Honoring Weiming Lu

By Dan McGuiness

Wakan Tipi is nestled at the base of the limestone and sandstone bluffs along the Mississippi River.  As a Dakota gathering place and sacred site it is not important what neighborhood or city planning district it is in.  But to most city planners and other government officials, neighborhoods matter and decisions are made based upon boundaries.

To some people, Wakan Tipi (aka Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary) is a dividing line between the Dayton’s Bluff and Lowertown neighborhoods. But there was one person who recognized that this area joined these two neighborhoods more than it divided them. That person was Weiming Lu, a very active Lower Phalen Creek Project Steering Committee member and supporter in our organization’s infancy and early years.

Weiming saw Wakan Tipi and the sanctuary as part of a greater vision for what he called Saint Paul’s River Garden - a place that transcends neighborhoods in favor of looking at how we connect to the river and the natural environment.  His vision and what former Mayor George Latimer called “Weiming’s gentle persuasion” brought people together, gave voice to the Lower Phalen Creek Project, and brought millions of dollars of government and foundation support to the work we were doing in the 1990’s and early 2000’s.

Weiming, far right, receiving EPA Brownfield funding to restore and establish what has become Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary, July 8, 2003

Weiming grew up in an architect’s family in Shanghai and Nanjing, China. His father taught and practiced planning and architecture; thus, Weiming was, at an early age and onward, immersed in the ideas of classic Chinese architecture, the principles of Taoism – which stress the harmonious relationship between man and nature.  He studied engineering in China, Taiwan, the University of Minnesota and finally the University of Carolina at Chapel Hill.

His studies, his work and his teaching opportunities took him around the globe, to London, Tokyo, and many places in between. He was an advisor and consultant to many, including the United Nations Planning Team. Weiming has noted that he is a product of two cultures. While Chinese culture stresses continuity, American culture values change and thus he has often struggled with, as he said, “the tug of war” between these competing ideals.  This struggle was expressed not only in Weiming’s sense of planning and design but in his beautiful, energetic, and inspirational calligraphy, for which he is internationally recognized and appreciated.

In 1959 Weiming returned to the United States from Europe and was hired by the Minneapolis Planning Department which, for more than a decade, benefited from his skills, experience and insight in planning and urban design.  Then, for most of the 1970s, he worked as the Assistant Director or Urban Design for the City of Dallas. 

Finally, in 1979, we, in St. Paul, were the beneficiaries of Weiming’s cumulative wisdom when he was hired to work for the Lowertown Development Corporation where, for nearly three decades, Weiming, with his gentle persuasion, helped us make thoughtful decisions and difficult choices that have left a huge imprint on our community. 

Under his leadership the Lowertown Redevelopment Corporation pursued the rejuvenation of Lowertown. It attracted a $10 million dollar investment from the McKnight Foundation, and, with those funds, it leveraged $750 million in additional public and private investments in the area.  It fought to save and renovate the Union Depot, enabling us today to return it to the landmark status it deserves.  It pushed for the relocation of the post office, retention and renewal of the farmers’ market, the extension of light rail, and the reclamation of a brownfield – the first step in the creation of Bruce Vento Nature and Wakan Tipi Center.

Weiming (blue sweater) with group on site during the development of Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary

When Weiming retired, he helped assure that the legacy would continue, with the creation, in 2007, of the Lowertown Future Fund, a donor-advised fund of the St. Paul Foundation. Lower Phalen Creek Project was one of many beneficiaries of that legacy.  Weiming’s ideas for a River Garden that would reconnect Lowertown to the Mississippi River helped inspire all of us in St. Paul’s most recent efforts to create the Great River Passage master plan for our entire 17 miles of Mississippi riverfront as a place that is becoming more natural, more urban, and more connected. 

During all this Weiming Lu was a steadfast participant in the Lower Phalen Creek Project (LPCP) Steering Committee, originally an initiative of Friends of Swede Hollow.  Weiming helped us create a “Common Vision for Lower Phalen Creek” a foundational plan for what would become Bruce Vento Regional Trail, Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary and Wakan Tipi Center. The “Common Vision” report, completed in 2001, had 26 supporting and partner organizations. LPCP had transformational support from the McKnight Foundation and the Lowertown Redevelopment Corporation in the process.  In the acknowledgement page of this 56-page document, it says, “Special Thanks to Weiming Lu and Lowertown Redevelopment Corporation for their extraordinary support.” 

