30 years

Convention 169

Indigenous peoples
and climate change

Indigenous peoples and climate change - Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods
Emerging Research on Traditional
Knowledge and Livelihoods

Gender, Equality and Diversity & ILOAIDS Branch

Conditions of Work and Equality Department

International Labour Organization (ILO)

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Switzerland In collaboration with:
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ISBN 978-92-2-132935-0

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Indigenous Peoples and Climate
Change:
Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge
and Livelihoods

Gender, Equality and Diversity & ILOAIDS Branch

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Preface

The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and the Paris Agreement on Climate Change
have reinvigorated the international community’s commitments towards an inclusive and environ-
mentally sustainable form of development. Indigenous and tribal peoples have an important role
to play in realizing the ambitious goals of these global frameworks and meaningfully combatting
climate change. Their traditional knowledge, which cuts across numerous aspects of sustain-
ability and resilience – from forecasting weather patterns, improving agricultural practices, to
customary institutions for improved management of natural resources – has increasingly gained
recognition at the international level as a vital way forward. The practice of traditional knowledge
in the everyday lives of indigenous women and men is yet to be adequately understood, however,
with many research gaps confronting policy-makers. Prominent among these is an understanding
of the interplay of traditional knowledge systems, rooted in indigenous ways of life, cultural
approaches and traditional occupations, with the transformations being experienced in societies,
economies, institutions, technologies and the climate.

As the ILO celebrates its Centenary, as well as the 30th anniversary of the Indigenous and Tribal
Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169), this publication shares some glimpses into traditional
knowledge at work, against a backdrop of the multiple transformations underway. It highlights
the unique role played by indigenous women and men in shaping a low-carbon economy and a
sustainable future of work. It builds on the ILO’s previous work on traditional occupations as well
as indigenous peoples and climate change, and takes forward the ILO’s strategy on indigenous
peoples’ rights for inclusive and sustainable development. The ILO has been supporting traditional
livelihood activities among indigenous peoples, which are largely based on a unique relationship
with their lands and natural resources. The ILO also promotes new forms of income generation,
if so chosen by the communities, including through supporting community contracting mecha-
nisms, entrepreneurship, small businesses and cooperatives.

A collaboration between the ILO and the School of Geography and the Environment, University
of Oxford, this publication draws on recent and emerging research conducted directly with com-
munities across Asia and the Pacific, Africa, and the Americas. In so doing, it aims to bridge the
academic and policy worlds, sharing the experiences gained by researchers and the communities
themselves with policy-makers and key stakeholders, including trade unions, employers’ organi-
zations and governments. This publication seeks to inspire greater discussion and research in the
field of traditional knowledge, seen through the dual lens of the world of work and social justice.

Shauna Olney Professor Heather Viles

Chief Head of School
Gender, Equality and Diversity & ILOAIDS Branch School of Geography and the Environment
International Labour Organization University of Oxford

III
Contents

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III

Acknowledgements.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII

Abstracts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX

1. Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
By Rishabh Kumar Dhir (ILO) and Ariell Ahearn
(University of Oxford)

2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge,

local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
By Ariell Ahearn (University of Oxford)

3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice:

A case study from coastal Timor-Leste. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
By Vanessa Burns (University of Oxford)

4. The role of customary institutions in climate change

adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
By Mulubrhan Balehegn (Mekelle University) and Selam Balehey
(Mekelle University)

5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia:

Knowledge co-production for climate resilience. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
By Seble Samuel (CGIAR Research Program on Climate Change,
Agriculture and Food Security)

6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’

knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya. . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
By Greta Semplici (University of Oxford)

7. The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83

By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford)

8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge,

and policy from the pastures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
By Allison Hahn (City University of New York)

9. Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge. . . . . . . . . 107

By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford) and Nina Kruglikova (University of Oxford)

10. Sustaining and preserving the traditional knowledge and institutions

of indigenous communities: Reflections on the way forward. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
By Uma Rani (ILO) and Martin Oelz (ILO) V
Acknowledgements

This publication has been prepared through a collaboration between the International Labour
Organization (Gender, Equality and Diversity & ILO AIDS Branch of the Conditions of Work and
Equality Department) and the School of Geography and the Environment, University of Oxford.
The edited volume (or compendium of case studies) was envisioned and prepared by Ariell Ahearn
(University of Oxford), Martin Oelz (ILO) and Rishabh Kumar Dhir (ILO). It benefited from studies
by Vanessa Burns (University of Oxford); Mulubrhan Balehegn (Mekelle University); Selam Balehey
(Mekelle University); Seble Samuel (CGIAR Research Program on Climate Change, Agriculture
and Food Security); Greta Semplici (University of Oxford); Allison Hahn (City University of New
York); Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford); Nina Kruglikova (University of Oxford); and Ariell
Ahearn (University of Oxford). Special thanks to Uma Rani (ILO) for reflecting on the studies and
contributing towards the concluding remarks, and also to Professor Dawn Chatty for facilitating
the engagement between the ILO and the University of Oxford. The publication further benefited
from the English language editing by Richard Cook and his team. Special thanks also to Professor
Heather Viles for her support for the publication. Finally, the publication would not have been
possible without the encouragement of Shauna Olney, Chief, GED&ILOAIDS Branch, and Manuela
Tomei, Director of the Conditions of Work and Equality Department.

VII
Abstracts

Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge,

local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation
By Ariell Ahearn (University of Oxford)

This case study discusses the role of traditional environmental knowledge and forms of local gov-
ernance in grassland stewardship in Mongolia. Herders in this region face increasing temperatures
and unseasonable weather in a region already characterized by an extreme environment. The case
examines the intersections between traditional environmental knowledge, local institutions and
practices, and government policies and programmes to encourage adaptation. In particular, the
Mongolian Index Based Livestock Insurance programme and the role of local governing bodies
are discussed.

Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice:

A case study from coastal Timor-Leste
By Vanessa Burns (University of Oxford)

This case study presents research on traditional water management and adaptive subsistence
practices in two coastal communities in Timor-Leste. Situated in the Indonesian archipelago in the
midwestern Pacific, Timor-Leste is highly vulnerable to environmental change. Extreme weather,
such as flood and drought, puts additional pressure on subsistence resources and worsens the
poverty and malnutrition prevalent in rural Timor-Leste. Using ethnographic and participatory
methods, this study investigates how communities are adapting to the increasing severity of
droughts and poor access to water. The aim of the research is to investigate the impacts of
environmental change on custodial water practices and traditional environmental knowledge. In
addition, it asks how women’s custodial practices are contributing to successful adaptive strate-
gies. Research evidence shows that custodial water practices have two main adaptive responses
to environmental change. First, the increased vulnerability of the coastal environment to changes
in the environment places a greater emphasis on the success or failure of women’s highland water
practices. Secondly, women’s environmental knowledge of the highland is at the forefront of a
slow retreat by agriculture, grazing and new housing away from the coast and towards highland
sites.

The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation

among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia
By Mulubrhan Balehegn (Mekelle University) and Selam Balehey (Mekelle University)

Traditional weather forecasting is a method applied by many indigenous communities worldwide

to forecast the weather and guide daily livelihood decisions and climate change adaptation meas-
ures. The aim of this study was to investigate and document traditional weather forecasting prac-
tices among the Afar pastoralists of north-eastern Ethiopia, using focused group discussions and
individual interviews. The Afar traditionally predict weather and climate by observing diverse bio-
physical entities including livestock, insects, birds, trees and other wildlife. In addition, traditional
seers, when consulted by local communities or individuals, also make “probabilistic predictions”.
The biophysical indicators used in weather prediction are of different types. No single prediction IX
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

is taken at face value; weather forecasting is a dynamic process whereby information is collected
by traditional observation and prediction and triangulated with alternative sources of knowledge,
including the formal meteorological weather forecasting system,1 so as to make the safest and
best informed livelihood decisions. Before any forecasting information is applied, it first passes
through three important traditional institutions that collect, share and analyze the information
presented. These institutions are: (1) the“Edo”, or range scouting, where traditional rangeland
scouts are sent out on a mission to assess the weather and other spatially and temporally variable
factors, such as rangeland condition, security and others; (2) the “Dagu”, a traditional secure and
reputable network where weather information is shared; and (3) the “Adda”, a group of village
elders within the traditional Afar governance system who evaluate and weigh the pros and cons
of the forecasting information before making livelihood decisions on behalf of the community.

Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge

co-production for climate resilience
By Seble Samuel (CGIAR Research Program on Climate Change, Agriculture and Food Security)

Contemporary narratives of climate change have been recounted predominately through the lens
of western sciences. However, indigenous and traditional knowledge systems are increasingly
finding their voices echoed within the field of climate change, as the limitations of a purely scien-
tific discourse are revealed. Through the stories and perspectives of the Sapara Nation, located in
the Ecuadorian Amazon, this research illustrates local insights and perceptions of environmental
change, as well as the onset of the external drivers – natural resources extraction and ecological
conservation programmes – influencing the livelihoods and territories of this region. Through
participatory resilience workshops, grounded in the framework of the Indigenous Peoples Biocul-
tural Climate Change Assessment Initiative (IPCCA), this research explores themes of territory,
hunting and fishing, medicinal plants and agriculture, spiritual worlds and climate prediction. This
journeying into traditional ecological knowledge systems illustrates perceptions of time that are
cyclical, relational and rooted in the environment; predictions of climate grounded in the insights
of dreams, surrounding temperatures and the presence of flora and fauna; and autonomous,
resilient Indigenous knowledge systems. These approaches reveal a radically altered environment,
one of unpredictable winds and rains, altered wildlife patterns, disappearing species, destroyed
habitats and the onset of new illnesses, complicating food sources, traditional livelihoods and
mobility. In response, the Sapara Nation is crafting its own vision for its livelihoods and territories,
in the midst of a changing climate.

Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge –

insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya
By Greta Semplici (University of Oxford)

As debates about climate change intensify and call for the attention of an international commu-
nity rushing to find solutions and remedies to protect our common future, it is of vital importance
to pause, take a step back from global meetings, round tables and forecasting metrics, and to
ask: what climate features are embedded into local knowledge, in what practices is this knowl-
edge performed, and how does local knowledge account for changes in the climate? This case

1 Afar pastoralists follow local news and politics though local radio, therefore almost every family has a radio which is also a source
X of meteorological weather information.
 Abstracts

study explores indigenous knowledge of climate change in drylands, drawing upon ethnographic
research among Turkana herders in northern Kenya. It warns against the danger of a univocal
and acritical focus on climate change, de-contextualized from local knowledge, practices and
performances. It argues that a good starting point for understanding changes in the climate is to
incorporate local perceptions into analysis by exploring local meanings of space and time, how
people and places relate to each other, and how local knowledge is built, transmitted and, most
importantly, changed over time. By taking these elements into account, not only may views of
climate change differ to include longer-term and multifactorial explanations, but the views and
understandings of local strategies may also acquire a renewed value.

The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname

By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford)

Climate change poses significant health risks for indigenous peoples. Traditional medicine can
play an important role in mitigating these risks, especially in remote areas detached from national
health-care systems. Recognizing the challenges and opportunities for intervention, the Amazon
Conservation Team (ACT) is working to revitalize shamanic healing in the rainforests of Suriname,
a small country on the north-east coast of South America. After a review of the literature on
climate change, the physical and human geography of Suriname, traditional and intercultural
medicine, and shamanism, this paper draws from fieldwork, interviews, and other sources to
analyse the ACT’s Shamans and Apprentices Program. Not only does this partnership combine
traditional and modern medicine, but it also works to empower indigenous communities through
mapping, training, and the documentation, transfer, and preservation of indigenous knowledge
integral to the maintenance of this fragile and abundant Amazonian biome. Ultimately, the case
study serves as a model for other indigenous and local communities and policy-makers who aim
to improve health care by blending traditional and modern knowledge and technology.

Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge, and policy

from the pastures
By Allison Hahn (City University of New York)

How do pastoralists participate in the production, analysis and discussion of their own communi-
ties via new and social media? This paper examines the concept of citizen journalism as applied
to pastoralists and argues that the media productions made by pastoralists must be recognized
as meaningful work on par with other citizen journalist work. From this argument, the paper
examines the ways that national and international development organizations have incorporated
the work of pastoralists in their reports, media productions and future development projects.

Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge

By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford) and Nina Kruglikova (University of Oxford)

The integration of indigenous knowledge with modern science, technology, and innovation is
increasingly seen as a means to address emerging climate realities. After a review of the literature
on indigenous knowledge and the digital economy, this paper draws from diverse sources and
personal communications to evaluate an indigenous tech start-up called Indigital. This Aborigi-
nal-owned and operated social enterprise uses cutting-edge digital technology to translate and
augment cultural landscapes within the Kakadu World Heritage Area in the Northern Territory of XI
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Australia. It aims to create a platform to showcase local sacred sites, knowledge, and technology
in compelling ways that contribute to the preservation of heritage and the creation of jobs in the
digital economy. Participatory approaches and profit-sharing mechanisms improve the ethical
dimension of augmenting cultural assets, but significant risks remain. This case study demon-
strates the potential and challenges of creating partnerships intended to empower indigenous
individuals and communities through the introduction of digital devices and software applications
that store, transmit, and augment reality.

XII
1. Introduction
By Rishabh Kumar Dhir (International Labour Organization) and Ariell Ahearn
(University of Oxford)

Climate change has emerged as one of the defining challenges confronting the world today. Its
impacts, together with the measures required to address climate change (climate action) – through
mitigation and adaptation – have many implications for the economy and for society (IPCC,
2018). Floods, droughts and extreme weather events, for instance, are already putting social
and economic relations under stress in many areas, while changes in such sectors as energy and
forestry are transforming the world of work for countless women and men throughout the world
(ILO, 2018). However, climate impacts and climate actions both have particular implications for
those groups already confronted by social and economic vulnerabilities. The Intergovernmental
Panel on Climate Change (IPCC, 2014, p. 54) has stated explicitly that:

[p]eople who are socially, economically, culturally, politically, institutionally or otherwise margin-
alized are especially vulnerable to climate change and also to some adaptation and mitigation
responses […] This heightened vulnerability is rarely due to a single cause. Rather, it is the
product of intersecting social processes that result in inequalities in socio-economic status and
income, as well as in exposure. Such social processes include, for example, discrimination on
the basis of gender, class, ethnicity, age, and (dis)ability.

In this regard, indigenous and tribal peoples are uniquely at risk of being placed at the forefront
of the direct impacts from both climate change and climate-related mitigation and adaptation
actions, despite being among those who have contributed the least to climate change (ILO,
2017a; IPCC, 2018; IPCC, 2014).

Research by the International Labour Organization identifies six characteristics that are shared
by indigenous peoples1 in the context of climate policies and impacts, which, in combination, are
not present in any other group, thereby posing unique risks:

First, indigenous peoples are among the poorest of the poor, the stratum most vulnerable to climate
change. Second, they depend on renewable natural resources most at risk to climate variability and
extremes for their economic activities and livelihoods. Third, they live in geographical regions and
ecosystems that are most exposed to the impacts of climate change, while also sharing a complex
cultural relationship with such ecosystems. Fourth, high levels of exposure and vulnerability to
climate change force indigenous peoples to migrate, which in most cases is not a solution and
can instead exacerbate social and economic vulnerabilities. Fifth, gender inequality, a key factor in
the deprivation suffered by indigenous women, is magnified by climate change. Sixth, and lastly,
many indigenous communities continue to face exclusion from decision-making processes, often
lacking recognition and institutional support. This limits their access to remedies, increases their
vulnerability to climate change, undermines their ability to mitigate and adapt to climate change,
and consequently poses a threat to the advances made in securing their rights (ILO, 2017a, p. 7).

While the risks faced are manifold, indigenous peoples are increasingly coming to be recog-
nized as “agents of change” in achieving strong and meaningful climate action. The economies

1 For practical reasons, the term “indigenous peoples” is preferred in this chapter. It includes tribal peoples and is also now the
most commonly used term. For more information, see, “Who are “indigenous peoples”?” (ILO, 2017a, p.5). 1
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

of indigenous peoples are dependent on natural resources and ecosystems, with which they
share a complex cultural relationship. Often, their economic activities, ranging from agriculture
to hunting-gathering, are rooted in a principle of the sustainable use of their natural capital as a
core productive asset, with incomes being dependent upon the value to be derived from nature.
It has therefore been argued that indigenous peoples are in “the vanguard of running a modern
economic model based on the principles of a sustainable green economy” (ILO, 2017a, p. xi).
Moreover, in addition to cultural approaches, the exceptional nature of indigenous peoples’ tradi-
tional knowledge and occupations plays a fundamental role in the functioning of their sustainable
economic model. Greater research on these aspects, alongside recent public policy developments,
is increasingly serving to highlight the potential of traditional knowledge in strengthening climate
mitigation and adaptation, as well as having an important part to play in achieving the Sustain-
able Development Goals (ILO, 2016a). Most recently, the IPCC (2018, p. 25) has recognized
indigenous peoples as a key partner, noting that: “Strengthening the capacities for climate action
of national and sub-national authorities, civil society, the private sector, indigenous peoples and
local communities can support the implementation of ambitious actions implied by limiting global
warming to 1.5°C (high confidence).”

That said, while there is a heightened focus on indigenous peoples’ traditional knowledge, occu-
pations, livelihoods, worldviews and ways of life at an international level, considerable research
gaps remain in the understanding of the everyday practice of traditional knowledge. Salient among
these are its gender dimensions and its interactions with transformations introduced by factors
such as economic and institutional changes, technological changes, as well as the impacts of
climate change and climate actions. Such gaps pose a challenge to a full appreciation of the good
practices of traditional knowledge and the inroads made into inclusive natural resources manage-
ment, as well as the economic, environmental and social innovations underway that operationalize
traditional knowledge in a rapidly transforming world of work.2

This publication (Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional
Knowledge and Livelihoods) presents a compendium of case studies to address these gaps in
understanding by providing policy-makers with concrete examples of traditional knowledge at
work at a grassroots level – and, in some cases, its interplay with national and international
developments. It takes recourse to emerging research conducted directly with communities in
different countries across Asia and the Pacific, Africa, and the Americas to showcase the expe-
riences of traditional knowledge systems and occupations as they engage with the natural world,
economic and governance systems, as well as “modern” science and technology. Furthermore,
rooted in preliminary on the ground evidence, it sheds light on the challenges and ways forward
to furthering inclusive climate action and sustainable development shaped by indigenous peo-
ples’ knowledge and aspirations. This publication does not, however, aim to provide exhaustive
accounts of either the threats to indigenous peoples from climate change or an assessment of
national polices in this regard; rather, it focuses on sharing glimpses into existing practices as well
as the innovations made by communities to meet their livelihoods needs and cope with climate
change. It seeks to inspire interest and further research among diverse stakeholders, including
governments, employers’ organizations and trade unions, by strengthening an understanding
about what traditional knowledge entails in everyday practice, and its potential in shaping a future
of work that is sustainable and inclusive.

2 2 To learn more about the transformations underway in the world of work, see ILO (2019).
 1. Introduction

Drawing upon the emerging research in this field, this publication also brings to the fore the
importance of the ILO’s Decent Work Agenda, including the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples
Convention, 1989 (No. 169) as well as the ILO’s Guidelines for a just transition towards envi-
ronmentally sustainable economies and societies for all (ILO, 2015a). This year, 2019, marks
the 30 th anniversary of ILO Convention No. 169 (alongside the ILO’s 100 th anniversary) as
a key international standard promoting the rights of indigenous peoples. From empowering
indigenous women, who are often the custodians of traditional knowledge (ILO, 2017b), to
promoting cooperatives and other forms of enterprises that build on traditional knowledge
systems to create sustainable economic and environmental outcomes (ILO, 2016b), indigenous
peoples’ access to decent work opportunities has the potential to both preserve and take
forward traditional knowledge through opportunities across traditional occupations as well as
new forms of economic activities. In doing so within the framework of the Decent Work Agenda,
this publication also provides a way forward to better engaging with traditional knowledge and
occupations to achieve the intertwined goals of climate action, sustainable development and
social justice.

Furthering an understanding of traditional knowledge

While there is no universally accepted definition of “traditional knowledge” at the international

level, the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO, 2012, p. 42) notes the following:

“Traditional knowledge,” as a broad description of subject matter, generally includes the

intellectual and intangible cultural heritage, practices and knowledge systems of traditional
communities, including indigenous and local communities (traditional knowledge in a general
sense or lato sensu). In other words, traditional knowledge in a general sense embraces the
content of knowledge itself as well as traditional cultural expressions, including distinctive signs
and symbols associated with traditional knowledge.

In international debate, “traditional knowledge” in the narrow sense refers to knowledge as

such, in particular the knowledge resulting from intellectual activity in a traditional context,
and includes know-how, practices, skills, and innovations. Traditional knowledge can be found
in a wide variety of contexts, including: agricultural knowledge; scientific knowledge; technical
knowledge; ecological knowledge; medicinal knowledge, including related medicines and rem-
edies; and biodiversity-related knowledge, etc.

Furthermore, regarding “indigenous knowledge”, it notes (WIPO, 2012, p. 20):

Indigenous knowledge is knowledge held and used by communities, peoples and nations that
are ‘indigenous’. In this sense, “indigenous knowledge” would be the traditional knowledge of
indigenous peoples. Indigenous knowledge is, therefore, a part of the traditional knowledge
category, but traditional knowledge is not necessarily indigenous. Yet the term is also used to
refer to knowledge that is itself “indigenous”. In this sense, the terms “traditional knowledge”
and “indigenous knowledge” may be interchangeable.

Often, terms such as “Traditional Ecological Knowledge” or “Traditional Environmental Knowl-

edge” are used with regards to indigenous peoples’ knowledge. In this context, WIPO (2012,
p. 42) makes the following clarification:
3
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

The Dene Cultural Institute defines “traditional environmental knowledge” (TEK) as “a body of
knowledge and beliefs transmitted through oral tradition and first-hand observation. It includes
a system of classification, a set of empirical observations about the local environment, and a
system of self-management that governs resource use. Ecological aspects are closely tied to
social and spiritual aspects of the knowledge system. The quantity and quality of TEK varies
among community members, depending on gender, age, social status, intellectual capability,
and profession (hunter, spiritual leader, healer, etc.). With its roots firmly in the past, TEK is
both cumulative and dynamic, building upon the experience of earlier generations and adapting
to the new technological and socioeconomic changes of the present.”

Traditional ecological knowledge is also defined as “a cumulative body of knowledge and beliefs,
handed down through generations by cultural transmission, about the relationship of living
beings (including humans) with one another and with their environment. Further, TEK is an
attribute of societies with historical continuity in resource use practices; by and large, these are
non-industrial or less technologically advanced societies, many of them indigenous or tribal.”

The Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) is another important source for engaging with the
concept of traditional knowledge. In this regard, The Secretariat of the Convention on Biological
Diversity (SCBD, n.d., p. 1) also provides a definition:

Traditional knowledge refers to the knowledge, innovations and practices of indigenous and
local communities around the world. Developed from experience gained over the centuries and
adapted to the local culture and environment, traditional knowledge is transmitted orally from
generation to generation. It tends to be collectively owned and takes the form of stories, songs,
folklore, proverbs, cultural values, beliefs, rituals, community laws, local language, and agri-
cultural practices, including the development of plant species and animal breeds. Traditional
knowledge is mainly of a practical nature, particularly in such fields as agriculture, fisheries,
health, horticulture, and forestry.

These definitions help in better understanding the respective social, economic, cultural, institu-
tional and environmental aspects of traditional knowledge. Furthermore, an important area where
this knowledge is manifested in the everyday lives of indigenous women and men is through the
practice of traditional occupations. In this context, when seen through the lens of the world of
work, traditional knowledge is closely intertwined with the skills that indigenous peoples use
in their traditional occupations, and with the organization of economic activity (for example,
natural resources management) based on traditional institutions. Such skills may also have a
contribution to make in “non-traditional” occupations and employment, particularly with regards
to environmental conservation. Often, however, the traditional knowledge and skills of indigenous
women and men go unrecognized and are undervalued (UN, 2017; ILO, 2017c). At the same
time, indigenous peoples can often be faced with restrictions on their engagement in traditional
occupations due to factors such as discrimination or a lack of recognition of their rights, lands
and resources (ILO, 2007). This can have markedly detrimental implications for the preservation
and promotion of traditional knowledge, as well as the socio-economic development of indigenous
peoples. Against this backdrop, it becomes all the more important to engage with the concept of
traditional knowledge which brings together elements related to the world of work, such as skills,
occupations and the organization of economic activity (for instance, the management of natural
resources, cooperatives or enterprises through traditional institutions) – all of which are not only
fundamental to traditional forms of economic activity, but also to developing new opportunities
4 in a low-carbon economy.
 1. Introduction

International developments regarding traditional knowledge

Over the last few decades, indigenous peoples’ issues have gathered momentum at the interna-
tional level. The ILO’s Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169) and the United
Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UN, 2007) have played a key role in
taking forward indigenous peoples’ socio-economic development based on their own aspirations
and world views. The ILO Convention No. 169 (ILO, 1989), for instance, was among the first
international instruments to draw attention to indigenous peoples’ “knowledge and technologies”
(Article 27.1) and “traditional activities” (Article 23.1), such as fishing or hunting-gathering, to
promote indigenous communities’ economic self-reliance and development. In recent years, along
with an enhanced focus on indigenous peoples more broadly, international instruments have more
specifically come to recognize the importance of traditional knowledge in enhancing resilience
and achieving meaningful climate action.

The Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), which came into force in 1993, placed an impor-
tant focus on traditional knowledge for its potential contribution to both conservation and the
sustainable use of biological diversity. In its preamble, the close and traditional dependence of
many indigenous and local communities on biological resources was recognized, while Article 8
(j) of the Convention provided the following (SCBD, n.d., p. 2):

Each contracting Party shall, as far as possible and as appropriate:

Subject to national legislation, respect, preserve and maintain knowledge, innovations and
practices of indigenous and local communities embodying traditional lifestyles relevant for the
conservation and sustainable use of biological diversity and promote their wider application
with the approval and involvement of the holders of such knowledge, innovations and practices
and encourage the equitable sharing of the benefits arising from the utilization of such knowl-
edge, innovations and practices.

More recently, traditional knowledge has also gained considerable relevance in the context of
disaster risk reduction. The Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030 (UN,
2015a), which was adopted by UN Member States, explicitly highlighted the fact that “Indigenous
peoples, through their experience and traditional knowledge, provide an important contribution
to the development and implementation of plans and mechanisms” (Section V. 36. (a)(v)). It also
identified among the priorities for action (Section IV. 24. (i)) a need to:

[E]nsure the use of traditional, indigenous and local knowledge and practices, as appropriate,
to complement scientific knowledge in disaster risk assessment and the development and
implementation of policies, strategies, plans and programmes of specific sectors, with a
cross-sectoral approach, which should be tailored to localities and to the context.

The international process around climate change is another platform where traditional knowl-
edge has gained considerable attention: in this case, for enhancing climate action. The Paris
Agreement (UN, 2015b), for instance, explicitly notes the importance to climate adaptation
action of “traditional knowledge, knowledge of indigenous peoples and local knowledge sys-
tems”, along with the “best available science” (Article 7.5). Most recently, under the United
Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) process, a Local Communities
and Indigenous Peoples Platform, and a related Facilitative Working Group was established
with the aim, as noted by the UNFCCC, “to preserve and strengthen indigenous and local
knowledge systems, enhance the engagement of local communities and indigenous peoples 5
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

in the UNFCCC process and integrate their considerations into climate change policy and
action” (UNFCCC, 2018). In this regard, the Facilitative Working Group is particularly unique,
as one half of its members are to be government representatives, while the other half are to be
indigenous peoples’ representatives.

Such developments at the international level have initiated an important process that not only
recognizes the value of traditional knowledge in addressing the key challenges facing the world
today, but also the role indigenous peoples can play as key partners. Moreover, for achieving the
2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, with its pledge that “no one will be left behind” (UN,
2015c, p. 1), indigenous peoples’ proactive participation as agents of change will also be essen-
tial. From enhancing sustainable agricultural practices and food security; ensuring the sustainable
management and use of natural resources; promoting sustainable forms of livelihood, creating
green jobs and encouraging climate sensitive innovation, entrepreneurship and businesses; to
securing the peaceful and stable societies necessary for inclusive social and economic develop-
ment – indigenous women and men, with their wealth of traditional knowledge and practices, will
have a critical role to play in the story of realizing the Sustainable Development Goals and building
a low-carbon economy (ILO, 2016a).

Ground realities of traditional knowledge

Several positive developments at the international level, broadly focusing on indigenous peoples’
issues and on traditional knowledge more specifically, have opened up many avenues for taking
forward multiple approaches to sustainable development and climate action. The several gaps
that exist between the international level and the realities on the ground continue, however,
to pose many challenges to the well-being of indigenous peoples and the realization of their
aspirations (UN, 2017). At the same time, a limited understanding of the everyday practices of
traditional knowledge, occupations and livelihoods, particularly in the context of policy-making,
has constrained the translation of international developments into national and local implemen-
tation. Against such a backdrop, indigenous peoples continue to face social, economic and envi-
ronmental vulnerabilities, and yet, as this publication shows, are devising ways to cope with and
confront the changes occurring all around them.

Indigenous peoples’ lives, knowledge systems, occupations and livelihoods are increasingly
engaging with many threats, as well as some opportunities, with changes related to the economy,
society, technology and the climate. Traditional occupations, for instance, which often share
a strong relationship to land, are being impacted by exclusionary economic policies that limit
indigenous peoples’ control over their traditional resource base (Thomas, 2000; ILO, 2015b). As
an example, in many countries in Asia and the Pacific, there is an absence of explicit recognition
of indigenous peoples through dedicated legal, policy and institutional frameworks, which poses
challenges for ensuring respect for universally accepted human rights and for tackling structural
issues that perpetuate socio-economic exclusion and marginalization (ILO, 2015b). There are,
however, more and more cases of indigenous peoples’ well-being having improved, for instance
through cooperatives that empower communities economically and politically (ILO, 2016b). At the
same time, indigenous peoples are also increasingly blending traditional knowledge with modern
scientific knowledge and approaches to further climate action and enhance their well-being (ILO,
6 2017a).
 1. Introduction

Building on such developments and addressing research gaps through case studies, this publi-
cation highlights instances of indigenous peoples’ ground realities in the practice of traditional
knowledge, often set against a backdrop of an interplay between, on the one hand, rights and the
use of resources and lands, and on the other, changes in climate, institutions, society, economy
and technology. Ahearn’s study set in Mongolia discusses traditional knowledge-based innova-
tions for adaptation, and examines the local institutions that draw upon government policies and
new technologies. Burn’s work in Timor-Leste explores how traditional water management and
subsistence practices are adapting to severe drought and poor access to water, and foregrounds
the gender dimension of women’s custodial practices. Balehegn and Balehey’s research from
Ethiopia showcases how customary institutions play a vital role in traditional weather forecasting
and improved adaptation to climate change. Samuel’s paper is set in the Ecuadorian Amazon
and engages critically with purely modern scientific discourses of climate change to highlight the
indigenous ways of life grounded in traditional knowledge and what are the local perceptions of
the environmental change being brought about by many transformative external drivers. Sempl-
ici’s study of pastoralists in Kenya explains what it means to think about climate change from
below, when describing how traditional knowledge is a key part of the pastoralists’ everyday life.
Cooper’s study in Suriname brings to light the advantages of combining traditional and modern
knowledge, particularly through partnerships that can work towards empowering communities
and mitigate risks. Hahn’s work connects the local and the international, as well as the traditional
and the modern, by focusing on the “pastoral journalists” in East Africa who are building new
communicative norms and networks. In the final case study, Cooper and Kruglikova showcase how
indigenous knowledge is being called upon in the digital economy, and shaping an indigenous
tech start-up as an enterprise with a unique model for profit sharing. Learning from these studies,
the Conclusion to this compendium discusses pathways to ensuring that traditional knowledge is
promoted and valued as a fundamental aspect of indigenous peoples in the world of work, as well
as in climate action and sustainable development.

