COP28 was over a month ago. Since landing back on Turtle Island after a 16-hour flight riddled with turbulence, and feeling exhaustion to a new depth, I’ve had time to rest, recover, and most importantly reflect on my time at the 28th Conference of the Parties for the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC COP28). It was… a lot. All at once. And never-ending. To enter into a space of climate negotiations and painfully bureaucratic processes is a feat in and of itself. But to be someone who is and comes from a people whose way of being is directly opposed to colonial systems that see the Earth and all she is as nothing more than resources to pad bottom lines was violent and often disheartening. 

I went to COP28 with the intention of being a good steward (as good of a steward as I can be attending a conference across the world in a jet plane) and an honest representative of my community, East Prairie Metis Settlement, who suffered a devastating wildfire this past spring thanks to conditions exasperated by a warming climate. At the end of it all I do think I did my role as best as I could given the tools I had at the time. However, the experience was often marred by the realization that I was severely out of my depth - not because I don’t belong in spaces like COP and the UN and not because I didn’t know what I was talking about - but because I was asked to mold myself into these colonial and bureaucratic processes that are so against who I am intrinsically as an Indigenous person. 

Indigenous knowledge systems are now beginning to be recognized globally as viable keys to a more sustainable future. Now, what does that mean exactly? It means that during my six minutes of allocated speaking time during my meetings with the Local Communities and Indigenous Peoples Platform (LCIPP) - a constituted body of the UNFCCC - I was asked to share tens of thousands of years of traditional ecological knowledge while revisiting traumatic truths of being Indigenous in this modern age. In six minutes but preferably less. Per day.  

This kind of knowledge extraction is as reckless and dangerous as the oil countries pull out of the ground for many reasons - but I’ll only name two. First, how am I meant to convey all the nuances that come with these traditions and practices when the people taking note of my words and the parties listening have only ever lived in cities and relied on grocery stores, pharmacies, and movie theaters for their food, medicine, and stories? Secondly, how exactly does the UNFCCC, and the world, intend to enact this knowledge being shared when they don’t see or know the land we speak of nor the context in which these systems are applied? If you use a screwdriver to nail two boards together, the results would also be lackluster and inconceivable. 

To put it more plainly, I’ll share a story of something I learned about bamboo from one of the spokespeople representing an Indigenous group in Asia. During their speaking time, they shared an innovative practice that utilizes bamboo in building parts of their housing to keep the place cool in the summer and warm in the rainier months. They shared the entire process, from how the bamboo is carefully picked to the actual integration into the building. Strategies like this are shared at COP in hopes of providing valuable insight into how we can build our infrastructure to be naturally comfortable for people to live in (without using AC or heating systems) using Indigenous innovation. 

It’s easy to see how a company can utilize this knowledge to create bamboo material for housing. However, because they don’t understand the context in which these practices are applied, they do more harm than good and it doesn’t seem to be as sustainable as they’d hoped. Why is that? During that same presentation it was shared that thanks to the stories tied to bamboo gathering, the Indigenous People of the area knew that you can only gather bamboo during a certain cycle of the moon, otherwise, you’ll destroy the crop and the quality of the bamboo. Not to mention, they know intuitively how to put everything together so that it actually works.

This instance alone is just a drop in a bucket of why it’s important to see the double-edged sword that is the climate change space. Indigenous Innovation and insight that is so freely sought after by organizations like the UN can be shared, yes, but should stay in Indigenous hands. We know the land we speak of best, and we know how to best utilize and implement these practices which have been passed down through generations - passed down from our ancestors. Yet, right now Indigenous people largely sit in a consultant seat rather than at the collaborative table when it comes to sharing our knowledge systems. We choose to share ecological wisdom, yet are expected to only do that; to pass the baton into non-native hands when these strategies only work within the context we as Indigenous Peoples inherently understand. 

Instead of reckless extraction, organizations within the climate change mitigation space should seek to fund, support, and dissolve barriers so that Indigenous Peoples can be the ones to develop the infrastructure to support the use of these traditional practices. Not only is it safer, but it’s the good way to go about creating a sustainable future - we cannot hope to change the path of humanity and their effect on the environment by continuing old colonial systems and processes. Where disregard for Indigenous knowledge and rights, violent extractive procedures, and centering society around capital gain caused the plight of Global Warming, it cannot also be the solution. We are taking a step in the right direction by deferring to Indigenous knowledge when it comes to land stewardship and ecological reciprocity, but that alone isn’t enough - we need to create new processes for navigating and mitigating climate change. 

That being said, it is at least a step in the right direction. LCIPP, the UNFCCC, and negotiations during these climate conferences are far from perfect, yet the inclusion of Indigenous Peoples is moving us forward. 

My experiences in the moments between these startling realizations were sweeter - time spent learning from our relatives in the Pacific, North, South, and Asia regions was among the highlights of my time in Dubai. Being on ‘elder duty’ where I played guide and helper to climate-leading elders and learned the ins and outs of how everything truly worked was where most of my learning happened. Seeing our grassroots collectives led by amazing Indigenous leaders take a stand for climate justice and Indigenous Rights within climate policy was where I felt hope while in the UN Climate Conference space. And lastly, sharing in the grief for the way we’re treating our Earth Mother with other Indigenous Groups from around the world who saw the environment the same way I did, assured me that we are not alone in our fight for an Indigenous future. 

My experience has changed the lens through which I look at the world and the systems that operate society - some of that rose color was scratched off - but I wouldn’t change the outcome. It’s a challenge to look at climate change head-on, and an even bigger challenge to see the truths behind this work. But I now have a much bigger appreciation for community-level work. I now see that true progress begins at the community and grass-roots level rather than on the big showcase stages of the UN. 

During my time in Dubai, I met a lot of wonderful relatives from around the world who are spearheading programs within their communities as well as implementing infrastructure that brings independence in creating sustainable solutions to our modern problems. One of the more striking stories I had the privilege of hearing was that of a river in Aotearoa that thanks to the collective voice of the Maori, now has the same rights as a human does under legislation. A river, recognized as being more than ‘just’ a river, and protected from harm instigated by those who cannot see the life in the environment around them. 

This story specifically spoke to me, considering what happened last spring with northern Indigenous Communities in Alberta who were unknowingly consuming poisoned water and wildlife thanks to overflowing tailings from the oil sands. And now that the government is considering pouring tailings overflow into the Athabasca River (which feeds into the largest freshwater delta in North America) it is especially important for us to stand up for our rights as Indigenous Peoples and for the rights of the environment we’re meant to protect. 

About the Author

Britney Supernault (she/they), known as the Cree Nomad, is Otipemisiwak Nehiyaw (Métis Cree) from East Prairie Metis Settlement. An artist, activist, and writer, Britney has spent the last 4 years writing on various topics, from traveling and productivity to contemporary Indigenous Issues and Climate Change. They write full-time and also has a social media platform where they share their life as a writer. Britney is currently working on their debut novel, soon to be released, and an Indigenous graphic novel series. 

Britney joined ICA as part of our COP28 delegation and LCIPP Youth Knowledge Holder for North America.