water, sky, and all beings above, among and below are living relatives—each communicating shifts in the Earth’s balance.  

What Are Indigenous Climate Indicators? 

Indigenous climate indicators are grounded in the seasonal and cyclical patterns Indigenous communities observe over millennia. These indicators are often place-based, holistic, and interdisciplinary, integrating physical, spiritual, and relational dimensions of environmental change.

Some examples include:

  • Inuit hunters observe ice thickness or quality changes, sometimes weeks before satellite images detect unsafe conditions. 
  • Unusual smells in freshwater bodies—an early sign of algal blooms or oxygen depletion. 
  • Mismatched seasonal events, like geese migrating before freeze-up, as reported by the Denesuline in the subarctic regions of Canada. 
  • The taste and texture of snow can indicate shifts in air composition or atmospheric pollution.

Unlike Western science, which often isolates variables, Indigenous knowledge systems understand change as part of a broader, interconnected ecological narrative, recognizing how a single disruption can cascade across entire ecosystems.

Language as Climate Memory

Indigenous languages are not only repositories of culture—they are also tools for reading the environment. For example:
 

  • The Inuit term “Uggianaqtuq” is used in Nunavut to describe weather that feels “strange” or “unusual.” It doesn’t translate directly into English, because it expresses more than just observation—it communicates concern, deviation from the norm, and emotional or spiritual dissonance. 
  • In Mi’kma’ki, Elder Albert Marshall introduced the concept of “Etuaptmumk” or “Two-Eyed Seeing,” which promotes the use of both Indigenous and Western lenses when approaching climate solutions, valuing each perspective as equally valid and necessary.  

These linguistic frameworks provide nuance and context that Western science often overlooks, particularly regarding early warnings and culturally appropriate responses to environmental change.

Why These Indicators Matter

Indigenous climate indicators often detect changes earlier than Western technologies, offering critical lead time to adapt or respond. For example:

  • Inuit hunters in the Arctic have long reported thinner, unpredictable sea ice—well before NASA satellites confirmed the shrinking ice cap. 
  • Anishinaabe harvesters have observed the decline of manoomin (wild rice) as water levels, fish patterns, and shoreline plants shift, signalling broader watershed changes not immediately visible in hydrological data.  

These indicators are also relational—they carry the weight of responsibility. When an Elder notices something “off” in the land, it is not merely recorded; it becomes a call to ceremony, action, or teaching.

Supporting the Integration of Knowledge Systems

Increasingly, collaborative climate initiatives are recognizing the power of Indigenous observation. Projects like the Indigenous Climate Change Observation Network (ICCON) and Two-Eyed Seeing research programs have begun to bridge knowledge systems through respectful partnerships.

However, more work remains to ensure that Indigenous Knowledge is incorporated and respected on its terms, with Indigenous data sovereignty, cultural protocols, and community ownership at the forefront.

Recommendations for Readers

  1. Advocate for Indigenous-Led Research 
  1. Support climate funding streams prioritizing Indigenous-led monitoring, research, and land-based education. Encourage governments and institutions to include Indigenous Knowledge Keepers in environmental decision-making bodies. 
  1. Promote Equitable Knowledge Partnerships 
  1. Encourage universities, climate organizations, and weather services to engage in ethical, co-designed research with Indigenous communities, where Indigenous Peoples define what is studied, how data is used, and how outcomes are shared. 
  1. Educate Yourself 
  1. Watch the CBC documentary on “Etuaptmumk: Two-Eyed Seeing” to understand how Indigenous and Western science can work in harmony. Explore additional resources through the Indigenous Climate Change Observation Network. 
  1. Respect Indigenous Data Sovereignty 
  1. Climate data shared by Indigenous Peoples must remain within their control. Advocate for policies and agreements that uphold Indigenous intellectual property rights and data stewardship protocols.

