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Bridging Knowledge Systems: Indigenous Nations and Academia Collaborate on Climate Research in Canada

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On the tundra in Inuit Nunangat, an Elder kneels by thinning sea ice, pointing to the cracks forming earlier each spring. Nearby, community youth work with researchers to set up monitoring equipment that tracks ice thickness, temperature shifts, and permafrost thaw. Together, they are documenting climate change not from separate vantage points, but in conversation, where Inuit knowledge of the land and Western science meet.

Across Canada, such collaborations are on the rise. Indigenous Nations and academic institutions are joining forces to confront climate change, weaving together Indigenous ways of knowing with scientific methods. These partnerships hold immense promise: they deepen understanding, inform adaptation strategies, and strengthen resilience for both Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities. But they also raise urgent questions about ethics, ownership, and how to move beyond colonial legacies that have historically extracted and exploited Indigenous knowledge.

The Promise and Pitfalls of Collaboration

When done respectfully, Indigenous–academic partnerships generate knowledge that neither system could produce alone. Indigenous expertise, rooted in millennia of relationship with land, water, and sky, offers insights into biodiversity, ecosystem health, and patterns of climate change that Western science is only beginning to measure. Meanwhile, academic research provides tools like data modelling, satellite mapping, and policy advocacy that can elevate Indigenous voices in national and global decision-making spaces.

Yet the pitfalls are significant. Indigenous intellectual property (IP), the stories, practices, symbols, and innovations that belong to Indigenous Peoples, has too often been taken without consent, acknowledgment, or benefit. In Canadian history, knowledge of plants, medicines, and land-use practices has been extracted and patented, leaving communities with nothing but loss and mistrust. These harms are not distant memories; they shape the caution and hesitation many Indigenous Nations feel when approached by universities today.

For Indigenous communities, protecting IP is not only about legal safeguards. It is about sovereignty: the right to control how knowledge is shared, by whom, and for whose benefit. Without this, collaboration risks reproducing the very colonial patterns it claims to resist.

Academia’s Growing Commitment to Ethical Partnerships

Thankfully, many Canadian academic institutions are beginning to come to terms with this history and adopt new approaches to research. Universities are developing frameworks and policies that embed principles of respect and accountability, such as:

  • Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC): Research can only proceed with the voluntary and fully informed agreement of Indigenous Nations.
  • Respect for Indigenous data sovereignty: Communities must control how data is stored, accessed, and used.
  • Co-creation of research questions and methods: Projects must be shaped together, not imposed by academics.
  • Equitable sharing of benefits and authorship: Indigenous collaborators must be credited and compensated fairly.
  • Long-term accountability: Partnerships should outlast funding cycles and continue to serve community priorities.

This shift is not perfect, nor is it complete. But the trajectory is encouraging: Indigenous governance and ethics are increasingly central to climate research in Canada.

Consequences of Collaboration: Good and Bad

The outcomes of these partnerships are not abstract. They have real consequences for climate action on the ground. Where research has gone wrong, communities recall sacred sites being surveyed without consent, knowledge of medicinal plants being patented for corporate use, and environmental studies that used Indigenous stories but excluded Indigenous voices from authorship. These failures reinforce mistrust and make communities wary of outsiders.

By contrast, when done well, collaboration strengthens both knowledge and resilience. For example:

  • The Kainai Nation and the University of Calgary collaborate on drought adaptation, combining climate modelling with traditional food system knowledge to develop locally grounded strategies.
  • The Tłı̨chǫ Government and Carleton University are monitoring permafrost thaw in the Northwest Territories, where Indigenous knowledge guides interpretation while scientific tools quantify the scale of change.
  • The Anishinabek Nation and Lakehead University collaborate to restore wild rice beds, combining ecological monitoring with stewardship practices that sustain both ecosystems and culture.

These projects illustrate what is possible when Indigenous leadership is respected and academic expertise is aligned with community priorities.

Youth, Future Generations, and the Global Context

Collaboration is not only about research results, but also about building capacity for future generations. Training Indigenous youth in both traditional and scientific methods ensures continuity of stewardship and opens pathways into climate sciences, data analysis, engineering, and policy. This intergenerational transfer is critical, as it is young people who will live most directly with the consequences of climate change.
Canada is not alone in this work. Around the world, Indigenous communities are leading partnerships with academia. Māori researchers in Aotearoa, New Zealand, develop coastal restoration strategies grounded in whakapapa (genealogy), and Sámi leaders in Scandinavia combine herding knowledge with climate models to track changes in snow and migration patterns.

