When ASU announced the creation of the Rob Walton School of Conservation Futures, made possible by a historic $115 million gift, it was a proud moment to be a Sun Devil. The University is known for innovation, but what could be more innovative than looking to the world's oldest and most successful conservationists for guidance? Indigenous Peoples.
Conservation has always been part of Indigenous life. According to the United Nations' State of the World's Indigenous Peoples, Volume VI: Climate Crisis, Indigenous Peoples make up only about 6% of the world's population, yet they manage and protect 80% of the planet's biodiversity and 40% of protected or intact landscapes.
Their knowledge systems, rooted in reciprocity and respect, are living proof that sustainable coexistence with nature isn't a new idea, it's an inherited one.
READ MORE: Donation of $115 million will found new School for Conservation Futures
ASU has an opportunity to build something that honors this truth. As the University begins developing the School of Conservation Futures, Indigenous voices must be integrated at every level, from leadership, board positions and faculty, to curriculum and community collaboration. Working with Indigenous communities goes beyond a land acknowledgement at an event; true collaboration requires partnership at every level.
Collaborative environmental relationships already exist. Peter Seligmann, who is helping launch the new school, is a co-founder of both Conservation International and Nia Tero, an organization that centers Indigenous Peoples in conservation from the top down.
Indigenous leadership is the founding structure of Nia Tero. The organization's CEO, senior leaders and board members include Indigenous voices who shape strategy, policy and global partnerships. With that structure, Nia Tero's programs are able to support Indigenous guardianship across regions like the Amazon, the Pacific Islands and North America with deep trust and authenticity.
Beyond working with Seligmann, ASU President Michael Crow serves as one of Nia Tero's Board of Directors, a connection that highlights just how aligned these missions already are. As we build the foundation of this new school, we can model what a conservation school working in conjunction with Indigenous communities looks like.
Internationally, we see the positive effects of collaboration. The U.N. Development Programme provides examples of Indigenous solutions that blend modern science with traditional knowledge.
Milpa, a traditional farming system of the Indigenous Maya in Central America, creates natural forest regeneration through rotating agricultural plots. The Indigenous Peoples in Mali and Burkina Faso in West Africa have an agroforestry system where crops coexist with trees, resulting in a reduction of soil erosion. Aboriginal Peoples in Australia practice "cultural burning" or "cool burning," a traditional fire management practice that promotes biodiversity.
These practices reinforce that Indigenous knowledge isn't just compatible with conservation science, it is conservation science. We must honor that wisdom, through support and collaboration.
In the Cook Islands, Nia Tero supported grantee Kōrero O Te 'Ōrau's initiative to remove 12,000 invasive Crown of Thorns starfish from the reef. The removal of the invasive starfish helped protect the marine ecosystem. The ways Nia Tero supports and recognizes the wisdom of Indigenous Peoples is an example the new school can equally embrace.
When I first started my career in public relations in 2017, I worked in the conservation sector. I loved that first job in my field, but I quickly realized that the way conservation was discussed, and the way land was preserved and communicated about, didn't reflect the way I was raised to see the world.
The organizations I worked with often spoke about land in terms of ownership — who purchased it, who donated it or who once controlled it. Rarely did they speak about the Indigenous communities who had lived on and cared for that same land for generations.
As a Shinnecock woman, that disconnect reinforced the teachings I was raised on. I was taught that we coexist with the land. The land and all the inhabitants are our relations. Just as the land takes care of us through the foods we eat and the ability to call this place home, we must take care of it as well.
As we build this new school, we must challenge ourselves to consider what innovative conservation truly is. When working with land, it may be worth asking ourselves how we can learn from the first stewards of each place, and recognize innovation isn't always creating something new but returning to what has always worked and learning from it.
In ASU's efforts to "reshape our relationship with the planet," as stated in its Changing Futures campaign, a voice must be given to the communities who experience continued erasure on their homelands. Bold solutions to sustain our world and improve well-being for all start with ensuring Indigenous Peoples are co-designers, leaders and partners within this new school.
Involvement from inception to completion of the school requires recruiting and supporting Native students, hiring and empowering Indigenous faculty and actively engaging Tribal nations.
ASU has a chance to model what leadership rooted in humility and shared responsibility can truly look like. Innovation doesn't always mean inventing something new – sometimes it means listening to those who already hold the knowledge we need most.
Editor's note: The opinions presented in this letter are the author's and do not imply any endorsement from The State Press or its editors.
Edited by Sophia Braccio, Senna James, Tiya Talwar, Katrina Michalak and Pippa Fung.
This content was contributed by an author who does not work at The State Press. If you are a community member who would also like to contribute, please email execed.statepress@gmail.com.