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit : Teunard Droog, Unsplash)

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Youth on the Frontlines: Indigenous Youth Leading Climate Innovation

Across Canada, Indigenous youth are rising as some of the climate movement’s most dynamic and visionary leaders. Their efforts are rooted in ancestral knowledge and driven by a profound responsibility to future generations. As they navigate the impacts of climate change in their communities—from melting permafrost to disrupted harvesting seasons—Indigenous youth are blending land-based learning, cultural resurgence, digital media, and green technology to forge bold new pathways toward climate justice. 

Indigenous youth are not waiting for permission or a policy change. They organize, educate, create, and defend with unwavering clarity and purpose. Their work is informed by Elders and Knowledge Keepers and grounded in local Indigenous ways of knowing that emphasize intergenerational responsibility and deep relationality with the land. 

Digital Activism Meets Land-Based Leadership

Whether through viral social media campaigns or on-the-ground resistance, Indigenous youth are pushing the climate conversation forward:

  • In the Northwest Territories, youth from the Dehcho First Nations are integrating Dene Zhatie (Dene language) revitalization with climate monitoring. These young land guardians use traditional indicators—such as animal migration patterns and ice thickness—and modern tools like drones and GPS to track climate impacts. This bilingual, bicultural approach strengthens language fluency while enhancing land stewardship. 
  • In Saskatchewan, the Métis Nation–Saskatchewan Youth Council is actively leading youth-centered climate awareness and action initiatives, promoting inclusive engagement in climate response and sustainable economic development.  
  • In Nunatsiavut, Inuit youth collaborate with researchers and Elders to monitor changes in sea ice, marine health, and traditional food systems. Their efforts contribute to community resilience and scientific data sets while reinforcing Inuit knowledge systems.  

Innovation through Art, Science, and Storytelling

Indigenous youth are also reimagining what climate action looks like by bridging science, art, and storytelling. From spoken word performances about climate grief and resilience to digital mapping projects that highlight sacred sites at risk, these creative approaches resonate with broader audiences and humanize the realities of climate disruption.

Online platforms like TikTok and Instagram have become powerful tools for Indigenous youth to share knowledge, mobilize campaigns, and connect with global allies. Hashtags like #LandBack, #WaterIsLife, and #NoMoreStolenSisters are not just trending—they are calls to action amplified by young voices demanding justice.

Many youth-led projects also emphasize collective care—mental health, ceremony, and cultural grounding are integral to their climate strategies. For these young leaders, climate justice includes healing from intergenerational trauma, reconnecting to land, and restoring Indigenous place-based governance systems. 

Grounded in Teachings, Guided by Elders 

A defining strength of Indigenous youth climate leadership is their deep connection to Elders. Rather than acting in isolation, many youth movements are guided by Knowledge Keepers whose teachings—rooted in seasonal cycles, plant medicines, kinship, and sacred responsibilities to the land—provide spiritual grounding and cultural direction. 

These intergenerational collaborations ensure climate innovation is not extractive or exploitative, but deeply relational and restorative. By walking in both worlds—traditional knowledge and Western science—Indigenous youth are showing what decolonial, community-led climate action can look like.

Recommendations for Readers

  1. Amplify Youth Voices 
  1. Follow Indigenous youth leaders on social media, share their projects widely, and attend youth-led events like climate conferences, webinars, and cultural camps. 
  1. Fund Youth-Led Initiatives 
  1. Donate to youth climate programs, renewable energy co-ops, and land stewardship collectives. Prioritize grassroots, youth-led organizations over top-down NGO structures. 
  1. Engage Locally 
  1. Invite youth representatives to speak at community events, policymaking tables, and school assemblies. Indigenous youth must be considered partners and experts, not just future leaders. 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Ahmet Kurt, Unsplash)

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Land Back Means Climate Action: Connecting Land Reclamation with Ecological Restoration

The Land Back movement is more than a political demand—it is a climate imperative rooted in local and regional ancestral knowledge, relationship, and responsibility. Across Turtle Island, returning land to Indigenous stewardship has shown tangible ecological benefits, helping restore biodiversity, increase climate resilience, and revitalize sacred relationships between peoples and place. Land Back is not solely a political movement—it is fundamentally about and the inherent right to care for the land through Indigenous laws, governance systems, and lifeways rooted in sustainability, reciprocity, and long-term balance. 

