Our elders are who we look to for support
Across the world's disaster zones — from wildfire country in western Canada to the flood plains of Aotearoa — Indigenous communities are discovering that when catastrophe arrives, the warnings come in languages their elders cannot hear. At a United Nations gathering in Geneva this week, delegates traced this silence not to oversight but to the long architecture of colonialism, which has systematically stripped Indigenous peoples of language, resources, and the authority to protect their own. The question being pressed upon governments is not merely technical — how to translate an alert — but moral: who is considered worth warning, and who is trusted to know how.
- When a wildfire threatened the Xeni Gwet'in First Nation in Canada, evacuation orders went out only in English and French — leaving elders who speak only Tŝilhqot'in dependent on community members to relay warnings by hand.
- At the UN's EMRIP session in Geneva, Indigenous delegates from Canada, Russia, Ethiopia, and New Zealand converged on a shared alarm: underfunding, language erasure, and exclusion from emergency planning are turning climate disasters into compounding crises for their communities.
- The EMRIP study, drawing on over 80 submissions, names colonialism as the living root of these failures — not a historical wound but an active system denying self-determination, stripping resources, and silencing languages precisely when they are needed most.
- Cyclone Gabrielle's death toll in Aotearoa and the near-misses of Canadian wildfires illustrate the human cost, while a Climate Cardinals report warns that up to 6.5 billion people globally risk being locked out of climate science published almost exclusively in English.
- Some governments are beginning to move — the Northwest Territories is co-developing Indigenous emergency protocols, and Māori organisations are demanding Treaty-based decision-making authority — but implementation lags dangerously behind the accelerating pace of climate events.
When a wildfire swept through land near the Xeni Gwet'in First Nation in western Canada last April, evacuation alerts went out in English and French. The community's roughly 500 residents escaped safely — but the event laid bare a fault line that Indigenous leaders say runs across the globe: emergency systems do not speak to Indigenous peoples in their own languages. In Xeni Gwet'in, many elders speak only Tŝilhqot'in. When disaster strikes, the nation's forestry crew must personally alert them — a workaround that holds in small emergencies but breaks down when catastrophe scales.
This week in Geneva, at the United Nations Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, delegates from Canada, Russia, Ethiopia, and Aotearoa New Zealand described the same pattern: underfunding, language erasure, and exclusion from the decisions that shape disaster response. The Northwest Territories recognises 11 Indigenous languages by law, yet issues all emergency alerts only in English and French. In Russia, Sakha activist Viliuia Choinova described how generations pressured to adopt Russian for education and work have left her people with declining fluency in Yakut — a loss that becomes life-threatening when floods or fires arrive.
The EMRIP study, built from more than 80 submissions by governments, Indigenous organisations, and human rights bodies, identifies colonialism not as a historical backdrop but as an ongoing structure — one that denies self-determination, excludes communities from decisions about their own lands, and erodes the languages and resources needed for survival. An Anywaa delegate from Ethiopia widened the frame: conflict, he argued, is not only armed violence but any systemic condition that denies Indigenous peoples the ability to exercise their rights. For Māori communities in Aotearoa, that definition found its proof in Cyclone Gabrielle, which killed 11 people in February 2023 amid communication failures that left many without timely warnings.
Researcher Sara Wilson of Simon Fraser University submitted findings to EMRIP identifying three interlocking failures: chronic underfunding of Indigenous emergency services, the erasure of Indigenous languages from public systems, and the exclusion of Indigenous peoples from emergency planning itself. A separate Climate Cardinals report found that the vast majority of global climate science is published in English, potentially locking out 6.5 billion people from critical disaster information.
Some governments are beginning to respond. The Northwest Territories announced plans to co-develop emergency communication protocols with Indigenous governments ahead of the 2026 wildfire season. In Aotearoa, Māori organisations are calling for a Treaty of Waitangi framework that grants communities genuine decision-making authority over their own disaster preparedness. But progress is slow, and the climate is not waiting. Indigenous delegates in Geneva argued that their communities hold knowledge and capacity that, properly resourced and respected, could make disaster response stronger for everyone — insisting they are not victims to be managed, but rights holders with the wisdom to help shape a more resilient world.
When a wildfire swept across 618 acres near the Xeni Gwet'in First Nation in western Canada this past April, local authorities issued evacuation alerts in English and French. The nearly 500 residents got out safely, the fire was extinguished within days, and people returned home. But the crisis exposed something that Indigenous leaders across the globe say is a systemic failure: emergency services in Canada, New Zealand, Russia, and elsewhere do not communicate with Indigenous communities in their own languages.
In Xeni Gwet'in, many elders speak only Tŝilhqot'in, the mother tongue of roughly 650 people across the larger Tŝilhqot'in Nation. When disaster strikes, these speakers have no way to receive official safety information. Chantu William, a youth policy coordinator in the community, explained that the nation's forestry crew must step in and alert elders directly—a workaround that works for small, contained emergencies but collapses during larger catastrophes. "Our elders are who we look to for support," William said. "It would be nice if we had those preventative things on our own already."