References

International Labour Office (ILO). 1989. Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169),
Convention concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries (Entry into force:
5 Sep. 1991) (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2007. Eliminating discrimination against indigenous and tribal peoples in employment and occu-
pation, A Guide to ILO Convention No. 111 (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2015a. Guidelines for a just transition towards environmentally sustainable economies and socie-
ties for all (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2015b. Indigenous peoples in the world of work: Snapshots from Asia (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2016a. Sustainable Development Goals: Indigenous peoples in focus (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2016b. Securing rights, creating jobs and ensuring sustainability: A cooperative way for empowering
indigenous peoples, Cooperatives and the World of Work Series No. 5 (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2017a. Indigenous peoples and climate change: From victims to change agents through decent
work (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2017b. Gender, labour and a just transition towards environmentally sustainable economies and
societies for all (Geneva, Switzerland). 7
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—. 2017c. Decent work for indigenous and tribal peoples in the rural economy, Decent Work in the
Rural Economy: Policy Guidance Notes (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2018. World Employment and Social Outlook 2018: Greening with jobs (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2019. Work for a brighter future, Global Commission on the Future of Work (Geneva, Switzerland).
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). 2014. “Climate change 2014: Synthesis report”,
in Core Writing Team, R.K. Pachauri, and L.A. Meyer (eds): Climate Change 2014: Synthesis
Report, Contribution of Working Groups I, II and III to the Fifth Assessment Report of the
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (Geneva, Switzerland).
—. 2018. “Summary for Policymakers”, in V. Masson-Delmotte, P. Zhai and H.O. Pörtner et al. (eds):
Global Warming of 1.5°C, An IPCC Special Report on the impacts of global warming of 1.5°C
above pre-industrial levels and related global greenhouse gas emission pathways, in the context
of strengthening the global response to the threat of climate change, sustainable development,
and efforts to eradicate poverty (Geneva, Switzerland, World Meteorological Organization).
The Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity (SCBD). n.d. Traditional Knowledge and the
Convention on Biological Diversity (Montreal, Canada).
Thomas, V. 2000. “Introduction”, in ILO (ed.): Traditional Occupations of Indigenous and Tribal Peo-
ples: Emerging Trends, Project to Promote ILO Policy on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples (Geneva,
Switzerland, ILO).
United Nations (UN). 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (New
York, USA).
—. 2015a. Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030 (Geneva, Switzerland, United
Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction).
—. 2015b. The Paris Agreement, United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (New
York, USA).
—. 2015c. Transforming our world: The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development (The General
Assembly, New York, USA).
—. 2017. State of the world’s indigenous peoples: Education (New York, USA, Department of Eco-
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mate Action of Local Communities and Indigenous Peoples. Available at https://unfccc.int/news/
cop24-strengthens-climate-action-of-local-communities- and-indigenous-peoples [Accessed on
24 January 2019].
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WIPO/GRTKF/IC/22/INF/8, Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic
Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore, Twenty-Second Session (Geneva, Switzerland).

8
2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous
knowledge, local institutions and governance
innovations for adaptation
By Ariell Ahearn (University of Oxford)1

Introduction

In June 2016, the rural county of Khan Bogd in the South Gobi Desert, Mongolia, was covered
in puddles, the sandy soil split with rivulets running across the flat landscape. The dusty roads
became saturated and turned into a rusty red mud, making driving almost impossible. Camels
stood with their calves, wool soaked in a way that made them oddly resemble wet poodles. Rain
in this area of the country was an unusual event. In this particular region of the South Gobi,
precipitation averages 95.3 millimeters per year (MDT-IEP Report, 2017, p. 3). Only weeks
earlier, the community had gathered at a sacred mountain to attend a mountain worshipping
ceremony and ask for rain to come to the area. They were blessed with rainfall the day of the
ceremony, reinforcing the belief that respect for mountain and land spirits would keep nature
in balance.

Mongolia, which is characterized by approximately 80 per cent grasslands (Barcus, 2018), has
been home to mobile pastoralists for centuries. It is “the largest remaining contiguous area of
common grazing in the world” (Reading et al., 2006). Pastoralists in this region herd yaks, camel,
horses, goats and sheep, also known as the “five snouts” in the Mongolian language. They rely
on adequate rainfall to promote the growth of pasture. Precipitation and fresh ground water are
therefore essential for both traditional livelihoods and current forms of economic production.
While Mongolian herders are already exposed to an extreme environment, changes in climate have
created new risks to their livelihoods. As Mongolian President Elbegdorg stated at the 2014 UN
Secretary-General’s Climate Summit, “If you have doubts about whether climate change is hap-
pening or not, come to Mongolia. Ask a herdsman, ‘Is climate change happening?’ Our herdsman
will give you a true answer. They’ve already told me that it is happening, and happening for real”
(Khaliun, 2014). This case study examines Mongolian traditional custodial land use systems and
semi-formal governance institutions as examples of resilient systems by which Mongolian herders
are able to cope with climate variation and new forms of environmental extremes.

Climate change in Mongolia

Mongolia is a dryland region with wide variation in annual and daily temperature, with extreme
minimum temperature recorded as –31.1 °C to –55.3 °C in January. In July, the extreme max-
imum temperature has been recorded as +28.5 °C to +44 °C (Dagvadorj et al., 2014). Mongolia’s
high altitude makes it colder than regions at the same latitude, with Ulaanbaatar infamously

1 Acknowledgements: With special thanks to Professor Dawn Chatty for her distinguished service to mobile pastoralists worldwide. 9
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

named the coldest capital city in the world. Average temperatures in Mongolia have increased
by 2.1 °C over the course of the twentieth century (Dagvadorj et al., 2014) and temperatures are
projected to continue to rise (Ojima et al., 2017). Mongolian climate change studies have shown
that there are regional differences in climate variability based on the ecosystem type. Some
regions, for example, show higher rates of average temperature increase, although across the
region minimum summer temperatures have risen and unseasonable weather has been observed
(Venable et al., 2015). The pressure on water resources is predicted to be exacerbated due to
the phenomenon of Central Asian glacial melt, and several researchers have concluded that the
region will see an increase in the prevalence of “arid and desert areas” (Dagvadorj et al., 2014,
p. 33). Additionally, warming temperatures are associated with melting permafrost (Fassnacht et
al., 2011); the loss of permafrost can contribute to increases in arid conditions in some regions
(Sharkhuu and Sharkhuu, 2012).

Future scenarios remain unclear as long-term climate trends become more unpredictable. As
Fassnacht et al. (2011) write, the most significant change in climate is the increase in tempera-
ture, while changes in precipitation are less definitive. Nonetheless, Mongolia’s grasslands remain
an important element in the earth’s climate system. Some 40–50 per cent of all land on earth
is made up of grasslands (Suttie et al., 2005; Wang et al., 2013), and grassland soils are able
to store large amounts of carbon (O’Mara, 2012). Neely et al. (2010, p. 244) write, “While C
storage in grasslands is less per unit than forests, the total amount of C that grasslands store is
significant because the area of these ecosystems is so extensive”. Degraded grasslands, where
vegetation is sparse, can exacerbate droughts and erosion due to higher rates of evaporation
and more intense run-off from rains (Neely et al., 2010). According to the Food and Agriculture
Organization (FAO, 2010), encouraging sustainable land use practices by pastoralists is one way
to develop robust grasslands. Traditional Mongolian land use practices, which encourage frequent
mobile herding practices and different grazing techniques for each animal breed, can be seen
as one form of climate change adaptation which relies on traditional knowledge and skills. The
changes in weather patterns induced by climate change, however, also require new types of infor-
mation, technology and institutional support to be provided to ensure that herders can continue
to make sustainable land use decisions.

The Mongolian Government has been proactive in developing policies to protect grasslands and
address the livelihood challenges faced by pastoralists. Mongolia’s Parliament passed the National
Action Programme on Climate Change in 2011, which aims to focus national adaptation strategies
on areas such as “conserving natural resources, especially natural pasturelands” and “enhancing
the capacities and livelihood opportunities of rural communities” (ADB, 2014, p. 8). Pasture
degradation, soil erosion, deforestation, loss of water sources and frequency of droughts, dzud
(winter disaster) and dust storms have been identified as climate change impacts in Mongolia,
although there is local variation between ecosystems. A recent study of tree rings representing
2060 years of growth found that an unusual extended period of drought occurred from 1996 to
2011 (Hessl et al., 2018), which contributed to a series of dzud in 1999–2001 and 2010–2011.
Thousands of livestock died of starvation and extreme cold during these periods. This level of
covariate risk, affecting many households in a wide geographic area, compromised individual
households’ coping methods (see Ahearn, 2017).

The actions taken by the national government are focused on reducing Mongolia’s emissions,
10 especially in the rural pastoralist economy, and developing ways to maintain sustainable grass-
 2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge, local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation

lands and reduce the potential for degradation. In 2012, the Mongolian Government established
a strategy focused on “green development” with initiatives related to promoting “green society”
and “green economy” (Ojima et al., 2017). According to Ojima et al., the Green Development
policies involve “enhancing the modern cultural landscapes, strengthening pastoral livelihoods
while incorporating modern technologies, developing renewable energy resources, improving
access to appropriate livestock breeds and use of veterinary practices and access to markets
for more finished products” (p. 186). Maintaining sustainable grassland ecosystems is central to
rural livelihoods in Mongolia and to global climate change adaptation efforts. Rural herders, as
well as government agencies, are aware of the importance of the grasslands for climate change
mitigation and the rural economy and are taking positive steps to address the multiple dimensions
of conservation and economics in this context.

Components of traditional environmental knowledge

of herders in Mongolia

As Fassnacht et al. (2011) state, “Local, traditional and/or indigenous knowledge has proved very
useful for identifying the degree and effects of climate change” (Fassnacht et al., 2011). Mongo-
lian herders’ close observation of livestock and wildlife behaviour, knowledge of their “homeland”
nutag landscapes and interaction with pastures, wildlife and water sources on a daily basis form
an evidence base for understanding and making sense of climate variability.

This knowledge interacts with other political and economic systems – such as accessing health
care or schooling children (Ahearn and Bumochir, 2016) – as households make livelihood deci-
sions. Two core elements of mobile pastoralism are (1) practices of mobility and (2) wider
governance and land tenure systems, which allow mobility to be practised. Practices of mobility
are enabled by traditional knowledge, certain forms of technology, such as mobile housing
(the traditional felt ger) and transport (trucks, cars and pack animals). Mobility also requires
supporting infrastructure, such as the availability of public wells for drinking water and livestock
use. The protection of land, as state-owned with exclusive ownership prohibited, is key to the
continued viability of mobile livelihoods. Custodial land tenure is the accepted form of land
tenure, as discussed below.

Traditional environmental knowledge of herders in Mongolia is not necessarily limited to those

individuals and households practising mobile pastoralism today. As herding is an important
dimension of Mongolian history, culture and national identity, there is a celebration of tradi-
tional practices and attitudes towards nature across society, including within urban house-
holds. Despite this celebration of the cultural heritage of pastoralism, the focus of this case
study will be the knowledge and practices of rural Mongolian herders as they relate to land use
practices, governance and decision-making processes. Approximately 30 per cent of working
Mongolians are pastoralists and the majority of rural land is used for livestock husbandry.
Agriculture is a significant industry, with cashmere, wool, leather and other textiles forming
a basis for national industry and export. Rural land outside of urban areas is predominantly
state-owned and organized into soum (county) and bag (sub-district) administrative units (see
figure 1 below).
11
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Figure 1. Soum (county) administration boundaries in Mongolia.

Each province is divided into soum

Source: Leah Holgiun prepared the map for the author.

Herders are registered in a soum and typically move to seasonal camps and herd livestock within
the boundaries of this area, although they may cross into neighbouring soum during times when
pasture and water resources are limited. Local administration of herding occurs at the soum level,
including registration of individual herder winter camps and regulation of pasture use through
district councils. Pastoralists’ close interactions with livestock, wildlife and local environments
therefore constitute a significant resource for grassland stewardship, but these practices operate
within governing institutions and wider state policies.

Fijn (2011), in her ethnography of Mongolian pastoralism, describes the in-depth knowledge that
each herder has of their livestock and genealogy of herds. The Mongolian language has unique
words for animals of each breed of livestock from the first to the fifth year of life. For example,
there are separate words for a one-year-old goat and a three-year-old goat, also distinguished by
gender and other identifying characteristics. Mongolian herders have also developed complex
vocalizations and songs to teach animals how to suckle their young, and to train them in their
favoured methods of milking, grazing and watering. Fijn writes, “Mongolian herders use a wide
range of verbal signals and commands to communicate with herd animals, both on an individual
level and on the level of the herd as a whole. I noted five general sounds commonly used for all
herd animals; thirty used for sheep and goats; and sixteen for cattle and seventeen for horses”
(p. 112). Observations of livestock and wildlife behaviour also provide herders with information
regarding forthcoming winter weather (Soma and Schlecht, 2018).

Herder belief systems also prohibit certain types of land uses. Humphrey et al. (1993) have
12 posited the idea that herders see the environment (“nature”) as an interactive system of which
 2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge, local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation

they are an integrative part, where the actions and behaviours of humans have impacts on wider
environmental processes. An illustrative example is the shame associated with small-scale mining
practices. High (2013, p. 3) writes, “The land is seen as demanding respect (hundetgeh) and
many taboos inform people’s engagement with the land. Digging into the ground is one such
prohibition. Although Mongolia is a country with abundant mineral wealth, historical sources evi-
dence a long standing aversion towards digging into the ground and pursuing its mineral riches”.
Other such beliefs regulate the way Mongolians interact with the landscape on a daily basis, such
as rules regarding water use and conservation, and are intertwined with household economies.
For example, the practice of collecting dried dung for fuel, the practice of utilizing every part
of their livestock for food (meat and dairy products) and wool fibres for sale and personal use
demonstrates the strict forms of conservation and recycling used by Mongolian pastoralists. As
described in the opening vignette, local mountain-worshipping ceremonies are conducted on an
annual basis to maintain positive relations between humans and land spirits or guardians (gazariin
ezen). Such ceremonies often coincide with horse racing and wrestling events, which serve to
bring the community together in one location. These ceremonies also occur at a national level,
with the President of Mongolia and members of state travelling to sacred mountains to pay their
respects and maintain good relations with the land (Sneath, 2014).

Mongolian herders’ ability not only to survive but to flourish in extreme environmental conditions
provides examples of core adaptation skills which can be applied to new climatic conditions.
These livelihoods are wholly sustainable, do not rely on carbon-producing industries and have
avoided the trap of consumer culture. In this context, national policies are essential for facilitating
the continuation of practices of mobility and conservation.

Custodial land use and environmental governance systems

Mongolia’s ecosystems support a variety of mobile pastoralism practices. In the forested northern
(khangai) regions, yaks are a primary source of milk and fermented horse milk (airag) is plentifully
produced (Bat-Oyun et al., 2015). In the drier Gobi regions, camels and goats are the most
frequently milked livestock, with a special fermented camel milk beverage enjoyed in the summer.
The production and consumption of traditional foods play a central role in Mongolian social
norms, forms of hospitality and ritual offerings, and within family relations (Ruhlmann, 2016).
For nearly all pastoralist households, income from raw cashmere sales in the spring provides the
largest source of income, followed by sales of other products, such as sheep wool, camel wool,
dairy products and meat (which households sell in differing amounts depending on the types
of livestock they own). Household economies are based on sales of livestock produce; some
households supplement this income with seasonal work or small business income.

In contemporary Mongolia, livestock mobility depends largely on the size of herd, condition of
pasture and availability of water. Accessing schooling for children also requires new forms of
mobility and finance for households during the school year; debt finance has become common
among herders with school-aged children (Ahearn and Bumochir, 2016). Thus, household eco-
nomics and access to services are important factors in herder land use and mobility decisions.
Custodial land use is a complex tenure system, supported by local and national government reg-
ulations as well as herder customs and perceptions of the environment and their relationship with
it. Currently, all rural land is protected in the Mongolian constitution as public “common” land, 13
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

but use is restricted according to local government regulations. Sneath (2001, p. 43) defines
custodial tenure as a system in which “agencies had conditional rights to use territory and always
within a wider socio-political framework. Indeed, in the past, land, livestock and people were con-
stituent elements of socio-political domains ruled by distinct authorities”. This land use system,
which allows mobility to be practised, has been protected by the Government of Mongolia despite
pressure from agencies, such as the Asian Development Bank, to shift to exclusive or private
tenure rights (Sneath, 2001). This tenure system is essential to maintaining traditional herder
knowledge and mobility practices, and to the continued support of grassland ecosystems. This
system should be seen as a positive institution which can support climate change adaptation and
mitigation if combined with other forms of investment in the rural areas, such as maintenance of
common wells and other infrastructure. Indeed, Wang et al. (2013, p. 1678) have demonstrated
that “mobility was the dominant category of livelihood adaptation strategies used by herders
in Mongolia. Herders changed the beginning, end and duration of their migrations to adapt to
climate variability and change”. According to Agrawal’s research, synthesizing a broad range of
case studies, local institutions are essential to livelihood adaptation to climate change. Wang et
al. (2013, p. 1674) define local institutions as “both formal laws and policies and informal norms
that structure human interactions and govern interactions between human and environment”.
These institutions can have a range of influence and effect on human–environment interactions.
As the authors indicate, the adoption of formal laws which conflict with the conventional activities
of local institutions can have negative and counterproductive effects (i.e. maladaptation).

Local government councils at the bag (sub-district) and soum (county) level are decision-making
bodies where a range of discussion and consultation takes place. During a soum meeting in
central west Mongolia, a herder explained to me,

This meeting is consultation among herdsmen. It is about the local development fund. Before
this election, the system was vertical and decision making on finance was always from top to
down. From the Ministry on top … but now it has all changed … all decision making is made
locally, we receive budgeted funding and we make decisions how to spend it. Under this ethos,
herdsmen and workers’ community consult among ourselves how to spend this fund, how to
develop, and what we should spend for … etc.

These local government forums have grown out of socialist era administrative structures, but
currently are a place where herders can give feedback to local administrative leaders and environ-
mental governance decisions can be developed. For example, decisions concerning the establish-
ment of a new winter camp for a household would be made at a bag meeting, as well as detailed
discussions related to local government projects and policies. These forums provide a space to
discuss and resolve conflicts over land use or the establishment of new families in the area. The
activities and functioning of bag and soum councils vary depending on the region to reflect the
specific circumstances faced by that area.

Thrift and Byambabaatar (2015) have found that herders mitigate environmental risks though
mutual aid relationships and networks. This finding is reiterated by Janes and Chuluundorj (2015,
p. 101), “Successful herding depends to a considerable extent on maintaining a pool of social
support through relatives, neighbors and friends. It is through these networks, based principally
on relations of generalized reciprocity, that households gain access to needed labor; obtain key
resources such as winter shelters and water”. Labour pooling is common when households move
14 to new locations, during the shearing season for goats, sheep and camels, when training horses,
 2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge, local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation

and during the slaughtering season in the late fall. Thrift and Byambabaatar (2015) argue that
the focus of international development programmes on individual households does not adequately
address the multi-sited nature of households and the importance of networks in weathering
economic and environmental shocks. These networks are not only important for rural herders, but
for relatives living in urban centres who receive annual idesh, or meat and dairy product supplies
from the countryside, for the winter months (Ichinkhorloo and Thrift, 2015). Informal networks
are often structured on gender- and age-based hierarchies and expectations about mutual aid and
assistance. These hierarchies are also seen in custodial tenure practices.

Local governance systems are complex in rural Mongolia and combine a range of local knowledge,
networks, and public forums within a wider system of laws and practices, including government
protection of common grazing land and custodial land use practices. In this case, grazing is not
a “free for all”, but is closely regulated by both local governance institutions and informal institu-
tions. Social norms and beliefs play an important role in the types of land use activities which are
seen as acceptable. Unfortunately, in many areas mining is a growing industry, which both takes
land away from pastoralism and leads to extensive loss of topsoil and general soil degradation. In
this context, a more concentrated investment in the sustainable conservation practices of local
herders should be prioritized, especially with the advent of open pit mining.

Index-based livestock insurance and sustainable supply chains

In the past decade, there has been more of an effort to address the risks that herders face
from uncertain markets and climate change-related risks. The climatic hazards of dzud (winter
disaster) and drought, in combination with anxiety over pastureland degradation, has resulted in
significant efforts by international aid and development agencies to develop and apply rangeland
management frameworks, such as pasture user groups or community-based rangeland manage-
ment organizations. Over 2000 of these groups were established during the course of the 1990s
(Reid et al., 2015). For example, herder groups, such as the Hustai Centre, have received external
funding from European development organizations to encourage alternative income-generating
activities and cooperation between households (Sanjmyatav, 2012). Indeed, many pasture user
groups were built on already existing networks of herders to provide a forum for training, informa-
tion exchange and monetary support.

One of these efforts is the Index Based Livestock Insurance (IBLI) scheme, which was piloted
by the World Bank in 2006. During the socialist period, livestock were grouped into collectives
and were insured by the Government, which provided monetary compensation or in-kind com-
pensation for loss of livestock (Luxbacher and Goodland, 2011). This system broke down after
the end of socialism during the ensuing period of economic crisis. In any case, the 2006 pilot
of IBLI was successful and was expanded into a national programme from 2011. Index-based
insurance in Mongolia is measured on the basis of livestock mortality. When the district-level
mortality rate of a species of livestock rises above a set percentage, then the insurance takes
effect and herders are entitled to receive payments (Bertram-Huemmer and Kraehnert, 2017).
Participation in IBLI scheme is voluntary for herders and a study of the programme demonstrated
that the insurance payments significantly improved household recovery from the 2009–2010
winter disaster (Bertram-Huemmer and Kraehnert, 2017). The index-based insurance scheme
is purchased by individual households and may be unaffordable for poor households. Therefore, 15
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

additional policies have been introduced to supplement the IBLI scheme and support the rural
economy’s poor households.

Understanding and addressing the economics of mobile pastoralism in Mongolia is an essen-

tial component of enhancing the traditional environmental knowledge of herders and enabling
them to continue living sustainable livelihoods. The economic constraints to herding are many,
including fluctuating market prices for meat and wool as well as difficulties in accessing markets
for the sale of produce. Macroeconomic factors also play a role, which is a common issue for
pastoralists worldwide. Writing about climate change adaptation for pastoralists, Herrero et al.
(2016) state, “structural inefficiencies in livestock markets include long distances to market,
inconvenient timing and location of sales, high transport costs, high taxation and insecurity” (p.
426). This is also an issue in rural Mongolia. The lack of infrastructure and landlocked geography
of the country pose additional barriers for efficient export of livestock products. The Mongolian
Government has started to address the difficulties faced by the agricultural sector, which is a
positive start although more work is needed. From 2010 to 2015, the Government established
two subsidy funds for herders. The Small and Medium-sized Enterprises (SME) Development
Fund, the Pasture Management Programme and the Veterinary Programme were established
to offer credit and loans to herders and to provide services for rodent control in pastures and
veterinary support for livestock (Gunjal and Annor-Frempong, 2014).

Additionally, since 2011, the Government of Mongolia has initiated wool subsidies for sheep and
camel wool (Rasmussen and Annor-Frempong, 2015). In previous years, low prices meant that
many producers threw away their wool or failed to access markets. Since the introduction of the
subsidy, more wool has been sent to domestic wool-processing facilities. In 2013, I travelled
with a bag governor who went to each herder household to purchase and collect wool. The raw
wool was then transported to a carpet and felt-making factory in the provincial centre. This soum
bordered the provincial centre territory and the bag governor lived in the provincial centre, which
made this process more efficient. Nonetheless, the collection process involved weeks of work and
travelling hundreds of kilometres to each herder household. For soum located at a much greater
distance from the provincial centres, this process could be extremely time consuming and create
additional burdens for local government staff. Given this context, the geography of Mongolia and
the physical infrastructure available pose specific challenges for climate change adaptation. The
widespread adoption of smart technology, such as satellite TVs and mobile phones, by herders
offers the potential for the development of more innovative systems to communicate and coordi-
nate though the informal networks and local institutions that already exist in rural areas.

Conclusion

This case study has reviewed some of the basic elements of Mongolian traditional environmental
knowledge related to grassland management and the local and national initiatives that have been
developed to address issues on climate change and the rural economy. Mobile pastoralism in
Mongolia is an indigenous livelihood, practised across the Inner Asian steppe for centuries. As
former President Elbegdorj stated, climate change has come to Mongolia and is a new reality
faced by pastoralists and the population as a whole. While these groups contribute little to climate
change, the temperature in this region of the world has already increased by over 2 °C and is
16 likely to continue to rise. Unseasonable weather and climate hazards pose additional challenges.
 2. Surviving Extreme Weather: Mongolian indigenous knowledge, local institutions and governance innovations for adaptation

Moreover, the fossil fuel industry’s mining sector is actively digging up the Mongolian grasslands
to reach large deposits of coal, further contributing to grassland degradation and an increase in
emissions. The homelands of Mongolian pastoralists are therefore affected by the fossil fuel con-
sumption of economies in multiple ways, in terms of both climate change and industrial land use.

The Mongolian Government has committed to develop “green” policies and programmes aimed at
making the agricultural sector more sustainable, while also promoting the welfare of rural popula-
tions. It is encouraging that the Mongolian Government continues to support pastoralist mobility
by protecting the custodial land use practices of herders. This is a key aspect of pastoralist tradi-
tional environmental knowledge and practices, and also an important adaptation strategy. Index-
based livelihood insurance and the implementation of policies related to sustainable rural supply
chains for agricultural products are promising developments. More research should be conducted
in this area to find ways to further utilize the wireless technologies being adopted by herders. In
many ways, the herders should lead the way with climate change adaptation programming, and
the Government and international agencies should lend support to the local communities, who
are experts in living in uncertain and variable climatic conditions.

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19
3. Traditional water management as an adaptive
subsistence practice:
A case study from coastal Timor-Leste
By Vanessa Burns (University of Oxford)1

Introduction

This case study is based on research carried out in collaboration with the communities of Fatumeta
and Behali, on the north coast of Timor-Leste, in the district of Manatuto. The island of Timor
is the easternmost of the Lesser Sunda Islands, in the Indonesian Archipelago. The Democratic
Republic of Timor-Leste comprises the eastern half of the island. The state was established in
2002, after the occupation of the Timorese peoples and their lands by Indonesia between 1975
and 1999, and following two years of transitional governance by the United Nations. This research
forms part of a broader project investigating adaptation governance in the Coral Triangle Region.
Within this broader body of research, this case study focuses on traditional water management.
In particular, it explores the role of women’s custodianship of water management in the adap-
tive coastal landscapes of the field sites. Research design was carried out in consultation with
community leaders. Methods included a combination of individual (22) and group (3) interviews,
participatory mapping workshops and participatory observation of women’s water collection (for
distribution, see table 1).

1 Acknowledgements: This case study is based on participatory research carried out in conjunction with community members
of Fatumeta and Behali, Manatuto District, Timor-Leste (2013). The research was supported through a Norman Ellis award and a
Charles Green Award (Jesus College, University of Oxford). 21
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Table 1. Distribution of research participants

Variable Fatumeta Behali Total

Number of participants Female 10 12 22

Age of participant Under 18 3 2 5

(years)
18–30 2 2 4
31–40 2 1 3
41–55 1 1 2
56–70 1 2 3
Over 70 1 4 5
Birthplace Behali 4 4
Fatumeta 5 5
Mountain village 5 8 13
Livelihood Weaving 5 8 13
Home duties 5 8 13
Student 5 4 9
Education Literate 5 4 9
Illiterate 5 8 13
Primary education 5 4 9
Secondary education 5 4 9
Tertiary education 2 0 2

In the context of environmental change, water management is a critical issue for equatorial island
nations such as Timor-Leste. The west equatorial Pacific climate is affected by The Western
Pacific Monsoon, with year-to-year variations driven by El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO) and
the Indian Ocean Dipole. Future climate projections for Timor-Leste show a between high and
very high confidence that surface air and sea-surface temperatures will continue to rise; that the
intensity and frequency of days of extreme heat and heavy rainfall will increase; and that ocean
acidification and mean sea-level rise will both continue to increase also (Australian Bureau of
Meteorology and CSIRO, 2011, 2014). These projections are in line with regional studies of the
Coral Triangle, South East Asian and Pacific regions, which show wetter conditions linked to La
Niña events (the positive phase of ENSO); dryer conditions linked to El Niño events; and the
challenges that ENSO-related extreme weather and sea level rise bring to the Pacific Islands
(Australian Bureau of Meteorology and CSIRO, 2014; Quinn et al., 1978).

The water sector in Timor-Leste has been severely weakened by the destruction of 90 per cent of
the country’s infrastructure during the periods of conflict, a slowing economy and the increased
frequency and intensity of drought events linked to the El Niño Southern Oscillation climate
system in the Pacific region (World Bank, 2018; Australian Bureau of Meteorology and CSIRO,
2014). Of Timor’s population of 1.26 million (2016), 70 per cent live in rural areas where water
22 access is poor. The WHO and UNICEF Joint Monitoring Programme have shown that access to
 3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice: A case study from coastal Timor-Leste

piped water has decreased, dropping from 38 per cent to 28 per cent of the rural population over
the period 2010 to 2015 (JMP, 2015). The research conducted for this case study also evidences
that sources of piped water are becoming increasingly unreliable during the dry season. While
Timor-Leste has improved water access for 60 per cent of the rural population through alternative
water supplies (e.g. desalination and rain catchment), this is below the Millennium Development
Goal of 75 per cent of the rural population. This means that 40 per cent of rural and 28 per cent
of the total population are living with “unimproved” access to water. In the coastal field sites of
this case study, this means no local access to water for most people during the dry season.

The Timorese have a strong tradition of custodial water management. What this case study
explores is how custodial practices around water are informed by, and inform, environmental
change at the two field sites of Fatumeta and Behali. Results show that this adaptive environment
is a complex interweaving of the custodial practices that have been re-appropriated and re-estab-
lished as an act of self-determination in the context of Timorese independence. At the same time,
custodial practices have become increasingly gendered, and this has developed in response to
changing environmental conditions. Yet, women’s custodial practices are also the main factor in
influencing the boundaries of adaptive subsistence practices, which are increasingly moving away
from the coast and towards highland areas. There follows below a discussion of the socio-political
and environmental histories that contextualize the adaptive practices of the research participants.
There is also an overview of the extreme weather events impacting communities. Following on
from this, custodial water practices are discussed, in relation to environmental change, the sep-
aration of duties between men and women, the geographic positioning of these duties, and the
gendering of environmental relations more generally. Lastly, this paper investigates the burden
placed on women, whose custodial practices are believed by many community members to be a
causal factor in environmental change, but who as a group are the most influential in determining
the adaptation of agricultural and grazing practices.

Key findings

Socio-political and environmental histories

The residents of both the communities of Fatumeta and Behali are originally oral-based highland
peoples, displaced to the coast during the Indonesian era. Their adaptation to environmental
change in the coastal environment is profoundly challenged by the impacts of this displacement.
For oral-based peoples, the retention of traditional environmental knowledge (TEK) is heavily
reliant on there being a continuity of relations between peoples and their traditional lands (McWil-
liam, 2007, 2011; Darian-Smith and Hamilton, 1994). Intergenerational knowledge sharing is
also critical to retaining traditional knowledge, and this was severely disrupted through the loss of
family members. The resettlement projects in the sub-district of Bauhau (within which both field
sites lie) initially imprisoned displaced mountain populations in the township of Manatuto (to the
east of Fatumeta and Behali). As one interviewee recalls, “many people died from [hunger] – [as]
there was no food” (Interview 19). Many people also disappeared after resettlement in 1980. One
interviewee recalls that shortly after her family’s arrival in Fatumeta, “our father went hunting for
fish at Pasaputi [a beach to the west of the village] and was captured by the Indonesians. Since
then we never met our father” (Interview 10). Over three-quarters of interviewees referred to a 23
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

loss of TEK in connection with the loss of a family member during the period of resettlement.
Interviewee 5 states that her “[g]randmothers didn’t pass on histories. If we could see our
grandparents when we were growing up we would know those histories”.2 Similarly, interviewee
16 states that she “doesn’t know any stories or history because when I was born my grandmother
had already passed away”. And interviewee 4 stated that her “grandfathers knew histories but …
[we] didn’t have contact with grandparents when [we were] growing up. [Our] parents didn’t know
histories … therefore [we] couldn’t pass [histories] on to our children”.

The history of the villages as internment camps shaped, and continues to shape environmental
relations. One person remembers

a border [high concrete wall] constructed around the village, at the base of the mountains
[to the south], along the beach [to the north], between Fatumeta [east of Behali] and Behali,
and Behali and next village west. There were Indonesian military buildings in the village and
[Indonesian soldiers] would patrol from the morning to the evening (Interview 17).

These structures actively controlled people’s relationship with the land and the sea through var-
ious modes of access. For the majority of the villages’ history, people were not able to move
freely. While permission to leave the camp was given for the purposes of wood collection and
fishing for periods of up to one hour, this restricted the distance one could travel away from the
village. Residents who exceeded this time limit were punished (Interviews 1, 2, 19, 20). Many of
the geographies of land use established around military structures during the period of intern-
ment have, until recently, continued to be observed including areas used for wood collection and
fishing. When both villages were destroyed by fire during the Indonesian forces retreat in 1999
– in a campaign that saw the systematic burning of every village in Timor – the concrete walls and
buildings built by the Indonesian military were the only ones to survive. One participant recalls
that among the community’s own houses ‘there were only traditional houses [made of wood and
thatching]. Everything was destroyed’ (Interview 2). The remnants of military architecture remain
a visible and active part of both villages; one remaining section of the coastal border wall in
Fatumeta now acts as a de facto sea wall, and offers some protection from tidal inundation. Yet,
these ruins also stand as monuments to the former imprisonment of many of the participants:
and reminders that the re-appropriation of both sites, from places of internment to places of
independence, is a significant act of self-determination and place building.

To add to the difficulties of adapting to the coastal environment, the coastal areas of the sub-dis-
trict in which both villages are situated were not included within the compass of traditional
custodial practices. This means there is no history of including them within the customary legal
frameworks which are used in part for the management of subsistence resources. This raises the
possibility that, even though TEK has been interrupted by conflict, the kind of detailed knowledge
of the coastal climate necessary to usefully inform new agricultural practices may never have
existed. One possible reason for the omission of coastal areas from custodial practice is their
unsuitability as agricultural land; there is strong evidence from the participatory research that
coastal areas are considered more vulnerable to extreme weather events, such as drought, flood,
windstorms, and tidal inundation.

