“The future, I think, will be indigenous-led in many ways.” —Brad Lopes
That quote ended my December “Climate Connections” column. Brad Lopes is Wampanoag, and education and outreach coordinator for the Aquinnah Cultural Center.
It sounds incredible, in a way. We are a society ever-confident that technology will solve our problems, such as climate change, as opposed to using age-old wisdom.
The irony is that if respect had been paid to indigenous peoples and to their wisdom, knowledge and values, there would likely not be a climate crisis.
I do see traditional indigenous practices rising to the forefront of climate change action. And sadly, but not surprisingly, it is often happening without due credit to indigenous peoples.
So today, to start the new year, I’ll give credit where credit is due. Indigenous communities have existed for tens of thousands of years on the land known today as the United States. They have an intimate connection to, and understanding of, the natural world and humanity’s place within it. (For more details on this subject, you might be interested in “Indigenous Ingenuity: A Celebration of North American Knowledge,” by Deidre Havrelock and Edward Kay.”)
Today the term “managed retreat” from the coast means moving buildings and people out of harm’s way as the sea rises, storms get stronger, and flooding increases. Building on the coast was never a good idea. Long before climate change, the Wampanoags lived inland for most of the year, and simply camped on the coast in summer, fully understanding the fluidity of the shoreline and the volatility of the sea.
The Wampanoag used controlled burns as a form of forest management to remove dry underbrush and promote new growth. That has not happened with any regularity since the land was taken from them. The lack of controlled burns, plus increasing climate change–related drought, has severely increased local wildfire risk.
Biochar is charcoal made by baking wood in a low-oxygen environment. It makes use of the forest underbrush and, as a natural fertilizer, improves soil health. It has long been practiced by indigenous communities around the world. Today it is gaining in popularity not only for wildfire prevention and more sustainable farming, but also as a method of carbon sequestering, and a means to improve water quality.
Indigenous Northwestern fishermen traditionally released the female salmon they caught to allow them to reproduce. Mainstream society didn’t take protective action until species were overfished. We now face the combined problems of species decline and oceanic climate impacts, such as warmer and more acidic water.
Indigenous peoples did not till farmland. No-till farming is now a keystone of the regenerative farming movement. It promotes healthy soil, improves crop yields, and protects against erosion.
Food forests are being created — including here on the Island, with guidance from Wampanoag tribal members — to allow traditional foraging for nuts, berries, fruits, and medicinal plants.
Energy efficiency was built into indigenous homes. Igloos were built of snow that acted as insulation — the temperature inside the igloo was drastically warmer than the Arctic outdoors. Wigwams and wetus were often insulated and waterproofed. Today, as climate impacts rise, we scramble to better insulate our homes to save energy and money.
Hunting was not for sport. Indigenous peoples traditionally used every part of an animal for food, shelter, clothing, and even toys. How far we have moved from that — today much of what we call food is processed and unhealthy. Clothing is made from artificial fibers that contain microplastics that we breathe in, now found in our blood and organs. We have lost what is a sacred connection to the natural world.
Pharmaceutical companies make billions of dollars producing pills and treatments when indigenous peoples found answers in nature. The inner bark of the black cherry tree treats coughs, jimsonweed eases stomach ailments, and the bark of black willow relieves fever, pain, inflammation.
The Steamship Authority could learn a thing or two from indigenous boatbuilding technology. Kayaks, for example, are designed to be light, but also strong and able to withstand heavy seas.
Here are the words that open the Wampanoag Tribe of Gay Head (Aquinnah) Climate Change Adaptation Plan: “The tribe and its members rely on tribal lands and waters for cultural and spiritual nurturing, as well as basic food and medicine sustenance. In short, the land is everything, and water is life. Any planning for tribal lands must recognize and incorporate the tribe’s undeniable reverence for the land and waters.”
When the Island Climate Action Plan, “The Vineyard Way,” was developed in 2022, the subtitle was very deliberately chosen: “Connected to Our Past, Committed to Our Future.” In this new year a reconnection with our past that also connects us to our future could be the reset we need.