Weiming, second from left, at ribbon cutting ceremony for Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary, 2005

“Special Thanks” indeed.  “I don’t give up easily” Weiming said in an interview in Minnesota Alumni Magazine (University of Minnesota, Summer 2019.) He was not only a very involved hands-on participant in the early work of LPCP, but he was, and continues to be, an inspiration to all of us to be persistent and not give up as we work to achieve our mission, our vision and to pursue our values

Weiming Lu, who recently resided in Golden Valley, died on October 4, 2022. He is survived by his wife Lu, and son, Keven Lu.  With sincere thanks and much gratitude to Weiming Lu, we let him have the last word. In the preface of his book, “The Tao of Urban Rejuvenation.” (Beaver’s Pond Press, Edina, Minnesota, 2013) he said: “Seeking a balance between new and old, East and West, economic development and environmental protection--thus may we build a creative, livable, and sustainable world.”

Toksá Migratory Birds - See You Later!

By Rose Whipple

Song Sparrow at Wakaŋ Tipi
Photo by Wolfie Browender

This year, World Migratory Bird Day lands on October 8th. We are happy to celebrate our winged relatives every day, but especially during fall migration, one of our last moments to see some of our bird relatives until next spring. 

I recently went birding for the first time on September 18th at Wakan Tipi on the East Side of St. Paul with the Urban Bird Collective during our monthly BIPOC bird walk. It was such an amazing experience. I have always thought birds were magnificent beings, and to hear how many birds were migrating in the area right above me was mind blowing! It made me think about my lack of knowledge of birds in my homelands of Mni Sota, and has inspired me to learn more so I can recognize some of the birds flying over my neighborhood this fall and what fall migration entails. Here are some of things I have learned!

The American Goldfinch is considered to have irregular migratory habits.
Photo taken at Wakaŋ Tipi by Wolfie Browender

Fall Migration

Just last night an estimated 48,300 birds migrated over Ramsey County, according to the BirdCast Migration Dashboard.

In autumn, a number of bird species will migrate south towards warmer temperatures, longer days, more food, and their nesting areas. Fall migration begins earlier than you might think, in July, and ends in early December. I wondered, what birds are migrating, and where are they going? I found out there are hundreds of species of birds that are migrating, and there are also a number of birds that stay year-round. Some of the birds that will migrate this fall include sparrows, warblers, swallows, flycatchers, raptors, swans, ducks, and geese, just to name a few! 

I also learned there are different types of migration, and different pathways birds take. There are long distance migrants that travel across continents, from Canada all the way to South America. There are also medium distance and short distance migrants that travel shorter distances. All migrants follow one of four migratory flight paths in North America called “flyways”. The Atlantic flyway spans from Greenland down towards the Caribbean. The Mississippi flyway, which is the path Minnesota migrants follow, starts in Northern Canada through the Midwest and into Central and South America. West of that is the Central flyway, this path spans from Northern Canada, into the central U.S, then downwards towards the Gulf of Mexico. Furthest west is the Pacific Flyway which starts as far north as Alaska, down the Pacific coastline, and into Central America.

Although no two species follow the same route, and some birds have totally unpredictable migratory routes, knowing that these routes exist is pretty amazing! I have heard that if you set a camera down in the same tree every year, you will be able to see the same species of bird come back to that location year after year. Scientists and researchers are still trying to figure out why birds travel towards the same areas annually, and how exactly they know where they are going.

Blue Heron are long-distance migrants, sometimes travelling more than 3,000 miles
Photo taken at Pig’s Eye Regional Park

Major Threats 

There are several different things that threaten our bird relatives, and their fall migration patterns. Some are due to human interference and other times it is just nature playing its part. One of the biggest impacts humans have on fall migration is light pollution. The artificial light from cities, towns, and homes lure in birds that migrate nocturnally, and disorientate them, making them circulate an area until they pass out from exhaustion. Light pollution also causes birds to collide with buildings or other structures, which is estimated to cause over 25 million bird deaths per year. Another big threat is lack of habitat due to agriculture and development, habitats are crucially important to the species living in it, when you take that habitat away, birds, insects, and animals lose their shelters, and food. That can be life threatening for many birds. Lastly, one of the biggest threats to migratory birds today is climate change. Climate change causes shifts in temperatures, weather, and landscapes. Heatwaves, hurricanes, tornadoes, all have a strong impact on birds. The impact climate change has had on temperature has changed the timing of spring and fall migration. Several studies have been done that have found birds staying in their summer grounds longer, causing some birds to not migrate at all, meaning birds may no longer move to overwinter in other areas. This can cause competition for food and shelter between both migratory birds and birds that never leave their homes. 