 Why Land Back is a Climate Solution 

 For generations, Indigenous Nations have safeguarded the natural world by managing ecosystems in accordance with natural law, ensuring the continuity and balance of all life. Today, a growing body of research confirms what many Indigenous Peoples have always known: lands under Indigenous stewardship often outperform state-managed lands in terms of biodiversity, carbon sequestration, and resilience to climate stressors. 

A landmark report by the United Nations highlights that Indigenous-managed lands hold as much or more biodiversity than formally protected areas (UNEP-WCMC, 2021). This is not coincidental. Indigenous stewardship is built upon place-based knowledge systems emphasizing interdependence, seasonal cycles, and respect for non-human relatives. 

Real-World Examples of Land Back as Ecological Restoration 

Across Canada, Indigenous Nations are leading land reclamation and stewardship efforts that serve as powerful models for climate action: 

  • Syilx Okanagan Nation (British Columbia): Through salmon reintroduction projects in the Columbia River system, the Syilx people have revived an essential species with deep cultural and ecological significance. These efforts are rebuilding food sovereignty, restoring riparian ecosystems, and improving watershed health. The Syilx Nation’s work with the Okanagan Nation Alliance demonstrates how climate action and cultural resurgence go hand-in-hand (Syilx.org). 
  • Mississaugas of Alderville First Nation (Ontario): The Alderville Black Oak Savannah is one of the best-preserved examples of native grassland ecosystems in Ontario. Using cultural burning and traditional land management techniques, the community has restored a once-fragmented landscape, supporting pollinators, rare plants, and diverse wildlife. These actions have increased carbon storage, soil health, and ecosystem connectivity (Alderville.ca).
  • Haida Gwaii (British Columbia): The Haida Nation’s co-governance model with the Government of Canada in the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site demonstrates what respectful partnership and Indigenous leadership can achieve. Through this model, logging was halted, marine protection zones were expanded, and Haida ecological knowledge was embedded in park management strategies. 

These are not isolated success stories—they are evidence of what becomes possible when Indigenous Peoples are given the authority and support to govern their territories. 

What Land Back Looks Like in Practice 

Land Back can take many forms: co-governance agreements, the return of Crown or park lands, support for Indigenous land trusts, and legal recognition of Indigenous land title. In all these models, ecological outcomes improve when Indigenous values and protocols shape land management. 

For example: 

  • Controlled burns restore grassland health. 
  • Seasonal harvesting prevents overuse. 
  • Watershed monitoring improves water quality. 
  • Language and ceremony are woven into stewardship practices that care not just for the land but also for the relational responsibilities associated with it.  

These approaches move beyond conservation as enclosure and towards regenerative guardianship. 

Recommendations for Readers 

  1. Learn More: Explore the research and advocacy work of Indigenous-led organizations like the Yellowhead Institute. 
  1. Support Indigenous Stewardship: Donate to or volunteer with Indigenous land trusts, guardianship programs, or Nations actively engaged in ecological restoration. 
  1. Advocate for Policy Change: Push for co-governance agreements, the return of protected parklands, and meaningful inclusion of Indigenous Peoples in environmental decision-making. 
  1. Listen and Follow: Center Indigenous leadership, particularly local nations whose territories you reside in. Support their calls to action and respect their governance systems. 

Reference Points and Additional Reading 

 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Michael Hamments, Unsplash)

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Moose, Medicines, and Migration: Climate Impacts on Cultural Keystone Species

In many Indigenous Nations across Turtle Island, animals and plants are not simply natural resources—they are relatives, teachers, and integral parts of local and regional Indigenous governance, ceremony, and survival. As climate change disrupts ecological systems, it also impacts the cultural fabric and intergenerational teachings of Indigenous Peoples who rely on what are known as cultural keystone species. These are species that hold significant cultural importance and whose presence and health are deeply tied to identity, tradition, and collective health and well-being.  