2 Research participants commonly referred to elderly relatives, or indeed ancestors, collectively, as “grandmothers” or
24 “grandfathers”.
 3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice: A case study from coastal Timor-Leste

Figure 1. Behali (left panel) and Fatumeta (right panel) with hand-drawn data from
participant workshops

There is, however, some evidence that broad principles of customary law (tara bandu) are drawn
upon to develop resource management practices in Fatumeta. For example, the principles of
human–environment relations that are part of national mythologies of the sea have informed the
development of marine practices at the two field sites. Knowledge of seasonal ocean dynamics
embedded in stories of tasi feto (the North sea) has informed the development of subsistence
fishing practices. Customary laws that protected specific areas and species on traditional lands
have been re-appropriated to the coastal environment. For example, one participant spoke of a
customary law in place on traditional lands that gave protection to a sacred stone, within the
vicinity of which no hunting was allowed (Interview 18). In principle, this same law protected a
number of local habitats and ensured the inter-generational sustainability of certain resources
(a no-take zone of sorts). This customary legal principle has been re-appropriated to the coastal
environment to manage fish stocks through the creation of “old” fishing areas (i.e. where the
“grandfathers” fished), which are managed as seasonal no-take zones, and “new” fishing areas.
Certain marine species, such as the black dolphin, are also protected. Community leaders in
Behali have developed customary law prohibiting the collection of wood from those mountain
slopes closest to the village; a response to deforestation linked to landslides and reef damage
during the wet season.

Extreme weather events

The coastal and highland climates in the region of Manatuto differ significantly. This has made
the adaptation of subsistence practices to the coastal environment a very challenging one. Added
to this, contemporary environmental change now seriously undermines what environmental 25
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

knowledge of the coastal environment has so far been developed. The impacts of most concern
to participants relate to anomalous rainfall patterns. Each village has a different set of adaptive
concerns based on their differing geographies and access to water. Fatumeta is heavily impacted
by an increase in the intensity and longevity of drought events due to its poor access to water. Fat-
umeta is also the most exposed to storms, both windstorms during the dry season and rainstorms
during the wet season. In contrast, Behali is impacted by an increase in the intensity of heavy
rainfall during the height of the wet season, which leads to flash flooding and has a devastating
effect on the community’s infrastructure and resources.3 These extreme weather events focus
adaptive concerns around water management. For the purposes of this case study, whose aim
is to highlight women’s roles in water management, special attention is paid to the practices of
Fatumeta, the gender roles of which were the more defined in the research data.

Traditional water practices

The Timorese have traditionally held an animistic worldview, which understands the physical
boundaries of human–environment relations as fluid. Custodianship of the land and sea, there-
fore, is a complex, embodied experience. The main custodial practice evidenced by the research
relates to water management. Custodianship of water has traditionally been centred around the
management of highland groundwater systems, and has been shared between male and female
elders (Palmer, 2011). In Fatumeta, however, men’s sites and practices have developed in the
coastal area, while the highlands have, post-independence, been reclaimed as women’s sites.
Evidence suggests this division is connected with the development of fishing practices after the
communities’ displacement (exclusively a male livelihood in both Behali and Fatumeta), raising
questions about how understandings of the water cycle have changed as part of adapting to the
coastal environment (Interviews 19 and 20).

Coastal practices

Whereas traditional highland water practices are generally understood to produce rain, the men’s
practices observed in Fatumeta instead “call” rain from the sea. Anthropologist Astrid Stensrud’s
ethnographic study of water relations in the Peruvian town of Chivay documents a men’s highland
practice of similar principle. Stensrud recalls the custodian:

carrying a bottle of seawater brought all the way from the Pacific Ocean … [he put this] together
with a starfish from the ocean into the mountain spring “so that it will call for more water” …
the small amount of seawater, though separate, is still connected to – and part of – the Pacific
Ocean … the ocean is enacted as the origin of all water (2015, pp. 37–38).

While men’s practices in Fatumeta show a similar understanding that rainfall is produced by the
ocean, there are two distinct differences: water practices are confined to the coastal area; and
there is no clear articulation of how new coastal practices might be connected – via the water
cycle – to women’s highland custodial practices. I suggest this is likely to be related to what

3 Research at both sites showed an increase in the intensity of storm surges and windstorms during January–March, and a longer
dry season, with less overall rainfall. Tidal inundation is increasing in area and frequency at both sites. Evidence shows that patterns
of rainfall and temperature are changing; there is more flooding over the wet season, during El Niño phases (1982, 1986, 1992,
26 2006) and very severe flood events at the height of the wet season during a weak La Niña phase (Burns, 2019).
 3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice: A case study from coastal Timor-Leste

anthropologist Andrew McWilliam notes is the Timorese cultural focus on the interior. McWilliam’s
extensive work in Timor has evidenced that, unlike many Pacific islanders, the Timorese are not
a coastal peoples (McWilliam, 2002). This suggests that men’s coastal water practices may have
developed in parallel with the development of fishing practices, and further, that these practices
may be conceptually disconnected with custodial practices of the interior.

Over the past five years, the coastal sites maintained by men for custodial practice have been
subject to storm surges and tidal inundation (mapping workshop 1). These events have interrupted
water practices and threaten to make the sites inaccessible in the near future. Historically, it is
common for interruptions to traditional practices such as these to be blamed for environmental
changes. Anthropologist Lisa Palmer notes a case where Portuguese interference in traditional
water practices was believed to have resulted in springs drying up in Baucau, a city east of
Manatuto district (2011 p. 149). Moreover, over three-quarters of the participants linked drought
events with custodial practices (Interviews 5, 6, 17, 22; mapping workshop). Yet, as environ-
mental change also prevents men’s custodial practice taking place, blame for such events has
been overwhelmingly attributed to a perceived failure in women’s custodial practice.

The complexity of gender dynamics and their connection to environmental relations in the partic-
ipant communities is deeply layered, and trying to make sense of events, particularly through the
identification of causal factors, may run counter to the logics that make up animistic cosmologies.
What is clear is that environmental relations are traditionally highly gendered, and there is some
evidence to suggest that these are informing interpretations of environmental change. There are a
number of examples from the coastal environment. While the East Timorese are not traditionally
coastal peoples, the ocean does have an important role in ancestral relations in Timor-Leste.
McWilliam refers to the East Timorese as having a “long term engagement with their coastal
waters” and to the “the symbolic spaces and mythical properties that seascapes are accorded”
(2002, p. 7). This is reflected in Timorese beliefs with regards to the North and South seas,
known respectively as tasi feto and tasi mane, that is, the female and male seas. These broadly
held cultural beliefs about the sea have informed the development of new coastal practices
relating to both fishing and men’s water management. One participant explains the characteristics
attributed to the two seas:

[T]asi feto [the North Sea on which the villages lie] is the feminine sea as it is calmer, and the
[swells] are relatively low. Tasi mane is never low, and were we talking on the south coast, we
wouldn’t be able to hear over the noise of the waves (Interview 20).

It is the feminized ‘calmness’ of the north-sea that has supported the establishment of fishing
practices and men’s custodial sites. Yet, while tasi feto and the inter-tidal areas are feminized
spaces, research participants state that they are almost exclusively used as men’s spaces for
socializing, fishing and men’s rites (Interviews 8, 19, 22).

Environmental changes such as increased storm activity, tidal inundation, and shifting fish stocks
challenge the gendered concept of tasi feto as a calm and hospitable environment. Most sig-
nificantly, these changes complicate understandings of the tidal inundation of men’s sites and
the disruption to men’s custodial practice. This change in the characterization of tasi feto may
also contribute to widespread feelings of blame towards women for the success or failure of
water practices. While the Timorese are not traditionally coastal peoples, they are islanders, and 27
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

emerging understandings of a more hostile tasi feto may be informed by regional histories in which
the sea, and seafaring, are both highly gendered. An early account in anthropologist Bronisław
Malinowski’s 1922 study of coastal Papua New Guineans, for example, notes that many ritual
preparations were made to protect boats from the “flying witches” believed to prey on sailors (p.
158). Yet, the success of men’s ocean voyages was ultimately a responsibility invested in women,
with unsuccessful voyages attributed to the failure of women to uphold certain duties (whether
custodial or more mundane). While there was no evidence to suggest women in Fatumeta were
held responsible for the success of fishing trips, there may be some appropriated sense of duty
over the success of men’s coastal practices that has emerged under conditions of environmental
change.

Local concepts of tasi feto also conceive of the sea as sacred; and it is these beliefs that have
been the central guiding factor in the establishment of contemporary marine practices in the two
field sites. One participant, for example, states that “any animal that is found [on the beach is]
sacred and can’t be touched”. This includes many sand-nesting birds and sea turtles (Interview
22), but also applies to a number of marine species, such as the (so-called) black dolphin (ibid.).
The coast is also a habitat for saltwater crocodiles, believed to be a sacred embodiment of
ancestors. A fisherman explains the central role crocodiles play in the local context:

The beach is considered a sacred place and if you do something bad [i.e. a taboo, also described
as a “mistake”] on the beach there is a belief that a crocodile may come and eat you. [For
example] Atauro people [from the Timorese island of Atauro] went to Manleo [a nearby town] and
made a mistake and a crocodile came out onto the beach. They killed the crocodile and brought
it to Atauro. This is an example of a mistake. Another example is if you steal another person’s
property … If you don’t make mistakes, you are safe in the ocean … we have to keep our belief
in the beach, and in the sea, and that keeps us safe and we can go fishing (Interview 20).

These questions of physical and moral access to the sea position the inter-tidal zone as a
threshold between the land and a marine environment conceived as morally pure, or purifying.
It is a complex land and seascape made up of seen and unseen, human and nonhuman, animal
and spirit relations in an interplay of activity lived out through everyday subsistence practices.
Historian Charles Zerner’s study of nearby East Indonesian fishing communities describes a sim-
ilar seascape, where “many imagine the marine world to be populated by a highly responsive
community of invisible spirits [where] … a fisherman’s fate … depends upon his relationship to
these fractious spirits of the place” (1998, p. 557). Based on the relatively recent adaptation
to coastal living, these examples suggest a logic is at play that appropriates broad principles
of environmental relations taken from national mythologies of the sea and traditional highland
practices (e.g. land management of sacred areas) in the development of custodial practices at
the two field sites.

What is not evident, when compared with other coastal communities in the Coral Triangle region,
is the same complexity of knowledge and practice around fishing and the local governance of
marine areas. While certain marine practices are not without potential consequences, these
practices are generally self-governed, because strictly speaking there is no tara bandu (cus-
tomary law) governing the use of marine environments. By comparison, nearby East Indonesian
islands, such as the Maluku Islands, have “historically possessed well defined marine territories
under the control of particular villages … [with offshore constructions] that function as a ritual
28 sign … and a boundary marker’ (Zerner, C. 1998, pp. 543–44). Climate adaptation studies of
 3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice: A case study from coastal Timor-Leste

communities living on the neighbouring Torres Strait Islands have found them to rely on the tra-
ditional environmental knowledge of a “seafaring people, who pride themselves on their intimate
understanding of the seasonal shifts in the ocean and weather [and where] events such as the
timing of king tides are predictable” (Green, 2009, pp. 220–21). As such, adaptation to living
in coastal landscapes is ongoing; it is complicated by a lack of governance frameworks, and the
lived experience of environmental change that continues to shift the foundations on which new
subsistence practices, such as coastal water management, have been built.

Highland practices

At the time of the research, many residents in Fatumeta were without a source of water close
to the village. Fatumeta had six water tanks fed by spring water, two of which were private, and
four empty when research began at the start of the dry season. Drought events have dramatically
decreased access to water during the dry season. Mapping workshops evidenced that prior to
2008 there were on average two weeks during the dry season when springs closer to the village
were not reliable sources of water. In 2013, water collection from mountain springs was neces-
sary for 18 of the 22 participants interviewed for the period June–September – a daily practice
over a period of approximately 4 months. For residents without access to private water tanks
(which feed off better access to groundwater), the only option is to travel up into the mountains
to collect water. This task is undertaken exclusively by women and involves a return trip on foot
of approximately 6–20 kms taking 4–8 hours. It is complicated by childcare responsibilities
which, as far as could be determined, fall entirely to women. Because the journey is physically
demanding, it cannot be made by small children, who are instead left in the care of older children
in the village. Breastfeeding infants must, however, be taken on the journey given its duration,
adding a further burden to the return journey on which women carry approximately 50 kg of water
per person. This amount will last an average family one day. This means that such a journey must
be made each day by a female member of every family during periods of drought.

For the first few months of the dry season, participants collect water from sources A and B
(see figure 2). Come the end of July, however, participants are travelling to, what is for the time
being, the closest perennial source of water and this represents an extremely significant increase
in the time spent and distance travelled to collect water. Developing subsistence practices are
delineating extended areas of land use, not only for water collection, but for agricultural practices
and the new residential areas relocating closer to more reliable water sources. Figure 2 shows a
trend in new housing being built in the highlands, where it is closer to water sources B and C.
Figure 3 shows new agricultural areas established closer to water sources A and C, and a new
grazing area near water source A.

Women’s water practices are carried out as part of a daily journey to collect water from mountain
springs. Within the animistic framework of the communities, even the process of walking – the
way one moves one’s body – manifests in the movements of ground or rain water. According to
the custodian’s worldview, there is no physical separation between the physical body, the physical
landscape and the ancestral landscape. There is also no physical separation from the success
or failure of water practices, seen as an embodied expression of ancestral relations. This means
that anomalous weather events, such as those linked to anthropogenic climate change, upset the
perceived balance of ancestral relations; or, as the participants understand it, represent a failure 29
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Figure 2. Location of water sources: A, seasonal water source; B, seasonal water source;
C, seasonal water source; D, perennial water source (based on the research
participants hand drawn data from mapping workshops. See table 1 for distribution)
(Burns, 2019)

of custodial responsibility. This puts enormous pressure on this group of female water bearers for
the success or failure of custodial practice, as well as the attribution of blame for water shortages
within the village. This may constitute the basis for new forms of discrimination against women
and exacerbate existing bases for discrimination. Family interviews and livelihood focus groups,
conducted as part of the broader research project on the Coral Triangle Region, showed that a
large proportion of male participants blamed female elders in particular for the decrease in access
to water. This was irrespective of the fact that the men’s water practices have been interrupted by
tidal inundation and therefore (according to the logic of the participants’ environmental relations)
could likewise be rationalised as a contributing factor.

Yet, women’s water practices also constitute a position of power that is well recognized by the res-
idents of the two communities. One positive acknowledgement of this is that women’s practices
have facilitated the re-emergence of subsistence practices in the mountainous interior. The daily
practice of water collection acts as a boundary marker that, over the course of time, continually
maps the discontinuities of groundwater. It is through these practices that areas of more reliable
water access have been identified, and this environmental knowledge has formed the basis of the
30 extended land use shown in figures 2 and 3.

 3. Traditional water management as an adaptive subsistence practice: A case study from coastal Timor-Leste

Figure 3. Fatumeta: Changed agricultural practices (based on the research participants

hand drawn data from mapping workshops. See table 1 for distribution) 
(Burns, 2019)

Conclusion

Under the conditions of increased drought and flood that are predicted for the Pacific region,
water management will most likely continue to be the central theme of local adaptation strat-
egies in Timor-Leste. Subsistence communities are particularly vulnerable to these anomalous
events, because of the reliance of their livelihoods on foreseeable seasonal patterns. There are a
number of serious socio-historical contexts already impacting the communities of Fatumeta and
Behali, the result of hundreds of years of colonization and oppression that have eroded traditional
environmental knowledge and resource management. Environmental change exacerbates these
conditions, undermining what progress has been made in adapting to the coastal environment,
and aggravating power imbalances, such as those between men and women.

There are two main features that characterize the adaptation of custodial water practices to
environmental change. First, the vulnerability of the coastal environment to extreme weather has
placed a greater emphasis on the success or failure of women’s custodial water practices (when
compared to men’s). Secondly, the more reliable sources of water identified through women’s 31
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

practices are driving a shift in land use for subsistence agriculture, grazing and new residential
housing. What this adaptive response represents, perhaps most significantly, is a return to lands
within the geographical boundaries of (some residents’) traditional lands where TEK is perceived
to be more reliable.

What is significant about adaptive responses in the two field sites discussed, Fatumeta and
Behali, is that the participants’ animistic worldview allows for the development of an adaptive
geography defined around an environmental system (e.g. the water system). It has been noted
of other indigenous societies more broadly that there is an innate sustainability to traditional
environmental management practices, and that this is in part due to there being a moral basis to
understandings of good environmental relations (ILO, 2017). What this study contributes to this
position is evidence that traditional environmental practices in Timor-Leste are not only driven
by a moral basis (expressed through ‘good’ ancestral relations), but that as a result, practices
may also be more flexible in their ability to respond to both prolonged and sudden environmental
change. I suggest that of particular significance is their ability to conceive of, and respond to,
dynamic systems that move through space and time. Further, the adaptive practices shown in
this study position women as the primary agents of change even as the custodial responsibilities
that facilitate this agency may simultaneously marginalize women for (as is understood) enacting
changed environmental conditions.

References

Australian Bureau of Meteorology and CSIRO. 2011. Climate change in the Pacific: Scientific assess-
ment and new research, Volume 2: Country reports (Australia).
— 2014. Climate variability, extremes and change in the Western Tropical Pacific: New science and
updated country reports (Melbourne, Australia).
Bronisław, M. 2004 (1922). Argonauts of the Western Pacific: an account of native enterprise and
adventure in the archipelagoes of Melanesian New Guinea (London, Taylor and Francis).
Burns, V. 2019 “Oceanic embodiments: Living ENSO event in coastal Timor Leste”, (published online)
in Political Geography, 70, pp. 102-116
Darian-Smith, K.; Hamilton, P. (eds). 1994. Memory and history in twentieth century Australia (Oxford,
Melbourne, Oxford University Press).
Green, D. 2009 ‘Opal Waters, Rising Seas: Climate Impacts on Indigenous Australians’ in Crate,
Susan A. and Nuttall, Mark (eds) Anthropology and Global Climate Change: Witnessing, Commu-
nicating, Acting, Left Coast Press, San Francisco.
International Labour Organization (ILO). 2017. Indigenous peoples and climate change: From victims
to change agents through decent work (Geneva, Switzerland).
Joint Monitoring Programme (JMP). 2015. Progress on sanitation and drinking water: 2015 update
and MDG assessment (Geneva, United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) and World Health
Organization (WHO)).
Mcwilliam, A. 2002. “Timorese seascapes”, In The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology, Vol. 3, No.
2, pp. 6–32.
—. 2007. “Introduction. Restorative custom: Ethnographic perspectives on conflict and local justice
in Timor”, in Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology, Vol. 8, No.1, pp. 1–8.
32 —. 2011. “Exchange and resilience in Timor‐Leste”, in Journal of the Royal Anthropological Insti-
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tute, Vol. 17, No. 4, pp. 745–763.

Palmer, L., 2011. “Water relations: Customary systems and the management of Baucau City’s water”,
in A. McWilliam and E.G. Traube (eds):  Land and life in Timor Leste: Ethnographic essays
(Canberra, Australian National University (ANU) E Press), pp. 141–162.
Quinn, W.H.; Zopf, D.O.; Short, K.S.; Kuo Yang, R.T.W. 1978. “Historical trends and statistics of the
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663–678.
Stensrud, A.B.  2015.  “Raining in the Andes: Disrupted Seasonal and Hydrological Cycles”,  in  K.
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World Bank. 2018. Timor-Leste Water Sector Assessment and Roadmap (Washington, DC, USA).
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Asia (Oxford, Oxford University Press) pp. 535–571.

33
4. The role of customary institutions in climate change
adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern
Ethiopia
By Mulubrhan Balehegn (Mekelle University) and Selam Balehey
(Mekelle University)1

Introduction

Understanding, predicting and anticipating changes in the weather and other climatic variables
is very important for rural communities which depend on natural resources for their livelihood.
Indigenous communities all over the world rely on direct observation of changes in the environ-
ment for forecasting climatic and environmental changes likely to affect their livelihoods decisions
(Nyong et al., 2007; Mercer et al., 2007).

Biophysical animate and inanimate entities observable to the human senses, as well as “spirits”
and non-physical elements, are used to predict future and current weather variables that cannot
be directly observed (Acharya, 2011). Those biophysical entities observed include plants, animals
including livestock, birds, insects and different types of wildlife (Onyango et al., 2010; Orlove et
al., 2010; Chang’a et al., 2010). Magic, voodoo and sorcery, which are all difficult to explain in
terms of physical variables, are also practiced by many indigenous communities across the world,
especially in Africa (Grivetti, 1981; Kwanya, 2014). The Afar pastoralists, through centuries-old
experiential knowledge passed down the generations by the word of mouth, have developed
elaborated strategies for predicting or forecasting the weather and climate variables (Balehegn
and Tafere, 2013). Such traditional weather forecasting strategies are common among many
indigenous communities across the world (Acharya, 2011; Garay-Barayazarra and Puri, 2011).
They are an essential resource, as they often appear to be the only accessible and understandable
weather information available to local people, and thus the only source of information to guide
climate-dependent livelihood decisions (Masinde and Bagula, 2011).

The Afar predict drought or any variation in the weather, such as flooding, lightning, destructive
and windy rain, based on the observation of biophysical entities such as trees, animals (birds,
insects), stars, wind direction, and others. Moreover, prediction is also done by experienced
traditional weather forecasting seers. However, many indigenous communities across the world
have seen a generational degradation and decline in the use of indigenous weather forecasting
and other traditional knowledge systems. This is the result of land and natural resource dispos-
session (Balehegn, 2015a), including State policies in favour of centralization at the expense of

1 Acknowledgments: We are grateful to the Climate Frontlines Project of UNESCO for providing the funding for this study. I am
also indebted to the Climate Frontlines Project team at UNESCO, Paris, for arranging my participation in the UNESCO conference
“Resilience in a Time of Uncertainty: Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change” held on 26–27 November 2015. This event provided
insights and lessons used in this study. I am very thankful to my field assistants at Aba’ala Afar, Mr Hayelom Tesfay, Mr. Mohamed
Nurisa and Mr Mohamed Mistofa. We are also indebted to the many Afar elders, clan leaders and government officials who partic-
ipated in the group discussion. Last but not least, we are thankful to the Afar traditional seers who dared to share their traditional
rain-making and prediction techniques, risking disapproval and excommunication by the clerics. 35
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

bio-regionalism, where policies and administrations attuned to natural social-ecological differ-

ences (Fratkin and Roth, 2006; McGinnis, 1999), and globalization (Gilberthorpe and Hilson,
2014). Similarly, climate change and the associated increase in variability, especially in arid
and semi-arid systems, have resulted in a decrease in the reliability of many of the traditional
weather forecasting knowledge systems. As a result, many indigenous people are abandoning
the use and generational transmission of indigenous knowledge systems (Roncoli et al., 2002;
Kalanda-Joshua et al., 2011; Slegers, 2008; Kagunyu et al., 2016).

Despite an observed generational degradation of indigenous weather forecasting knowledge, tran-

sition towards the use of modern weather forecasting and climate change information systems
is very limited among indigenous communities. This is because of their many limitations when
applied to indigenous or local communities. These include:

1) Conventional weather forecasting information is often not accessible to indigenous rural

communities, who usually lack access to communication media (Shoko and Shoko, 2013).

2) Even when accessible, it is difficult for members of indigenous communities to interpret and
use this information, as many of the world’s indigenous communities are not equipped with
the necessary science and language skills (Shoko and Shoko, 2013).

3) The facilities and installations used by conventional weather forecasting science and prac-
tice are very expensive. It is usually beyond the financial capabilities of communities and
governments to install, run and maintain them in the remote and inaccessible locations
where many indigenous communities reside (Masinde and Bagula, 2011).

4) Most importantly, indigenous communities require forecasting information at a smaller, local

scale affecting villages, districts, and rangeland sites and so on, to make daily livelihood
decisions, such as where to take livestock. Conventional weather forecasting science is,
however, only usually practiced at larger scale and at coarser resolutions (Roncoli et al.,
2002), producing information which is most often irrelevant to the decision requirements
of local communities. Therefore, even when it is accessible, affordable and correctly inter-
pretable, conventional weather forecasting information is not directly relevant to the daily
decision-making of indigenous communities, such as pastoralists (Chisadza et al., 2015).

Because of the challenges in applying modern climate knowledge systems, indigenous knowledge
about climate and weather forecasting not only remains relevant, but continues to be the only
accessible and affordable alternative to modern weather forecasting science (Chisadza et al.,
2015;Green et al., 2010).

Local climate and weather forecasting knowledge can provide information and insights that can
be used for successful climate change and variability adaptation at the local level (Chisadza et al.,
2015). The strength of indigenous knowledge makes it a critical element that needs to be taken
into account by the national weather forecasting systems. Many studies comparing indigenous
with modern weather forecasting knowledge have confirmed a positive correlation between the
climate and weather indicators used by indigenous and by modern science (Chisadza et al.,
2015;Ziervogel et al., 2010). These studies inevitably recommend the co-production of weather
36 and climate knowledge by these two knowledge systems to create a system which benefits from
 4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia

the accuracy of the modern systems as well as from the local relevance of traditional systems
(Weatherhead et al., 2010;Mugabe et al., 2010;Kalanda-Joshua et al., 2011).

Description of the study area

The study was carried out in Ab’alá district of the Afar regional state of Ethiopia (figure 1).
According to the Bureau of Pastoral and Rural Development (BoPRD), in 2008, the total popula-
tion in the district was 35,443 inhabitants with 2,683 pastoral households, and 3,226 agro-pas-
toral and mixed farming households (BoPRD, 2008). The Afar and Tigrians are the two dominant
ethnic groups in the study area. The Afar, who are pastoralists and agro-pastoralists, speak the
Afar Language, a Cushitic family language. The Tigrians practice mixed farming of crop and
livestock and speak the Tigrigna language, an Afro-Asiatic Semitic language. While the Afar are
predominantly pastoral and agro-pastoral communities, with increased involvement in farming,
petty trading and labor migration, the Tigrians are mainly crop-livestock mixed farmers with crop
production a primary source of livelihood (Balehegn and Tafere, 2013).

The Ab’alá district is characterized by an arid and semi-arid climate with vegetation groups identi-
fied as desert and semi-desert scrub land (Friis et al., 2010). The total area of land in the district
is 172.18 ha, containing 24.18 ha of rangelands, 9.34 ha of forest and 128.71 ha of desert.
There are 9.64 ha of cultivated land under rain-fed cultivation and 15 .000 ha under irrigation,
with maize, sorghum, teff and barley being the most common crops. The livestock population
comprised 44,605 cattle, 38,306 sheep, 87,352 goats, 28,834 camel, 4,841 equines and
2,564 poultry (BoPRD, 2008).

Figure 1. The location of the study area, the Ab’alá district, relative to the Afar Regional
State, zones within the Regional State and Ethiopia (Balehegn et al., 2015)

37
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Methods and activities

A triangulation of different techniques including focus group discussions, individual interviews

and a review of relevant bibliography were used for this study. Six focus group discussions were
organized, each of which included six ethnic Afar members, one from each of the following
categories: community leaders, elderly men, elderly women, clan leaders, herders and local pas-
toral and agricultural office personnel. Participants in the focus group discussions were selected
according to their experience in traditional weather forecasting and the use of such information
in their daily activities. The six members of each group were made up of people with extensive
experience in herding and Edo, or traditional rangeland scouting.

Furthermore, individual discussions and interviews were held with three traditional rain-makers,
or traditional seers. Such people usually work independently of the Adda or Edo systems, and are
consulted mostly by individuals or groups. A detailed investigation was made of cases or examples
of indigenous weather forecasting and the use of forecasting information by indigenous people.

Information collected from the different groups was categorized according to its similarity and
presented in a narrative form. 2 The narration about different aspects of traditional weather fore-
casting knowledge was collected, organized and interpreted in the focus group discussion. It was
then presented back to a special group of people that included two traditional weather forecasting
seers, two clan leaders, two elderly women and two young herders. These people were selected
based on their experience and knowledge in traditional weather forecasting. This special group
gave feedback about the collected information and its interpretation, which was used to decide
the final information and interpretation to be included in this report.

Framework for understanding Indigenous weather forecasting

Local people living in rural areas routinely interact with the natural environment which provides
opportunities for observing subtle changes in the environment. Indigenous weather forecasting is
therefore similar to “citizen science” or “crowd sourcing”, where weather data is collected by indi-
viduals close by and familiar with the source of data or the environmental variable being observed
(Wiggins and Crowston, 2011). Biophysical entities in the environment, such as the migration
patterns of birds (Richardson, 1990), a change in the reproduction behavior of insects or the wind
direction, all provide practical proxies for weather and climate change (Acharya, 2011). Though
local people cannot directly measure weather variables, they can directly observe the biophysical
manifestations with their senses (Chisadza et al., 2015). The interpretation of these biophysical
variables is therefore used as a proxy indicator of a change in the weather (figure 2).

2 Such narrations included for example, instances when traditional weather forecasting was used for decision-making. For instance,
Ali Hamfere (67, male), a clan leader in Aba’alá town, recalled that when a young man herding camels and camped far away from
his village, he and his friends sought advice from a traditional seer, because the fodder where they were camped was depleted and
they were not sure where to go. A local herder recommended they talk to a traditional seer. The seer, an old man, is said to have
used pebbles, and waited for the night to come so he could observe the patterns of stars. The seer predicted there would be rain in
Aba’alá within a week’s time. Ali Hamfere and his friends started on their way back to Aba’alá and to their delight, when they arrived
at Aba’alá after three days of walking, the “Duras”, a natural depression, were already full of rain water and their camels could drink,
38 and they stayed there for about four months.
 4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia

Figure 2. Schematic representation of the development of indigenous weather forecasting

knowledge among Afar pastoralists (the numbers indicate the order in which this
dynamic process takes place)

Weather variables not Weather variables

observable by human observable by human
senses senses

1 4 3

Bio-physical weather Communities,

proxies observable individuals, clans,
with human senses 2 traditional seers

In figure 2, it is important to note that arrow 1 is bi-directional, which means that sometimes
observable biophysical entities could be the result as well as the cause of an impending, or
already happening, change in weather variables. Therefore, what local people observe could both
be a result of a change in the weather that has either already occurred or is taking place and a
cause of what is going to happen in the near future. For instance, the flowering of a tree could
be due to an increase in humidity detectable only by the tree (Orlandi et al., 2005; Speranza et
al., 2010). In other cases, observable entities, such as the direction of the wind, could be the
cause of an impending change in weather or a climatic variable (Gearheard et al., 2010). In arrow
2, people observe these biophysical proxies of the weather and of the climate and collect data.

The proposition, accumulation and transmission of indigenous weather forecasting knowledge is

a dynamic process. Local people not only record observable changes and try to associate them
with the results or happenings (arrows 2 and 3, respectively), but they also use the feedback they
receive from a continuously changing relationship between observable biophysical variables and
unobservable change in the weather to continuously update and improve their fund of knowledge
(Orlove et al., 2010; Sillitoe, 2007). After repeated observation of biophysical proxies and the
events that seem to follow or be associated with these observations, local communities construct
or propose a relationship of the type “A causes B”. Through repeated observation and association,
local people obtain feedback from the result. For example, if sometimes A does not cause B
or instead causes C, then people readjust their deduction accordingly. After repeated cycles of
observation, prediction, feedback and readjustment, people can then safely go on to predict even
the least detectable future outcomes with a higher level of confidence (albeit not a quantified one).
All forms of outcome, including a good rainy season, a drought, or a windy season, are considered
good lessons that teach the Afars to better tune into their environment and make them more and 39
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

more capable of understanding and predicting future weather and climate events. Every event is
therefore a learning event. The Afar have a proverb for this: the Afars say ‘Dabalkaldahamoka’,
which roughly translated means “the tribulations that you had to endure during drought, are less
than the lessons you learn”.

This all goes to imply that local communities are not rigid followers of only one system; rather,
they select those systems that are accessible and effective for a given condition, including
information from formal meteorological weather forecasting. This is why, because the repeated
failing of many traditional prediction systems, many indigenous communities are modifying their
strategies and actively seeking out information from modern weather forecasting (Roncoli et al.,
2002). In the Afar pastoral areas, for example, modern weather forecasting information is actively
sought through the local radio and government news media. People do not, however, accept this
information directly without testing it by making comparisons with local conditions and local
biophysical observations. In this way, indigenous weather forecasting is in principle similar to
formal meteorological weather forecasting where current observable variables are used to predict
future events (Gearheard et al., 2010; Hobart, 2002).

Traditional weather forecasting and the role of customary institutions

Weather forecasting is an important activity in the lives of pastoral communities whose economic
survival depends on the movement of livestock and household members at the right time of the year
and to the right place. As a result, among Afar communities, different, long-established customary
institutions and traditions are involved in weather forecasting and the use of such information.
These institutions and traditions include: (1) the Adda, a traditional Afar administration system,
where knowledgeable elders, known as“Asayamaras”, are respected members of the community
and trusted by the community members to direct almost all aspects of the life of the Afar pastoral
communities (Hailu et al., 2008); (2) the Edo, traditional rangeland scouts dispatched whenever Afar
pastoralists are faced with the prospect of unpredictable future weather. They are sent to different
places to collect information about the weather, rangeland condition, local politics and other infor-
mation relevant to the livelihoods of their pastoral communities (Tesfay and Tafere, 2004); and (3)
the Dagu, an effective and reputable traditional human-based information and knowledge-sharing
network, through which anything anywhere that is relevant to the pastoral life of the Afar is made to
reach all relevant individuals and households (Moges, 2010).