Mallard Ducks at Wakaŋ Tipi
Photo by Maggie Lorenz

Honoring Our Winged Relatives

We must all work towards honoring our bird relatives and finding solutions so birds can continue to make a safe journey during their migrations. As Indigenous people, we have always honored birds since time began, some tribes even have clans named after several different types of birds. When we dance at Powwows, we often wear eagle and hawk feathers and plumes on our regalia. I have many friends and relatives that are also named after different types of birds in their native languages. We have always deemed birds as sacred, and it is our ancestral duty to continue to honor and take care of our winged relatives.

Before I went to my first birding event at Wakan Tipi, I don’t believe I had any knowledge of bird names, migrations, or the negative impacts humans have had on their lives and future. Now, I have learned so much more about what I can do to help care for these sacred beings, who have been here on Ina Maka (mother earth) even before human beings were here. It is important we create safe habitats and ecosystems, turn off our outside porch or streetlights, and try our best to fight climate change in our communities. We can all do our part to make this world safer for birds and their migratory paths.

Don’t forget to celebrate World Migratory Bird Day on October 8th and join us for our next BIPOC Bird Walk with the Urban Bird Collective on October 16th! RSVP here.

The Power of Mní

By Maggie Lorenz

Dakota Canoe Journey paddlers on the Mníšoše (Missouri River)

Since I was a child, I have always had an innate connection to the earth. Soil, stone, plants - these relatives have always been easy relationships for me. I am a Taurus - fixed Earth. I had never thought much about my astrological sign and the connection I feel for the earth until I had a chance to connect with a volunteer and donor to LPCP over coffee. She shared her lifelong connection with water and spoke about how natural and easy that relationship was. She said that she was connecting with us at LPCP in an intentional effort to connect with the earth, and that when she began connecting with the earth and plants, it was a difficult connection to make. She mentioned that she was a water sign; I don’t recall if it was Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces - but the point is, that the conversation made me think more deeply about my easy connection with the earth and my lack of connection to the water. Of course, I have supported the No DAPL, Line 3, and other water protection efforts, and intellectually I understand the sacredness of water - but in all honesty, I didn’t have a relationship with water. To me, water has always been somewhat frightening. There is a whole other world in the water with creatures that are pretty terrifying to me. One of my biggest fears as a child was drowning. I have never been interested in seeing the ocean or taking a cruise or swimming with dolphins. No. I have always had a healthy fear and respect for the water and when invited on a boat trip or other water activities, I have been known to decline by saying that the water isn’t my home - I am perfectly comfortable on land, thank you very much! Nonetheless, the conversation I had with our volunteer was nagging at me. You see, the spirits speak to us in all sorts of ways, and I knew that that meeting, and conversation, was actually an invitation for me to connect with the water.

Then, a few months later, a literal invitation came when I was asked to participate in the Dakota Canoe Journey - a grassroots effort by Dakota women to connect our families and communities to mní wičóni to educate, take action, and heal by honoring the gift of water. The journey also seeks to bring awareness and restore healing justice to past—and ongoing—genocide of Dakota people. The route, from Crow Creek to Bdote, is the reverse route our ancestors endured as they were expelled from their homelands and banished to South Dakota after the atrocities of the US Dakota War of 1862. This year would be the first of a four-year journey and ceremony that will raise awareness around climate change, rematriate and sustain our traditional water practices, undo historical trauma and violence with feminizing our history. The journey sounded amazing, powerful, necessary, and terrifying. But I also knew that it was something I needed to do.

The night before we were scheduled to start out, I stood at the boat launch on the shore of the Mníšoše in Fort Thompson. I looked at the water and felt all of my fears rising in me. I began wondering what the hell I was doing here?! I have been in a canoe once or twice in my entire life. For those of you who don’t know, the Missouri River is not a relaxing paddle for beginners. The winds in South Dakota and the dams can create some pretty intense currents and choppy waters. Why did I think this was a good idea? Did I really receive a spiritual invitation to connect with the water? Maybe I could just go home and enjoy a beach day at Lake Phalen! Right? Right?! Okay. Breathe. Leave your prayers, leave your offerings. You are here for a reason.