Species such as moose, caribou, and medicinal plants face unprecedented threats due to rising temperatures, habitat degradation, and shifting seasonal patterns. Their movement, availability, and vitality are changing in ways that ripple through Indigenous food systems, languages, ceremonies, and laws, ultimately impacting Nationhood itself.  

Caribou Declines and the Innu Nation’s Loss of Relational Balance

The George River caribou herd, once among the largest in the world, has plummeted by more than 90% over the past few decades. The Innu Nation of Labrador and parts of Quebec, whose cultural and spiritual systems are interwoven with the caribou’s life, have raised serious concerns about the herd’s collapse. Innu Elders describe caribou as a primary food source and a spiritual relative that teaches respect, humility, and reciprocity.
 

Caribou migrations are becoming increasingly erratic due to a combination of warming temperatures, the encroachment of mining and hydroelectric projects, and changing vegetation patterns that alter forage quality. Industrial development on traditional Innu lands has further fragmented the caribou’s migratory routes, making survival even more difficult. 

Moose and the Melting North: A Disrupted Kinship in the Yukon and Northern BC

Further west, moose populations—another cultural keystone species—are declining steeply in parts of the Yukon and northern British Columbia. The Taku River Tlingit, Kaska Dena, and other First Nations have sounded alarms as moose habitat becomes increasingly unstable due to a mix of warming winters, tick infestations, and changes in predator-prey dynamics. Warmer winters reduce snowpack, allowing predators such as wolves and bears to more easily access moose calves. In contrast, once controlled by cold snaps, parasites such as winter ticks now thrive and cause severe stress or death in moose populations.  

In 2003, the Taku River Tlingit First Nation’s Our Land is Our Future publication emphasizes the sacred relationship with ecology and highlights the importance of Indigenous-led conservation. Their monitoring programs which include insights on Moose activity within territory combine Western science with traditional tracking methods passed down through generations. 

The loss of moose also limits access to vital winter protein sources and affects family harvesting traditions, teaching systems, and food sharing networks. 

Medicinal Plants on the Move: Cultural Displacement in the Land 

Due to climate change, medicinal plants such as sweetgrass, Labrador tea, sage, and cedar are shifting further north or to higher altitudes. This affects not only the availability of culturally and spiritually important medicines but also the teachings and ceremonies surrounding their harvest.  

The Mi’kmaq Nation in Nova Scotia has observed that Labrador tea and other traditional plants are now harder to find in their usual harvesting areas. Harvesters must travel farther or rely on intergenerational knowledge to locate new growth zones—if those zones are accessible at all. This displacement impacts community well-being, especially for those who use plant medicines for healing, ceremony, and seasonal rites.  

This phenomenon, often called “climate-driven cultural displacement,” erodes knowledge transmission, weakens land-based education, and poses challenges for climate adaptation rooted in traditional ecological knowledge. 

Honouring Responsibilities: Indigenous-Led Stewardship as Climate Response 

 Despite these challenges, Indigenous Nations are leading efforts to safeguard local ecosystems by documenting and protecting culturally significant species. The First Nations Guardians Initiative is one of several programs that empower Indigenous communities to steward their lands and monitor the health of key species. Indigenous Guardians collect data, engage youth, and revitalize cultural protocols tied to plant and animal life. 

 

Efforts like these are critical, not just for conservation but also for revitalizing Indigenous laws and land relationships. These actions reflect the teachings of many Elders who assert that it is not humanity that manages the land, but rather the land that governs humanity and our relationships with it. Respecting cultural keystone species is, ultimately, about respecting the Nations that have stewarded them for millennia.
 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

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Climate Colonialism: Unpacking the Global Systems Impacting Indigenous Territories

Across Canada—and around the world—Indigenous Peoples are bearing the brunt of climate change, not because of their own emissions or consumption patterns, but because of long-standing colonial systems that continue to marginalize their rights and voices. “Climate colonialism” refers to how global climate responses, extractive economies, and market-based solutions to environmental crises reinforce colonial structures and power imbalances. These systems often lead to the exploitation of Indigenous lands and resources while ignoring or undermining Indigenous sovereignty, knowledge, and governance.