When any village or community in the Afar land is faced with the prospect of uncertain weather
in the future, information about future weather is collected through the observation of biophysical
entities by any member of the Afar pastoral community. Elders consult traditional seers and
specialists for further prediction to be made by traditional seers. The Adda elders gather to
discuss what is to be done on the basis of this information. They most commonly decide to
send strong, experienced herders versed in the traditional techniques of weather forecasting
to collect information about the weather in those rangelands located furthest away (Tesfay and
Tafere, 2004). The individuals sent for rangeland scouting (Edo) make detailed observations
about the plants, soil, atmosphere and the condition of the animals in the areas they visit. Such
observations made are with regards to the local plant species, the constellations of stars, winds
and the characteristics of birds, wild animals, serve as indicators of weather and climate change
40 in the Afar pastoral land.
 4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia

Besides those biophysical weather indicators that are observed in a planned fashion, the Edo
rangeland scouts also undertake a detailed observation and analysis of the rangeland condition.
The rangeland condition in distantly located areas, is not weather prediction information per
se, but is an important consideration when deciding whether to move livestock and households
once a weather prediction has been made. Sometimes, the decision made by the community is
dependent on other conditions found in the rangelands, irrespective of whether the weather is
good or bad. Table 1 summarizes the most common observations made by the Edo, in addition to
biophysical indicators of weather. All observations made from special indicators, such as special
plants, insects, birds and environmental variables, are used to come to a conclusion about the
possible near future weather conditions in the rangeland they are visiting.

As part of collecting information, the scouts in Edo actively seek out information from other
people from other locations. Whenever, the people in Edo meet anyone coming from any direc-
tion, they always make the customary Dagu. During Dagu, people who have just met exchange
the customary greetings of “A SelamWealikum” and “WealikuAselam”. Those in Edo then usually
ask the stranger a detailed list of questions. Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you
going? What is happening there? How is the weather (now and in the future)? What is the reason
for that kind of weather prediction? Whose animals are where? What is the security situation? Who
said so? How? Why?, are just some of the many questions the people in Edo ask so as to extract
information about the weather, pastures and politics of distantly located rangelands (Moges,

Box 1. Description of the Afar traditional information network (the Dagu)

The “Dagu”, dubbed the “Internet of the Afar” by some people, is a traditional, highly effective human-
based information communication network of the Afar pastoralists. During Dagu, people who have just
met exchange the customary greetings of “A SelamWealikum” and “WealikuAselam” and kiss each
other’s hands. Those in Edo then usually start asking a detailed list of questions of each other. Conver-
sation usually starts with the phrases “Iytiimahatobie?” and “Intiimahatubilie?”, meaning what have your
ears heard or your eyes seen? Then conversation might then be about a variety of issues in the daily life
of the Afar, including the weather, livestock, marriages, funerals, conflicts and so on (Moges, 2010).

The purpose of the Dagu is to obtain as much current and relevant information as possible. The Afar
have a saying that the perfect Dagu is done with the perfect stranger. One of the interviewees, Ilalta
Mohammed (82, male from Aba’alá),recalled one of his most consequential Dagu, which he claimed
probably saved the lives of many villagers. It was when he was a young man of 26 and arrived late at
his village after a long day at the markets. He met a man he had never seen before. The man was in
a hurry and he had very little patience for a Dagu, but, being an Afar himself, he felt obliged to tell
everything that he had heard. He told Ilalta Mohammed that the last rains in most of the highlands had
failed and that the cattle were suffering and dying of hunger, and that it was only a matter of time until
the highlanders started a “Gaz”, or cattle raiding of the Afar villages. He also mentioned that there was
very good fodder and water near Bahre in Afar and that it was well-protected by armed Afar warriors.
Ilalta Mohammed went straight to the elders of the village, before even visiting his own house, to tell
them what he had heard. The elders discussed the issue overnight and made another Dagu about it,
asking whether anyone had any relevant information about the issue. One of the villagers said that he
had met a highlander “Fikur” in the market that day and learned that the weather in their area was
not good and that this Fikurmight send some of his animals to him. The elders immediately ordered a
removal to around Bahre the next morning. About a week after that decision, Ilalta Mohammed and his
villagers learned that the Christian highlanders had tried to raid their former village, but returned back
to their highlands empty handed.

41
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

2010). During Dagu, every Afar has a tribal responsibility and obligation to transmit any cred-
ible information they may have without reservation or limitation (Moges, 2010). In cases where
someone is not the original source of the information, they are obliged to name the person from
whom the information was obtained (Moges, 2010). Afar pastoralists trust completely and depend
upon information obtained from Edo and Dagu because, as a people who are strong adherents
to rulings given by the Adda, misinformation can have serious consequences, not only for an
individual, but also for an entire clan, who will be forced to pay compensation by way of camels to
victims of misinformation (box 1). In this way, the Dagu is made proof against misinformation and
falsehood through an effective and strong circular feedback system in the Adda (Moges, 2010).

The role of the Adda elders is usually important in the interpretation of different information. The
Adda elders do not depend only on the weather related information they receive from individuals,
however. They also themselves collect local information, including through direct observation of
the local biophysical observations of weather, and through weather indicator-related information
obtained from individuals, or advice from traditional seers, or even information from the State
weather forecasting service broadcasting through state radio and television. Information such
as rainfall during the coming rainy season, and sometimes daily weather forecasting, especially
that related to rain is highly sought after and used by the Adda elders as data for their deci-
sion-making. The Adda elders then triangulate information from different sources and formulate
the most probable weather scenarios which are then applied to the planning for livestock grazing
and the migration of the tribes. Migration and migratory routes vary from place to place and from
district to district. Community actions are based on the probability of each weather forecast, with
the most probable always considered first when making decisions.

If the weather is said to improve in the near future, and abundance is predicted, the Adda elders
advise their community members to stay put, and may start planning celebrations, festivities and
marriages. However, households are advised to undertake a different course of actions to help
them survive an existing drought. These include collecting famine foods (i.e. seeds and fruits
of the Gasrayto, Medera, Kusraito, lui-mederto, adayto and ado-hadita), selling some animals,
purchasing grains (such as sorghum, wheat, barley and millet), temporary migration to a nearby
village, taking loans (of money, grains or animals) from relatives or friends in other places or even
those in other production systems.3 Households with a suckling camel-calf are usually advised
to sacrifice the calf, so that the milk produced by the camel will be exclusively for human con-
sumption and enough for children and other members of the family. Such calves are slaughtered,
their meat eaten, and their skin made into either a stuffed calf or dried. A stuffed animal is called
locally a “Kibu” and is presented to the mother came to stimulate milk secretion (Balehegn,
2015b; Balehegn, 2016).

In cases when there seems to be no hope of the rains arriving in the near future (a period that can
last up to between two and five years), the Adda elders gather the household heads to advise on
and discuss the best course of action to be taken. The course of action advised in such scenarios
usually includes selling animals (destocking), slaughtering and storing meat, purchasing grain
and migration to the nearest, safest rangelands likely to provide the community and its herds

3 Many Afar pastoralist households have “Fikurs”, literally meaning lovers or other households whom they love or, more appositely,
trust and rely on or call upon during difficult times. Fikurs are usually farming households from the highlands of the neighbouring
Tigray or Amhara regional states. During droughts, Afar households get grain, animals or other forms of support from their Fikurs.
Moreover, Afar households may send some of their animals, and in the worst case, their children, to stay with the Fikur until the rains
42 return. The Afars would do the same, were drought or any other natural disaster to affect the highlanders.
Table 1. Non-weather variables observed by Edo scouts that help in the decision-making which follows after weather prediction
Observation at Edo Information collected or reported Use in community decision-making
Biophysical weather Flowering or blooming trees, constellation of celestial bodies, Helps to understand future weather conditions, determine migrations, marketing
indicators wind direction, strength and wind condition and sell of animals etc.
(coldness or hotness)
Availability and What type of water is there? How many animals and people can Depending on the weather prediction information, information on water avail-
distribution of water on be supported? Is the water safe or clean? Are there “Duras”, a ability in different sites can be used to decide where to go at a certain point.
rangelands natural depression, which can collect rain water if it rains? Some sites may be used as temporary staying places until the rain starts
Proximity to cultivated Is there cultivable land around; at what stage are the crops? Is Knowing what land is cultivated and at what time helps communities avoid such
land there a risk of encroachment by livestock? Would that cause land, which can at certain times serve as a source of stubble grazing? Pastoral-
conflict? ists therefore need to understand the cultivation calendars of their agrarian and
agro-pastoral neighbours
Disease and practices Are there ticks4 or other diseases present? Will there be an Based on predicted weather, the disease conditions and parasites vary
outbreak of animal or human disease, e.g. malaria, “Gendi”, if
the area receives rain?
Security Are there hostile families or clans present? What is the local In instances of high risk, pastoralists may completely avoid going to certain
political situation? Whose families or clans are nearby the land places, or may send selected strong individuals to do so. To combat the problem
being assessed? What is the predator population5 (mainly hyena of predators, herds might be split herds into camels and goats or sheep and the
and foxes)? Will it be a problem for the goats? small ruminants moved to less risky areas
Soil type What type of soil is there? Will it be able to grow grass after rain? Dark clay soils tend to promote good grass growth after little rainfall, but tend
to be muddy and disease ridden after the Segum rains. They also absorb a lot of
heat during the hot season. These factors affect mobility decisions
“Alla” or “rumen fill” This is the level of satiation, or the level of fill, of the rumen of A good “Alla”, or rumen fill, for animals already browsing or grazing in an area
animals grazing or browsing in an area that is being assessed. being assessed indicates the amount of browsable fodder available. This allows
Scouts in Edo check whether animals are satisfied or not pastoralists to gauge the duration, direction and timing of mobility
Slope and topography Is the land steep slopped? Is there a risk of flooding? Will it be Typically, slopping and steep rangelands are not suitable for camel browsing.
suitable for large animals, such as camel and cattle? Most of the time, goats and sheep are more sure-footed and steep areas will be
allotted for goat and sheep rather than camel and cattle
Species composition of Are there toxic plants? What is their composition? What is the risk The decision on where to move is affected by the level, composition and stage
toxic plants and weeds of animals dying there? of growth of toxic plants, irrespective of the predicted weather. For instance,
pastoralists avoid a flowering “andelto” or (Caparis tomentosa?)at all stages, as
this plant is highly toxic to camel, causing instant collapse and death

4 The sudden onset of Segum rains is said to encourage the infestation of certain rangelands with a dangerous level of ticks. Despite a positive prediction of Segum rain, pastoralists
tend to avoid such places for some time.
5 Edo scouts look for indicators, such as predator foot tracks, predator faeces, animal nests, to calculate the risk posed by predators

43
4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Figure 3. Afar pastoralists construct their houses from the simplest of materials in readiness to
be suddenly ordered by the Adda elders to relocate themselves and their livestock

with enough fodder and water. Historically, migration involved crossing international and regional
borders, when mobility was mostly governed by ecology and amount of forage available. However,
currently, mobility is limited by new border controls and the Afars usually only move within their
own regional state. If migration is decided upon, a smooth schedule to enable the best possible
help to be provided for the most vulnerable individuals (children, the elderly and pregnant and
breastfeeding women) will be prepared. Individuals and households might also decide to migrate
to find labouring work; this usually entails travelling to Middle Eastern countries, such as Saudi
Arabia.

Drought and the role of indigenous weather forecasting in coping with

adaptation

The Afar landscape has been exposed to various drought occurrences. That is why the Afars have
developed a nomenclature and categories for the different types of drought that occur at dif-
ferent times and with different variations. These names are “Abara” and “Adalsa”, and “Hagaya”
44 and “Gilalta”. The “Abara” type is not necessarily a meteorological condition, but rather mainly
 4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia

indicates a lack or shortage of livestock fodder, usually resulting in emaciated animals. Abara is
considered site-specific because, while some places could be in an “Abara” condition, others
could still have abundance with “fat” animals and people. The “Adalsa” is, on the other hand, a
condition of dryness, which results in multiple problems, including emaciated livestock, famine,
conflict and a water shortage. Adalsa is considered a widespread drought condition affecting
people all over Afar. “Hagaya’ is only a seasonal shortage of rain or moisture and is not considered
as drought, but rather only as a dry condition. It is only when the Hagaya, or dry season, extends
beyond the normal average length that it is referred as either Abara or Adalsa. “Gilalta” is a dry
season characterized by extremely cold conditions. It is considered a drought because due to the
cold condition, many fodder species shed their leaves and this results in a seasonal shortage of
fodder.

The Afar also hold a fund of knowledge about the rains. They claim that they used to be very
precise with respect to the timing and location of the rains. However, today, not only has the
amount of rainfall decreased, but its timing and spatial distribution has also been greatly dis-
rupted (Balehegn and Tafere, 2013). A traditional Afar proverb says “Rain discriminates between
two horns of an ox”, where as one elder likened the current rainfall situation in his area to “rain
which does not fall on either of the two horns of an ox”.

Many Afar herdsmen believe that the increase in the frequency of drought and the disturbance
of the traditional rainfall calendar are a result of the “Curse from Allah”; in other words, a price
people pay for their transgressive behaviour and disobedience to heavenly commandments. Most
of the elders who participated in the group discussions explained that in the past people were
united to such an extent that almost all Afar individuals were able to survive the hardest of times
because food and other resources were shared among clan and family members. However, today,
individualism is leading to the abandonment of important traditions, such as the “Du’a”, begging
elders for a blessing, and the religious tradition of “Zaka” where a rich herder shares milk, meat
and sometimes even live animals, with poorer families. These changes are causing divine retribu-
tion, and thus causing more droughts, famine and starvation (Balehegn and Tafere, 2013). Many
Afar elders believe that such “unfavorable” social changes are what is making Allah withhold
the rains. Such an explaining away of biophysical challenges, such as climate change and its
associated drought and food scarcity, as the acts of a supernatural being has been noted by other
studies in pastoralist (Balehegn and Tafere, 2013; Apata et al., 2009) and agrarian communities
(Balehegn et al., 2014). Such types of extra-biophysical or supernatural explanations are not only
the result of a lack of scientific understanding of the environmental causes, but also indicate the
frustration and helplessness felt by local communities (Balehegn et al., 2014). This means that,
since pastoralists do not have a direct solution to the problems that confront them repeatedly,
they try to feel less guilty by explaining it away as something beyond their power to solve. More-
over, sometimes indigenous knowledge has no equivalent in the language of science. Therefore
indigenous peoples find explanations that do not fit with scientific understanding or discourse.
The knowledge held by indigenous people is different to that of the scientific paradigm; the fact
that it is expressed as an extra-biophysical or supernatural explanation does not necessarily mean
that it is not valid.

That said, there were some informants who by exception associated drought with over population
(both of people and livestock), over grazing and the deforestation of rangelands which causes
scarce and erratic rainfall patterns. Yet, even when an explanation other than one of supernatural 45
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

retribution is given, Afar pastoralists do not directly talk about drought in its meteorological
sense; rather, they use a lot of biophysical and social indicators to describe the reoccurrence of
drought. These phenomena are related usually to livestock productivity, biophysical changes, and
socio-economic and cultural changes. Similar observations are made by Belehegn and Tafere
(2013), who claim that biophysical entities are widely perceived and understood by Afar pastoral-
ists because they are more concrete and observable to the senses than measurements of rainfall,
temperature and other variables.

Conclusion and recommendations

This study has identified some of the traditional weather and climate indicators used by the
Afar pastoralists of north-eastern Ethiopia. Traditional indicators include changes in biophysical
entities, including livestock, birds, insects and other wildlife, and changes in the constellation or
patterns of celestial bodies. Besides direct observation of biophysical or environmental entities,
the Afar pastoralists also consult traditional seers or rain-makers that make what we like to call
a “pure probabilistic prediction” of future weather. The Afar pastoralists recognize the poten-
tial and limitations of their traditional weather forecasting techniques. Therefore, no prediction
information is taken at face value. Rather, the Afars, through their traditional administration
system, the Adda, make a triangulation of information from different sources, such as weather
and climate assessment scouting missions, the Edo’s, and the traditional weather and other
information communication network, the Dagu. Information collected from different sources,
including formal weather information, is used to determine the most probable weather scenario
for the near future. Based on the most probable weather scenario, the traditional administration,
the Adda, then makes the livelihood decisions that are to be followed by households and entire
communities. Such decisions usually involve timing, duration and the routes and destinations of
migration, the planning of festivities and marriages, the purchase and selling of livestock or grain,
the storing of dried meat and the rationing of milk.

This shows that the production and use of traditional weather forecasting knowledge directly
influences the daily lives and livelihoods of Afar pastoralists. In recognition of the importance of
traditional weather and climate knowledge to the livelihoods of local communities, we recommend
that the use of such knowledge be enhanced by the documentation of these knowledge systems
and their integration or hybridization with formal meteorological weather forecasting.

46
 4. The role of customary institutions in climate change adaptation among Afar pastoralists in north-eastern Ethiopia

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49
5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia:
Knowledge co-production for climate resilience
By Seble Samuel (CGIAR Research Program on Climate Change, Agriculture
and Food Security)

Introduction

The Earth’s climate now follows a treacherous and historically unprecedented course, heralding an
unparalleled anthropogenic climate crisis of rising seas, emissions and temperatures; retreating
snow, ice cover and permafrost; and an influx of extreme events, such as droughts and floods
(IPCC, 2014). This threatens the demise of physical and biological systems, terrestrial and marine
ecosystems and human well-being (IPCC, 2014). Networks of climate scientists, research institu-
tions and international forums, whose narratives originate, in large part, from the field of western
science, have issued urgent warnings of an impending precipice.

Such a framing, however, has many flaws: it excludes alternative perspectives and knowledge sys-
tems; distorts realities at the local level (Lahsen, 2007; Smith, 2007; Bäckstrand and Lövbrand,
2007); and struggles to either compel mainstream society to take action or forge binding climate
policies to keep temperatures within safe limits. It is born out of a fundamentally contradictory
system in which climate knowledge is predominantly created by, and composed of, the voices of
scientists from within those industrialized or western countries whose model of human interaction
with ecological systems has so far proven to be unpromising and destructive.

This research is inspired to challenge such a paradigm by creating space for other forms of
knowledge systems, in particular traditional ecological knowledge, or TEK, grounded in holistic,
multi-general, experiential and place-based understandings of environmental change (Robson
et al., 2009). Focusing on the Sapara Nation of the Ecuadorian Amazon, this research strives
to highlight the power of indigenous and local ecological knowledge in strengthening climate
resilience. This case study is the outcome of extensive fieldwork conducted in the region between
2011 and 2012. It was conducted through a collaboration between several global programmes
and organizations. These were:

• Indigenous Peoples Biocultural Climate Change Assessment Initiative (IPCCA): This is a

global programme that seeks to incorporate indigenous voices into climate change discourse;
preserve traditional and local climate knowledge; generate indigenous climate adaptation
and resilience strategies towards climate threats; and build bridges between indigenous
traditional knowledge and western science using participatory methods (IPCCA, 2011).

• Land is Life: This an international network of indigenous-led organizations and communities

that strives to promote the rights of indigenous peoples to self-determination and the collec-
tive ownership of lands, resources and ancestral knowledge (Land is Life, 2017).

• Ashiñwaka, the Sapara Women’s Association of Ecuador: This association protects the rights
of Sapara women by defending them against violence and mistreatment, and focuses pre-
dominantly on health, education and territory. 51
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

• United Nations University: The key funder of this research project.

More specifically, this research explores, through the lens of TEK, the foremost vulnerabilities to
environmental change that the Sapara Nation, its territory and livelihoods, currently faces, as well
the key drivers prompting these changes.

Such research is vital in reshaping how climate knowledge and resilience is conceptualized,
uprooting it from the monolith of western science and instead giving voice to the localities in
which climate impacts are borne, by embedding it within the holistic field of traditional eco-
logical knowledge systems. At present, despite a strong consensus with respect to the severity
and immediacy of climate change, climate policy and national emission reduction targets and
pledges have not proven sufficient to prevent global temperature exceeding the two degrees
Celsius limit enshrined in the Paris Agreement (UNEP, 2017). There exists, therefore, a need to
incorporate diverse knowledge systems into global scientific climate discourse so as to create a
complementary narrative of climate change; one that facilitates a sustainable relationship with the
natural environment, and includes contributions from marginalized communities and knowledge
systems. For this research, participatory methodologies were applied collaboratively over a six-
month period of fieldwork in the Ecuadorian Amazon between 2011 and 2012. Techniques were
grounded in the approaches of the IPCCA, including the facilitation of participatory resilience
workshops, semi-structured interviews and participant observation during demonstrations, meet-
ings, assemblies, panel discussions, as well as in traditional territories.

Scientific climate knowledge and its limitations

Our current understanding of the climate crisis has largely been informed through the lens of
scientific knowledge, relying on western approaches and schools of thought grounded in empirical
studies, interdisciplinary research, data and recorded observations (Alexander et al., 2011; Riewe
and Oakes, 2006). This field has developed global assessment reports and research publications
informing international climate conventions and consortiums. The findings narrate the unequiv-
ocal warming of the Earth system, with elevated greenhouse gas emissions triggering sea-level
rise, flooded coastal regions, food insecurity, desertification, drought, ocean acidification and
biodiversity loss (IPCC, 2014).

Despite the pervasiveness of the climate crisis, and the scientific consensus on its anthropogenic
roots, scientific warnings and international mobilizations have failed to incite adequate climate
policy to curb emissions and repel climate threats. Scholars have identified key factors limiting the
effectiveness of this largely scientific body of climate change knowledge: namely, the manipulation
of scientific uncertainties; the universalization of environmental threats; the distortion of the local;
the externalization of the environment; and the exclusion of alternative perspectives and knowledge
systems (Alexander et al., 2011; Lahsen, 2007; Smith, 2007; Bäckstrand and Lövbrand, 2007).

The limitations of climate science, at present, include an inability to predict local manifestations
of climate change with complete accuracy within a specific context (Nerlich et al., 2010). While
important proximate models are generated through scientific approaches, the existence of sci-
entific “uncertainties” is often used by climate change sceptics and vested interests to impede
52 ambitious mitigation measures (Lomborg, 2010).
 5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge co-production for climate resilience

While it serves as a central rallying cry, the depiction of climate change as a fundamentally
international issue gives rise to multiple, unintended implications for the interdisciplinary field.
Smith (2007) argues that the notion of climate change as “global” can serve to universalize
environmental threats, and, in so doing, distort climate responsibilities and vulnerabilities which
are distributed disproportionately between industrialized and developing countries respectively
as a result (Roberts and Parks, 2006). The labelling of climate change as a global experience is
further complicated by the distortion of local phenomena and the externalization the environment
(Smith, 2007). When framed in this way, climate change can be visualized as something beyond
our experience and disconnected from our everyday lives, thereby engendering desensitization
and a sense of detachment (Smith, 2007).

This detachment is heightened by the removal of meaning and experience associated with the
figures, charts, numbers, tables, percentages and measurements by which climate science is
currently substantiated. In part because of this, climate change can appear as largely invisible
(Nerlich et al., 2010). Such numerical representations of the world around us, found in figures
and charts, create a dynamic in which we may more readily become desensitized to the profoundly
real implications embedded within such quantifications of the earth’s climate.

These multiple limitations to the scientific framing of climate change have produced a standstill
exemplified by the profound gap that exists between climate science and binding climate policy.
While the scientific world has provided influential and groundbreaking findings regarding climate
change, the current deadlock between climate crisis and climate action has highlighted some
of its shortcomings. There is therefore an important need to incorporate alternative knowledge
systems into the science-dominated climate change discourse (Alexander et al., 2011); to include
marginalized perspectives and diversify towards a resilient climate knowledge base that can com-
mand effective climate action.

The resurgence of traditional ecological knowledge

The concept of TEK is grounded in multi-generational, experiential, place-based and holistic ways
of knowing the natural environment. These teachings and understandings are transmitted through
oral histories, spirituality, values, worldviews, songs, among other creative means, as approaches
for dynamically interpreting and conceiving of the natural world (Pierotti and Wildcat, 2000). The
concept has been used interchangeably - but not limited to - the terms Indigenous Knowledge,
Traditional Knowledge, and Indigenous Ecological Knowledge.

Over the last several decades, the notion of TEK has seen a change in its overall acceptance and
recognition. In the 1950s and 1960s, the concept of TEK was largely viewed by many theorists and
scientists as an inefficient and subordinate knowledge system; one that impeded effective pathways
to development (Agrawal, 1995). Science and technology were seen then as the crucial factors
when shaping environmental planning and in decision-making processes (Riewe and Oakes, 2006).

Yet, despite this, the perception of TEK is being transformed. The last two decades have seen
a resurgence in the popularity of TEK across distinct scientific, academic and community fields
(Riewe and Oakes, 2006). Many contributing factors have been associated with this transition in
thinking which has impacted a range of diverse arenas and disciplines: namely, an increase in 53
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

research funding into indigenous knowledges and the greater understanding of the importance of
indigenous knowledge systems that has been promoted through multimedia productions (Agrawal,
1995). While this rebirth of discourses involving TEK first took place within the disciplines of anthro-
pology, sociology and geography, TEK has continued to grow in influence and to permeate into
other fields, such as ecology, soil science, forestry, aquatic science, fisheries, wildlife management,
information science and water resource management, among others (Warren et al., 1993).

As the relevance and complementary nature of TEK for multiple disciplines comes to the fore,
Nakashima et al. (2012, p. 7) argue that it holds “elements of significance for local livelihoods,
security and well-being, [rendering it] essential for climate change”. Given the current challenges
associated with the global scientific framing of climate change, local, place-based insights have been
described as necessary inputs for effective climate understanding and planning to ensue (Alexander
et al., 2011). This is view is shared by international environmental institutions who recognize that the
imposition of rigid policy measures often fails over the medium and long term through a lack of local
support (Moller et al., 2004). Similarly, a need to integrate the local has been emphasized by many
scholars who contend that sustainable development can only be achieved through the inclusion of
both indigenous and scientific knowledge systems – and then only with a clear emphasis on the
priorities and objectives of local peoples (Rahman, 2000; Riewe and Oakes, 2006).

On integrating knowledge systems

Given the obstacles to action associated with a purely scientific approach to climate discourse,
namely the disconnect between climate science, climate policy and widespread societal action on
environmental issues (Helm, 2005; Riewe and Oakes, 2006; Sarewitz, 2004), there is a critical
value to be had from the incorporation of alternative climate discourses into the predominantly
scientific framework of climatic change. In fact, Finucane (2009) goes so far as to argue that
climate science alone will be insufficient in effectively solving the climate crisis.

Indigenous insights into, and conceptions of, climate change have the potential to provide much
needed perspectives and vantage points within climate change discourse and policy, given the
knowledge gaps and systemic challenges within climate science. Such an integration is vital, not
only for purposes of utility, but for equity. Within the current climate framework, dominated as it
is by western science, local knowledge of the natural environment held by indigenous nationalities
is largely omitted; insights and observations of indigenous knowledge systems have traditionally
been excluded from scientific sources due to peer-review requirements (Alexander et al., 2011;
Nakashima et al., 2012).

Despite these trends of marginalization, both historical and contemporary, of distinctly indigenous
knowledge systems, (Riewe and Oakes, 2006) neither scientific knowledge nor TEK should be
ranked as superior or inferior to one another. Both knowledge systems possess the capacity to
complement one another and increase overall effectiveness so as to enhance the breadth and
depth of current climate knowledge. As Pierotti and Wildcat (2000, p. 1333) have highlighted:

[C]onvergence of TEK and western science suggests that there may be areas in which TEK
can contribute insights, or possibly even new concepts, to western science. TEK is inherently
multidisciplinary in that it links the human and the nonhuman, and is the basis not only for
54 indigenous concepts of nature, but also for concepts of indigenous politics and ethics. This
 5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge co-production for climate resilience

multidisciplinary aspect suggests that TEK may be useful in resolving conflicts involving a
variety of stakeholders and interest groups in controversies over natural resource use, animal
rights, and conservation.

TEK represents an important component in facilitating a move towards progressive climate knowl-
edge that equitably and effectively promotes a holistic approach to the framing of climate under-
standing and action that complements the current scientific framing of our changing climate.

Sapara Nation

The Ecuadorian Amazon, an incredibly diverse region both biologically and culturally, spans nearly
half of the country’s mainland territory with the vast majority covered by native tropical forest
(figure 1) (López et al., 2013). Ten indigenous nationalities – Achuar, Andoa, Cofán, Kichwa,
Sapara, Secoya, Shiwiar, Shuar Arutam, Siona, Waorani – populate this region, with territories
covering roughly 60 percent of Ecuadorian Amazonia (López et al., 2013). It is currently a site
of confluence between: a diversity of peoples, including both indigenous nationalities and set-
tlers; a national system of protected areas to manage critical terrestrial and marine ecosystems;
and the external pressures from oil exploration and extraction, roadway construction, mining,
hydroelectric dam infrastructure, land use change, agricultural and livestock development, and
deforestation associated with the aforementioned drivers (López et al., 2013).

Figure 1. Political administrative boundaries of the Ecuadorian Amazon

Source: López et al. (2013)

55
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

As the Ecuadorian Amazon has undergone a significant transformation due to this convergence
of internal and external drivers, so too has the Sapara Nation. Once a nomadic people of approx-
imately 98,500 inhabitants, composed of diverse ethno-linguistic groups and spanning a vast
territory from Archidona to Pastaza River (figure 2), the Sapara Nation has been greatly altered
by the presence of external pressures (Castillo et al., 2016). Commencing in the seventeenth
century, a violent history of colonization and evangelist missions, as well as encroachment by
the rubber industry in the mid-nineteenth century with its associated indentured labour and dis-
ease, followed by gold mining in the twentieth century, pierced and disrupted traditional Sapara
livelihoods (Donoso, 2004; Trujillo, 2001). Following this series of ruptures, the Sapara Nation
has become sedentary, with a much reduced population of 550 inhabitants. In 2001, the oral
and cultural traditions of the Sapara Nation were declared an Intangible Cultural Heritage of
Humanity by the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO)
(Bilhaut, 2011). Today, only a handful of elders are Sapara speakers, a figure that was recorded
at 20,000 in the nineteenth century (Castillo et al., 2016), while Kichwa has become the dom-
inant language. The endangered status of the Sapara language has complicated this indigenous
nationality’s struggle for cultural survival and made it a key focus within its education systems.
The Sapara Nation is now organized into 23 communities in Pastaza Province, situated between
the rivers Conambo and Pindoyacu.

Figure 2. Ancestral versus present-day Sapara territory

Source: Castillo et al. (2016); CODENPE (2012)

Note: area in dark, ancestral territory; area in light, present-day territory

56
 5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge co-production for climate resilience

Methods: Participatory resilience workshops

During the course of the research, our collaborative team of Ashiñwaka and Land is Life travelled
on three separate journeys to Sapara territory, facilitating participatory workshops with five com-
munities: Llanchamacocha, Masaramu, Jandiayacu, Ripano and Nima Muricha. These resilience
workshops focused on a diversity of themes, including territory, medicinal plants, agriculture,
hunting, fishing, the spiritual world and climate prediction. The goals of these workshops, in the
construction of baseline development and a conceptual framework, were grounded in the Indige-
nous Peoples Biocultural Climate Change Assessment Initiative. They included gathering stories
on historical and present-day climate trends, local interpretations of resilience and adaptation and
perceptions of drivers influencing socio-ecological vulnerability to climate change (IPCCA, 2011).
Distinct approaches were used, depending on the resilience theme chosen, and are detailed
below.

Territory – Participatory community mapping and storytelling were the key approaches
applied during the territory workshops. Participatory mapping provides “a valuable
visual representation of what a community perceives as its place and the significant
features within it. These include depictions of natural physical features and resources
and socio-cultural features known by the community” (Corbett, 2009, p. 4). Particular
issues explored were creation stories regarding the Sapara territory, traditional territo-
rial uses, changes from traditional to contemporary land use, factors influencing these
changes, presence of new actors within the Sapara territory and local conceptions of
“witsaja iki”, that is, living well.

Hunting and fishing – Communities collectively created participatory charts to illustrate

the hunting and fishing elements of their livelihoods. Within each chart, community
members included the predominant kinds of fish and animals they hunted and fished,
the seasons in which these species were most prominent, and the traps most com-
monly used to hunt and fish these species. These specific insights were shared within
the contexts of ancestral and contemporary hunting and fishing patterns, highlighting
changes in practice, the reasons for such shifts, as well as the impacts on wildlife
presence and movement, and forms of sustenance.

Medicinal plants and agriculture – During hikes through the territorial forests of the
Sapara Nation, community members identified those plants which form part of their
traditional medicinal systems, and their uses and preparation methods, as an integral
element of community health and resilience. The agricultural component took place
during visits to chakras, the space where Sapara communities plant, cultivate and
harvest their crops. Communities shared knowledge regarding traditional chakras and
perceived changes within the agricultural sphere, crop production and growth patterns,
and the aspects of their livelihoods affected by this variability.

Spiritual world – Conceptual mapping was applied as a way to visually imagine and
illustrate the spiritual world within Sapara cosmology. Within these representations
were the myths, dreams and spirits that form part of Sapara territory, their roles and
powers, the implications they have for Sapara livelihoods, and the interactions and
relationships these mythologies have with the environment. 57
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Climate prediction – Climate calendars were created by the participating communities. These
depicted traditional practices and livelihoods, wildlife presence and patterns, and their asso-
ciated seasons and climates. This was complemented by an evaluation of any changes noted
in these traditional climate calendars, and their livelihood impacts. Communities also shared
distinct approaches to climate prediction, grounded in local ecological knowledge.