The next day, I was relieved when the organizers chose people to paddle for day one and I was not asked to be on the canoe. Since I wasn’t asked to paddle, I needed to help move vehicles and gear from our current camp site to our next camp site. No complaints here! It was a short trip, and we had a lot of help, so I ended up spending a lovely day reconnecting with a relative who I happened to run into. She invited me to tag along to dig timpsina (prairie turnips) and other medicine with her family. Timpsina is one of my all-time favorite foods. It is the tuber of a prairie flower, and we use them kind of like a potato - but you can eat them raw. Eating freshly dug timpsina is a rare treat for me because these plants no longer grow in Minnesota, or at least they are incredibly rare. I was so happy to be on dry land, eating my fill of timpsina, and visiting with relatives. I wanted to dig enough timpsina to take some home and to make a pot of soup for the paddlers for one of our evening meals, so I was trying to dig up every plant I could find. I also know our teachings about overharvesting. SInce I was a visitor to Crow Creek, and I didn’t want to take more than was appropriate, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much was too much. Luckily, uŋčí maká (grandmother earth) is a kind teacher and I began to notice that about half of my attempts to dig a plant, the soil was hard as a rock! I couldn’t get my shovel in the dirt an inch no matter how much weight I applied. After several instances of running into rock hard soil mere inches away from soil that was soft to dig, I began to realize that uŋčí maká was telling me to only dig every other plant I see. As soon as I listened, the work became easier. I would spot a timpsina and say, “not you”, and then I’d see another and say, “but I’ll dig you!”, and each time from there on out, the soil was soft. I knew how to listen to the earth, but the water? I had no idea what the water had in store for me.

Day two I had been asked to paddle the afternoon shift, so I had a good amount of time in the morning to let my anxiety build. But I made my prayers and left my offerings and by lunch time I was ready. We headed out in our safety boat to meet up with the paddlers where they had pulled off the river for lunch. The plan was for the safety boat to pick up two paddlers from the morning and bring them back to camp and my daughter and I would take their places in the canoe for the afternoon. The lunch spot was gorgeous, and I immediately began to walk along the banks to explore the plants and river rocks. I ate lunch and before I knew it, it was time for me to get in the canoe and get on the water, leaving behind my plant and stone friends. I have been taught to always ask permission before I get into the water, and I made sure to do so and give offerings of tobacco every time I stepped foot in that river. Again, a very healthy fear and respect for our sacred water. In addition to being somewhat terrified of the water, I am also a person who is very comfortable in a position of control. Growing up through some difficult situations, I have grown to use control as a defense mechanism to protect myself. Obviously, being “controlling” isn’t a place you want to operate from on a day-to-day basis. Learning to let go of the need for control has been a new part of my own personal healing journey. In this context though, on a multi-person canoe, you have just one person who is controlling where the canoe goes, and that is the stern at the back of the canoe. I was not the stern on this journey. I had to not only face my fear of the water, but I had to let go of control. Healing work is not easy. And then I remembered a teaching about one of our Dakota values - bravery. They say that being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means being afraid and doing it anyway. So, I got in the canoe and began to paddle. Shortly after we set out, the other paddlers from the morning pointed out an eagle was following us along the shore. They said the eagle had been with them since day one. And I remembered when chairman Peter Lengkeek at Crow Creek prayed for us on the first day, he told us that there would be an eagle who would stay with us the entire journey. I saw that eagle at Crow Creek when the canoe first launched, and it gave me comfort to see the eagle with us at that moment. Soon we were in rough waters, and it was two hours of nonstop paddling to get to our exit point. That night I lay in my hotel bed while my arm and shoulder muscles burned and screamed in ways I had never experienced in my life, but somehow, I fell asleep.

Day three I was off the water and had time to reflect. I realized that I really, really, REALLY liked being in the canoe as a paddler, not at the stern in charge of directing the canoe. As I reflected on the aspect of control, I realized that by letting go of that control, I was able to go on “auto-pilot” and just paddle. I could let my brain rest. Decision fatigue is a very real thing, and, in my life, I play the “leader” role in so many ways - at work as the executive director, at home as a mother to three kids, and even in community where I volunteer on various boards and committees. Having that time to let my mind rest was incredibly renewing. It was also incredibly healing that I was able to let go of control in a feared situation, put my trust into someone else, and be safe and feel secure. I knew I was getting the things I needed from this journey and ceremony.

When day four came, I was asked to paddle again, and we were looking at some pretty intense wind conditions. In fact, we were going to be in a wind advisory starting at noon with expected wind gusts up to 50 mph. We knew we had to get on the water early and get off by noon, so we planned to stop at the three-mile point which had road access to get the canoe and us off the river. With a good plan in place, we got on the water and paddled for an hour or two when we had come to what we thought was the three-mile point. We stopped for a bathroom and snack break and to assess the weather. After we stopped, though, we quickly realized that we were actually about a half-mile shy of where we needed to be, so we decided to get back on the river and paddle what should have been another 15 minutes to the access point. Once we were back on the river, the wind picked up almost immediately. Because we were so close, we figured we could push through, but after a half an hour or more of extremely hard paddling, we had probably made it 500 feet. At this point, we were not only not moving forward, but despite all of our effort, we were being pushed backwards and towards the shore.