Canada has an opportunity and a responsibility to lead globally by embedding Indigenous governance within research institutions and climate policy.

What Indigenous Communities Should Consider

When invited into research collaborations, Indigenous Nations should feel empowered to set terms, ask questions, and safeguard their knowledge. Key considerations include:

  • Consent: Has Free, Prior, and Informed Consent been obtained, clearly and respectfully?
  • Intellectual Property: Who owns the data and knowledge? How will it be used, stored, and protected?
  • Community Benefit: Does this project address our priorities and bring tangible benefits to our people?
  • Co-creation: Were we part of shaping the questions and methods, or are we being slotted into a pre-existing framework?
  • Cultural Protocol: Are researchers prepared to follow our laws, ceremonies, and privacy requirements?
  • Data Sovereignty: Will data remain under our governance?
  • Capacity Building: Will this train our youth, employ our people, or build local expertise?
  • Publication Rights: Do we have control over how findings are published, and will our members be acknowledged as co-authors?
  • Exit Plan: What happens when the project ends? Will knowledge, data, and benefits remain with us?

These questions are not barriers; they are safeguards to ensure collaboration is ethical, reciprocal, and grounded in Indigenous sovereignty.

Strengthening Indigenous–Academic Partnerships

To move forward, Canada must think beyond project-by-project partnerships and build systemic change built in true collaboration with Indigenous-led initiatives such as:

  • Embedding Indigenous governance in research ethics boards.
  • Supporting Indigenous-led research universities and centres of excellence.
  • Creating funding streams that prioritize Indigenous research sovereignty.
  • Establishing national policy frameworks to protect Indigenous knowledge.
  • Formalizing spaces for reciprocal knowledge exchange that place Indigenous and Western knowledge systems on equal footing.

These steps shift collaboration from a transactional to a transformational approach.

A Call to Action

The convergence of Indigenous knowledge and academic research offers immense promise in confronting climate change. Together, these systems can generate insights grounded in centuries of relational stewardship and sharpened by scientific rigour. But true collaboration demands more than goodwill. It requires dismantling colonial patterns, affirming Indigenous intellectual sovereignty, and ensuring that research benefits the lands and peoples from which it arises.

To academia: move beyond consultation and share governance of research with Indigenous Nations.

To governments: fund Indigenous-led research and respect Indigenous sovereignty in climate policy.

To Indigenous Nations: know your power, set the terms, protect your knowledge, and demand reciprocity.

The path forward shines brightest when Indigenous and academic knowledge systems walk side by side. If Canada adopts this model, the future will not only be more just, but also more resilient for the land, the waters, and future generations.

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

Image Credit : Julian Gentile, Unsplash

 

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The Waters Speak: Indigenous Knowledge and Climate Change in the Maritimes

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For the Indigenous Peoples of the Maritime provinces, the Mi’kmaq, Wolastoqiyik, Passamaquoddy, Maliseet, and Inuit, the oceans and waterways are living relatives, holding centuries of memory and wisdom. These waters are not simply geographic features; they are beings with spirit, elders who have witnessed the shifting balance of climate through generations. The rising of ocean levels, the warming of seas, and the increasing fury of storms are warnings that echo both ancient stories and contemporary experience. 

 Traditional Knowledge of Oceans and Climate: Past Lessons

Indigenous oral histories and knowledge systems possess a deep understanding of the rhythms and changes in the ocean and climate over time. Elders recount shifting shorelines, changing fish migrations, and the cyclical nature of storms and tides, knowledge gained through careful observation and a deep connection with the natural world. For millennia, these teachings guided communities in timing their harvests, moving settlements, and stewarding land and sea to maintain balance. 

 In Mi’kma’ki, for example, stories recount times when the waters rose and reshaped the coast, teaching that the ocean was both a giver and a taker. These ancient accounts help contextualize current changes as part of a long-standing relationship marked by respect and adaptation, rather than conquest or control. They remind us that climate is a force we live with, not simply a problem to be solved. 