Further, I conducted semi-structured interviews on the topics of territoriality, Sapara livelihoods,

oil exploitation and resistance, environmental change and TEK, with a diversity of sectors and
communities. These included indigenous nationalities, environmental organizations, social justice
activists and indigenous rights organizations, such as the Confederation of Indigenous Nationali-
ties of the Ecuadorian Amazon (CONFENIAE) and the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities
of Ecuador (CONAIE). This was so as to develop a multi-faceted understanding of these key issues
in relation to Sapara livelihoods and climate resilience. During this research project, a substantial
portion of the knowledge I gathered from my experience with Sapara communities stemmed from
participant observation (Schensul et al., 1999). This included living with members of Ashiñwaka;
attending demonstrations (e.g. Women in Resistance to the Destruction of Nature; Plurinational
March for Water, Life, and Dignity of the People); observing and participating in coalition meet-
ings on topics that included forest management and oil exploitation; attending the annual Sapara
Assembly; and attending training workshops on oil resistance and technical sessions on national
forest schemes. Such experiences created space for the acquisition of new and diverse perspec-
tives and thinking regarding Sapara livelihoods, environmental change and resilience.

Creating culturally appropriate frameworks

In the process of assessing the climate vulnerabilities confronted by Sapara populations across
their territory, it became necessary to re-evaluate my own worldviews and biases; to realise that
concepts which I had, naively, perceived as almost universal were conceptualized and internalized
in entirely distinct ways. This realization became necessary as a prerequisite for attempting to
visualize certain aspects of Sapara cosmology. This reimagining and rearranging of fundamental
perceptions became manifest through the interpretations of time and knowledge, facilitating the
understanding of noted climatic changes and affected livelihoods among Sapara communities.

Concepts of time

When facilitating the climate prediction workshops, Sapara communities shared their understanding
of their traditional climate calendar, including seasons of heavy rains, dry periods, sunshine and
animal presence, among other factors. During these sessions, the notion of the Julian calendar (Jan-
uary–December) was perceived as a completely foreign concept. Instead, time and the seasons were
conceived based on aspects of the world around them, present wildlife and the natural environment.

As recounted by Alejo Najar of Masaramu, “the seasons start with the mono gordo (large monkey),
then the season of ave gordo (large bird) begins, and last comes the season of pez gordo (large
fish)”. The season of el mono gordo is roughly equivalent to the months of January to May. This
58 period, with its heavy rains, is referred to as winter. The season of el ave gordo corresponds to
 5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge co-production for climate resilience

the months of May to July, when there are light rains and periods of sunshine. This is followed
by the season of el pez gordo, which is the shortest period, roughly corresponding to the month
of August, and throughout this season there are high temperatures and long periods of sunshine.
During the remaining time of September to December, there are no large animals; however, the
chakra crops and flowers are in full bloom, and there is therefore an increasingly reliance on the
harvesting of this produce. As the terrestrial animals begin to fatten, the cycle begins again, with
the return to the season of el mono gordo.

This perception of time and the seasons is not only cyclical and rooted in the environment, it is
also relational. For example, the Sapara communities explained that the presence of the guachico
fish is highest when the guava or papaya plants are blossoming; that toucans flock when the
morete fruit is ripening; that the shio fish is present only when the rivers are clear. These insights
into environmentally based conceptualizations of time strongly correlate with the premises of TEK
that “all things are connected … [and] all things are related” (Pierotti and Wildcat, 2000, p.
1333). This background of learning about a unique cosmology of interpretations of time and the
seasons forms the foundation from which to understand how Sapara communities interpret and
comprehend their climate.

Ways of knowing

Across Sapara territory, communities shared a diversity of ways of knowing regarding perceptions
of environmental change. From Ripano, Jandiayacu and Masaramu, community members were
able to predict rainfall by the prevalence of the aya ulyu mushroom, tamia añangu ants, rainbows,
hot night-time temperatures and dreams of chicha; sunshine by the prevalence of india añangu
ants, cold night-time temperatures and dreams of setting light to something; high winds through
dreams of flooding; successful hunting through dreams of insects sucking blood; successful
fishing through dreams of yucca; and danger in the chakra through dreams of snakes.

These insights provided space in which to reflect on different ways of knowing, and the autonomy
associated with these distinct ways of imagining, understanding and relating to natural environ-
ments. Marco Montaguano of Llachamacocha shed light on this self-sufficiency: “the jungle is
our very own SuperMaxi within our territory, because we can find medicine, we can find our food,
we can sustain ourselves in the forest”. Such astute and resourceful ways of knowing validated
Robson et al.’s (2009, p. 173) conception of knowledge as an “adaptive cultural element”, both
dynamic and complementary to scientific understandings of environmental change and natural
resource management.

Noted climatic changes

Perceptions of climatic changes among Sapara peoples from Llanchamacocha, Jandiayacu,

Ripano, Masaramu and Nima Muricha, were far-reaching and numerous. These communities
stressed that their calendar of seasons (mono gordo, ave gordo, pez gordo, chakra) is no longer a
predictable one. Instead, they cited instances of increasingly strong winds with completely altered
patterns; unexpected heavy rains that were seemingly never-ending; unusually strong sunlight;
and extreme climatic events, with two to three hurricanes experienced in the past five to ten years 59
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

uprooting trees, chakras and homes. As Najar remarked, “we know what will happen the next day,
but we can no longer predict the seasons”. Communities had observed additional changes related
to altered animal patterns. These included the disappearance of certain species; destroyed wild-
life habitats, leading to dispersal; as well as the presence of new illnesses previously absent from
their territories.

These observed changes in the natural environment have had profound impacts across Sapara
livelihoods. Within the agricultural realm of chakras, the five communities remarked that weeds have
been growing rapidly due to the heavy rains, and it has become nearly impossible to uproot them.
This has caused food shortages as staple crops, such as plantains, become smaller, damaged or
rotten as a consequence. Strong sunlight reduced the working hours available for labouring in the
chakra fields, and has also slowed crop growth and parched the soil during the summer season.

Hunting has been limited, because it is not possible to hunt during the heavy rains. Hunting
patterns and the weapons used are changing due to the dispersal of animals causing increasingly
difficult hunting conditions. Fishing has also been affected; however, this is due to rising water
levels and flooded rivers making fishing increasingly challenging. Heavy winds have adversely
affected both housing and mobility across several regions of Sapara territory. Homes have been
destroyed by increased wind velocity, rendering current infrastructure insufficient. Fallen trees
block common travel routes along the river and on land, thereby reducing mobility and creating
ever more dangerous livelihood conditions.

Triggers, territoriality and climate change

External drivers are in the process of transforming territoriality across the Sapara Nation, cre-
ating pressures that could further aggravate traditional livelihoods and climate conditions. These
include natural resources extraction and conservation that exclude the priorities of indigenous
peoples. These shifts are exemplified by the recent entry of extraction and commodification into
Sapara territory, as well as the emergence of new actors in the region’s ecological governance,
with profound implications for the territorial sovereignty of the Sapara Nation.

Natural resource extraction concessions have many implications for the territories and livelihoods
of the Sapara Nation. In this regard, effective participation and consultation mechanisms will be
critical for ensuring traditional livelihoods and knowledge are protected and encouraged. Ecuador is
a signatory to the ILO Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169) (Carrión, 2012),
which provides important guidance regarding indigenous peoples’ consultation and participation,
with the objective of achieving agreement or consent. A lack of meaningful consultation about
resource extraction, however, threatens to erode the collective rights of the Sapara Nation. Such
transformations could aggravate processes of organizational fracture across the livelihoods and
territories of the Sapara Nation, in turn, threatening both its cultural survival and climate resilience.

Ecuador’s forest conservation programmes represent another substantial driver transforming

the territories of the Sapara Nation. More than 120,000 hectares have been assigned to such
conservation schemes across Sapara territory (Departamento SIG, Fundación Altropico, 2011).
However, a lack of transparency in transmitted information has facilitated the appropriation of
60 lands and complicated the territorial sovereignty and rights of the Sapara Nation. These multi-fac-
 5. Witsaja iki, or the good life in Ecuadorian Amazonia: Knowledge co-production for climate resilience

eted issues, compounded by the lack of a formal consultation process, have far-reaching impli-
cations for Sapara territoriality, and jeopardize the ability of communities to make fully informed
decisions about the governance of their lands. Most significantly, if meaningful consultation and
participation are not defended, these dynamics have the capacity to erode self-determination and
territorial rights through the legal repercussions of resource extraction and conservation.

Conclusions

The insights from the Sapara Nation’s TEK reveal territories and livelihoods that are being radi-
cally transformed by a myriad of external pressures, including a changing climate of unpredictable
and heavy rains, strong winds and sunlight, and extreme events that compromise food security,
hunting and fishing practices, mobility and housing. This encroaching dynamic is aggravated by
the entry of new actors and the distinct visions for the future of these Amazonian territories set
out in programmes for environmental conservation and natural resources extraction.

However, rather than allow drivers, such as exploration concessions, forest conservation pro-
grammes and a changing local climate, to entirely reshape the territories upon which the Sapara
Nation depends and thrives, communities are instead crafting their own visions for their lands and
livelihoods. Naku (jungle in Sapara) is one such indigenous-led model that combines ecological
stewardship and community entrepreneurship, promoting alternative economic models such as
ecotourism and food sovereignty, and converging around integral values, such as healing and
spirituality (Castillo et al., 2016). Grounded in their unique knowledge systems for a markedly dif-
ferent trajectory, proposals such as Naku, rooted in witsaja iki, Sapara cosmology of the good life,
illustrate visionary imaginings of a distinct livelihood and territorial path for the Sapara Nation.

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63
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change
and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights
from Turkana herders in northern Kenya
By Greta Semplici (University of Oxford)

Figure 1. Seeing like the herder, Lorengelup, December 2015

Photo credit: Greta Semplici

It has now become almost a routine. Every morning I sit at my desk in the shared open space
of my department where I am writing my PhD thesis.1 Mechanically, I take my computer out of
the bag, switch it on and before diving into the depths of resilience discussions in dryland areas
I first go over emails and the main news. Here, more and more often, I am pointed towards the
countless problems climate change has brought to the region where my doctoral research is
based: Turkana County, in the Northern Kenyan arid lands. . It is inevitable; it seems everybody
talks about it: the county where “almost everything is an emergency”, in the words of Peter

1 This case study is drawn from my doctoral fieldwork in Turkana county, northern Kenya. It is adapted from my DPhil thesis, titled
“Moving deserts: The resilience challenge. Stories of mobilities from a Kenyan desertscape”, at the University of Oxford, Department
of International Development. I wish to thank all Turkana people who have hosted me, shared their journeys and taught me their living
ways. I also wish to thank my research assistants who have been patient and helpful throughout.
65
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Lokoel, the deputy governor (Hatcher, 2014); the county now forced to confront the biggest and
most harmful of all its problems, that which contains all others: climate change.

Turkana County, known as the cradle of humankind, is one of 47 Kenyan counties, located in the
country’s former Rift Valley province. It is the largest and most north-western county in Kenya,
bordered by Uganda to the west, South Sudan and Ethiopia to the north and north-east and
Lake Turkana, formerly Lake Rudolf, to the east. It falls within Kenya’s arid and semi-arid lands
(ASALs) and is characterized by recurrent droughts which have led many scholars to define it
as a “drought-driven” system (Ellis and Swift 1988). In addition, conflicts caused by unclear
authorities, raids, competition for pasture and water, land fragmentation, climate change, and
also recently by extractive industries (oil and hydroelectric power), pose a further challenge to the
predominantly pastoral population that inhabits Turkana.

In East Africa, debates about climate change focus on the increasing temperatures and higher
rainfall variability, with a growing likelihood of more frequent and extended droughts (Schilling
et al., 2014). Reports about climate change in Turkana frequently find that the average temper-
ature in the county is increasing. A common piece of data shared is the 2°C rise in minimum
and maximum  temperatures between 1967 and 2012 recorded by the meteorological station
based in Turkana’s capital, Lodwar (Avery, 2012). Furthermore, the aftermath of new and more
unpredictable climate patterns is increasingly reported (Human Rights Watch, 2015). Commonly,
it is stated that the long rainy season has shortened and become drier, and that the short rainy
season has become hotter and wetter, with annual rainfall remaining at low levels. Frequently
reports state that, whereas a severe multi-year drought used to occur once every ten years (Ellis et
al., 1987), the time-span between droughts has now shortened, with, for example, four droughts
occurring just in the last decade (Mude et al., 2009). This is said to threaten people’s ability to
access food, water, health and security; other common concerns one reads about are women and
girls having to now walk longer distances to dig for water in dry riverbeds; increased competition
over diminishing grazing lands for herds; and animals being less healthy and dying. Nonetheless,
the extent, impacts and causes of climate change are still open to debate, with no overarching
agreement among the international community (Vrålstad, 2010).

I lived in Turkana for 14 months between 2015 and 2017, 6 months of which were later officially
declared as drought – described (once again) as “one of the severest droughts in living memory”
(Morland, 2017). I was conducting ethnographic multi-sited research which pushed me from
the highlands along the Ugandan escarpment to the lowlands around Lake Turkana, passing by
the vast open plains of the Turkana semi-desert central areas. I was exploring the meanings of
resilience as lived and experienced by herders compared with institutional definitions, as the term
is becoming prominent in the development sector. In this paper, I use this experience to reflect on
how local knowledge, practices and performances can contribute to climate change debates. The
aim is to provide readers with some clarity about climate change in Turkana in relation to local
knowledge and people’s long exposure to climatic variations.

As I was in the midst of climate change, manifesting in the latest drought to hit the Horn of
Africa, I could not but ask myself: what do Turkana herders have to say about climate change? Or,
put more broadly, what climate features are embedded into local knowledge; in what practices
is this knowledge performed; and, how do Turkana herders account for changes in the climate?
66
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

This short case study will show (a) the importance of integrating pastoralists’ knowledge and
expertise into environmental and climatic assessments. Not only are they valuable informants on
the processes of change in their landscape, but also the changes in their knowledge and practices
reflect the changes in their surroundings, as part of broader adaptation responses. Hence, a
second argument is that (b) herders’ knowledge is not static, and that understanding changes in
knowledge and practices reveals a lot about broader changes – including climate changes. This
case study concludes by (c) warning against a univocal focus on climate change as the driver
of all problems. Without disregarding the relevance of climate change, it should be understood
within a broader context of high ecological variability, as well as considered in relation to political
and economic factors that are co-responsible for the current risks faced by dryland inhabitants.

Thinking climate change from local knowledge

I sit together with Apa Lokiria in the shade of a big acacia tree. Beyond the round confine of the
branches crowning the tree, the air trembles. We look at the white sky, the colour of milk. He is one
of the oldest member of the small community where I am hosted for my fieldwork; local people told

Figure 2. Turkana elder in his homestead, Lorengelup, November 2015

Photo credit: Greta Semplici

67
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

me, “you should walk with Apa Lokiria if you want to learn about us”. Walking in Turkana, if together
with herders, is not only a physical movement; walking encompasses observing, tracking and remem-
bering. Walking implies building, sharing and transmitting knowledge. With Apa Lokiria, we walked
in the area surrounding Lorengelup village, through the sinuous dry riverbeds, through bushes of wild
fruit, encountering footprints made by camels and goats, deep, hand-dug wells, as well as through
the dirt road that cuts through the village, the piles of charcoal sacks waiting to be sold, the primary
school and through the wind-pump built by Unicef. While walking, we also visited places of his
memory; we walked through his life, his recollections, and recorded the changes that have occurred.
He was teaching me, and I was learning. Now, resting under the acacia tree, Apa Lokiria points at
the sky: “I remember, when I was a kid playing with my friends running into the moving shades of
clouds, the fastest won […] nowadays, there are no more clouds and the sky has the colour of milk.”

Discussions of indigenous knowledge and climate change are primarily enquiries about people
and places, locales and the environments where they live. These are experienced, perceived and
finally co-produced in the reciprocal relationship between human and nonhuman beings and
organisms. Hence, it encompasses (1) a certain understanding of space and time, not as separate
dimensions, but rather as, inevitably, co-implicated, coordinated and co-specified (Casey, 1996;
Massey, 2005); (2) a study of the relationship between people and places; and (3) insights about
forms of knowledge building, transmission and mutation. To re-situate climate change within local
knowledge and practices, this case study is built around three highlighted elements:
1) meanings of space and time;
2) climate change seen through a relational lens;
3) forms of knowledge formation, transmission and mutation.

Meanings of space and time

Dealing with space, beyond its abstract or flat, two-dimensional connotations, implies dealing with
its multiplicities, and its constitutive complexity (Massey, 2005). Indeed, such complexity emerges
when wayfaring through Turkana with herders and their livestock. Seen from an aerial photograph,
Turkana County looks like a dull area of desert, an arid savanna that welcomes nothing more
than thorns and dust (see figure 3). Yet, by looking at the region from within, moving through it,
Turkana does not appear ecologically uniform. Turkana is a place where many ecosystems inter-
sect, including, as it does, plains and mountains, hills, piedmonts, sandy-dunes, flood-plains, lake
shores, bushland, grasslands, wooden forests, and other features (Herlocker et al., 1994; Johnson
and Anderson, 1988). Such heterogeneity often disappears when a zonal model, which organizes
space into homogenous cells, is adopted. Each spatial differentiation becomes a spatial segmenta-
tion and the land’s surface is divided into a mosaic of externally bounded segments.

If scale of observation has long been a problem in ecology (Krätli, 2016), such a bounded view
is contested by the practice of making large-scale ecological connections performed by herders.
Moving with herders implies moving beyond maps and taking advantage of multiple habitats across
and within various ecological niches. By walking, one starts seeing signs that reveal the existence
of these connections: tracks of birds, animals, people; the footprints of donkeys loaded to excess;
the printed tire-tracks of motorbikes; foils of hunted animals. The landscape is webbed with paths
68 and footways. By means of mobility, Turkana herders respond to a learnt feature of their space:
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

Figure 3. Turkana County

Source: Adapted from Google map-satellite [accessed: 19 Oct. 2017].

variability (Krätli, 2015). The signs of large-scale connections also provide a renewed understanding
of temporality; large-scale connections not only link various ecologies but also simultaneous times.

Like space, time tends to be analysed in a punctiform manner (Casey, 1996). As a result, next to
maps lie clocks and calendars. Adam (1998) introduces a time-scape perspective into the concept
of environment which renders the “invisible” tangible, through attention to processes that appear
on the surface of the environment, defined as symptoms. For Adam, time-scapes are socially and
historically constructed descriptions of the environment. There is no overarching universal time
that governs every society. This understanding became apparent from my numerous attempts
at developing seasonal calendars with Turkana herders. I tried to understand human activities 69
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

across the year by fitting a sequential organization of time into western months. Such a goal
was continuously hampered by an incredible variation in the sequence of months. I then started
focusing on the actual descriptions provided by my interlocutors for each month and observing
how they related to people and livestock tasks (figure 4). Time appeared to be spatially defined
with a focus on its spatial qualities more than its sequential order. Units of observation were
colours, texture of soil, leaves, wind, clouds, taste of water; and these give a clear indication as to
past/present/and future events in the space. There is no fixed November that is identical to every
other November in every other year across multiple ecological niches. Rather, there is a moment
in time when somewhere dry pods fall from trees, when there is no rain, but a strong wind blows
and most of trees remain without leaves. Time and space have merged: what happens in space
(lands, grass, plants, trees, clouds, roads, and so on) is translated into people’s understanding of
time and prescribes actions to be taken.

In this understanding of time, sun and rain are the main markers of time. The Turkana calendar
divides every solar year into two years, sun and rain, and gather all rains fallen in one year into
one single collective memory; the same applies for the months of sun and wind. Rain patterns are
irregular and can make one Turkana sun-year cover several western years until the rain comes.
The marker of seasons is the moon. I quickly started loving the nights of a full moon in the desert.
Not just for the white flood of light which transforms darkness into a game of shades and makes
sand grains shine, but for the significance, for the excitement and the expectations that a full
moon brings. They are night of dances, migrations, raids, rituals and ceremonies. A full moon
night is the night that signals a new month, when brothers exchange their stocks of animals to
look after to obtain a full understanding of the four legs.2

In this way, Turkana herders have moved beyond a dichotomy of landscape as neutral and external
to human activities. They do not simply observe space and time as would a lay audience; rather
they participate with it, modify it and incorporate changes into their living. When I was attempting
to compile seasonal calendars, it was apparent that the Turkana people were aware of what they
are supposed to do when clouds move and reunite in the sky in preparation for rain; when pasture
greens up or land turns into mud; when trees shed their leaves; when there is sun and wind; when
water withdraws, and land is dry. The order of the months did not really matter, because an order
had rarely been seen; in the words of one focus group participant: “The characteristics of these
months change all the time; we look at what happens around us and decide accordingly. We need
to be prepared and have learnt to observe.”

For the Turkana, seasonal calendars are not chronological progressions of time, but an interpreta-
tion of time as participated in and experienced by people through hints and clues gradually revealed
in space. These hints and clues will tell the herder what task to perform. As a result, decision-making
appears not as an arbitrary choice, but rather an account of changes – including changes in climate.

The variability of drylands manifested through space and time increases opportunities for herders,
if one knows how to see. This requires the abandonment of narrow scales of observation in favour
of large-scale ecological connections. Through such a lens, drylands are no longer a realm of fra-
gility and scarce resources, but one of affordances, and acquire a relational perspective defined
in terms of accessibility.

70 2 A complete herd, including cows, goats, sheep and camels.

 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

Figure 4. Seasonal calender extract

Month Meaning Description

Lokwang Derived from word ekwang, bright. It Everything is dry. It is the worst time of
indicates the month of sun and wind the year. It is the month of suffering.
Lodunge Derived from verb Adudung’iar, to close/ End of the dry season, there are some
fall. It is the month that marks the end/ scattered short rains in the surrounding
fall of the dry season and the beginning areas.
of the rain season.
Lomaruk Derived from Akimaruk, formation of Beginning of the rain season, clouds
clouds. Early sing of rain. Clouds move in come together (the clouds are moving
preparation of the rains. fast).
Titima Derived from akititimare, process of Plants start flowering.
pasture germination/flowering. There is
good grass for livestock.
El-El Derived from akielarr, to scatter/to Plants have matured. There are rains;
blossom and mature. flowers bloom and petals become big and
can be seen even from far away, some
plants also have matured.
Lochoto Derived from echoto, mud. It is the Livestock are giving birth, they are
month of heavy rains, the whole place healthy and fat. It rains a lot, vegetation
become muddy. is green and all over. This is the best
month of the year. Most motor cars have
problems crossing because there is too
much mud.
Losuban Derived from verb akisub, to make. This is Livestock has a lot to feed. There are
the time for doing and for rituals. many ceremonies. People have plenty of
food, grass turns yellow, there is no rain.

Lotiak Derived from verb akitiak, to separate/ The grass is yellow, animals are still doing
divide. This is the month that divide the well. This is a transition month, end of
rainy season from the dry season. the rain season.
Lomuk Derived from the verb akimuk, to cover. Most trees turn green, there are flowers
There are short rains and the sky is and fruit. Trees are forming heavy
covered by scattered clouds. shadows with their crowns. No rains.
Lopoo Derived from akipore, to cook. This is the Many trees start to flower, feeding ani-
month of hardship. mals with fruit and leaves. People gather
wild fruit and cook berries for many
hours, and drink blood from livestock.
Lorara Derived from araraun, make things fall Fruit are ripe and start to fall from trees,
off. This is the month when trees shed no rain, strong wind blows, dry pods fall
their leaves. from trees, most of trees remain without
leaves.
Lolongu Derived from along’u, arid/dry. This is the Very dry period. Trees start drying, there
month of livestock movement in search of is scarcity of water, prices of food rise,
pasture and water. animals are weak or die, even wild birds
can be seen dying in the bushes. Water
pans get dry, food is scarce, and price
is high. All trees become like skeletons,
animals grow thin.

Source: Author’s elaboration. 71

Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Climate change through a relational lens

Figure 5. Walking through Turkana, Lorengelup, January 2016

Photo credit: Greta Semplici

Despite issues of accessibility having been first discussed following the ground-breaking contri-
bution made by Sen in the early 1970s with his interpretation of the Sahel famine (Sen, 1981),
dominant approaches continue to represent drylands as fragile and with few resources (Neely
et al., 2010; Oliveira et al., 2003). This is evident in the choice of indicators used to classify
drylands which focus on “discrete states”, such as average rainfall, length of growing season, and
moisture levels (Krätli, 2016). Reports produced using these indicators give an overriding image
of drylands as homogenous with, on average, little resources. Yet, resources are available, though
not uniformly distributed, and therefore lost in standard averages. By seeing like the herder,
mountains and their slopes, soil and salt licks, water and grass, fruit, plants and roots, enemies
and friends become mobile borders, the complexity of arid ecosystems and their boundaries
primarily defined in terms of accessibility.

Accessibility becomes a relational concept that entails continual assessment: for instance, what
72 resources are available and for what purpose; when, where, how to access them; when to leave
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

Figure 6. Meanings of rain

Source: Author elaboration.

them to reproduce; and how to preserve them for future use. Accessibility is experienced at
multiple levels: the possibility of reaching pasture and forage for the herd (existence/location
of pasture, mobility, security, low/no parasite infestation, terrain, presence of water, social ties
in the area, low competition from other herders, etc.); the herd’s capacity to feed on it (feeding
selectivity); as well as time (accessibility of good quality pasture might be seasonal, but also
refer to the ability of the herder to reach it at the time when nutrients peak in the life cycle of
the dominant plants, or at night). Hence, relational accessibility does not solely imply physical
accessibility to places, but also has climatic, ecological, territorial and social dimensions. For the
purpose of this case study, I focus on climatic accessibility and related local knowledge.

Drylands are classified according to aridity scales or length of rain seasons or both. Rainy seasons
are defined by using rain as the principal indicator. Thus, it is relevant to understand what rain
is for herders. I took note of most of the discussions about rain and realised that rain itself was
rarely the object of discussion (figure 6). To talking about rain is to talk about its relations with
people, animals, grass and the future.

We spoke about rain in every setting. Looking at shoats (sheep and goats) from the shade of an
acacia tree. Inspecting goat entrails found along our paths. Rain was danced on nights when
there was a full moon. Rain was whispered along human-chains emerging from deep wells. Rain
was dreamt, remembered from the past, prayed for in the future. Rain was in morning tea, in
community meetings and in children’s games. Rain was in the green sprouts, in the dry pods and
in the skeleton of trees. Rain is in every word, and beyond words. Rain is the plants, the rivers,
the animals. Rain is God, life and death. 73
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Rain is associated with a lack of rain (seasons and drought, see figure 6). Rain comes seasonally,
but not marked as clearly as indicated in climate change reports. Dry seasons contain ng’irupei
(short showers); wet seasons are interrupted by the sun and ekuwam (wind). The dry season
and the rainy season co-evolve, temporally and spatially (Galvin et al., 2001; Oba, 1992; Soper,
1985). Rain in Turkana is so erratic that no one can predict when, where or how much it will
rain with any degree of accuracy. This is described in historical ethnographies, for example “In
the Ateker region a normal rain pattern is said to start at the beginning of April […] this is more
exceptional than normal as the amount and incidence of rain varies considerably” (Dyson-Hudson,
1958, p. 6). Indeed, droughts represent one the most widespread hazards in the region (NDMA,
2015); as Glantz (1987) puts it, droughts are “a part of climate and not apart from it”. This led
to rain-making becoming a specialized activity more than for other Ateker groups.3 In response
to a high variability in rainfall, Turkana herders have developed different practices of divination.
This includes forecasting and rainmaking, both practiced with the help of diviners (emuron). The
former practice of forecasting I witnessed myself and can happen through the inspection of a
goat’s entrails or through messages sent to the emuron in his dreams by God (Akuj).

The herders’ maps are represented by a goat’s intestines curled in upon themselves (figure 7).
The conventional form of mapping places the reader outside, from above, and represents the
space horizontally as a surface (Massey, 2005). Turkana herders’ maps are different to this and
change in accordance with the position of the subject. Intestines are spread on the ground by
diviners and adjusted to take the shape of the surrounding landscape. Elements of the intestines
represent rivers, mountains, hills, plains and Lake Turkana. From irregularities in the intestines,
local diviners find a visual representation of future events and transformations in the landscape
on which to base forecasting and decisions. This shows not only the great investment made by
Turkana culture in the production of their space, but also a fluid perception and representation
of this space. By using soft animal matter, the Turkana map is necessarily flexible, allowing for
different routes to be taken every migration (Broch-Due and Schroeder, 2000). Topographic
features, such as hills, ridges and rivers, become signposts and not fixed elements in the rep-
resentation of space.

The other way to forecast events is through dreams. These dreams are visions; visions of the
future. They can be joyful dreams with rain, milk and fat, or they can predict bad events: dis-
eases, droughts, raids. If the scale of the bad event is large and involves entire communities,
several emuron may receive the same visions and collective action is required. “We do see it in
visions. We predict bad disasters. God tells several emuron, from different corners. Especially
human and animal diseases, droughts; we can also see the good seasons to come, when people
have plenty to eat.” (interview to local emuron, December 2015, Lorengeup)

The intervention performed in the event of a bad drought approaching requires the reunion of
powerful elders and emuron together with MPs and other government representatives, who collec-
tively pray to God for rain. “We heard all traditional leaders were gathering next to Kalobeyei, next
to Moruanayece, where Turkana believe to be originated. We went there. MPs and government
people were also there. And then it rained, I still cannot believe it.” The quote above was spoken
by a non-Turkana United Nations official, who had recently moved to Lodwar. I could not tell how

3 Composed of the following groups: Karamojong, Jie and Dodos of Uganda; Taposa and Jiye of southern Sudan; Nyangatom of
74 Ethiopia; Turkana of Kenya
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

Figure 7. Turkana goat-belly map

Source: Broch-Due and Schroeder (2000, p. 63).

much of his excitement was due to a sense of “traditionality” he had just witnessed, or to a mix-
ture of fear and delight at the real drops of rain that fell after the ritual was performed. Whether
the ritual made it rain or not, for non-Turkana this was an impressive spectacle. For Turkana
herders, this is a way of perceiving unpredictable changes in their environment and making sense
of them, and to feel safe and in control of their everyday living. In addition, this also testament to
a long exposure to climatic variations and subsequent adaptation to such phenomena in the form
of local understanding and the practices performed in response.

As this shows, in drylands, average rainfall predictions are rarely reliable and often meaningless.
Information shared about rainfall do not include averages or amounts of rain; it does not even
include rain itself. Rather, it is about how rain relates with human and non-human organisms.
What herders are concerned about is how rain will be distributed and where it will fall, bearing
in mind that “a good rain season is when there is enough water and it is well spread” (Krätli,
2015). Turkana herders have built their knowledge and forms of protection around a salient
feature of their space: variability – including climate variability. The best way of understanding
climate change in drylands is to start by understanding local processes of knowledge formation,
transmission and mutation – this being highly informative about local cultures, the inherent
features of lived places and that changes that are occurring. 75
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Knowledge formation, transmission and mutation

Figure 8. Knowledge transmission to younger generations, Lorengelup, January 2017

Photo credit: Greta Semplici

There is a general conception that nomads do not get lost (McDonell, 2016). What is this con-
ception based on? There is a growing consensus that movement is in itself a way of knowing
(Habeck, 2006; Humphrey, 1995; Ingold, 2011). According to Ingold (2007, p. 102), it is not
possible to detach the dynamics of movement from the formation of knowledge, because it is
not possible for the mind to ascend from the surface of the world and leave the body wandering
around: knowledge is embodied in place-to-place movement. The best way to know the everyday
landscape is trekking, during when the environment is perceived along a path of observations.
Similarly, Salza (2014) says: “mobile people do not enact in situ but on the way”; it is through
trekking with Turkana herders that I have learnt that cognition is both motion-sensitive and
site-specific (Macfarlane, 2012).

I, as a novice herder, am walking with Apa Lokiria through his landscape and specific features in
the environment are pointed to me. By exploring their space, novice herders gain experience and
undergo a process of enskillment made by a mixture of watching, listening, smelling and directly
76 experiencing. By walking, herders learn – which is not a codified action, but is demonstrated by
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

example (Anderson, 2000, p. 117). Turkana herders have a very practical and generation-related
view of the environment. They know most of the benefits and dangers that come from it; distin-
guish fruits and herbs; know the nutritional values, patterns and distribution of plants; how to
read traces to find vital resources. Turkana herders encode their knowledge in the environment,
in the form of beliefs and warnings. These serve to train new generations of herders, protect them
and instil strength. This is how I was taught what to fear and what to enjoy. I could only possibly
learn about the danger of thorns which “steal skirts (and huts)”, by walking through them and
getting an infection through a cut; about the hidden demons among mountain rocks tripping up
travellers, by strenuously climbing among them and feeling my legs hurt; about the evils in the
wind, by being lost and feeling anxious in the middle of a sandstorm. Often, when there is a
strong, dusty wind, some Turkana people would stretch out their right arm and shake their hand
against the wind, saying “taman kayaye” (“go through the other side”, or “go away, evil!”) to
the devil or spirit carrying the wind. In this case, Turkana herders have encoded in the wind its
potential dangers through a shared performance – teaching the novel herder what to be careful
about, offering protection and the strength to cross over unpredictable spaces.