During this 30-minute ordeal, I was praying hard. I was paddling even harder. For Dakota people, one of the ways we describe the word, “wakáŋ” is something that has the power to give life and the power to take life. That is why we consider water sacred. We need water to live. Water sustains all life on this planet. But in that moment, I completely understood the power that water has to take a life. I knew I had to believe in my prayers and offerings that I had been making over these last four days. I knew I had to believe in this journey as a ceremony. And when I was praying in that moment, I asked our relatives in the water to help us stay alive. Ultimately, the river pushed us to the shore, but not at an access point. We stored the canoe and hiked into town where we were able to get picked up. None of it was easy. Physically, the paddle, the hike, the wind - it was all incredibly difficult. Emotionally, it pulled things out of me that were buried deep. I released things that had been pushed down and stored away for far too long. It all came out. That night I cried harder than I have in a long time. I have always heard, and repeated, the teachings about the healing power of moving water. This journey allowed me to experience and benefit from that power firsthand. In the end, I am not exactly sure what I left there at the Mníšoše, but I know that I came home feeling like a brand-new person. Things I didn’t even know I was carrying I was able to put down. It’s truly impossible to explain in words what happened that day on the river, but it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. And I made a new relative with the water.

To learn more about the Dakota Canoe Journey, visit Dakota Canoe Journey (watobomani.org). Shout out to my dear friend Graci Horne for organizing and inviting me on this journey.

Pride Month & Outdoor Health

By Ben Gessner, with Jasper Gessner

Photo courtesy of Kelsey Jo Forrest - Photography + Design (https://www.facebook.com/kelseyjoforrest)

Each one of us deserves access to outdoor spaces and, importantly, safety while we are there — learning, recreating, observing, exercising, connecting, healing, and the numerous other benefits we receive as gifts from our time spent outdoors. 

Access to the outdoors is access to health, and not everyone shares in that access, nor in safe access. If you’ve not given much thought to barriers (geographic, economic, safety and other) experienced in these places, then you may be like me and among the privileged. Our social world doesn’t so much as intersect with our environment, but is interwoven with it. Obstacles faced in our social worlds may even be amplified in outdoor spaces where we are more isolated, or stand out among a more homogenous patronage (for example, a 10 year survey from the National Park Service shows that 77% of park visitors are white and just 6% identify as African American or Black). 

Racism, white supremacy and cultural sexual and gender normativity are all social aspects that humans bring with them to natural spaces. You may remember the 2020 incident in Central Park involving Christian Cooper, a well-known writer and birdwatcher who was profiled by a fellow park-goer. She escalated an interaction in which Christian asked her to follow park rules (leashing her dog) by dialing 911 and falsely claiming, “There's an African American man threatening my life.” Her social (and white supremacist) subtext being I belong here more while breaking the rules than you do while trying to enforce them. 

People who are affected by inequities are also most absent when decisions are made; historically, they have been excluded from policy, programming, design, and a number of other decisions regarding the development and preservation of natural spaces. Individuals and communities have devoted an incredible amount of emotional and physical work for decades towards systems-change, which sometimes moves at a snail's pace. 

According to Monica Bryand, Executive Director of the Urban Bird Collective (UBC), individuals and communities mustn’t just wait for change, but must also claim their power to make their own spaces; spaces which are welcoming and safe for them. The UBC specifically works to serve Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC) and the LGBTQIA+ Communities and an aspirational goal of theirs is that all communities feel the benefits of being out in natural green spaces in our various Twin Cities neighborhoods and beyond. 

Lower Phalen Creek Project has recently been partnering with UBC, and I had the pleasure of interviewing Monica alongside my child Jasper, who recently came out as Transgender. We asked what was the vibe — what were the best feelings — from the inclusive birdwatching and bird count programs? She said the feedback from participants is often “Oh! I found my people,” or “I’ve waited two decades for this type of experience!”

In 2021, Allie Steffen became a Naturalist Fellow at Dodge Nature Center. She began surveying regional programming for LGBTQIA+ youth and realized the great need for outdoor, nature-based programming. Allie believes that educating all people about our natural world is critical; that through empathy-building and experience, people become better stewards,  something that she says is absolutely critical now during a time of climate crisis. 

