Any appreciation of Native Americans as ecologists must start with two fundamental principles. The first recognizes that there are over 500 such nations spread across a vast continent. Although sometimes related, they each have distinct cultures, histories, and current goals. The second recognizes that they occupy multiple ecological zones, ranging from tropical rainforests to high-desert plateaus. Any attempt to generalize, while not impossible, is likely to lose so much detail as to render it nearly useless.
Furthermore, it is a Herculean task, and I will not attempt it. Instead, this short article will focus on some of the Anishinaabeg living in the Great Lakes region because I know it somewhat better than any other Native American culture. Their relationship demonstrates the importance of human beings learning to live as inhabitants of a worldwide forest, a condition that applies to all of us, whatever our background and heritage. The question is whether most of us will—or even can—imagine nature as having a deep, sacred meaning rather than focusing on its economic utility.
Anishinaabeg who follow traditional practices do not have a concept of a pristine forest, a post-World War II ideal primarily created by European Americans. Along with other indigenous peoples, they do not differentiate between their immediate environment and themselves. Nor do they conceive of a wilderness untouched by human hands. Instead, they are part of their immediate environment, and in a meaningful way, the forest is integral to their sacred world. For these reasons, they routinely protect more than their own interests when they are in the forest. They have also respected, learned from it, and drawn meaning from it. It is “a peopled cosmos” full of mythic manitous of all sorts. They help guard the Anishinaabe through the many transformations of life and the forest. They deserve human respect and serve as a model for human behavior. However, they are not all benign. Mishebeshu, the great underwater lynx or panther, was a monster who killed the unwary or disrespectful human being. Fear of it would cause Anishinaabeg to avoid some places entirely. Even the usually benign Thunderers, who had a guardian relationship with the Anishinaabeg, might kill through lightning or storm.
What are the obligations that these Manitou place on the Anishinaabeg to protect the forest they use and live in? Perhaps the most difficult one for non-Anishinaabeg is one of reverence. The forest is sacred. The Anishinaabeg offer prayers and thanks to the appropriate Manitou, often accompanied by tobacco offerings. But also of other things, such as cloth. This approach frames the relationship as one of respect, not as one of conqueror.
This reverence applies to plants as well. The Paper, White, or Canoe Birch, as it is commonly known or Betula papyrifera scientifically, is sacred and vital to the living of traditional Anishinaabeg. They write their sacred stories on the bark of Nimishooomis-wigwaas or Wiigwassii-mitig, Grandfather Birch. They use the bark to light fires because it is such good kindling. They travelled in canoes made of bark from one end of the Great Lakes to the other. The bark forms a tray for wrapping the newborn in moss and coverings for lodges. Birch bark cones were used to call moose during mating season. Although traditional Anishinaabeg will cut down a birch tree for firewood or other uses, they will not always do so. Instead, a skilled artisan will peel the bark from a tree for use without killing it. This approach changes the tree’s appearance while allowing it to continue to live.
The Anishinaabeg convey both reverence and the vital, accurate knowledge of how to live fruitfully through stories. Two examples show how: Nanabozho is a complicated figure in Anishinaabeg myth. Sometimes giving healing knowledge, sometimes a trickster, and always the older brother or sometimes uncle to the Anishinaabeg. He also serves as an object lesson when he kills a grandfather bear and feeds it to his grandchildren, only to have them kill his brother in retaliation. Each animal also has a Manitou who protects them and must be placated before taking in a hunt. The Manitou must know that it will continue to live. The Anishinaabeg will only take what is necessary to survive.
To illustrate the bounty of birches, maple trees, and their respective sap while also teaching about the need for reason to control appetite, tribal elders tell how Nanabozho asked for some of the maple tree’s syrup to eat. He found it so sweet and good that he drank until his stomach was full. His intemperance made him nauseous. After groaning for a while, he grew angry and blamed the tree for tricking him. Arguing that birch sap was too dangerous to leave as it was, he diluted the birch sap until it would no longer tempt the Anishinaabeg to overdrink. He punished the birch tree for failing to warn him about the sweet sap by making its bark useful for the Anishinaabeg. Indeed, it may be better in some ways for many people than memorizing a tree’s name and full classification in Latin. The Anishinaabeg traditional way of knowing is not silly, useless, or inaccurate; it is only different.
Successfully living in a forest, especially during climate change, requires the Anishinaabeg and other peoples to address several profound questions about their environment. How long should a society or nation plan for? The Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians routinely plan for seven generations, or approximately 150 years, rather than for the next week, year, or even decade. The Bands focus on maintaining and enhancing wildlife, the overall health of the forest, and traditional cultural values. They protect key tree species and increase old-growth characteristics of the existing forest. They also include projects to rebuild depleted fish stocks in the Great Lakes and elsewhere through the latest scientific methods, as well as to enhance existing commercial fishing opportunities.
Finally, the Anishinaabeg also manage some lands as privately owned and others as common property. For many years, economists and policymakers believed that managing was economically inefficient compared to the free market. They believed that shared land inevitably led to the tragedy of the commons, in which everyone’s personal profit motive led to the overuse and possible extinction of a natural resource. After Elinor Ostrom’s groundbreaking, Nobel-prize-winning work, however, economists and policymakers should no longer consider managing the commons solely as a commercial resource; capitalistic postures toward nature are unsound and can lead to ecological failure. Instead, they should listen and learn from the Anishinaabeg about how the larger American society should live in the forest. We all would be wise to learn from them.
References
Geniuz, Mary Siisip. Plants have
so Much to Give Us, All We have to do is Ask (2015).
Geniuz, Wendy Makoons. Our
Knowledge is Not Primitive (2009).
Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding
Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants
(2015).
Ostrom, Elinor. Governing the
Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action (1990).
Smith, Theresa S. The Island of
the Anishnaabeg [sic] (2012).
Webkamigad, Howard, trans and ed. Ottawa Stories from the Springs (2015).
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Todd Adams is a retired Michigan lawyer who practiced Native American law
and has written law review articles on the subject.