The Present Reality: Changing Oceans and Rising Threats

Today, those long-held relationships are tested as the ocean warms and rises at unprecedented rates. Hurricanes and severe storms, once rare and cyclical, are growing in size, frequency, and intensity, driven by warmer sea surfaces and shifting atmospheric patterns. For Indigenous peoples of the Maritimes, these are not distant phenomena but lived realities, returning with growing impact. 

Hurricane Fiona in 2022 devastated coastal Mi’kmaw communities in Cape Breton and Ktaqmkuk, causing widespread erosion, damage to sacred sites, and threatening the continuity of food and cultural harvesting areas. Inland, communities have observed changes in river flows and wetland health, which impact freshwater fisheries and travel corridors. 

Sea level rise, compounded by coastal development and weakened natural barriers, is accelerating shoreline loss, flooding, and saltwater intrusion into freshwater systems, disrupting habitats and traditional harvest zones for shellfish, medicinal plants, and migratory birds. These changes undermine food sovereignty and community resilience if left unaddressed. 

Preparing for the Future: Combining Traditional Knowledge and Innovation

Indigenous communities across the Maritimes are leading innovative responses rooted in millennia of knowledge coupled with contemporary science and technology. Mi’kmaq leaders collaborate with coastal ecologists to restore salt marshes, eelgrass beds, and kelp forests —natural buffers that stabilize sediments, absorb storm surges, and sequester carbon. 

 On Epekwitk (Prince Edward Island), collaborative “living shoreline” projects integrate Mi’kmaw understanding of local ecosystems with natural materials, such as reed grasses and oyster reefs. These efforts reduce erosion while honouring the relationships between people, plants, and water. 

In Wolastoqey and Passamaquoddy territories, along the St. John River and Bay of Fundy, community monitors combine satellite data with Indigenous place-based observations to track shifting ice patterns, tides, and river flows, anticipating and preparing for future climate impacts. 

Some communities are also considering strategic relocation, recognizing that some ancestral sites may become too vulnerable to sustain habitation. These decisions are deeply guided by cultural protocols, emphasizing ceremony, respect, and reciprocity with the land, even as physical homes may shift.  

Climate Change as a Teaching and Call to Action

For Indigenous Peoples of the Maritimes, the climate crisis is more than a scientific challenge; it is a profound ethical and spiritual call. The ocean’s fury, the rising tides, and shifting weather patterns are reminders of broken relationships and imbalance. They teach humility, resilience, and the seriousness of respecting all beings.  

Adapting to this new reality requires more than just complex infrastructure; seawalls and barriers alone cannot restore the flow of life. True resilience grows from strengthening relationships with the ocean, with the lands, and among peoples and embracing stewardship guided by Indigenous laws and teachings.

Toward Resilient Coastal Futures

The seas that lap the shores of Mi’kma’ki, Wolastoqey, and Ktaqmkuk carry the memory of storms past and the promise of renewal. Indigenous Nations in the Maritimes stand at the forefront of a movement to restore coastal ecosystems and cultural connections, combining ancient knowledge and contemporary science to face a changing climate with strength. 

 By listening deeply to the waters and honouring our responsibilities as caretakers, we can respond not only to minimize harm but to rebuild balance. The ocean is more than a force of destruction; it is a relative offering that teaches and provides opportunities to walk forward in a respectful, reciprocal relationship. As we navigate this unfolding climate reality, Indigenous stewardship, leadership, and knowledge stand as beacons not only for the peoples of the Maritimes but for all who share this land and sea. 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Chris Robert, Unsplash)

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When the Land Speaks Through Fire: Indigenous Wisdom, Memory, and Stewardship of the Living Landscape

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Across the sprawling landscapes of Turtle Island, from the western mountains through central prairies, over eastern woodlands, to the northern boreal and tundra, the land carries memory. It speaks through ancient fires, through the whispers of returning smoke, through the cycles of regeneration and loss. Fire is not merely a destructive force but a living relative with agency, voice, and purpose embedded in the land’s sacred balance. 

Fire as a Living Relative and Teacher

In Indigenous worldviews across Canada, whether among the Coast Salish, Anishinaabe, Cree, Dene, Mi’kmaq, Inuit, or Métis, fire is understood as more than heat and flame. Fire is a relative: a powerful presence that teaches and transforms. Fire holds knowledge about when and where to flow, how to clear away the old and invite new life, and when to retreat to allow healing. It is a force that must be listened to, respected, and lived with, not tamed or feared. 