Allie created Pride Outside, a free after-school program for 5th - 12th grade youth, of any sexual or gender identity, and LGBTQ+ allies. The first round of programming took place in the winter and included studying winter habitats, learning about raptors, lots of learning through play (including kicksleds on the pond!) and even explorations of winter survival skills. Jasper attended some of these programs and told me, “It was cool participating in a nature program that was designed to be a safe space for kids like me.” 

Allie spoke to us about the connections made by program participants, who joined from over ten different area schools and homeschool families. The best part for her was being able to create a program where friendships were formed and community flourished. 

A whiteboard bears the title “Pride Outside” in colorful fonts. An image of the pride flag and a tree are off to the right, with an agenda, names, and a series of instructions and guiding questions also listed.

Do people from outside the communities that have designed these programs and spaces ever feel excluded? A few may, Monica from UBC says, but good allies (like most responsible people) are engaged in relationship-based learning and most often come to understand the importance of these spaces. 

For a person wondering how to be a better ally, you might, like me, think about your own access to health and outdoor spaces and what barriers exist for others — barriers that you and I might even unknowingly contribute to. 

If you’re interested in these types of programs, or want to support these organizations, we encourage you to please visit the linked web pages throughout this post.   

Our wishes for you during Pride Month? May you feel at ease to be your whole self; may the safe and inclusive spaces for you to do so ever increase; may all of us continue to embrace all of us; and may we all grow in becoming better stewards of one another and our natural world. 

Sustainability from an Indigenous Perspective

Living sustainably requires us to think relationally and temporally; how will we leave this planet for those to come? How do we foster a good relationship between the human and more than human world? Sustainability requires the planting of seeds today, the benefits of which we might not experience in our own lifetime.

Written by guest contributor Jenna Grey-Eagle

Every year, the term “sustainability” is increasingly incorporated into the national and international vernacular as more and more government entities, businesses ranging from local shops to large corporations, and nonprofit organizations attempt to align their practices with their conception of the term. It is safe to say that the term has reached the nexus of modern environmentalism, but it has come to mean many different things to many different people. This is a natural phenomenon with language, as definitions are never static nor are they all encompassing. However, it is important to distinguish a definition of sustainability accepted by the dominant culture which is both Eurocentric and reflective of the priorities of capitalism, and a definition which has long been understood and practiced by the indigenous communities of Turtle Island – that is to say an understanding of sustainability rooted in relationality rather than resource extraction. For this month’s blog, our guest contributor Jenna Grey-Eagle outlines what makes an indigenous definition of sustainability distinctive, the real-world implications this has in tribal communities, and how the concept is conceived by indigenous women creating positive change in our community.

What does sustainability mean?

The way we answer this question is extremely important. Our definition inspires our action, and in a new era of rapidly changing climate, our actions must fit the scale of the emergency. According to scholar Scott Stern in his article Rebuilding Trust: Climate Change, Indian Communities, and a Right to Resettlement, of the more than one hundred million people who will be displaced due to climate change by 2050, “the people most at risk of displacement are American Indians.”

The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, the federal agency charged with reducing environmental risks and stewarding human health, defines environmental sustainability as the pursuit “to create and maintain the conditions under which humans and nature can exist in productive harmony to support present and future generations.” Their definition, although incorporating the aspect of time and relating to the future, separates humans from nature and relates the concept of sustainability to a maintenance of productivity. Herein lies the major differences between the Indigenous view of sustainability and that of the dominant culture.

Writer Fulvio Mazzocchi researched these key differences in his article A Deeper Meaning of Sustainability: Insights from Indigenous Knowledge in which he argues that Indigenous knowledge needs to be taken seriously in sustainability debates and solution talks because it can contribute beyond the notion of technological solutions to climate change. A Eurocentric definition of sustainability most often contains a dualistic worldview that emphasizes the separation of humanity and nature; this is evident in the objectification of nature and the human nature divide. There is also a utilitarian attitude towards nature, where attention is paid to the regulation of exploitation of resources. Keywords heard in the Eurocentric viewpoint include:

• Resources 

• Commodities 

• Ecosystem services 

• Or nature’s benefits to people

The Indigenous view wants an overall well-being of all creatures and all that Uƞc̣i Maká–Grandmother Earth has to offer. Special attention is paid to relationality between human beings and all elements of the universe. Greater emphasis is placed on respect, giving, and reciprocity as expressed in the idea of caretaking or guardianship of the natural world —which we are a part of, not separate from. Key words you will hear in the Indigenous view of sustainability include:

• Living well 

• Gifts 

• Relatives 

• Mother Earth

To Indigenous communities, sustainability requires embracing these concepts as real, concrete solutions that can transform society and break us away from the status quo. The status quo is a heavy reliance on fossil fuels and nonrenewable energy sources. As evident in the protests of NOKXL, NODAPL, and the NOLINE3 movements, it is clear that Indigenous communities know that this reliance on fossil fuels is toxic, unsustainable, and damaging. Indian Country is choosing sustainable development as a solution to combat climate change and foster resilience.