Protection is also offered by amulets and talismans. It is not rare to see herders, including very
young children, wearing a small piece of wood (ekamuka or ebata) around the neck, wrist or even
around the waist (women), as a protection against bad things (snakes, scorpions, spiders or the
“evil eye”). In this, the environment is a crucial school of life. Elders (like older animals in a herd),
who are proven masters of it, are the main transmitters of such knowledge. This explains why
elders are respected, and why power is in the form of a gerontocracy. In the hierarchy of herders,
enskillment and knowledge translate into authority, as well as into a higher degree of freedom
to choose where to go and what to do on the basis of accumulated experience. A knowledgeable
herder has learnt to use their environment and recognise changes by means of experience. In
other words, a knowledgeable herder is an experienced herder. This experience is used to manage
risks, a preferred choice among herders over maximizing profit (Salza, 2014).

Elders’ knowledge of their space is not static. Rather, it is subject to change through their move-
ment and shared experiences across drylands; as such, it is better understood as a process
rather than an archive. During my walk with Apa Lokiria, I was brought to see what changes have
occurred in his landscape: the road, charcoal sacks, the school, the wind pump. He also took me
to places of his memory when in times of severe drought “goats were eating nylon paper”, but
also times when “God unlocked the padlock” and it rained for days and days. Through gradual
learning, older herders widen their knowledge “off-track” (Habeck, 2006, p. 134). Their view-
points are neither timeless nor changeless; on the contrary, older herders are continually changing
and reviewing the images by which the world is seen (Humphrey, 1995, p. 140). Reviewed images
of lived places have informative elements for climate change discussions. For example, they
offer detailed information about frequency and length of droughts, number of days separating
seasons, reduction of clouds and whitening of the sky; about reduced grass quality, and bush
encroachment in crop fields or along rivers preventing access to water sources; about a lower
water table and increasingly dangerous deep wells; and about disappearance of wild animals
except the hostile ones.

New knowledge is organised around these observations. Changes are imputed to various causes.
For example, many told me “prolonged droughts happen because of urbanization. In the past
there were no vehicles and modern things, the rain was plentiful and there was grass”. Others 77
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

believe that “God has gone missing”; “God is angry because we started adopting a modern life-
style and does not want to let water rain down and therefore the water table has reduced”. Others
blame local diviners: “[T]he emuron pretends to know more than God and demands from people
a lot of sugar and ataba (tobacco) to do God’s job. The emuron of the past were good; they were
not greedy. Nowadays they only worry about wealth and alcohol.” Others instead said that “noise
and modern things are responsible for the lack of grass nowadays – now, no grass is growing even
if it rains”, or “when it rains, parts of it collect into pools; all the animals together in the same
place … the grass that could be available … too many animals treading on the ground and there
is no more grass”. Others complained, “this deep hole here [referring to a drilled borehole]! This
is stealing our water!”.

Changes in the environment as well as in the climate are not only noted and observed by herders
(making them highly valuable informants about the ongoing processes in their landscape), but
also accounted for and incorporated into their understanding and perception of space. Thanks
to long experience in their lived places they recognize the complexity of variations which cannot
be solely imputed to climate change. Through their observations and narratives, we can learn to
see the many factors at interplay in drylands that are co-implicated in their modification. These
include sedentarization, roads cut through bushland, expansion of settlements, deep drilling of
boreholes, the politics of restriction and enclosure, among others.

Concluding remarks

The increased frequency of droughts is supported by the literature, even though recent studies
question this common assertion (Adger et al., 2001; Devereux, 2006; Robbins, 2004). Although
evidence of climate change and its causes is still under discussion, academic and policy circles
have predominantly resorted to a climate-change narrative to explain climate patterns in drylands
and human mobility, almost acritically (Jónsson, 2010). Debates ignore historical cycles of fluc-
tuating rain patterns in drylands where extreme weather variability and an unstable environment
should be understood as the norm. Using climate change as single push-factor obscures the inter-
play of several other factors (political, economic and cultural) that can explain human mobility
and mirrors those ideologies which privilege fixity above mobility. Indeed, such narratives focus
on negative environmental changes (land degradation, decreasing precipitation and droughts) as
pushing mobility. As a result, mobility is seen a forced coping strategy against something bad.

This logic is, arguably, reversed in drylands where positive environmental change (land flour-
ishing, increased precipitation, peaking nutritive values) generates mobility. In these terms,
mobility cannot be framed as coping but as an adaptive strategy developed to benefit from
traits in the lived space. When seen in this way, mobility is an advantage. Additionally, negative
environmental changes cannot themselves be solely blamed on climate change, but are closely
linked to economic, social and political causes (Castles, 2002), including misguided development
strategies, an unequal distribution of power and conflicts over resources (Blaikie and Brookfield,
1987; Sen, 1981). The danger of dominant climate change narratives is that they remove the
political responsibility for environmental changes and instead introduce new fears into people’s
understandings of their environment: “Now that there is climate change what will we do? If there
is no rain here, and there is not rain there – where we used to migrate – what will we do? Death
78 only will be the future.” (old male herder, Lorengelup, November 2016)
 6. Seeing like the herder: Climate change and pastoralists’ knowledge – insights from Turkana herders in northern Kenya

Yet, by unpacking local accounts of climate change, factors other than the climate itself merge
into the same narrative (sedentarization, changes in land use, resource accessibility, and so on).
Hence, local narratives of climate change should be interpreted with equal care, being themselves
socially constructed, and, rather, used to discover different perspectives into the stresses that
affect local livelihoods.

This case study suggests that using local knowledge to make sense of climate change is a good
starting point for contextualizing it. Local knowledge of climate change builds from a certain under-
standing of space and time, one which explains variations in terms of variability and is prepared
to take advantage of this variability, rather than fearing it. Local knowledge retains biological and
cultural information and is built relationally between lived space and resources exploited. It follows
rainfall, as rains relate to people, grass and the future, and it also builds forms of protection in
the shape of rituals, prayers and amulets, when confronted by rains’ unpredictability. Finally, such
knowledge is not static as it is built through movement and experience. Hence, it provides valuable
insights into changes, including climate changes. It is transmitted through the generations and
modified as changes are observed. It is linked and encoded in the environment and recognizes the
co-implication of several factors in the modification of lived spaces.

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81
7. The revitalization of shamanic health care
in Suriname
By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford)

Introduction

The overriding lesson of scientific reports on climate change such as the 2014 World Bank
report, Turn down the heat: Confronting the new climate normal, is that nobody will be immune
to its impacts. However, the costs are going to fall inequitably on poor, remote, and marginalized
groups, including indigenous peoples, whose livelihoods depend on surrounding landscapes. Due
to this intimate connection, indigenous peoples and local communities are not only vulnerable,
but they also have highly specialized knowledge rooted in place. This connection and knowledge
represents a unique asset with considerable potential to contribute to local, regional, and global
climate solutions. Research shows that incorporating traditional knowledge into climate-change
policies can lead to the development of mitigation and adaptation strategies that are cost-effec-
tive, participatory, and sustainable (Hunn, 1993; Robinson and Herbert, 2001).

Beyond the direct impacts of extreme weather, climate change can affect human health and well-
being in less direct ways such as exposure to air pollution, water-borne diseases, famine, malnu-
trition, and forced migration. Climate refugees – people forced to move into crowded conditions
by extreme weather or rising seas – typically face an increase in health risks, including undernu-
trition, food- and water-borne illnesses, measles, and respiratory infections (Biermann and Boas,
2010). Soil degradation, freshwater scarcity, population pressures, and other forces related to
climate change are potential causes of conflict. Trauma from conflicts, floods, droughts, and heat
waves can lead to mental health issues like anxiety, depression, and suicide. More heat can mean
longer allergy seasons and more respiratory diseases. More rain increases mould, fungi, indoor
air pollutants, and mosquitos. According to a recent report, mosquito-borne dengue fever has
increased 30-fold in the past 50 years (Benelli and Mehlhorn, 2016). Senior citizens and poor
children – especially those already afflicted with malaria, malnutrition, and diarrhoea – tend to be
most vulnerable to heat-related illnesses. Many indigenous peoples and local communities exist
beyond the reach of most national health-care systems. In such remote geographies, traditional
knowledge and medicine can play a significant role in mitigating the health risks associated with
climate change.

Rainforest biomes and their constituent reservoirs of knowledge and resources in Central and
South America, Central Africa, and South-East Asia face significant climate-change risk. Warmer
temperatures and decreased precipitation during dry periods are manifesting longer and more
severe droughts and substantial changes in seasonality (World Bank, 2014). These fluctuations,
coupled with land-use changes, could lead to devastating impacts, including increased erosion,
degradation of freshwater systems, loss of ecologically and agriculturally valuable soils, loss of
biodiversity, decreased agricultural yields, increased insect infestation, and the spread of infec-
tious diseases (ibid.). The climate and deforestation-driven substitution of forests to savanna-like
and semiarid vegetation has been dubbed the Amazon forests’ “die back” (Cox et al., 2004).
According to one estimate, current trends in livestock, agriculture, logging expansion, mining, 83
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

fire, and drought could destroy or severely damage 55 per cent of the Amazon rainforest by 2030
(Nepstad et al., 2008).

A physical and human geography of Suriname

The Republic of Suriname is the smallest country in South America (under 165,000 square
kilometres; 64,000 square miles). It has a population of approximately 558,368 (ABS, 2016)
that live mostly on its north-eastern Atlantic coast in and around the capital and largest city,
Paramaribo. It is bordered by French Guiana to the east, Guyana to the west, and Brazil to the
south. Dutch is the official language. The country gained independence from the Kingdom of the
Netherlands in 1975; however, it still maintains close economic, diplomatic, and cultural ties to
its former colonizer.

The country can be divided into two main geographic regions: the northern lowland coastal
area where there has been extensive colonial cultivation, and most of the population lives; and
the southern part that consists of tropical rainforest (covering approximately 80 per cent of the
country’s land surface) and sparsely inhabited savannas along the border with Brazil.

There are many national parks in the country, including Galibi National Reserve along the coast;
Brownsberg Nature Park and Eilerts de Haan Nature Park in central Suriname; and the Sipaliwani
Nature Reserve on the Brazilian border. Located in the upper Coppename River watershed, the
Central Suriname Nature Reserve has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its
forests and rivers of biodiversity. According to the UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre,
approximately 16 per cent of the country’s land area is national parks and lakes (UNEP, 2009).

Lying two to five degrees north of the equator, Suriname has a very hot and wet tropical climate
where temperatures do not vary much throughout the year. Average temperatures range from
29°C to 34°C (84–93°F). Due to the high humidity, actual temperatures are distorted and may
therefore feel up to 6°C (11°F) hotter than the recorded temperature. The year has two wet
seasons: from April to August and from November to February.

Suriname’s largest ethnic group is East Indian (27 per cent of the population; ABS, 2016).
Maroons, whose ancestors are mostly runaway slaves that fled to the interior, constitute the next
largest ethnicity at approximately 22 per cent divided into five main groups: Ndyuka (Aucans),
Kwinti, Matawai, Saramaccans, and Paramaccans. Surinamese Creoles, mixed people descending
from African slaves and mostly Dutch Europeans, form 15.7 per cent of the population. Javanese
make up 14 per cent of the population, while 13.4 per cent identify as being of mixed ethnic
heritage. Other groups include the Chinese, Brazilians, Lebanese, Jews, and a few influential
Europeans. Indigenous peoples are 3.7 per cent of the population, with the main groups being
the Akurio, Arawak, Kalina (Caribs), Trio, and Wayana.

Traditional medicine and intercultural health

According to the World Health Organization (WHO, 2013), traditional medicine (TM) – as opposed
84 to modern, western, or allopathic medicine – refers to the sum total of the knowledge, skill,
 7. The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname

and practices based on the theories, beliefs, and experiences indigenous to different cultures,
whether explicable or not, used in the maintenance of health as well as in the prevention, diag-
nosis, improvement or treatment of physical and mental illness. All kinds of people use TM
to help meet some of their primary health-care needs in every country around the world. The
use of TM, and what others call complementary and alternative medicine (CAM), has become
increasingly popular in the last few decades. A 1990 survey in the United States revealed that
one-third of American adults used “unconventional therapies” (van Andel and Carvalheiro, 2013).
Almost half of Southern Australians used non-medically prescribed alternative medicine in 2000.
Reports from Western Europe suggest that 20 per cent (Netherlands) to 49 per cent (France) of
the population have used CAM at least once (ibid.). The use of herbal medicinal products has
increased over the past three decades with approximately 80 per cent of people worldwide relying
on them for health care (Ekor, 2014).

Several researchers have looked into the utilization patterns and interactions between traditional
and modern health-care practices among indigenous populations in Ecuador (Kroeger, 1982;
Finerman, 1983; Pedersen and Coloma, 1983) and in Latin America and the Caribbean more
broadly (Nigenda et al., 2001). Additional research stresses the need for community participation
in health initiatives that are linked with indigenous rights and empowerment (Morgan, 2001;
Jagtenberg and Evans, 2003).

During a market survey in 2006, researchers collected data on the diversity, source, and volume
of plants being sold and exported, and the preferences of urban consumers in Suriname (van
Andel et al., 2007). They discovered that more than 245 species of medicinal plants were sold
at the markets of Paramaribo with an annual value of the domestic and export market estimated
to be worth over US$1.5 million. Prices were determined by resource scarcity, processing costs,
distance to harvesting sites, and local demand. The paper concludes that the growing number of
urban Maroons with their cultural beliefs regarding health and illness, and their strong family ties
to the interior, are the primary moving force behind the commercialization of herbal medicine in
Suriname.

Another study of the “Sustainability aspects of commercial medicinal plant harvesting in Suri-
name” concludes that the increased commercialization of medicinal plants due to urbanization
does not invariably lead to declining resources and species loss (van Andel and Havinga, 2008).
With its low population density and market dominated by disturbance species, Suriname offers
good possibilities for sustainable medicinal plant extraction.

A further study that is particularly relevant to this paper was undertaken by a team of researchers
who looked at the best practices in intercultural health in Latin America by focusing on five short
case studies, including one on the Shamans and Apprentices Program in Suriname (Mignone et
al., 2007). The study concludes that there is much to be gained from indigenous autonomy and
the blending of traditional and western health-care systems.

This paper builds on the literature above by providing updated information on the Shamans and
Apprentices Program and a discussion of the ACT’s work in the wider region. It also adds an
analysis of the programme within the context of increased health risks associated with climate
change, and the revitalization of the shamanic arts.
85
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Shamanism: From Siberia to the Americas

Shamanism is thought to be the oldest form of healing, dating back to at least the Upper Palaeolithic
in Siberia (Sidky, 2017). However, historical marginalization, ethnocide, and genocide from religious
and political pressures have plagued shamanic cultures for centuries. Despite these challenges, the
shamanic arts have endured and in some cases been revitalized (for more information on revitalization
movements, see Wallace, 1956; Cooper, 2015). For example, research suggests an increase in the
adoption of shamanic healing techniques into western medicine in the United States (Thayer, 2009).

According to animist ontology, humans and other-than-human persons (Hallowell, 2002 [1960])
are made up of very different material, yet all have similar interiorities composed of an animating
force that links all “things” and “beings” in an interconnected web of life. The principle human
interlocutor of this multidimensional web is the shaman, the paragon of animism. The word
“shaman” comes from ancient reindeer-hunting cultures in the Tunguska and Manchuria regions of
Eastern Siberia, including the Manchu, Evenki (meaning “he who runs swifter than the reindeer”),
Baikal (a Paleo-Siberian Mongolian group) and other Tungusic and Samoyedic-speaking peoples
(Balzer, 1990). In Tungusic, the word sama means “to know in an ecstatic manner” (Barfield,
1997). This conceptual system and associate practices are of great historical import because
they retain ancient forms of belief and ritual that spread all over the world, including across the
Beringia land bridge through waves of migration to the Americas approximately 10,000–30,000
years ago (Hoffecker et al., 1993; Tamm et al., 2007; Perego et al., 2009).

The ancient Siberian shamanic worldview is composed of upper, middle, and lower worlds. This
ontology also includes a belief in the soul or spirit that can separate from its material body and
inhabit other corporeal forms. Shamanism was of central importance in the Americas prior to
the arrival of the Europeans and still plays an important role among contemporary indigenous
groups, as well as other segments of the population. Extensive research has documented this
tradition among indigenous communities in Amazonia (Eliade, 1964; Reichel-Dolmatoff, 1971,
1975; Harner, 1980, 1984; Schultes and Hoffman, 1980; Schultes, 1988; Schultes and Raffauf,
1990, 1992; McKenna, 1992; Plotkin, 1993; Schultes et al., 1998; Cooper, 2015) and elsewhere
(Czaplicka, 1914; Black Elk, 1953; Hoppal and Sadovszky, 1989; Balzer, 1990; Winkelman, 1992,
1995, 2010). Contemporarily, shamanic practitioners, including pan-shamanic and neo-shamanic
specialists, can be found all over the world, including in London, New York, and other major cities.

A shaman is considered a medium to communicate with the spirits to heal, harm, prophesize,
and mediate in situations of social or environmental conflict, and much more (Winkelman, 1992,
2010). Shamanism is an ecstatic tradition that often involves disembodiment and soul-flight to
complex and interconnected worlds inhabited by spirits of animals, plants, trees, stones, other
shamans, the deceased, therianthropes (human–animal hybrids), and countless other-than-human
beings. In order to enter into an altered state of consciousness, or what Winkelman (1995) calls
an “integrative mode of consciousness”, a shaman may resort to sensory overload or deprivation
through drumming, dancing, chanting, fasting, binging, smoking, vomiting, isolation, meditation,
hyperventilation, and more. Some shamans use psychotropic and entheogenic (generating the
divine within) plants (such as tobacco, ayahuasca, peyote, or psychedelic mushrooms), often used
in combination with one or more of the other techniques mentioned above. While in a trance, a
shaman can journey into the “unseen” world to acquire knowledge or persuade the masters of
86 game to release their animals for the hunters, or lock them up.
 7. The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname

Shamanism also commonly includes transformation or shapeshifting into an animal such as a

deer, bird, spider, or jaguar in order to visit or traverse a specific realm “unseen”, to perform a
certain task, acquire knowledge, or commune with game. The rituals involved with such meta-
morphoses often include a symbolic death and/or sacrifice to maintain a reciprocal relationship
with the spiritual domain (Reichel-Dolmatoff, 1971). Just as feeding on game nourishes humans,
the spirits of wild species consume the life force of humans. In most cases, a male shaman will
“marry” a female spirit of a game species. As explained by Harvey (2013, pp. 286-287): “Thanks
to his ‘spouse’ it is as a husband and not as an abductor that he will be able to hunt in the realm
of wild spirits for promises of game . . . Where fishing is important, his marrying a ‘spouse’ in the
aquatic world will give him access to the resources of this world”. These beliefs and rituals help
indigenous peoples preserve their identity, health, and a socio-ecological balance. With consid-
erable spatial and temporal range, animist and shamanic traditions around the world have much
in common, though each is unique and intimately connected to the diverse living landscapes and
communities that they co-evolve within.

Indigenous shamans act as healer-priests, responsible for the health and balance of individuals,
their communities, and the diverse plant, animal, and spirit beings that inhabit the surrounding
landscape. Over thousands of years, Amazonian communities have accumulated vast storehouses
of knowledge of plants, animals, and other resources. Although a large number of important phar-
maceuticals have been discovered from studying the TM of indigenous peoples, medicinal flora
and fauna (especially insects and frogs) are just two components of traditional health systems.
Ceremonies and rituals, songs and dances, incense, charms, and invocations often accompany
the use of medicinal products in healing in order to address psychological, spiritual, and com-
munal aspects of health (see Cooper, 2015).

The Shamans and Apprentices Program

Traditional healing practices are being revived in the far south of Suriname among indigenous and
Maroon communities. The revitalization began following recommendations from the Harvard-,
Yale-, and Tufts-educated ethnobotanist Mark Plotkin. Together with his wife, Liliana Madrigal,
Plotkin created and serves as the president of a grassroots conservation organization known
as the Amazon Conservation Team (ACT, founded in 1996). He is the author of several papers
(Plotkin, 1988a, 1988b; Plotkin and Balick, 1984; Plotkin et al., 1983) and books including
Tales of a shaman’s apprentice (1993), Medicine quest: In search of nature’s healing secrets
(2000), and The killers within: The deadly rise of drug-resistant bacteria (Shnayerson and Plotkin,
2002). He was awarded the Gold Medal for Conservation by the San Diego Zoological Society in
1994 and named “Environmental Hero for the Planet” by Time magazine in 1999. He featured
in the IMAX documentary short film Amazon, which was nominated for an Academy Award in
1997. The principal conservation strategy of Plotkin and the ACT is to create partnerships with
indigenous groups to blend traditional knowledge with western science in order to understand,
document, and preserve natural and cultural heritage.

After conducting extended fieldwork in the interior forests of Suriname, Dr Plotkin lamented the
fact that old shamans were dying and taking their knowledge with them, so he established an
intergenerational TM knowledge transmission programme known as the Shamans and Appren-
tices Program. This initiative included the creation of several TM clinics, and the first large-scale 87
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

participatory cultural mapping project in the Amazon, which was subsequently replicated in Brazil
and Colombia.

In contrast to the coastal indigenous groups largely displaced by European colonization, those in
the interior tended to remain in specific geographical zones living rotational subsistence lifestyles
until the mid-1800s. Settlements of extended family units, particularly those in forested areas,
were not permanent, since soil fertility was poor and there was a constant need to move; therefore
shifting cultivation was associated with shifting settlements. These patterns were significantly
altered when Christian missionaries began to arrive in the interior of Suriname in the 1800s
(Raphael-Hernandez, 2017). The colonial government primarily viewed the interior as a source
of natural resources; therefore, the only modern medicine or education that reached indigenous
communities in the interior was left to Christian mission stations.

More recently, the Medical Mission (Medische Zending) has delivered primary care in the inte-
rior of Suriname; however, their efforts have been severely compromised because of the govern-
ment’s inability to provide regular and timely funding. In 1999, delays in funding almost forced
the Medical Mission to close its operations and clinics indefinitely. In the course of working with
indigenous peoples, Medical Mission physicians and community health workers have observed
that patients often respond well to TM and that certain indigenous and Maroon remedies,
such as treatments for leishmaniasis and setting bone fractures, are perhaps more efficacious
than the pharmaceutical interventions and therapies they can provide. Local shamans also
have several effective medicinal plant treatments for gastrointestinal disorders, an important
disease burden in the area. Many are convinced that the integration of TM with western health
care, as provided by the local Medical Mission, will result in the improved health of indigenous
communities.

In July 2000, with the help of the ACT, a clinic for shamans and apprentices was opened in the
Trio village of Kwamalasamutu with a training facility where young individuals (about 12 years old)
began to receive introductory training in TM. The clinic includes a medicinal plant garden and
a handbook in the Trio language of medicinal plants and their uses. The Trio are fully in charge
of both the transfer of knowledge and the treatment of patients in the clinic. The practice is
efficient, cost-effective, and manageable. After teaching young individuals, the shamans test the
students in each of the villages where the programme is run. Following the success of the clinic
in Kwamalasamutu, there are now additional clinics in other villages including Peleletepu (Tepu),
Apetina (Puleowime), Maroon villages Gonini Kiki Mofo and Kajana, and Uranai, a Brazilian indig-
enous community. The ACT is also engaged in similar efforts with shamans and apprentice
programmes in Colombia, Brazil, and Costa Rica.

The TM clinic in Kwamalasamutu began with financial support from the ACT that continues to
make modest payments to the shamans and apprentices as reimbursement for their services.
The ACT also provides support in the form of supplies for the clinic. Efforts are being made
to develop income-generating activities to enable community members to pay for the medical
services they receive. The ACT aims to achieve sustainable development through the mapping of
local landscapes, enhancing land and intellectual property rights, protecting forests, and helping
locals to generate income through the exploitation of non-timber forest products such as Brazil
nuts and stingless bee honey (see Plotkin, 1988b). The ACT has also facilitated an international
88 exchange with Colombian shamans who are members of UMIYAC (the Union of Yage Healers of
 7. The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname

the Colombian Amazon). This organization has made great progress with its own shaman and
apprentice programmes, which include a code of ethics and certification for traditional healers.

There are many positive externalities related to cultural recovery, conservation, and the overall
sustainable development of traditional knowledge and medicine. The clinic described above and
its practitioners, exchanges, and research programmes represent one of the most comprehensive
documentations ever undertaken of a traditional health system in an Amazon indigenous com-
munity, which offers invaluable opportunities for scientific analysis and improved health care.
Judging from improved health indicators and the enthusiasm of the apprentices and the commu-
nity, a continued supply of apprentices and patients will not be a problem.

Traditional healing practices can be highly effective, particularly for ailments where western
medicine is deficient. A weakness lies in attempts to cure ailments for which no effective TM is
available. Inability to provide a cure, or even a fatal outcome could undermine credibility, espe-
cially since what is taking place is a revitalization of TM practices following the discouragement
of their use under the influence of missionaries. Despite their progress, the shamans are aware
of their limitations, particularly where introduced diseases and conditions that require surgical
management are concerned.

In 2007, the ACT created the Indigenous Park Guard Program. This initiative provides selected
members of Suriname’s indigenous communities with the opportunity to earn a living while also
protecting their natural and cultural heritage. About 30 trained guards are now active in four villages
of the Trio and Wayana peoples. The guards are regularly engaged in creating maps, monitoring
water quality, conducting inventories of plant and wildlife species, and collecting data on the wildlife
trade. The guards’ research establishes the baseline data needed by community leaders to inform
their land-use decisions and the ongoing monitoring system necessary for adaptive management.

In addition to the efforts described above, the ACT has partnered with local governments and
indigenous communities to protect 14 uncontacted groups in north-western Amazonia. They have
also successfully mapped 70 million acres of forest in indigenous territories throughout Central
and South America.

In January 2015, shamans from various villages across Suriname’s interior participated in a two-day
evaluation of the Shamans and Apprentices Program. They were all in agreement that the pro-
gramme has successfully encouraged the transfer of knowledge to the younger generation, and it
must be prioritized and further developed. They also agreed to continue to share knowledge between
villages, since each community and shaman holds specific knowledge that may be helpful to others.

In May 2015, Plotkin asked his supporters to donate to a unique project to create the Trio Indian
Shaman’s Encyclopedia. The project serves as a guide for indigenous peoples throughout the
Amazon seeking to protect oral shamanic knowledge. The encyclopedia is in the Trio language
and is only available to the Trio people who can then share the document and their methodologies
with others. This information will not be made public or translated into any other language,
thereby keeping all information safe and private.

In November 2015, several Trio shamans were honoured by the President of Suriname with
the Honorary Order of the Palm. Two of the shamans who were awarded, Riri Pinoma and Wuta 89
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Wajimnoe, are active in the ACT’s Shamans and Apprentices Program. They received this recogni-
tion for their long-standing commitment to their communities in southern Suriname. Riri Pinoma,
more commonly known as Korotai, leads the programme in Kwamalasamutu. After trying his
hand at mining, he came to the conclusion that destroying the forest for only a small amount of
gold was not a good idea, so he returned to his village, where he continues his fathers’ shamanic
tradition by teaching younger individuals how to identify and use traditional plant medicine.

There is considerable scope for the improvement of health care through blending traditional and
modern science and technology, for example, providing adequate follow-up treatment/surgery in
urban hospitals after initial diagnosis and treatment in the interior. Local communities, such as
Kwamalasamutu, would also benefit from microscopes, mapping and data storage devices, rapid
diagnostic tests, and solar-powered refrigerators for perishable medicines that shamans need to
gather deep in the forest.

The clinics in Suriname could be used as models to be replicated elsewhere. However, one thing
should be clear: neither western medicine nor TM has all the answers to all the problems. There
are cases where TM is more effective, as there are cases where western medicine may be a more
appropriate therapy; therefore, it would be advisable to integrate the two to provide optimal health
care for remote indigenous communities.

Challenges and opportunities

Countries face major challenges in the regulation of TM. Such treatments have always maintained
popularity worldwide; however, their safety and efficacy has become an important concern for
health authorities and the public. In order to meet these challenges, the WHO passed resolution
WHA62.13 on TM that was adopted at the Sixty-Second World Health Assembly in 2009. The
resolution requested the WHO to support member states by providing internationally acceptable
guidelines and technical standards derived from empirical evidence to assist in formulating poli-
cies and regulations. In 2013, the WHO went a step further by drafting the Traditional Medicine
Strategy 2014–2023 with two primary objectives: harnessing the potential contribution of TM to
health, wellness, and people-centred health care; and promoting the safe and effective use of TM
by regulating, researching, and integrating TM products, practitioners, and practice into health
systems, where appropriate.

There are many differences in the definition and categorization of TM. In different countries,
depending on the regulations applied to foods and medicines in each country, a single medicinal
plant may be defined as a food, a functional food, a dietary supplement, or a herbal medicine
(WHO, 2005). This makes it difficult to define the concept of TM for the purposes of national
drug regulation; it also confuses patients and consumers.

Requirements and methods for research and evaluation of the safety and efficacy of TM are more
complex than those for conventional pharmaceuticals. For example, a single medicinal plant
may contain hundreds of natural constituents, while a mixed product may contain several times
that number (Ekor, 2014). The time and resources required to isolate and analyse every active
ingredient would be tremendous.
90
 7. The revitalization of shamanic health care in Suriname

Genetic research is becoming more sophisticated; plants and animals are being used to develop
new drugs and modify crops to address food security. This research often takes advantage of
indigenous and local knowledge of plants, animals, and other resources. Biopiracy is a term
used to describe the interaction when researchers, governments, or corporations use traditional
knowledge and products without permission. Although biopiracy might happen within a country,
with elite groups or government officials taking resources from marginalized peoples, this form of
extraction and exploitation primarily occurs between countries of different socio-economic status
(Rose, 2016). Researchers and institutions that attempt to find biological resources in a legal
and respectful manner are called bioprospectors (see Guérin-McManus et al., 1998 for more
information on bioprospecting in Suriname).

Biopiracy has historically been linked to colonialism, with colonized countries having many of their
resources forcibly removed. Pepper, tobacco, sugar, coffee, quinine, rubber, and other materials
have significant impact on the world economy (Rose, 2016). Each has a colonial past. At the
heart of the matter is the idea of ownership. International trade organizations and multinational
groups hotly defend patents and trademarks, but for many traditional farmers and indigenous
groups, owning land, plants, and other resources is illogical, as is assigning ownership to one
person instead of a community (ibid).

Since 1994, the Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS)
has required WTO member countries to develop legal frameworks to protect varieties of plant and
animal resources in two systems: one for agricultural contexts; and the other for pharmaceutical,
chemical, textile, or other commodity contexts (Correa, 2000). However, many countries consider
this to be counterproductive to protecting their bioresources (Rose, 2016), choosing instead to
follow the 1992 Convention on Biological Diversity with the objective of conservation of biological
diversity, the sustainable use of its components, and the fair and equitable sharing of the benefits
arising out of the utilization of genetic resources (Burhenne-Guilmin and Casey-Lefkowitz, 1992;
UN, 1992).

Biopiracy is not likely to disappear, nor is TM. As climate change continues to accelerate, many
agribusinesses are patenting drought-, heat-, and salt-resistant genes for future use in crops
(Rose, 2016). Since indigenous and local communities hold a vast storehouse of knowledge and
genetic material, it behoves them, and institutions that support them such as the ACT and the
WHO, to counter this trend by working together to enhance intellectual property and land rights.

Conclusion

Indigenous communities face significant health risks associated with climate change. A first
priority for intervention must be the protection of individuals and communities from exposure
to new diseases. This is especially important in instances of forced migration and first contact,
which can be devastating for indigenous peoples. Even after contact, indigenous communities
continue to suffer from increased rates of cancer, hypertension, and diabetes from new diets that
include a lot of sugar and cholesterol.

Immunizations and other medical technologies from the outside can be helpful, but they should
not replace TM. Any clinic established in indigenous territories should also include measures to 91
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

maintain and encourage the use of TM and healing techniques. In many cases, the medicinal
plants that can be found in the nearby forest are equally, if not more effective, than generic
derivatives synthesized in labs to benefit large transnational pharmaceutical corporations.
In order to maintain cultural identity, diversity, and balance, medical clinics and practitioners
should work closely with traditional healers such as shamans. Villages, governments, and develop-
ment workers should also utilize partnerships and new technologies to create and maintain maps,
medicinal plant gardens, and encyclopaedias in dialect to protect local knowledge and treat
ailments such as aches, pains, fever, diarrhoea, and malaria. These maps, gardens, and medicinal
plant records should be the intellectual property of the village and function as repositories for
traditional knowledge and medicine to be used and researched further in collaboration with
others, if the community so chooses.

As demonstrated by the ACT’s Shamans and Apprentices Program, there is much to be gained
from partnerships that focus on traditional knowledge and practice, particularly with regard to
health and healing. Further research in the health sector should focus on the linguistic, psycho-
logical, and ritual techniques and associate plant, animal, and spirit forces used by shamans.
Additional research should also identify ways for indigenous communities, governments, and
international organizations to establish clear definitions and regulations of TM, and the establish-
ment of durable and enforceable intellectual property and land rights.