The land itself contains this fire knowledge, its patterns and rhythms, held not only in the soil and trees but also in the pulse of the more-than-human relations that weave together plants, animals, insects, and waters. These relationships have been cultivated through generations of ceremony, stewardship, and attentive listening. 

The Memory of Fires Past: Lessons Written in the Land

For millennia, Indigenous peoples have carried the memories of fire’s many faces: the gentle burns that nurtured wild berries and medicines, the larger fires that shaped forests and grasslands, and the fires that carried warnings and renewal. These memories are more than history; they are living teachings embedded in stories, songs, and place. They remind us how fire once danced in balance with water, wind, and seasons, fostering abundance and diversity. 

The land’s hold on this memory reveals how fire traditionally cleared away invasive undergrowth, opened habitats, cycled nutrients, and created mosaic landscapes vital for wildlife. Indigenous fire stewardship was respectful and purposeful, marked by precision, ceremony, and an understanding of fire’s role as a caretaker. 

The Changing Land: Fire’s Agency Amidst Drought and Climate Change

Today, this sacred balance is strained as climate change stirs new challenges. Prolonged drought and rising temperatures dry the land beyond its natural resilience. Fire’s agency, once harmonized with the earth’s rhythms, now pulses with growing intensity and unpredictability. Wildfires rage more frequently, far beyond the historical rhythms of many regions, threatening the very life-systems they once helped sustain. 

In western forests, ancient conifer refugia for caribou and lynx face pervasive mortality. In central prairies, grasses and wildflowers fail to recover, leaving soil exposed. Eastern woodlands lose their understory of medicinal plants and berries, which are relied upon by birds and smaller mammals. Northern boreal and tundra zones are suffering from the collapse of delicate lichen beds and shrinking habitats for migratory birds. 

All the while, fire continues to assert its agency, challenging all beings to remember and adapt. 

Honouring Fire Knowledge: Stewarding Indigenous Wisdom for the Land and All Life

To walk respectfully with fire in this changing world demands more than technology or control; it demands honouring Indigenous fire knowledge systems, which see fire as a living relation, as part of the land’s voice. 

Non-Indigenous peoples and institutions must listen deeply to this wisdom. Stewardship means recognizing the fire’s spiritual, ecological, and cultural roles as encoded in Indigenous laws, ceremonies, and practices, which are calibrated to the land’s signals and cycles. It means supporting Indigenous leadership with sovereignty over how landscapes are cared for and how fire is welcomed, guided, or restrained. 

 This stewardship involves: 

Recognizing the land’s agency, learning from the land where fire is needed and where it is invited to restore life, not simply extinguished as a threat. 

    • Integrating Indigenous fire timing and techniques, such as controlled or “cool” burns guided by ecological indicators and spiritual guidance, which have been practiced for thousands of years. 
    • Respecting the relational web that includes plants, animals, fungi, and waters as kin with roles in fire’s unfolding. 
    • Bridging knowledge systems where Indigenous knowledge co-creates with scientific understanding, enhancing fire forecasting, monitoring, and response rooted in ecological respect.

Fire as a Call to Renew Kinship and Balance

As drought and dry conditions intensify, the urgency of honouring fire’s role becomes increasingly apparent. Fire teaches humility the lesson that we are part of the land’s family, not masters of it. The fate of biodiversity, including berries, pollinators, game, medicinal plants, soil microbes, and waters, echoes the health of the balance of fire. 

 

In listening to fire’s voice, remembering its cycles, and walking with Indigenous stewardship, humans reclaim responsibility. Fire need not be a force of devastation alone but can become a renewing presence that heals scars, encourages diversity, and sustains future generations of life. 

This is not only a strategy for wildfire management, but a sacred path forward, one where agency, memory, and respect guide us toward living in a reciprocal relationship with the land, honouring fire’s place as a vital and sacred relative. 

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

(Image Credit: Jan Kopřiva, Unsplash)

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Indigenous Land-based Learning: A Way to Take Action on Climate Change

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As young people and the young-at-heart go back to school this fall, it is good to revisit how Indigenous land-based learning is a way to take action on climate change. The impact of COVID-19 on society has also shed light on the importance of outdoor education.