Colonialism and the Environmental Frontlines

In Canada, the legacy of settler colonialism is embedded in ongoing industrial and state projects that threaten Indigenous territories and lifeways. Although Indigenous Peoples consistently raised concerns, Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) was never fully realized, as the project moved forward without meaningful resolution or satisfaction of those concerns by the developers.

The Site C hydroelectric dam on Treaty 8 territory flooded thousands of hectares of land that are vital to the cultural and subsistence practices of the Athabaskan and Cree-speaking Peoples. Despite court challenges and community opposition, the project proceeded, highlighting the systemic disregard for Indigenous governance in energy development.

Similarly, in Alberta, the Athabasca tar sands—one of the world’s most significant industrial projects—have devastated the lands, water, and health of nearby First Nations, including the Mikisew Cree and Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation. In both cases, colonial environmental governance continues to prioritize profit and national energy agendas over Indigenous well-being and rights.

According to the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), over 120 major resource development projects are located within 200 km of First Nations communities across Canada. These projects pose ecological risks and contribute to cumulative social, economic, and health harms.

Global Parallels: Carbon Colonialism and Market Mechanisms

Climate colonialism also plays out globally through international carbon markets and finance mechanisms. Programs like REDD+ (Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation) were initially promoted as conservation strategies to reduce global carbon emissions. However, many Indigenous Peoples in the Global South have criticized REDD+ for criminalizing traditional land use practices, restricting access to forests, and enabling land grabs under the guise of carbon offsetting.

These market-based mechanisms commodify forests and lands for their carbon sequestration potential without acknowledging the historical and cultural stewardship Indigenous Peoples have with these landscapes. A similar trend is emerging in Canada as provinces and corporations explore Nature-Based Climate Solutions and carbon offsetting projects on Indigenous lands—again, often without full community participation or consent.

A Call for Decolonial Climate Justice

To dismantle climate colonialism, climate policy must shift from top-down, technocratic solutions to frameworks grounded in decolonial justice, Indigenous law, and local/regional community-led approaches. Indigenous Peoples are not only protectors of biodiversity and climate stewards but also inherent and treaty rights holders whose jurisdiction and authority must be recognized and respected.

Indigenous climate leadership is gaining ground through movements like Indigenous Climate Action, Idle No More, and the Land Back movement, which assert that returning land to its rightful stewards and restoring ecological and traditional governance are foundational to achieving real climate solutions. These movements challenge the extractivist logic embedded in mainstream environmentalism and offer powerful alternatives rooted in relationality, reciprocity, and responsibility to land and future generations.

Reference Points

  • Assembly of First Nations, Resource Development Reports: https://www.afn.ca
  • The Red Nation, The Red Deal: https://therednation.org
  • Tuck, Eve and Yang, K. Wayne (2012). Decolonization is Not a Metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society.
  • McGregor, Deborah (2021). Indigenous Environmental Justice and Sustainability (Various works, York University): https://profiles.laps.yorku.ca/profiles/dmcgregor/
  • Indigenous Environmental Network: https://www.ienearth.org

 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

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Naming, Knowing, and Listening: Deepening Our Understanding of Personhood in Place and Space

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In many Indigenous cultures, the natural world is not simply a resource or a backdrop to human existence—it is a network of living relations. Mountains, rivers, lakes, and forests are Ancestors, Teachers, and Knowledge Holders. They are conscious, interconnected beings with roles, responsibilities, and ways of knowing. They exist with agency, autonomy, and spirit.

In recent years, we have seen essential movements led by Indigenous Peoples to protect these living relations through the legal concept of personhood. While this concept reflects strategic and visionary leadership, it also invites us to reflect on how legal systems can evolve to honour natural law and relational responsibilities fully.

Personhood as Protection: Reclaiming Relationship in Law

Indigenous Nations have led efforts to grant legal personhood to places and spaces to reassert relationships with lands and waters through recognition, stewardship, and care.