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95
8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports,
knowledge, and policy from the pastures
By Allison Hahn (City University of New York)

Introduction

Pastoralists around the world make use of new and social media technologies to produce, analyse
and distribute knowledge and information valued by their communities. This paper collects, exam-
ines and discusses the journalistic work of pastoralist nomadic community members. Focusing on
one of the world’s largest pastoralist communities, the Maasai of East Africa, this paper argues
that evidence of pastoralist journalism is neither unusual nor rare. To the contrary, a diversity of
voices, projects and publications are available to development organizations and policy-makers
from which it is possible to better understand pastoralist knowledge, beliefs and opinions.

In this paper, pastoralists reporters are referred to as “pastoralist journalists”. While the role of
citizen journalists has been much studied, reports made by pastoralists together with their fund
of knowledge are frequently either overlooked or filtered through so many organizations that
they become diluted or else unacknowledged. This paper searches for the new media origins of
pastoralist journalists in East Africa, asking in what ways are these pastoralists working to engage
policy-makers, development planners, scientists and government agents in the production of
new and improved policy regarding land and climate change. The examples collected are used to
argue for the recognition of pastoralist journalism as work, and the need for scholars to attend
to the needs of these workers to record, edit, and distribute their reports for national and inter-
national audiences. In addition, this paper argues that the work of pastoralist journalists must
be recognized as meaningful, informed and on a par with the domestic and international agents
working with and alongside pastoralists. Problematically, such work is often overlooked or ignored
by policy-makers, aid organizations and outside observers, being regarded as either uninformed
traditional practice or an activity running counter to environmentalist or development projects.

New and social media have made the work of pastoralist journalists both possible and of
increasing importance. The research reported in this paper is necessary as many scholars have
addressed the communicative norms and pathways of individual pastoralist communities, yet
few have studied the ways in which these networks are changing through access to new and
social media. Problematically, the presumption within academia and development organizations
that pastoralist, indigenous and tribal peoples are unequipped to utilize modern communicative
technologies has produced a blind spot in our understanding of pastoralist work, employment
and communication. Rather than focusing on the numerous ways that pastoralist communities
are misrepresented or misunderstood, this paper instead looks in depth at a few of those organ-
izations and projects that have taken a positive, pastoralist-centric approach to understanding
emergent communicative networks.

In what follows, this paper first explores the development of communicative networks for pas-
toralists. A detailed case study of Maasai activism is then presented. This case study examines
the ways by which Maasai pastoralists in East Africa have participated in debates and petitions 97
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

about land rights through the production and distribution of petitions and videos. Focusing on
engagement in Tanzania since 2009, this case study highlights the work of pastoralists and
their supporters in advancing community knowledge and demanding a space in decision-making
forums.

From the outset of this paper, it is important to note that not all reports by pastoralists, develop-
ment organizations or governments agree. In many locations there exist strict power hierarchies,
economic interests and other factors that call into question the validity of specific reports, ideas
and representations. This paper does not attempt to authenticate one voice over another, nor
does it claim that pastoralist communities never highlight specific facts and opinions out of
self-interest. Instead, this paper argues that statements made by pastoralist communities, self-in-
terested or not, must be considered on a par with, and of equal weight as, statements made by
all other organizations and interest groups.

Why communicative networks matter

Communicative networks are the ways that information is transferred across long distances and
have always mattered to human communities. Contemporary networks, which make use of mul-
tiple technologies, occur at quickening speeds and are impinged by a diversity of social norms.
Access to and use of these networks provides a special advantage to rural communities, such as
pastoral nomads, who have a history of difficulty in engaging with national politics and the type
of decision-making that takes place in urban centres. Now, through access to new and emergent
media, those community members working in urban centres are able to remain in close contact
with their communities, pastures and herds, while at the same time ensuring that their commu-
nities’ voices are heard and can affect national politics. However, this form of participation is at
times overlooked by politicians and scholars who mistakenly expect pastoralists to be unable or
unwilling to participate in such deliberations. Consequently, pastoralists are frequently at a disad-
vantage. On many occasions, they have had first to prove that they can or should be recognized
as stakeholders before being invited, or indeed permitted, to participate in deliberations and
negotiations affecting their lives.

Building new communicative networks

Since the mid 1990’s, a wide variety of communicative networks has become available to pasto-
ralist communities. In Tanzania, these networks were not purposely designed for pastoral nomads,
but they advantage these community nonetheless. These networks are enabled by a market in
refurbished technologies and re-purposed equipment such as cellular phones. Additionally, pas-
toralists often work in multiple jobs; young Maasai men who migrate temporarily to urban centres
to work as security guards are an example. Community members such as these have access to
the newest technologies and social media forums; an access that they then bring home to the
pasture lands.

Often, these new technologies are used to produce media projects that record, share and pro-
98 mote community knowledge and opinions. This paper argues that the journalistic framing of
 8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge, and policy from the pastures

this collection of information, reports and opinions should be considered as work. In the same
way as contemporary scholars and protest movements have come to recognize the term “citizen
journalist”, there is evidence to support and space for the concept of “pastoralist journalist”.
Labelling the production of media by pastoralists as work is important, as demonstrated through
their engagement with development agencies and urban policy-makers. When pastoralists are
framed as recipients of aid and their labour overlooked, they become regarded as dependants of
an organization or state. This results in inequality when new policies are being considered and
deliberated upon. This might take the form of pastoralists not being consulted because they are
presumed to be ignorant; or assigning a large amount of information gathering work to pastoralists
without providing compensation for that labor. The effect of this is seen when organizations
presume pastoralists incapable of making decisions affecting their communities, and need not
therefore to be consulted during the planning and decision-making processes. In contrast, the
case study that follows asks what we might find when we look for evidence of pastoralist journal-
ists working alongside other development organizations and governmental offices.

Case study: East Africa

In East Africa, a number of organizations are working with pastoralist nomadic communities. One
example is Pajan Kenya: Kenya Pastoralist Journalist Network, which works both sides of the
border between Kenya and Somalia to organize workshops in media literacy, education, human
rights and the development of information and communication technologies (ICTs) (Pajan, 2018).
Another is Survival International, a London-based non-governmental organization (NGO) working
in both Kenya and Tanzania to provide consciousness-raising programmes, as well as supporting
activists demanding an independent investigation into land grabbing (Survival International,
2018). In Tanzania, the Pastoralist Indigenous NGO Network (PINGO’s Forum) brings together
53 pastoralist and hunter-gatherer organizations to facilitate new knowledge production and
exchange. Most recently, these organizations have begun producing and distributing documenta-
ries to project the voices of pastoralist and hunter-gatherer communities to the wider community
(PINGOS, 2018).

In Tanzania, pastoralist groups such as the Maasai make use of new communicative networks to
engage in political activism, conservation projects and early alert systems designed to protect
both herd and herder from wildlife. These communicative infrastructures have been developed in
support of both the national tourism industry and its urban communities. Because of their wide
coverage, cellular signals are often also available further out in the pasturelands. Some signals
are provided by Tanzanian cellular phone providers, but others by foreign carriers; for example, in
one contested area, the Loliondo Valley, cellular phones connect to a United Arab Emirates (UAE)
provider (Gardner, 2015).

Maasai community members benefit from an increasing level of access to the Internet, social
media, to digital tools provided through improved cellular networks, second-hand technologies
and to digital infrastructures designed to support the regions’ tourism sector. By 2005, more
than 97 per cent of Tanzanians had access to a cellular phone. This has radically changed the
networks of communication and power throughout the country and the East African region in
general (Owiny et al., 2014). Transnational cellular networks, coupled with access to electric
generators and solar technology, mean Maasai community members can call, text and email from 99
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

their pasture lands. This has allowed more Maasai voices, often unauthorized by either the state
or community elders, to emerge into the public sphere.

Access to communicative technologies has fuelled the production of documentaries, arguments

and protests by pastoralist communities such as the Maasai. These productions often cross
borders such as that between those Maasai community members who live in Tanzania and
those in Kenya. The same networks also allow community members to keep in touch with
international organizations and tourists they have met. Direct connections with tourists are
particularly important because they give additional social and political leverage to pastoralist
information and opinions. Tourists who visit Tanzania often head to the Serengeti, and while
there meet pastoralists working at tourist camps and cultural parks or selling trinkets by the
roadside. Tourists who spend time with pastoral nomads in this way may be encouraged to
continue connecting with international tourists and discussing pastoralist issues, even after
they have returned to their home countries.

One result of these international connections are the signatures collected through Avaaz.org
petitions. The first Avaaz.org petition in support of the Maasai was launched in 2012. Avaaz.
org designed a series of online petitions and protests against the leasing of land bordering the
Ngorongoro and Serengeti conservation areas. These land leases had been sought by the Emirati
hunting company, Ortello Business Corporation (OBC), and the American company, Thomson
Safaris Ltd (Aburawa, 2012). It was proposed that, once leased, the land would be developed to
include hunting lodges, tourist complexes and hunting grounds. Hunting grounds are a high value
commodity as hunting is not currently permitted within government-owned lands such as the
Ngorongoro and Serengeti parks. At issue are the rights of Maasai pastoral herders, who use the
land surrounding the Ngorongoro and Serengeti to herd their cattle and participate in subsistence
agriculture. While the Maasai have specific rights inscribed into the creation of the Ngorongoro
Conservation Area, their rights in the surrounding areas are unclear. Problematically, the park
lands are not walled or fenced. This results in conflicts over both the legality of leasing the land
to foreign corporations, but also over which areas are within the park and which can be leased to
a corporation.

In 2012, an Avaaz.org petition was addressed to President Jakaya Kikwete, stating:

As citizens from around the world, we call on you to oppose any attempt to evict Maasai from
their traditional land or require them to relocate to make way for foreign hunters. We are
counting on you to be a champion for your people and stop any attempt to change their land
rights against their will (Avaaz.org, 2012).

The petition was bolstered by reporters and bloggers who shared the link to the Avaaz.org peti-
tion, often accompanied by an expanded explanation of the risk posed to Maasai communities.
Below is an example of such an email exchange with Avaaz.org highlighting both the experience
of past evictions and the efficacy of international protest.

The last time this same corporation pushed the Maasai off their land to make way for rich
hunters, people were beaten by the police, their homes were burnt to a cinder and their live-
stock died of starvation,” explains Avaaz via email. “But when a press controversy followed,
Tanzanian President Kikwete reversed course and returned the Maasai to their land. This time,
there hasn’t been a big press controversy yet, but we can change that and force Kikwete to stop
100 the deal if we join our voices now” (Aburawa, 2012).
 8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge, and policy from the pastures

In this exchange, Avaaz.org went on to outline its plan to create a press controversy that would
force the Tanzanian government to change its domestic policies. To promote such a controversy,
Avaaz.org played on two pre-existing communicative networks. First, they focused on the role of
tourism within the Tanzanian economy. Through networks forged by tourists, the Maasai were
able to create a boomerang effect, whereby under-represented or abused Tanzanians, such as
the Maasai, might utilize old colonial communicative networks to form new methods for pro-
testing and exerting international pressure on the Tanzanian government. Avaaz.org facilitated
connections between Maasai community members and those communities that were part of
the old colonial network, such as the Australia, Canada, United States, and Western Europe.
By collecting signatures, tweets and written letters, Avaaz.org was able to put pressure on the
Tanzanian government.

In its call for participants, it is possible to draw a comparison between Avaaz.org and other peti-
tioning organizations, such as Amnesty International. However, the online nature of Avaaz.org peti-
tions allows for a much quicker response, and potentially threatens the Tanzanian government with
a loss of international support and tourism, thereby giving them special leverage. The effectiveness
of this method was hailed by Avaaz.org, who were quick to report the success of their campaign.

Wow! More than 400,000 of us have signed in 24 hours! And President Kikwete’s inner circle
is starting to react – a few hours ago, the President’s close confidante, Mr January Makamba
MP, tweeted saying he would send our voices to the President himself. Keep up the pressure by
signing now and forwarding to others (Avaaz.org, 2012).

Makamba MP responded first to petitioners via Twitter, stating “To all who’ve sent me tweets
on “https://twitter.com/hashtag/Maasai?src=hash” issue in “https://twitter.com/hashtag/Lolion-
do?src=hash”: I’ve heard you. I’ll look at the facts & take up the matter with the President”
(Makamba, 2012a). Three days later, Makamba MP tweeted again, this time claiming that there
was no conflict in Loliondo: “Minister for Natural Resources and Tourism refutes claims of eviction
of 48,000 Maasai from the Serengeti “http://t.co/UeUbYysY” (Makamba, 2012b). At this point,
OBC – the company accused by Avaaz.org of purchasing the land – responded, claiming they had
no intention of purchasing land in either Ngorongoro or Loliondo because foreigners were barred
from purchasing land in Tanzania. This was technically true; foreigners cannot purchase land.
However, foreigners can lease land for a term of 99 years, which is what OBC was attempting to
do. The response of OBC’s Country Director in Tanzania, Issac Mollel, to the Avaaz.org protest
takes as a given the legality of OBC’s position and questions the “realness” of the protests:

Honestly, there’s no conflict whatsoever at Loliondo area, save for the social media…We have
been the development partner with the Loliondo villagers since our inception. Apart from these
baseless campaigns, we haven’t encountered any problem with the real people in our area of
operations (IPP Media, 2012).

In this statement, OBC claimed there was no conflict, that locals were not upset, and that the only
problem was non-locals and social media. This directly contradicts statements collected by David
Smith, a reporter for The Guardian newspaper in the United Kingdom, who spoke with Maasai
community members, such as Samwel Nangiria. In response to news that the government was
planning to create a corridor of 1,500 sq. km for use by UAE hunters, Samwel Nangiria stated:
“This is a shock. The government is telling us to compromise but people say they have given
up enough. Giving up the Serengeti national park was a lifelong compromise for them. They will
not be pushed again” (Smith, 2012). Mzee Orosikos, a Maasai elder, said: “For us, our land is 101
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

everything, but these Arab princes have no respect for the animals or our rights. Many of us would
rather die than be forced to move again” (Smith, 2012).

This clash between government, industry and Maasai speakers highlights the potential for inter-
national activism through organizations, such as Avaaz.org, and its limits. Each stakeholder
attempts to authenticate its claims to an international audience that for the most part is reliant
on the textual, verbal and visual evidence made available through the Internet. At stake is the
verification and validity of each stakeholder’s claims; a determination of the “realness” of the
situation in Northern Tanzania.

One way in which the petition proved the “realness” of the Maasai speakers and protesters in
Tanzania was through images of Maasai cattle herders and references to their lifestyle. These
media and documents might be produced by pastoralist journalists, but the problem remained:
how could these Maasai herders be authenticated by outside observers as actually living and
working within the areas in question? The divisions made by Issac Mollel of OBC between real
conflict and social media conflict, and between “baseless [social media] campaigns” and “real
people in our area” highlights one of the difficulties faced by pastoralists working to advance their
reports, arguments and advocacy. How can these pastoralists prove that their work is authentic?
And how can outside observers find, request and engage in the authentication of that work? A
diversity of NGOs and Maasai community groups have attempted to answer these questions
through documentation, promoting community-made media, and the distribution of pastoralist
journalism.

Verification of Maasai claims

One method of authentication is through verification and documentation by outside organizations.

This had proved successful previously for Maasai communities in Northern Tanzania, beginning
in 2009, when they protested against forced evictions from their traditional grazing lands. At
that time, international NGOs, such Kenya-based FEMACT, launched fact-finding missions to the
Loliondo valley and the Ngorongoro Conservation Area to determine and document the “realness”
of Maasai community accusations and protests. In meetings with Arusha District Commissioner
Lali, FEMACT was assured that there were no conflicts between the Maasai, the government and
private corporations. Instead, Lali alleged that Maasai community members were misinforming
both the media and their own communities about such threats so as to create political turmoil and
gain parliamentary seats at the next election. Further, Lali suggested that the Maasai community
was burning its own homes to create dramatic images and perpetuate their claims of turmoil
(FEMACT, 2009). FEMACT was then invited to visit Maasai communities to validate Lali’s claims.

What FEMACT found was radically different from Lali’s allegations. FEMACT’s report indicated
that the Maasai’s claims were indeed real: “Generally speaking, the Maasai communities in the
Loliondo villages are internally displaced persons. They have no land to settle, no shelter, no
food, no water for even their livestock, no clothing or any other form of social services” (FEMACT,
2009). FEMACT’s interviews directly contradicted the government’s report. However, although
they may have been successful in authenticating Maasai claims within East Africa, they garnered
little attention from elsewhere. What they did do, however, was prompt additional international
102 observation projects, such as the European Parliament’s investigation into northern Tanzania.
 8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge, and policy from the pastures

The findings of the European Parliament’s investigation were outlined in the resulting report. It
is fascinating to note that the EU Parliament and FEMACT reports are extraordinarily similar, and
build upon one another in an attempt to garner international attention for, and a response to,
Maasai issues. The 2015 EU Parliament Resolution on Tanzania report states as fact:

[I]n 2009 in eight villages bordering the Serengeti National Park evictions were conducted
by the Paramilitary Police Field Force Unit, together with security forces of OBC; whereas
more than 200 Maasai bomas (homesteads) were totally burnt, women were raped, more than
3000 people left homeless without food and other social basic needs and more than 50,000
cattle were left with no grass and water; Those Maasai communities in the Loliondo villages
were internally displaced persons without land to settle, shelter, food or water for even their
livestock, no clothing or any other form of social services (EU Parliament, 2015).

These findings received far more international attention than had the FEMACT report, and more
so than the reports produced by the Maasai themselves beginning in 2009. The EU Parliament
report also indicated that the Tanzanian government had not stopped from attempting to remove
the Maasai from their lands. “[I]n September 2013 government officials promised to shelve this
project due to negative media exposure and international outcry, the government is now reneging
on their promise and moving ahead with the plan” (EU Parliament, 2015).

What is most important, however, is drawing this narrative together. From Maasai protests to
international petition, from reporting by local NGOs to findings by international observers, each
of the pieces of media presented in this case study is part of a larger narrative of Maasai activism
and a quest for protection from land grabbing. When we track back to the work of Avaaz.org there
are signs that their petition played a critical role in advancing Maasai rights and recognition. This
organization and its petition is acknowledged in the 2015 European Parliament Resolution on
Tanzania, Notably the Issue of Land Grabbing which states in clause E: “whereas a petition by
the Maasai community of Ngorongoro district has been signed on line on the AVAAZ platform by
more than 2 million people worldwide” (EU Parliament, 2015).

Community video and documentary

The work of petitioners and international observation organizations is both prompted and then
supported by Maasai-produced videos and documentaries. The development of new and social
media has encouraged and enabled some pastoralist community members to revise protest strat-
egies through the incorporation of filming, petitioning and outreach campaigning. One of the
earliest Maasai videos is the Nogorongoro Conservation Area Food Crisis 2012 protest video (NCA
Residents, 2012). This event, filmed and then made accessible via YouTube, features a diversity
of speakers from the Maasai community, as well as local doctors who discuss the lack of food in
the region. Utilizing a diversity of visual and rhetorical forms to advance their argument, these
Maasai community members strive to prove, beyond doubt, that their arguments are valid and
that their community does indeed lack the food and resources necessary for survival.

Later videos go further and show that Maasai community members follow national and interna-
tional politics and engage actively with deliberations about conservation, overgrazing, land policy
and cultural events (Hahn, 2016). They provide the type of evidence that the Avaaz.org petition
could not; yet is it is important to view them not as a separate body of work, but rather as part 103
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

of a larger narrative. Video evidence showing Maasai pastoralists doing the work of information
gathering, analysis and protest is critical to a local and an international understanding of Maasai
community needs. The production of images and documents by Maasai pastoralist journalists are
a critical part of the larger tapestry of East Africa and the quest for pastoralist rights.

Melding multiple methods of pastoralist journalism

Internet search engines reveal a rich and powerful collection of pastoralist journalism. These
documents are readily available to online audiences, yet they are not always included in con-
temporary development projects and conversations. For example, although pastoralist-produced
documentaries have become increasingly available online, they are seldom linked to ongoing
petitions. When Avaaz.org launched new petitions in 2013, 2014 and 2015 they were accompa-
nied by a photograph and supporting information, but without the type of authenticating evidence
and engagement with the Maasai available elsewhere online. This lack of inclusion could at
first seem to be problematic, or could even make these Avaaz.org petitions appear to lack local
support. However, when these petitions are seen as part of a larger protest, the organization can
be seen as working to get international supporters to sign its many protest letters, as well as to
make donations, and to bring supporters together as a “powerful collaborative force” through on
and offline activism. Those same activists might be encouraged to look elsewhere for additional
information, possibly then to find the documentaries and reports produced by Maasai pastoralist
journalists.

This search for Maasai-produced media is not always an easy one. Some of the highest quality
documentaries produced by community members have received few views on online viewing
platforms, such as YouTube. While organizations are indeed working with pastoralists to develop
media, work still needs to be done to ensure that these productions are viewed, analysed and
appreciated by development organizations, government officials and other decision-makers. How-
ever, the continued production and distribution of videos and productions made by pastoralists
is an indicator of the success these communities have had in moving beyond some international
organizations and advancing their own causes and arguments.

Facilitating new networks

The example of Maasai pastoralist journalism discussed in this paper shows the ways in which
one community is working to engage in decision-making and deliberation. Similar efforts are
being made within pastoralist communities across the world.

Combined, the organizations, productions and reports discussed in this paper together indicate
that pastoralist communities are eager to participate in the production, distribution and analysis
of multiple forms of knowledge, including about the climate, land and environmental issues.
In many cases, community members already have the training and technology necessary for
participation. What is needed is for other stakeholder groups to take these contributions seriously,
to look for engagement by pastoralists and to act on the information and opinions gathered.
Beginning to acknowledge the work of pastoralists in producing and distributing such media is
104 one crucial step towards this goal. By accepting that these projects are produced by experts from
 8. Pastoralist journalists: Producing reports, knowledge, and policy from the pastures

knowledgeable sources, development organizations and government officials will be one step
closer to inviting pastoralists to take their place as equal stakeholders in deliberations about their
land, environment and communities.

References

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Prophet, 15 Aug. Available at: http://www.greenprophet.com/2012/08/uae-royalty-threaten-
48000-maasai-in-lucrative-hunting-deal/ [24 Jan. 2019].
Avaaz.org. 2012. “Stop the Serengeti sell-off”, 15 Aug. Available at: http://www.avaaz.org [24 Jan.
2019].
Avaaz.org. 2014. “Highlights”. Available at: http://www.avaaz.org/en/highlights.php [01 Mar. 2019].
EU Parliament. 2015. European Parliament resolution on Tanzania, notably the issue of land
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105
9. Augmented realities: The digital economy
of indigenous knowledge
By Daniel Cooper (University of Oxford) and Nina Kruglikova (University of Oxford)

Introduction

Modern knowledge and technology enable us to observe and affect nearly every corner of the
planet. Rapid developments in information and communication technology (ICT) are making it
possible to solve development and climate change challenges in ways that seemed impossible
just a few years ago. Computers, tablets, smartphones, apps, and participatory mapping pro-
grammes that utilize drones, remote sensing technology, global positioning systems (GPS), and
geographic information systems (GIS) are helping clarify and secure land tenure in customary
settings, and much more. Communication systems enable more effective coordination among
local, regional, and global networks. New tools and partnerships are already making it easier
for individuals, local communities, and governments to efficiently measure, report, verify, and
manage the knowledge and resources embedded in landscapes. However, these tools and
infrastructure are not yet fully developed for the proper management and optimization of indig-
enous knowledge (IK, the knowledge held by an indigenous society, as opposed to scientific
knowledge; Ajibade, 2003).

Indigenous communities contribute little to greenhouse gas emissions; however, climate change
poses significant risks for these people (World Bank, 2014), the landscapes they inhabit, and the
knowledge that holds it all together. Humans are inseparable components of the many ecosys-
tems that constitute landscapes. Recent research shows that people have unique capacities to
not only destroy their environments, but also to enhance the resilience of these co-evolutionary
systems (Balée, 2013). Indigenous people perceive and react to environmental change in creative
ways, drawing on their knowledge and technology to find solutions for the rapid change that is
occurring on local and global scales.

Modern technology has already proven to be helpful for isolated communities. For example,
Rupununi Learners, a social enterprise dedicated to environmental conservation in Guyana, uti-
lizes computers, cameras, GPS systems, camera traps, and the Internet to facilitate the preser-
vation, transfer, and development of knowledge within Makushi indigenous communities. Several
low-income countries and villages have adopted the One Laptop per Child programme in order
to enable children to have access to tools, content, media, and computer-programming environ-
ments. However, there is little research on the effectiveness of such programmes, and the few
studies that do exist show mixed results (Kraemer et al., 2009; Cristia et al., 2012).

Scientific knowledge and its associated technologies represent one system among many. Acknowl-
edging other ways of knowing and being leads to the reconsideration of many fundamental notions
about development, conservation, climate change, and access to information. IK is part of a
complex that encompasses language, biodiversity, land, naming and classification systems, rit-
uals, spiritual beliefs, and diverse world views. It provides the basis for local decision-making
about fundamental aspects of day-to-day life, including subsistence, hunting, fishing, gathering, 107
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

agriculture, animal husbandry, water management, health, and many other forms of landscape
perception, identification, modification, and management. Some forms of IK find expression
in places, stories, legends, folklore, rituals, objects, songs, and celebrations. In many cases,
knowledge has been passed down orally from generation to generation and is therefore seldom
documented. The lack of documentation is often due to the absence of literacy, infrastructure,
and tools in the remote and often politically marginalized geographies where IK exists. This paper
describes and analyses a recent Aboriginal start-up (Indigital) that integrates IK with modern
science and technology in order to preserve indigenous heritage and contribute to the digital
economy in innovative ways.

Indigenous knowledge

Indigenous societies harbour a repertoire of knowledge that is closely linked to the practical needs
and management of local socio-ecological systems. Not only do they have detailed knowledge
of plants, animals, fungi, and certain microorganisms, but they also identify specific types of
minerals, soil, water, snow, topography, and vegetation, as well as climatic and astronomical
cycles (Berkes et al., 2000). According to Berkes, IK refers to “a cumulative body of knowledge,
practice, and belief, evolving by adaptive processes and handed down through generations by
cultural transmission, about the relationship of living beings (including humans) with one another
and with their environment” (2012, p. 7). As explained by anthropologist Virginia Nazarea, situ-
ated IK is a “priceless human heritage”, and we must “protect the vulnerable wellspring of this
legacy” (1999, p. 10).

IK is an enchanting resource for development, though some argue that its value is romanticized
(Gray and Morant, 2003). The body of literature on IK offers new and valuable insights into
many current challenges (Reed, 1997; Posey, 2002; Briggs, 2005); however, the term IK and its
role in development are still problematic issues. For example, what about other local bearers of
knowledge that may or may not be considered indigenous, such as Maroons, the descendants of
African slaves who escaped and formed independent settlements throughout the Americas with
their own unique knowledge systems?

Instead of IK, some scholars use the term traditional ecological knowledge (TEK): the knowledge
base acquired by indigenous and local peoples over many hundreds of years of direct contact with
local ecosystems (Inglis, 1993). TEK includes intimate and detailed knowledge of plants, ani-
mals, natural and supernatural phenomena, the development and use of appropriate technologies
for hunting, fishing, trapping, agriculture, forestry, healing, and much more.

Recent interest in bridging the philosophical tradition of phenomenology (Heidegger, 1927; Mer-
leau-Ponty, 1945) with ecological issues (Abram, 2007, 2010; Griffiths, 2006) has brought
renewed interest to the field of TEK, particularly within the context of overpopulation, environ-
mental degradation, and climate change (Hinzman et al., 2005; Green and Raygorodetsky, 2010).
However, the word “traditional” can have misleading and negative connotations. The ongoing
stigma associated with this word can lead to dangerous framing that considers this knowledge
antiquated or primitive. The reality couldn’t be further from these characterizations. Much of the
recent literature promoting TEK makes reference to its rigour, noting the novel implications this
108 knowledge offers for diverse applications (Inglis, 1993; Menzies, 2006; Whyte, 2015).
 9. Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge

The word “ecological” is also problematic. Indigenous people do not historically use this term to
describe their knowledge (Berkes, 2012, p. 5). For them, there is no separation between ecolog-
ical knowledge and cultural knowledge. In most cases, knowledge is inseparable from practice,
so the separation of nature from culture does not make sense in this context. For example, to
differentiate ecology as an area of study separate from farming practices is erroneous for many
indigenous people who see a farmer and an ecologist as the same person.

While TEK does have the advantage of precision with reference to knowledge that is ecological
(Nakashima, 2002), the term is ultimately unsatisfactory. Its inadequacy is a result of its exclu-
sion of knowledge that is not considered ecological. These issues with TEK have not gone unno-
ticed; a plethora of other terms have been used in both academic and non-academic literature,
including: IK systems, traditional knowledge, indigenous local knowledge, local knowledge, IK of
the environment, farmers’ knowledge, folk knowledge, aboriginal knowledge, indigenous science,
and native science (Berkes, 2012; Nakashima et al., 2012; Whyte, 2015).

There are also good arguments for going beyond the dichotomies of indigenous versus scientific
and modern versus traditional (Agrawal, 1995). A more inclusive conceptualization of knowledge
would incorporate the diversity of those who hold valuable place-based information. Within a
broader analytical context, it may be more productive to replace IK and TEK with “local knowl-
edge” that includes non-indigenous peoples and non-ecological knowledge. However, since a
majority of the literature uses the term IK, and this paper focuses on a specific indigenous
technology start-up, the remainder of the paper uses the term IK.

Safeguarding indigenous knowledge and rights

Research shows that many top-down development interventions have failed to induce people to
participate in global climate initiatives because they lack both the will and the instruments to
allow people to use their own knowledge and technology (Blaser et al., 2004; Clavero, 2005).
Greater efforts should be made to strengthen the rights and capacities of local people to doc-
ument, develop, and apply their own knowledge base in order to improve local livelihoods in a
sustainable way. Many of these objectives are outlined in the UN Sustainable Development Goals
(UNGA, 2015) to end poverty, fight inequality and injustice, and tackle climate change by 2030.

There is concern for the lack of protection and rights of indigenous peoples in global policy
approaches such as the Paris Agreement (United Nations, 2015), especially because these com-
munities have proven to be the best custodians of the land (Davis and Wali, 1994). According to a
statement at the Paris COP21 by the UN Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples
(Tauli-Corpuz, 2015): “Studies over the last year have shown that indigenous peoples outperform
every other owner, public or private entities on forest conservation”.

The critical role of indigenous people in combating climate change is recognized in the Paris Agree-
ment, but their rights are not protected. Article 7.5 (United Nations, 2015) acknowledges that:
adaptation action should follow a country-driven, gender-responsive, participatory and fully
transparent approach, taking into consideration vulnerable groups, communities and ecosys-
tems, and should be based on and guided by the best available science and, as appropriate,
traditional knowledge, knowledge of indigenous peoples and local knowledge systems . . . 109
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

The rights of indigenous peoples were cut from the binding portion of the Paris Agreement, rele-
gating the only mention of them to the purely aspirational preamble. Megan Davis, UN Permanent
Forum on Indigenous Issues Chair, said in her statement to the COP (United Nations, 2015):
“Sadly, the agreement asks States to merely consider their human rights obligations, rather than
comply with them.”

In any effort to access, document, or scale up IK, due consideration must be given to intellectual
property rights (IPR) in order to protect the interests of local communities against charlatans and
pirates. The knowledge and technologies contained within landscapes, households, individuals,
oral traditions, texts, and elsewhere, belongs exclusively to the individuals and communities that
maintain these systems; therefore, access to such knowledge must be restricted. Unfortunately,
IPR are weak to non-existent in many developing countries and rural areas where indigenous
people live. One example of traditional knowledge that has already proven its value (without
due compensation) is urari (curare), a traditional poison applied to darts and arrows in northern
Amazonia that played a significant role in helping scientists understand neurophysiology and the
modern use of anaesthesia (Foldes, 1993).

The relationship between IK and IPR is a complicated matter. Questions around IK protection
present issues unlike any others that intellectual property law has had to consider. Indigenous
concerns include legal questions involving copyright, patents, trademarks, designs, and/or confi-
dential information. They also raise issues that are not always legal or commercial in nature but
include ethical, cultural, historical, political, and spiritual dimensions. Intellectual property law,
including the World Trade Organization’s 1994 Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual
Property Rights (TRIPS), is largely European in derivation and promotes particular cultural inter-
pretations of knowledge, ownership, authorship, private property, and monopoly privilege (Correa,
2000; Anderson, 2010). Indigenous peoples do not necessarily interpret or conceptualize their
knowledge systems in the same way. These laws could affect over 370 million indigenous people
worldwide, not to mention the researchers, development institutions, corporations, governments,
non-governmental organizations, and others engaging with these communities, their knowledge
and resources, and the land they occupy.

Research has proven that when infrastructure development, deforestation, resource extraction,
agricultural and pastoral conversion, and climate change encroach on local communities, they
often lose their land and the knowledge that protects and maintains its abundance (Godoy et
al., 1998; Schwartzman and Zimmerman, 2005). A primary interest of indigenous communities
is to get titles to more land and other resources, as well as to protect their rights to intellectual
property, including within the digital domain.