In 2011, Turtle Mountain Community College began producing more energy than they consumed, thanks in part to wind energy.

Tribal Success Stories in Sustainable Development

Because the state of Minnesota failed to initiate homelessness surveys on reservations until 2006, the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa and all 10 other Minnesota tribes conducted their own survey and found a significant need for more homes, especially among their veteran community.

In response, The Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa successfully opened the Veterans Supportive Housing in 2013, a single-story development consisting of 10 one-bedroom apartments, common rooms, and supportive service offices. The project development included technologies that were both cost-effective and sustainable, such as a site orientation which maximizes both daylight exposure and winter solar gain, site planning to include erosion and stormwater management best practices, ENERGY STAR windows, fixtures, and appliances, high-efficiency water fixtures, R-50 attic insulation, and low volatile organic compound (VOC) finishes. For Fond du Lac and many tribal nations, sustainability means simultaneously caring for people and the environment. In regards to enacting sustainability measures in their community, Jason Hollinday the Director of Planning said, “We are always seeking to increase sustainability. It’s part of who we are. It is part of our overarching goal to responsibly care for our environment and at the same time care for our tribal members.”

In Belcourt, North Dakota, the Turtle Mountain Community College is another success story in sustainable development. By harnessing geothermal and wind power, the college has reached the point where they do not waste resources whatsoever because they are producing more energy than they consume. This strategy is known as “exergy,” in which the campus controls all their natural resources thereby ensuring that they only operate at maximum efficiency. 

“On July 26, 2019, Indigenized Energy held its grand opening on the Standing Rock reservation. It is the largest solar farm in the state of North Dakota. Held in Cannon Ball, where the historic opposition to the Dakota Access Pipeline unfolded three years ago, the event demonstrated how Native communities can attain sovereignty through sustainable energy. Today, Turtle Mountain Community College is doing just that. ”

— Wesley Davis, Facilities Manager of Infrastructure and Development, Turtle Mountain Community College

Indigenous Women’s Thoughts on Sustainability

What does Indigenous sustainability mean to you?

Nevada LittleWolf (Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe) Executive Director & Campaign Manager at Our Children MN

“Regeneration” and “sustainability” are white farmers and white environmentalists framing of Indigenous practices. These are practices that our people have had for generations. It's not okay for others to co-opt our ideas and wisdom. Any Black, Indigenous, or POC carries this knowledge because our ancestors have been doing this since time immemorial. Food sovereignty and caring for the land, water, air is not dirty or bad work. It is not disgusting or low work. It is the work of the future.

Tara Houska – (Couchiching First Nation) Attorney, Environmental & Indigenous Rights Advocate

To me, Indigenous sustainability is living out Indigenous values. Sustainability is hardwired into traditional lifeways centered in balance and mutuality. Balance with nature, with one another as human beings and a practice of relationships based in both giving and taking.

Jessika Greendeer (Ho-Chunk Nation) Seedkeeper and Farm Manager at Dream of Wild Health

Indigenous sustainability to me means the continued passing down of our oral histories and traditions. I firmly believe our youth are the keepers of knowledge as they will be expected to continue the work of us all. There are so many of our ways of life that have been dismantled, but Indigenous peoples were vessels for those stories, knowledge, and wisdom.

Linda Black Elk – (Korean, Mongolian, and Catawba ancestry) Ethnobotanist

Indigenous ways of life are sustainable ways of life. Indigenous people have a long storied history with this landscape, and sustainability requires the time and energy necessary to build relationships with our plant and animal relatives. Standing in right relationship changes the way we walk on the landscape. When we know the trees, herbs, birds, and other living things as our relatives, we treat them with kindness and respect, we practice reciprocity and sustainability. Practicing sustainability is the best way to protect both people and our Mother Earth.

What are the best examples of Indigenous sustainability that you have seen?

Nevada LittleWolf (Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe) Executive Director & Campaign Manager at Our Children MN

The fact that we're still here is sustainable. The fact that we still prosper is sustainable. The fact that we still take care of our people, that's sustainable. If you want to talk about regeneration: we take care of each other and we regenerate, heal, and grow for the future. Our teachings and cultural identity carry us forward.