Here are three well-known examples:

  1. The Whanganui River, Aotearoa (New Zealand). In 2017, the river was granted legal personhood through the Te Awa Tupua Act, affirming its identity as a living and indivisible being. Whanganui iwi (tribes) had long maintained the relationship expressed in the phrase “Ko au te awa, ko te awa ko au”—I am the river, and the river is me.
  2. The Magpie River (Muteshekau-shipu), Quebec, Canada. In 2021, the Innu Council of Ekuanitshit and the Municipality of Minganie recognized the Magpie River as a legal person, granting it the right to flow freely and maintain its biodiversity. This step blended Innu relational values with legal innovation.
  3. Te Urewera, Aotearoa (New Zealand). Once a national park, Te Urewera is now recognized as its own legal entity. No longer owned by the Crown, it is governed by a board rooted in Tūhoe knowledge and law. The act marked a return to Indigenous stewardship based on belonging, not ownership.

These examples show how personhood can shift power, reassert Indigenous relationships to land, and reframe governance. They are not about control—they are about honouring the relational nature of land.

Expanding the Conversation: Are There Other Ways to Relate?

 

While personhood is a valuable and strategic legal tool, some Indigenous thinkers and Knowledge Holders are asking more profound questions: Is personhood the only or best way to express the agency and autonomy of land, water, and ecosystems? Or is it simply one way—among many—that humans are trying to re-learn how to live in a relationship with the natural world?

Legal personhood is rooted in human systems of law. It translates nature’s being into a framework designed for humans to understand and work with. In doing so, it can unintentionally reinforce anthropocentric norms—even as it tries to disrupt them. It can create situations where humans still speak for the land, even when the intent is to honour it.

So perhaps the question isn’t whether personhood is “right” or “wrong,” but how we continue to evolve our systems from recognition to relationship, from ownership to responsibility, and from control to care.

Listening to the Land: Mother Earth as the Decision-Maker

 

In Indigenous philosophies, Mother Earth is not passive. She is the ultimate knowledge holder and discretionary decision-maker. Her movements—through storms, regeneration, and seasonal shifts—demonstrate her agency. She knows how to maintain balance. Sometimes, that balance comes with fire, drought, or flood.

We risk forgetting this truth when humanity positions itself as the sole decision-maker. We must remember that we are not the stewards of nature; we are part of nature. Good stewardship is not about imposing control—it’s about listening, learning, and following the laws already in place.

Relational Governance: Beyond Legal Recognition

The future of protecting land and water may lie in legal personhood and the resurgence of relational governance—governance guided by natural law and responsibilities, not just rights.

This means:

  • Protocols of consent and relationship-building with land, not just legal agreements.
  • Ceremonial and cultural practices that connect us to place and teach humility.
  • Indigenous place names that encode ecological knowledge and spirit.
  • Community economies that work within the capacity of the land are not in opposition to it.

These frameworks honour the land as a relation—not as an entity to be interpreted through legal terms alone.

Speaking With, Not For

 

Indigenous-led personhood efforts are potent steps in reclaiming the relationship between land and law. But we must also remain mindful that speaking for land—even with good intentions—can sometimes reproduce colonial habits of thought.

Let us instead learn to speak with the land, remembering that the land has always spoken—our role is to listen, support, and respond kindly. When we move from human-centred protection to land-centred relationships, we begin to embody what it truly means to live in good relations.

Mother Earth is not ours to define. She is our relation to honour.

 

By Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: James Shook, “Whanganui River,” Wikimedia Commons)

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Reimagining Our Relationship with Natural Resources: A Path Toward Climate Resilience through Natural Law and Decommodification

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Introduction: A Warning and a Call for Transformation

In an era of ecological crisis and climate disruption, it is increasingly clear that the colonial constructs that define our current economic systems—especially those that reduce the natural world to commodities—are no longer sustainable. As humanity grapples with climate change, biodiversity loss, and ecosystem collapse, we are called to rethink how we understand the value of nature. This is not a moment for fear but for hope rooted in responsibility. The time has come to reconstitute new forms of recognition for natural resources—forms that draw from natural law and Indigenous worldviews and move us toward decommodification processes.