According to a report inspired by the work of the Misipawistik Pimatisiméskanaw land-based learning program in Misipawistik Cree Nation, Manitoba, “Indigenous land-based learning typically uses an Indigenized and environmentally-focused approach to education by first recognizing the deep, physical, mental, and spiritual connection to the land that is a part of Indigenous cultures.” Indigenous land-based education teaches environmental stewardship. Simply put, Indigenous environmental stewardship reflects all the ways that Indigenous peoples honour Mother Earth, including practices of conservation and sustainability, as well as showing a responsibility for one another, as human beings.

Indigenous scholars at the University of Guelph in Southwestern Ontario have been working together with several community agencies, including the Global Youth Network, the Grand River Métis Council, and the White Owl Native Ancestry Association, to establish the Wisahkotewinowak teaching garden at the university’s arboretum. The garden is a space for youth to learn from Indigenous Elders about seasonal medicinal and edible plants. Wisahkotewinowak, is an Ojibway word that means “the growth of new shoots after a fire.” Youth are also involved in a project that involves the Niisaachwan Anishinaabe Nation and that combines learning about manomin (wild rice), an important food source for Anishinaabe people, with learning about changes to the land brought on by human settlement along the Winnipeg River. The Manomin/Wild Rice Project offers opportunities for land-based learning and intergenerational cooperation that also characterizes Indigenous food sovereignty projects.

In another example, children and youth ranging from kindergarten to grade 8 at the Biitigong Nishnaabeg Elementary School, just outside of Thunder Bay, Ontario, are benefitting from learning about traditional knowledge and skills, like manomin harvesting, from Indigenous Elders and Knowledge Keepers. The pilot project is run in partnership with Lakehead University, and has led members of all ages of the Biitigong community to learn about the benefits of land-based learning. Land-based practices characterizing Anishinaabe pedagogies, including those among communities governed by the Grand Council of Treaty #3 territories, offer insight into cultural practices, and practices that maintain a strong sense of identity among diverse Anishinaabe peoples.

The benefits of Indigenous-led education, including land-based learning, are also formally recognized, at the international scale, by the UNESCO. According to section B19 of the UNESCO Policy on Engaging with Indigenous Peoples, “effectively including indigenous peoples’ knowledge, holistic worldviews and cultures in the development of education policies, programmes, projects and practices and promoting their perspectives, would provide meaningful learning opportunities that are equally available, accessible, acceptable and appropriate for all indigenous peoples.”

There is an opportunity for Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities, and for their respective governments, to consider linking both educational policies and diverse practices that support Indigenous land-based education with climate change action.

 

By Leela Viswanathan

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Climate Change Adaptation vs. Mitigation

When discussing action against climate change, we frequently hear the words “mitigation” and “adaptation” floating around.  While often used interchangeably, the terms indeed have distinct meanings and roles, in the process of preparing for a changing climate.  The main difference between mitigation and adaptation revolves around purpose, and timing of implementation.

In theory, mitigation is the stronger approach.  Climate change mitigation seeks to avoid the problems of climate change before they occur.  It is accomplished by offsetting the causes that then create the effects.  Mitigation strategies focus on reducing greenhouse gas emissions produced.  These strategies can also include the removal of greenhouse gases from the atmosphere.  Essentially, mitigation’s objective is to reduce and prevent the causes of climate change.

However, climate change is by nature a global issue.  Actions taken in one part of the world inevitably impact all other parts of the world.  Thus, while mitigation is the goal, the undeniable forces nature require imminent attention.  This is where adaptation comes in.

Climate change adaptation seeks to prepare communities for existing and projected climate change, equipping them with the infrastructure and resources to stay safe.  When possible, adaptation also seeks to preserve as much as it can, whether it be built infrastructure, lifestyles, or economies.  Notably, adaptation goes beyond just coping.  As was noted by climate scientists in the PEI Climate Change Adaptation Recommendations Report, adaptation requires developing a “planned, informed, forward-looking, and thorough approach”.

While we must never abandon a vision for climate change mitigation, the process of climate change adaptation is a process of great significance in many communities across the world today.  This is particularly important in the communities most vulnerable to the effects of climate change, including First Nations communities.  In First Nations communities, adaptation practices focus on the preservation of space and place, engaging the work of many stakeholders.  Strong, unique adaptation plans for First Nations communities and their climate needs are essential in the movement to preserve traditional lands, lifestyles, and economies.

 

(Author Credit: Charlotte Corelli)

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