Tara Houska – (Couchiching First Nation) Attorney, Environmental & Indigenous Rights Advocate

I see pieces of these concepts during traditional ceremony or learning times, when people come together for healing and consciously make efforts to care for one another’s bodies, spirits, and express gratitude to all of the beings that shared life for us to be there — the animals and plants for food, the trees for the lodge and feeding a fire, the water, so many different components. I’ve also seen community-based efforts where folks are restoring relationships on all levels through growing food, sharing that food and knowledge, and intentionally working on being relatives to one another and to the living world.

Jessika Greendeer (Ho-Chunk Nation) Seedkeeper and Farm Manager at Dream of Wild Health

Dream of Wild Health is an organization focused on Indigenous sustainability. There is an intergenerational learning and teaching happening within the circles at the farm. The teaching is not from the top, down. Meaning what is taught does not always come from the mouths of our elders, some of that knowledge is shared by our youth.

Linda Black Elk – (Korean, Mongolian, and Catawba ancestry) Ethnobotanist

Some of the best examples of Indigenous sustainability that I’ve seen are Rowen White’s work stewarding seeds and growing beautiful foods; Kuaʻāina Ulu ʻAuamo in Hawaii, and Edéhzhíe Protected Area in Canada.

Iná Makóc̣e Wóohoda - Respecting Mother Earth

Each year, Earth Month and Earth Day arrives in April as the snows disappear in Minnesota, too often revealing a season’s worth of trash and debris. The first Earth Day on April 22nd, 1970, saw over 20 million Americans, most of them young college students, pick up trash and take to the streets to protest a deteriorating environment. Most had grown up in a world where smog, river pollution, and oil spills were normalized as a product of industry and therefore societal advancement. But they had had enough. Together with allies on both sides of the aisle and an awakened base of rich and poor, urban and rural support, Earth Day was followed by a wave of meaningful action, including the establishment of the U.S. EPA and the passing of the Clean Air and Clean Water Act within the decade. 

Earth Day marked a great shift in the public consciousness, but it should be noted that this shift occurred within the dominant culture, sparking a movement that was initially less diverse and inclusive. For Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, the first Earth Day must have felt long overdue and in many ways too late. In just a lifetime, Native ancestors saw the land they loved, from the pristine fishing waters on the east coast to the ancient forests in the west, desecrated, degraded, and in many cases altogether lost.

In St. Paul, the 1970’s saw a completely altered Wakáƞ Tipi become deserted by the railroad, with the surrounding city dumping everything from refrigerators and TV’s to household trash at a site that was still sacred to the Dakota Nation. For those old enough to remember, unpermitted dumps dotted the landscape in St. Paul, from Swede Hollow to Pig’s Eye and beyond. 

The area of Wakáƞ Tipi - Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary in 1902 and 2020.

Although much has changed and many many improvements have been made in the half-century since the first Earth Day, it is clear we now need another great shift in thinking – a change to the way we see ourselves and the way our society relates to Iná Makóc̣e - Mother Earth. A common lesson in Dakota culture is this: if you don’t treat something with wóohoda - respect, be it a human, plant or animal relative, you will lose it. Everyday we still lose precious species of plants and animals to extinction, with more and more endangered every minute. There is no clearer indication that we as a human society are not treating our home in a good way and have much more work to do.

At Lower Phalen Creek Project, the development of our Environmental Justice Framework has centered the principle of Mitákuye Owás’iƞ - a relationality with all living things, foundational to the Dakota way of being. A pursuit of environmental justice asks us to look beyond ourselves; to the past and a legacy of sustainability practiced by many of our ancestors, to the future generations that deserve a clean and safe environment, and to those with “wings, fins, roots, or paws” (as Winona LaDuke always eloquently states). Everyday, we work to bring those voices into the conversation and share our understanding that human beings of the present moment are not the only ones that benefit from environmental justice.

When our communities come together, like so many did on that first Earth Day, there are no limits to what we can accomplish. Wakáƞ Tipi has remained resilient; with renewed love and care over just two decades, many of our plant and animal relatives have returned to the site, with more and more species returning every year. Today we ask that you take action in whatever way is most meaningful to you, whether it be writing to your representatives, volunteering in your neighborhood cleanup, or simply taking a moment to connect to the land wherever you may be. Let’s not lose our momentum, and instead keep our drive to care for and protect the land and its creatures well beyond Earth Day!