Understanding Natural Law: A Foundation for Balance and Reciprocity

 In many Indigenous traditions, natural law is a set of guiding principles that govern the relationships between all beings—human and non-human. It is rooted in observation, interdependence, respect, and responsibility. Natural law recognizes that humans are not above nature but are part of it and that every element of the natural world holds intrinsic value beyond economic worth.

In contrast to colonial legal and economic systems prioritizing ownership, control, and extraction, natural law prioritizes relationality, responsibility, and continuity. It is about living by the rhythms and rules of Mother Earth rather than trying to dominate them.

Lumber and Natural Law: A New Way to Value Forests

Take the Canadian lumber industry as an example. Under colonial economic systems, forests are measured by board feet, market value, and export potential. Trees are seen as units of production.

Under natural law, however, a forest is not just timber—it is a living ecosystem. It provides medicines, oxygen, shelter, cultural teachings, and spiritual connection. Decommodifying lumber means recognizing and protecting these broader values. It could involve setting harvest limits based on ecological regeneration, requiring community-governed stewardship, or embedding cultural protocols and consent in forestry operations. This approach would align extractive industries with the natural cycles and laws of the territories in which they operate.

What Happens If We Don’t Change? A Vision of 50 Years Without Decommodification

 If we fail to implement decommodification processes, the next 50 years may see natural resources pushed beyond their limits:

  • Forests depleted beyond regeneration, triggering mass species extinction.
  • Waterways are poisoned or privatized, denying future generations access to clean water.
  • Sacred sites are destroyed for short-term gains.
  • Climate systems pushed into irreversible tipping points, affecting global food security, migration, and public health.

Without intentional change, our value systems will prioritize profit over planetary survival.

Decommodification as Policy: What Could It Look Like?

 Decommodification doesn’t mean halting all use of natural resources—it means rethinking how we value and manage them. Policies rooted in natural law could include:

  • Community-Led Stewardship Models: Return governance of lands and resources to Indigenous Nations and local communities.
  • Ecological Carrying Capacity Laws: Mandate that extraction levels stay within nature’s regenerating ability.
  • Cultural Impact Assessments: Alongside environmental reviews, evaluate resource projects’ cultural and spiritual impacts.
  • Rights of Nature Legislation: Recognize rivers, forests, and ecosystems as legal persons with rights to thrive.
  • Circular and Regenerative Economies: Design systems that reuse, restore, and regenerate rather than extract and discard.

Each of these policies would build toward an economy that is aligned with rather than in opposition to the Earth’s well-being.

Technology and Innovation: A Partner in Responsibility

 When aligned with values of responsibility and sustainability, technology can support a future of balanced resource use. Imagine:

  • Biomaterials replacing fossil fuels.
  • AI and data analytics monitoring ecosystem health in real-time.
  • Traditional Knowledge databases informing climate-smart agriculture.
  • Clean energy grids co-designed by Indigenous communities.

Technological innovation can either accelerate the destruction of nature—or help us restore and protect it. The choice lies in the values we embed within our systems.

Decommodification and Climate Action: Mitigation and Adaptation

 Decommodification of natural resources is not just a philosophical shift—it is a practical strategy for climate change mitigation and adaptation:

  • Mitigation: Reduced extraction and emissions through regenerative systems.
  • Adaptation: Stronger community resilience through land-based governance and ecological health.
  • Equity: Ensuring all peoples, especially Indigenous Nations, have agency in climate solutions.

By recognizing that nature is not a commodity but a relation, we build the cultural, spiritual, and ecological foundations for long-term resilience.

A Shared Future Rooted in Respect

The consequences will be severe if we continue to commodify and exploit nature. But if we reimagine our relationship to the Earth through natural law, decommodify our policies and economies, and act with love for future generations—for all our relations—we can create a just, thriving future.

Now is the time to ask: What do we value? And how will we ensure that our grandchildren and their grandchildren inherit a planet where they can live well, in balance, and in beauty?

 

By Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

 

(Image Credit: Fellipe Ditadi, Unsplash+, licensed image)

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