Wahkotowin
About a year ago I wrote an article that attempted to answer the question “what does biodiversity mean to you?” As an mixed Algonquin and Settler Kwe who lives on treaty 6 territory, this is my response.
Like many of the terms in our scientific vernacular, the word biodiversity has roots in the Greek language. Bio translating to life, and diversity implying variety, abundance, or more. Bio originally comes from the Greek word “bios”, which means “the course of human life.” Today, bio refers more broadly to all organic life. As Indigenous peoples, our elders will tell you that humans are the babies of creation. Our stories tell us that we were the last species to come to earth and we are therefore the least knowledgeable and equipped at living on this planet. Our more-than-human relatives, the animals who were here prior to our arrival are our greatest teachers and they agreed amongst themselves to teach us how to live in ethical and life sustaining ways. I find the original focus on human life an interesting one as this centring of human tells it’s own story. A story that we live today; in which humans are the apex of creation. A narrative that allows us to believe we are the smartest animals on the planet and therefore a narrative that allows us to destroy our only home. Bio: an acknowledgment of all life.
Diversity. Without thinking, it might be easy to assume that diversity and variety imply more, that they imply an abundance; a notion of progress and power that our culture is very familiar with. I have seen and interacted with the word biodiversity plenty of times in the media, books, and environmental campaigns. Biodiversity is often touted as something that we are losing, that is necessary for life on this planet. But what exactly are we losing? And whose life is it necessary for? When I consider what biodiversity means to me, I do not think of diversification on a global scale. Rather, I think of biodiversity as thousands or hundreds of thousands of local regions. As an acknowledgement, preservation, respect, and legitimization of the local knowledge in the places we live. I live in Treaty 6, in the traditional territory of the Papaschase, Métis, and the River Cree , in Amiskwacîy (Edmonton). I grew up in Treaty 8 in the city of Grande Prairie. Half of my ancestors are native to the Ottawa Valley, on unceded Algonquin territory. In university I took a class about the unlearning of colonialism, according to my professor, much of this unlearning is about the repairing of the relationships that have been denied to us through colonialism. In particular, I want to focus on the relationship between us and what gives us life, often referred to as nature (Donald, 2020). What I loved about his teachings were that these insights concern everybody. Colonialism is not limited to only Indigenous people, but to all Canadians, all Albertans. We are all colonized, and we all have relationships to repair within ourselves, with each other, and with that which gives us life.
What are we losing I asked? We are losing our collective ability to live with the land and the relations, human and more-than-human that make up the places in which we live. We are losing our right and need to live and understand ourselves as people local to the places we live in exchange for a global or colonized identity that de-legitimizes the local. Thanks to the beautiful Cree community in Edmonton, I am learning about this territory and the human and more-than-human relationships that live in Amiskwacîy. I have spent more time outdoors with River That Moves at a Swift Walking Pace (North Saskatchewan River), birds, insects, and plants. With goose berries, saskatoon berries, chokecherries, willow, and buffalo berries, each with their own teachings and purpose. I am learning to see the relationships among all who live here and my place in all of that. I am spending time with beavers, woodpeckers, and chickadees. This immersion into the place that I live is my repairing of relationships.
We don’t need Amiskwacîy to be diverse, we need it to be restored and nurtured to the state our Cree relatives maintained before we viewed the land as a resource and commodity. We need to know the life in the places that we live and be open to the teachings of our elders and our knowledge keepers who hold this knowledge so we can learn how to live with the land, with each other, and with ourselves in ethical ways. Then we need to live what we have learned so that others may learn too. Biodiversity is a relatively new word, it concerns science, data, and quota about the pragmatics of the natural world. But well before we compartmentalized the natural world and our minds, biodiversity was the beaver and their teaching of wisdom, the bear and their teaching of courage, stories, and simply a way of life that we all maintained.
I don’t know the Cree name for Grande Prairie, their moon calendar, or the stories of the land, people, and the animals that live there. This is despite having lived and went to school there for 19 years of my life. I know little of my own peoples stories, land, and territory in the Ottawa Valley. These are teachings, stories, and relationships that have been denied to me and to you, through colonialism. For whose life is biodiversity necessary for I asked? It is necessary for the livelihood of all of us, human and more-than-human. Our awareness of the sacred knowledge in the places that we live is our ticket to repairing the relationships with ourselves, each other, and to that which gives us life.
References:
Donald, D. (2020, January). EDES: 409 Aboriginal Curriculum Perspectives . Edmonton.