Augmented reality in the digital economy

A “digital economy” refers to an economy that is based on digital computing technologies. Don
Tapscott coined the term in The digital economy: Promise and peril in the age of networked
intelligence (1995). This book discusses how digital computing technologies are undermining
conventional notions about how information is stored and shared, and how businesses operate.
More than 20 years later, in the new global economy, digital devices and software applications
110 are enabling more and more people to access and exchange information. They are also changing
 9. Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge

the way we perceive and engage with the world through new products and services that reimagine
traditional boundaries and value propositions.

Augmented reality (AR) refers to a field in which 3D virtual objects are integrated into a 3D real
environment in real time using optical and video blending techniques (Azuma, 1997). Such digital
applications are revolutionizing medicine, manufacturing, education, entertainment, and the mili-
tary. AR is a variation of virtual entertainments (VE) and virtual reality (VR). The primary difference
is that AR allows users to see the real world with virtual objects superimposed or composited with
the real world. As explained by Azuma: “AR can be thought of as the ‘middle ground’ between VE
(completely synthetic) and telepresence (completely real)” (1997, p. 2). Papagiannis (2017) clari-
fies this differentiation by emphasizing how contextual information transforms the AR experience.
Another subclass of VR is mixed reality (MR), sometimes referred to as hybrid reality (Milgram and
Kishino, 1994). This merging of real and virtual worlds produces new environments and visualiza-
tions where physical and digital objects coexist and interact in real time via immersive technology
such as the HoloLens, a pair of MR smartglasses developed and manufactured by Microsoft.

AR has the power to enhance a user’s perception of and engagement with the real world by
providing information that would not otherwise be accessible. This phenomenon is often referred
to as intelligence amplification (IA): using a computer as a tool to augment human intelligence
and make a task easier to perform (Azuma, 1997, p. 3; Brooks Jr, 1996). IA is often contrasted
with artificial intelligence (AI), an autonomous technological system such as a computer or robot
that displays intelligence and is capable of learning and solving problems. According to Azuma,
“At least six classes of potential AR applications have been explored: medical visualization,
maintenance and repair, annotation, robot path planning, entertainment, and military aircraft
navigation and targeting” (1997, p. 3). The class of AR that is most relevant for this study is
annotation, where handheld devices such as smartphones are used for IA by providing additional
information about indigenous objects and sacred sites.

The digital economy, and its associated devices and applications, poses significant opportunities
for indigenous communities and those who are interested in learning about them and supporting
their development. Despite the potential, there are also risks. For example, in many indigenous
cultures, local knowledge and sacred sites are important forms of cultural heritage and power.
Knowledge is not only held in local languages and dialects, it is also held in place; therefore the
landscape itself becomes a repository of vital resources and identity for indigenous peoples.
Using AR can indeed lead to IA within indigenous landscapes, but it can also exploit and distort
cultural identity, land, and power in imbalanced and destructive ways.

The following section describes a software application that utilizes AR within indigenous land-
scapes in order to empower and generate income for indigenous peoples.

Indigital

Based in the Kakadu World Heritage Area in the Northern Territory of Australia, Indigital is an
Aboriginal technology start-up that works with some of the most remote people and places on
Earth. The Internet has enabled Indigital to stay connected to a team of coders in India who do
3D animation, and a graphic designer based in the Philippines, despite their geographical isola- 111
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

tion. This social enterprise uses cutting-edge digital technology (including 4D mapping software,
image recognition technology, augmented and virtual realities, and HoloLens) to ethically digitize
and translate cultural knowledge within Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. The
company aims to empower these communities by helping them to showcase their knowledge and
landscapes in compelling ways that create jobs in the digital economy.

Indigital’s founder and CEO, Mikaela Jade, is a Cabrogal Aboriginal woman from Sydney, Aus-
tralia. She grew up disconnected from her own cultural heritage and always wondered about
the stories of the land and its people, so she became a ranger. She saw technology as a way to
give people an opportunity to learn about indigenous culture and ways of being by bridging gaps
in education, health, and job creation. In order to avoid fetishizing technology, she emphasizes
the point that everything starts with culture before technology (Australian Government, 2016).
Indigital works in partnership with indigenous communities and others to create digital products
that are desirable and purposeful, and that honour past generations. This is all done through the
Indigital Storytelling app for handheld devices (previously called Digital Rangers) and another app
for the Microsoft HoloLens. The name reflects the nature and mission of their activities – telling
indigenous stories in digital media.

The following is a list of Indigital’s core principles (Jade, 2018a):

1. Intergenerational reconnections with cultural knowledge systems through cutting-edge dig-

ital mediums – knowledge keepers working with their young people to re-engage in cultural
law, language, and land. 

2. Economic development for indigenous peoples in the global digital economy. Indigital is
leading the way with technology that is culturally appropriate and respectful of the law,
language, and land.

3. Empowered communities for digital custodianship of knowledge systems and languages in

the digital world – ensuring indigenous peoples have digital custodians in their communities
that can help senior leaders navigate the changing digital world in a way that respects their
cultural law, language, and land. 

4. Intra-cultural connections between indigenous and non-indigenous peoples  – the right

people telling the right stories at the right place at the right time.

Everything begins with the elders of a given community who control both the front and back
ends of the system. This ensures that traditional owners are aware of their digital IPR, including
how their knowledge is represented, where it is stored, how it can be retrieved, and who can
access it. Indigital asks elders to sign cultural protocols and licensing documents that protect
traditional owners’ digital and moral rights; they also give Indigital a licence to use the content
in the apps. The content is non-exclusive to Indigital. Multigenerational arrangements for the
content are secured, including details for what to do when senior traditional owners pass away.
The licensing also details the monetary benefits that are derived from the content. For example,
senior traditional owners are paid a set fee to paint, storyboard, and record their content for the
app. Thus, the Indigital team ensures that each movement, body art animation, look, and feel of
112 content is matched with the design of the traditional owners.
 9. Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge

Jade felt very privileged to work with elders in Kakadu who entrusted her with bringing ancient
stories to life in a new medium.  The story of Namande, a 60,000-year-old personage in the
landscape at Kakadu serves as a good illustration. Not only does the community – and Neville
Namanyilk, an indigenous artist – support the project, but some have even sought permission to
have Namande tattooed on their bodies as a renewed symbol of pride for their culture.

Getting the company started has been a challenge; however, it has received a number of grants
and support, including finance from a Kickstarter campaign that attracted 115 backers who
pledged 20,608 Australian dollars (AUD). The Kickstarter (2017) webpage explains Indigital
Storytelling in the following way:

Imagine you are standing at one of the world’s oldest cultural sites and seeing 20,000 year-old
rock art. It has a story but you don’t know it. You reach in to your pocket and grab your mobile
phone. You open your Indigital Storytelling app and point your phone at the rock art. Your phone
‘sees’ the rock art, and the rock art comes to life in 3D augmented reality. You are told the
story by the Traditional Owner of that place as the characters in the rock art come to life. Chills
spread across your body as everything suddenly makes sense. The world’s most ancient story
has just been shared with you and your life has just been changed forever.

In addition to the content provided in the Indigital Storytelling app, the company also builds custom-
ized apps for clients that have various costs that depend on the platform they want and the number
of holograms it would include. Basic apps cost about 3,000 AUD – more complex apps cost more.
They specialize in apps for indigenous and rural communities that facilitate language learning,
conferences and events, retail, arts, land councils, and schools. They also make zoo, aquarium,
national park, and wildlife apps in order to enhance interpretation and visitor experience.

Indigital also creates merchandise such as high-quality AR t-shirts with images of dreamings –
artistic representations of ancestral figures with supernatural abilities. These heroes are thought
to exist in dreamtime, a “time out of time”, or “everywhen” (Spencer and Gillen, 1899; Lawlor,
1991). They are not worshipped gods that control the material world; they are revered ancestors
of the land and its people. The concept of dreamtime has become widely adopted beyond its
initial Aboriginal Australian context and is now part of global popular culture, though it is often
misunderstood and misappropriated, especially because there is no direct translation for this
complex yet integral concept.

More recently, the company attracted Microsoft as a sponsor to help develop an Aboriginal MR
system using the HoloLens technology. They are currently finalizing the first version of the Holo-
Lens-based system, which will tell the story of Namande. Indigital uses drones, 3D and 4D mapping,
and smartphone apps to share indigenous insights, but HoloLens offers a significant step forward.

The Microsoft HoloLens is a self-contained, holographic computer that enables users to engage
with digital content and interact with holograms. Microsoft is partnering with Indigital to use
image-recognition technology to bring Namande to life from his image painted on bark ochre. As
Jade explains (Microsoft, 2017):
So when you put on the HoloLens Namande is right in front of you and you’re seeing him the
way the Bininj people see him in the landscape, and his song and dance and his body paint and
the dilly bag that’s around his neck. And it will be translated into English, because currently the
content we’ve developed is in Kunwinjku. 113
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

The partnership between the HoloLens and Indigital is the first instance of the technology being
used in cooperation with an indigenous community. According to Jade (Microsoft, 2017): “The
knowledge systems that go with it are the oldest living knowledge systems on Earth. One of
the things I’m really keen to communicate through something like HoloLens is that these aren’t
bedtime stories – they’re instructions for living on planet earth”.

In addition to making AR apps, standard apps, and merchandise, Indigital also advocates for
indigenous digital rights through diverse media, fora, and events such as the Digital Campfire
in New York City in 2018. As a member of the Microsoft Australia Reconciliation Action Plan
Advisory Board, Jade brings indigenous people and corporations together to talk about digital
sovereignty – the ability of individuals and communities to independently decide how their data
can be gathered, distributed, used, and stored – and what indigenous people can do to take
advantage of the digital economy. She is currently developing a partnership with indigenous
social enterprise Shared Path on a program funded by Microsoft Philanthropies called Digital
Custodians that will train 30 indigenous women from across Australia in digital skills.

Indigital works with an aboriginal intellectual property lawyer to ensure its activities are within
cultural protocols aligned with and exceeding the requirements of the United Nations Declara-
tion on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) (United Nations, 2007). According to Jade,
this declaration does not do enough to protect indigenous digital rights since it was adopted in
2007 – well before the mass production and utilization of smartphones and ubiquitous data
collection. Indigital is at the frontline of pushing the global agenda on the ethical digitalization of
IK systems through the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. They also work
with the Tribal Link Foundation and senior indigenous leaders from all over the world to increase
protections of their cultural knowledge systems in the digital economy.

In January 2018, Jade was named a finalist in the Veuve Clicquot New Generation Award 2018
as a female entrepreneur contributing to the preservation of indigenous heritage in ethical and
innovative ways. According to Jade (2018b): “That is where the mixed reality magic happens. The
space in between technology and people. The spark and inspiration for the teaching and learning
moment”. This statement crystallizes two important approaches to her work: (1) the interconnec-
tivity of technology and people with blurred boundaries between humans and non-humans; and
(2) the importance of education outside the classroom environment with a hands-on experience
of indigenous heritage.

Discussion

Indigenous stories offer a unique platform for establishing emotional connections with landscapes
by fostering a sense of place and belonging (cf. Fernández-Llamazares and Cabeza, 2017). Given
the declining role of traditional institutions that pass knowledge on from one generation to the
next (Papworth et al., 2009), there is a growing tendency towards the loss of connection with the
land and its associated knowledge systems.

Indigital Storytelling uses new technologies to digitize and translate knowledge and culture from
Aboriginal landscapes. Although the target demographic for the app is largely young people and
114 tourists, it promotes intergenerational connectivity by documenting oral histories passed down
 9. Augmented realities: The digital economy of indigenous knowledge

from one generation to the next. Elders, who contribute as artists and traditional owners, play
an integral role in this initiative by ensuring the continuity of tradition and the social memory of
landscape (cf. Davidson-Hunt and Berkes, 2003).

Indigital has a significant educational component that is linked to its use at schools, both in and
out of classroom settings. IK is brought to life with the help of AR and MR tools embedded in
apps that help broaden the mental horizons of students and encourage their interest in pursuing
further knowledge. The performativity of Indigital Storytelling provides compelling and engaging
ways of reconnecting with indigenous heritage that shapes the perception of IK by modern
society. Such knowledge is co-produced (Jasanoff, 2004) through the lens of modern technology,
indigenous narratives, and contemporary interpretations of Aboriginal stories. Linguistic aspects
are also important for Indigital Storytelling, since stories are narrated in both English and dialect.

Indigital has significant potential to provide income and employment opportunities. Not only
does it create jobs and training for the digital economy, but it can also empower local tour guides
to learn more stories and be rewarded for their knowledge by tourists. The company is a 100
per cent indigenous-owned and operated for-profit social enterprise; however, it addresses the
challenge of profit-sharing by committing 50 per cent of profits to the indigenous communities
that participate in its initiatives. They also ensure the participation of the local community by
working directly with village leaders to digitize sacred stories and sites.

Despite the benefits of Indigital Storytelling, increased connectivity also brings risks. One chal-
lenge associated with such technologies is that they require a modest amount of capital and
infrastructure to remain sustainable. Many bearers of local wisdom remain beyond the reach of
much of the existing transportation and communication infrastructure; therefore, more invest-
ment is required to establish a connection. In such circumstances, care must be taken to avoid
radically disrupting exiting practices and behaviour. There are also many gaps in local, national,
and international legal frameworks for intellectual property, land rights, and profit-sharing mech-
anisms that must be clearly delineated at all levels. Last but not least, AR implies a modification
and distortion of the original object, individual, location, song, or story that may have unintended
consequences such as cultural misappropriation.

Conclusion

There is a wide scope for knowledge and technology transfers and partnerships that benefit
indigenous communities, the private sector, and the climate. Indigital serves as a model for
other indigenous start-ups and communities, as well as further development and climate change
initiatives that support the UNFCCC COP 21 Paris Agreement (United Nations, 2015) and the UN
Sustainable Development Goals (UNGA, 2015).

What is abundantly clear is that indigenous people must shape appropriate frameworks for access
and use of their land, resources, and knowledge. IK can no longer be considered a commodity
from which others benefit. Indigenous people are increasingly threatened and must be recognized
as the custodians of the land that they occupy and its constituent knowledge that is valuable
within and beyond local contexts. Critical evaluation of existing norms and frameworks that have
been taken for granted is crucial for developing new strategies. A rethinking is required to under- 115
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

stand how to appropriately conduct research, conceptualize and share knowledge, and develop a
framework for the role of law to influence knowledge exchange.

Education – within local communities and among development practitioners – is key to safe-
guarding IK and landscapes. Empowering individuals through education in both local and global
knowledge helps maintain cultures, landscapes, and livelihoods; it also mitigates migration for
work. When indigenous people have sustainable livelihoods and secure land tenure, they are more
likely to stay on their ancestral land, thereby maintaining the continuity of their culture, and the
health of their communities and the planet.

Modern technology does not have to replace local traditions; rather it can function to maintain
and secure it, most importantly through education and the strengthening of intellectual property
and land rights. The successes of Indigital should inspire other entrepreneurs to proceed with
similar start-ups. These initiatives should also encourage communities to establish mentorship
schemes to facilitate the storage and intergenerational transfer of knowledge.

Much like the Aboriginal concept of dreamtime, augmented and mixed realities have the power to
blur the lines between the past, present, and future of indigenous landscapes. As demonstrated
by Indigital Storytelling, the digital economy has the potential to not only preserve IK, but also to
reward its owners and share it for the benefit of local, regional, and global communities. Further
research should evaluate the longer-term effects of these initiatives on indigenous communities,
particularly with regard to conservation, education, health, intellectual property and land rights,
profit-sharing, and the creation of sustainable livelihoods.

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119
10. Sustaining and preserving the traditional
knowledge and institutions of indigenous
communities: Reflections on the way forward
By Uma Rani (International Labour Organization) and Martin Oelz
(International Labour Organization)

Introduction

Indigenous and tribal peoples’ ways of life have contributed very little to climate change, because
they depend on local biological diversity and ecosystem services for their sustenance and well-
being, although they are among those most affected by it. The eight case studies presented in
this compendium from different parts of the world show how indigenous communities cope and
manage their livelihoods when confronted with the impacts of climate change and its variability.
These case studies show that, while indigenous peoples live in a world of formalized constitu-
tional and legal systems, their social and cultural practices continue to be regulated by customary
norms. The adaptation and coping strategies adopted by these pastoral and agricultural com-
munities are guided and supervised by traditional customary institutions and practices. These
communities rely on traditional knowledge for weather warnings, selection of species, diversifying
livestock and shifts from pastoral to agropastoral production systems.

There is a generally held notion, which also emerges from the case studies, that the customary
norms and practices of indigenous peoples go unrecognized by policy-makers when decisions are
made that affect their livelihoods. Some of the studies in this compendium give concrete exam-
ples of how when traditional knowledge is documented at the grassroots level, these customary
practices could be an excellent resource for both raising awareness as well as for informing
policy-making at the national and international levels. The experiences of some of the indigenous
communities studied illustrates how traditional and non-traditional knowledge can be effectively
combined to ensure livelihoods and to promote development. It also shows how these commu-
nities are open to embracing modern technologies, such as digital technologies, to preserve
traditional knowledge or to use media and communication effectively to communicate with people
about the importance of these traditional sources of knowledge, and to defend their rights.

Although these studies only provide a glimpse into emerging research, they do shed light on some
of the challenges faced by these communities and how to further an agenda of climate action
which is inclusive and sustainable; one shaped by the traditional knowledge of these communities.
While more research of this kind is needed in the future, with a strong focus on gender issues, this
concluding chapter points to a number of paths for the way forward, taking into consideration the
detailed and rich observations and findings made in the studies contained in this compendium. This
chapter will focus on how to ensure rights over resources and lands among indigenous communities,
how to sustain traditional knowledge and institutions, and what role can be played by technology.
Finally, it will focus on the adaptation and coping strategies required to reduce the impact of climate
change. This chapter will also link to the ILO Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989
(No. 169), which, if effectively implemented, can go a long way towards securing an environment in 121
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

which indigenous and tribal communities can maintain and develop the customs, occupations and
institutions which are indispensable if their traditional knowledge is to be sustained.

Ensuring rights to common property resources and intellectual property

The identity of indigenous communities is inextricably linked with their lands, be it common
property resources for pastoral or for agricultural activities. These lands may be located in trop-
ical forests, high-altitude zones, coasts or deserts. Common property resources have increasingly
come under pressure over the past few decades due to an ecologically destructive demand for
fossil fuels (see the paper by Ahearn). This further contributes to environmental degradation
(see the paper by Cooper) and the release of toxic emissions that pose additional challenges for
pastoral communities. There is a need to address the rise in fossil fuel extraction and the issue of
the ownership and access to resources (Satgar, 2018). In the context of economic globalization,
land reform efforts often favour private and individual tenure rights over a recognition of common
forms of tenure rights based on traditional occupation and use; and, in certain instances, common
property resources are also redistributed. To support grassland ecosystems and common property
resources for pastoralists and other indigenous communities, it is therefore important that gov-
ernments secure a tenure system that supports their practices. In addition to securing tenurial
rights, governments should also seek to ensure that these communities have access to adequate
basic infrastructure, such as drinking water, sanitation and health care, which are congruent with
attaining the 2030 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).

In addition to having access to lands and other resources, the preservation of traditional norms
and practices is especially important in maintaining common property resources. The case
study on traditional water management in Timor-Leste (see paper by Burns) points towards the
role that women play in managing water resources. Because traditionally women have borne
the burden of fetching water for household purposes, they have a vested interest in managing
water, therefore their involvement and participation in water management and policy-making
would lead to a better outcome. The study by Burns shows how the custodial practices of
women have helped them to identify more reliable water access in interior mountainous region,
and formed the basis of extended land use and facilitated the re-emergence of subsistence
practices, allowing them to take the decision to move from coastal to highland areas, and at
the same time reducing dependence on coastal environment through protecting fish stocks and
some of the species.

Coleman (1987) argues that shared norms and practices around the utilization of common prop-
erty resources are sometimes internalized by individuals. This assertion seems to be even more
true in the case of indigenous communities, where shared norms and practices allow indigenous
communities to protect, maintain and preserve common property resources. The paper by Burns
in this compendium shows how customary laws that protect particular areas and species in tra-
ditional lands are re-appropriated for coastal environment to manage fish stocks. Because these
indigenous communities reside together and interact in many situations other than the sharing
of their common property resources, they are able to develop strong norms of acceptable behav-
iour and convey mutual expectations to one another. This helps in the effective management of
common property resources, as nonconformity can lead to sanctions, which is an internal cost
122 to the individuals concerned in terms of guilt or anxiety, or social displeasure (Ostrom, 1990).
 10. Sustaining and preserving the traditional knowledge and institutions of indigenous communities: Reflections on the way forward

One area of concern with regards to indigenous knowledge raised in this compendium relates to
intellectual property rights (IPR). This is a complex issue (see the paper by Cooper and Kruglikova).
It is complex because such rights in the case of indigenous knowledge cannot be scientifically
proven, as much of this knowledge has been transmitted over generations through oral history.
This makes it difficult to appropriate rights to an individual as such knowledge belongs to com-
munities. The forum in which the intellectual activity of the traditional knowledge of indigenous
peoples has been most thoroughly addressed is the World Intellectual Property Organization
(WIPO). WIPO defines traditional knowledge as “the content or substance of knowledge resulting
from intellectual activity in a traditional context, and is not limited to any specific field, extending
to agricultural, environmental and medicinal knowledge, and knowledge associated with genetic
resources” (quoted in Sawakar, 2017, p. 60). The WIPO Intergovernmental Committee on Intel-
lectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore is the venue in which
countries and indigenous nations and communities from around the world have been negotiating
an international instrument, or instruments, providing for the protection and promotion of tra-
ditional knowledge. Sawakar (2017) identifies 20 biological resources with a medicinal value
in a tiger reserve in South India, similar to the urari (curare) documented in northern Amazonia
(see paper by Cooper and Kruglikova). Sawakar argues that the potential of these biological
resources for use in medicine cannot be patented and protected because it is difficult to identify
an individual inventor and is largely used by tribal communities rather than individuals. To help
protect and preserve traditional knowledge among communities, the notion of community rights
to traditional knowledge instead of individual rights comes into play.

In the context of traditional knowledge, the critical role played by tribal women in identifying
medicinal plants and vegetation from the forest, and then preserving and maintaining them
cannot be ignored. There is a deep connection between tribal women and forests, as aside from
residing in forests, they are dependent on forests for collecting water, fuel, fodder and food. As a
result, women play a critical role in protecting and preserving the forest ecology. There seems to
be evidence, for example, that tribal women in India use almost 300 forest species for medicinal
purposes (Sawakar, 2017). However, more research is required to gain a better understanding of
whether gender makes a difference to the nature of the traditional indigenous knowledge that is
generated, preserved and protected. Initiatives such as the Traditional Knowledge Digital Library
(TKDL) in India, a cooperative venture documenting traditional knowledge in five different global
dialects, should be supported and extended to other regions, so as to push for an agenda of
collective rights for indigenous knowledge, and to also acknowledge the role of women in creating
and preserving traditional indigenous knowledge.

Sustaining traditional knowledge and institutions

Indigenous communities are excellent observers and interpreters of change in the environment.
This is illustrated in the case study of north-eastern Ethiopia (see paper by Balehegn and Balehey)
wherein the Afar traditional seers share their traditional rain-making and prediction techniques.
These communities observe biophysical entities closely, such as trees, the behaviour of animals,
birds, insects and the variations in weather – flooding, lightening, wind directions, and so on –
to forecast future weather conditions. They adopt triangulation methods and observe changes
repeatedly over space and time and, in the case of the Turkana herders of northern Kenya, this
knowledge is not static and is influenced by climatic changes, as well as other factors such as 123
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

urbanization, increased pollution levels and so on (see the paper by Semplici). These communi-
ties do not follow any single rigid system, but instead select those systems that are accessible
and effective for their particular climatic conditions. These studies show how traditionally and
collectively held knowledge can offer valuable insights into changes in the environment, and
how it can be built, transmitted and changed over time. There already exist “citizen science”
and “crowd sourcing” projects as documented in the paper by Cooper and Kruglikova, wherein
weather data is collected by those close to and familiar with indigenous knowledge. If such data
can be complemented by scientific data, it could prove beneficial for verifying climate models and
evaluating climate change scenarios on a much broader spatial and temporal scale.

New and emerging digital technologies, such as digital platforms, could be effectively used for
collating and disseminating information related to indigenous knowledge. Cooper and Kruglik-
ova’s paper points to new startups, such as Indigital, that provide a platform for documenting
traditional knowledge and preserving heritage, which is then shared with the wider community
to create awareness about traditional knowledge and practices. Similar efforts are underway in
other parts of the world. One such initiative is SRISTI (Society for Research and Initiatives for
Sustainable Technologies and Institutions) in Ahmedabad, India, which documents traditional
knowledge practices through the volunteers of Honey Bee Network, and helps local communi-
ties to coexist with biodiversity and to spread traditional knowledge among communities. There
are also other examples, among which is the bio-diversity portal, an open source portal wherein
individuals voluntarily document and feed information that can be used by the wider public
for different purposes. Digital technologies have ample capacity to document and preserve
traditional knowledge as practiced in different fields, something which could prove beneficial
for the greater good of society at large. Digital technologies could also provide employment
opportunities for indigenous communities, which would help them to accumulate indigenous
and traditional knowledge and could mitigate migration. It could also empower local people to
learn more stories through the documentation of oral history and to disseminate them either
through digital platforms or through tourism. This could serve to raise people’s awareness about
these practices, and this knowledge could become part of a wider discourse in society and also
influence policy-making.

Social and visual media could also play an important role in empowering indigenous peoples
by making their voices heard among the wider public, and among policy-makers and scientists.
Media helps engage and create awareness by documenting practices and helping preserve the
knowledge of indigenous communities. The case of Maasai pastoralists in Africa (see the paper by
Hahn) illustrates how media can have an important role in claiming and defending land rights, in
helping to advance community knowledge and in demanding a space in decision-making forums.
There is, however, a need for further exploration within this context as to how the materials
produced, for example the documentaries produced and distributed in Tanzania, could be widely
used in similar other contexts and translated into policy-making reality. What, for example, has
been the impact of these documentaries on policy-making within the Tanzanian context or other
contexts? How can social media through platforms and networks have far-reaching implications
for indigenous communities who are widely dispersed?

An important issue that unfolds within this context is the role of external players, such as
non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and environmental activists, who are engaged in helping
124 to pursue the interests of indigenous peoples. The entry of external players could cause conflicts
 10. Sustaining and preserving the traditional knowledge and institutions of indigenous communities: Reflections on the way forward

vis-à-vis local indigenous communities, should the respective interests and motivations happen
to differ. This could, in certain instances, undermine the interests of indigenous communities.
Another issue that is raised in some of the papers is the extent to which affirmative policies are
discussed with the indigenous communities and whether they are integral to the process or poli-
cies imposed from outside. In this respect, one could envisage a larger project across indigenous
communities, recording oral history and cultural knowledge and practices, as being of value,
especially for influencing policy.

Efforts have been made at the global level to bridge the gap between traditional knowledge and
climate science. As an example, the United Nations University’s Traditional Knowledge Initiative
(UNU-TKI) and the International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) have partnered to organize a
series of workshops allowing indigenous peoples at local and national levels to share their expe-
riences and also have a greater say in policy-making. Indigenous peoples’ experiences of climate
change impacts, together with their mitigation and adaptation strategies, are documented in the
IPCC assessment report (IPPC, 2014). A way forward would be to collate traditional knowledge
and practices, which are quite dispersed, and create a platform, so that through this platform
information can be shared more widely among a larger community. The UNFCCC’s platform on
this issue is an important step forward.

Adaptation and mitigation strategies to climate change

There is an increasing recognition that traditional knowledge needs to be taken into consid-
eration within the discourse on global climate change. In this context, the IPCC assessment
report clearly states that “Indigenous, local and traditional knowledge systems and practices,
including indigenous peoples’ holistic view of community and environment, are a major resource
for adapting to climate change, but these have not been used consistently in existing adaptation
efforts. Integrating such forms of knowledge with existing practices increases the effectiveness of
adaptation” (IPCC, 2014, p. 80). However, despite possessing traditional knowledge, indigenous
peoples are often excluded from the decision-making processes which are so critical for their
livelihoods. For instance, their views are not considered when decisions are prepared and made
regarding major development projects, including renewable energy projects. Such projects may be
aimed at mitigating climate change impacts, but might also be detrimental to indigenous peoples’
livelihoods, and could even exacerbate the impacts of climate change. The IPCC Assessment
Report emphasizes that there is an increasing recognition of the “value of social (including local
and indigenous), institutional, and ecosystem-based measures and of the extent of constraints to
adaptation” (IPCC, 2014, p. 95). This would require developing effective strategies and actions
to attain wider strategic goals that extend beyond the SDG agenda.

The case studies in this compendium also bring out the pressures felt by women as they are
responsible for producing, processing and gathering food, fetching water and carrying fuelwood
because of ecological degradation (see the paper by Burns). Indigenous women are often the
custodians of traditional knowledge (ILO, 2017), and their empowerment is critical for climate
action. Indigenous, women-led cooperatives have played an important role in many indigenous
communities in building traditional knowledge systems, and additionally in creating employment
opportunities, and in helping them attain collective rights.
125
Indigenous Peoples and Climate Change: Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods

Most of the case studies in this compendium allude to a lack of infrastructure and education
preventing indigenous peoples from adopting modern techniques or technology. Furthermore,
there is a dilemma among these communities about whether modern infrastructure, which, while
providing access to basic needs, might take away some of the rituals that traditional customs have
provided. However, some of the challenges that confront pastoralists, such as access to markets,
pricing and credit (see the paper by Ahearn), could be easily addressed through the setting up of
mobile and digital infrastructure; something which has proved of benefit to communities that are
dispersed. Mobile networks not only provide access to markets and credit facilities, but also help
in the coordination and communication between people.

A number of climate change adaptation programmes, such as those aimed at reducing emis-
sions from deforestation and degradation, have been poorly designed and implemented and can
weaken the customary rights of indigenous peoples to their lands and natural resources, thereby
impairing their resilience. Indigenous peoples are facing these escalating pressures at a time when
their cultures and livelihoods are already exposed to significant stress due to natural resource
development, within the context of trade liberalization and globalization. Indigenous knowledge
provides a crucial foundation for community-based adaptation and mitigation actions to sustain
the resilience of socio-ecological systems at the interconnected local, regional and global scales.

Acosta and Martínez Abarca (2018) put forward the idea of buen vivir, meaning “living well”,
which has different connotations in different parts of the world. They argue that this term has
its roots in indigenous ancestral knowledge in Ecuador and in other countries in the region.
The discourse of buen vivir calls for rethinking our values, social practices and our relationship
with nature, and provides an opportunity to devise new ways of living collectively. In a sense,
it questions the present capitalist treadmill of the productivist and materialist world; a world
characterized by massive social inequality, dispossession from land, widespread poverty and
environmental degradation (Pillay, 2018). It asks us to imagine a different world, one which
is sustainable and respects nature and its finite resources, so as to overcome the “capitalist
civilization of inequality” (Schumpeter, 2013, p. 425, as referenced in Satgar, 2018). The indig-
enous communities’ way of life offers an alternative to the concept of capitalist modernity and
development (Satgar, 2018), and there is much that can be learnt by society at large from the
values and practices in the possession of these communities.

ILO Convention No. 169: A multi-pronged framework for sustaining

and leveraging traditional knowledge

Adopted three decades ago, in 1989, the standards set out in Convention No. 169, the only inter-
national treaty specifically addressing indigenous peoples’ rights, are highly relevant for local,
national and international efforts to sustain the traditional knowledge of indigenous communities.
This instrument calls for the respect and protection of indigenous peoples’ cultures, traditions
and institutions, the recognition of the customary law of these communities, as well the protec-
tion of their rights to land and natural resources.

The Convention recognizes indigenous peoples’ rights to the land they traditionally occupy and
126 use. It is thus the traditional occupation and use which is the basis for establishing indigenous
 10. Sustaining and preserving the traditional knowledge and institutions of indigenous communities: Reflections on the way forward

peoples’ land rights, and not the eventual official recognition or registration of that ownership.
These land rights comprise both individual and collective aspects. (ILO, 2013). The ILO supervi-
sory bodies have underlined the importance of communally-owned land for indigenous commu-
nities and stressed the negative consequences of assigning indigenous land to individual or third
parties (ILO, 1998). At the same time, the Convention calls on states to promote indigenous and
tribal peoples’ traditional economies and sustenance activities, which are based on their rela-
tionship with the land and which are essential for their livelihoods and for sustaining traditional
knowledge.

From a governance point of view, however, the Convention’s approach to consultation and partici-
pation of indigenous and tribal communities needs to be highlighted. It calls for consultation with
these communities with regards to legislative or administrative measures that may affect them
directly, and, more broadly, requires their participation in the design, implementation and evalu-
ation of regional and national development plans. In this regard, countries that have ratified the
Convention have embarked on the process of building mechanisms, procedures and institutions
for dialogue with indigenous and tribal peoples (ILO 2019; FILAC, 2019). Taking account of the
contributions, knowledge and perspectives of indigenous and tribal peoples is indeed important
for policy and for decision-makers in their efforts to design interventions that simultaneously
contribute to the realization of human rights, inclusive and sustainable development and effective
climate action. Though widely ratified within the Latin American region, further efforts to promote
its ratification and implementation in other regions are needed.

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Indigenous peoples
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Indigenous peoples and climate change - Emerging Research on Traditional Knowledge and Livelihoods
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