This gap in crisis communication is not unique to Canada. At the United Nations Expert Mechanism on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, or EMRIP, meeting in Geneva this week, Indigenous delegates from across the world described a pattern of underfunding, language erasure, and exclusion from emergency decision-making. The Northwest Territories government recognizes 11 Indigenous languages under its Official Languages Act, yet issues all emergency alerts only in English and French. In Russia, the Sakha activist Viliuia Choinova described how her people face declining fluency in Yakut, their own language, after generations told that Russian is the language of education and professional advancement. When disaster strikes, that linguistic erosion becomes a life-or-death problem.
The EMRIP study, based on more than 80 submissions from governments, human rights bodies, Indigenous organizations, and NGOs, traces these communication failures to deeper historical roots. The research identifies colonialism as the underlying cause—not just as a historical fact, but as an ongoing system that denies Indigenous peoples the right to self-determination, excludes them from decisions affecting their lands and lives, and strips away the resources and languages they need to protect themselves. Ojot Miru Ojulu, an Anywaa delegate from Ethiopia, reframed what "conflict" means for Indigenous peoples: "Conflict is not limited to armed violence. Conflict also includes structural conditions that systematically deny Indigenous peoples' ability to exercise their rights." For the Sakha, this means unchecked resource extraction, environmental destruction, and the erosion of culture. For Māori communities in Aotearoa New Zealand, it meant that when Cyclone Gabrielle struck in February 2023, killing 11 people and causing billions in damage, communication barriers prevented many from receiving timely warnings.
Sara Wilson, a communications researcher at Simon Fraser University who previously worked for British Columbia's natural resources department, submitted research to EMRIP documenting what she calls a "crisis communication gap." Her work highlights three interlocking failures: underfunding of Indigenous emergency services, language erasure from public systems, and exclusion of Indigenous peoples from the planning and decision-making that shapes disaster response. A Climate Cardinals report published earlier this year found that the overwhelming majority of the world's scientific publications on climate and disaster are written in English, meaning that up to 6.5 billion people globally risk being locked out of critical information about preparing for and responding to climate disasters.
Some governments have begun to respond. The Northwest Territories announced plans to co-develop emergency communication protocols with Indigenous governments before the 2026 wildfire season. New Zealand's Te Whāriki Manawāhine O Hauraki, a community resource centre, called for a framework based on the Treaty of Waitangi that gives Māori decision-making authority over disaster preparedness in their own communities. Yet implementation remains slow, and the stakes are rising. Climate change is making wildfires, floods, and extreme weather more frequent and more severe. Indigenous delegates at EMRIP argued that their communities possess knowledge and capacity that, if properly resourced and respected, could strengthen disaster preparedness for everyone. "Indigenous peoples are not merely victims of conflict," Choinova said, "but rights holders with the knowledge and capacity to shape a just and lasting peace."
Notable Quotes
Our elders are who we look to for support. It would be nice if we had those preventative things on our own already.— Chantu William, Tŝilhqot'in youth policy coordinator, Xeni Gwet'in
Conflict is not limited to armed violence. Conflict also includes structural conditions that systematically deny Indigenous peoples' ability to exercise their rights.— Ojot Miru Ojulu, Anywaa delegate from Ethiopia, speaking at EMRIP
Indigenous peoples are not merely victims of conflict, but rights holders with the knowledge and capacity to shape a just and lasting peace.— Viliuia Choinova, Sakha activist from Russia
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does language matter so much in a disaster? Can't people just understand the danger regardless of what language the alert is in?
When your house is on fire and you have minutes to decide whether to leave, you need information you can process instantly. If you've spoken only Tŝilhqot'in your whole life and the alert comes in English, you're either waiting for someone to translate it—time you don't have—or you're making a life-or-death decision with incomplete understanding. For elders especially, their first language is often their only language.
The source mentions that this is linked to colonialism. How are emergency alerts connected to colonialism?
It's not just the alerts themselves. It's that colonial systems deliberately suppressed Indigenous languages in schools and government for generations. Now those languages are disappearing. When a government only issues alerts in English and French, it's not a neutral choice—it's the continuation of a system that treats Indigenous languages as less important, less official, less worthy of resources.
So the Northwest Territories is working on new protocols. Does that solve the problem?
It's a start, but it's slow. They announced plans to co-develop protocols before the 2026 wildfire season—that's still months away. And the real question is whether they'll actually fund it, staff it, and maintain it year after year. One-time protocols don't work if there's no sustained commitment.
What would a real solution look like?
Indigenous communities need decision-making authority, not just consultation. They need funding to develop their own emergency systems in their own languages. They need to be at the table when plans are made, not brought in after the fact. And they need governments to recognize that Indigenous knowledge about land, weather, and survival is as valuable as any English-language alert system.
The story mentions that Indigenous peoples define conflict broadly—not just as war. Why is that definition important here?
Because it names what's actually happening. When a government ignores your language, extracts resources from your territory, and then fails to warn you about a disaster, that's not separate problems. It's all one system of conflict—the denial of your rights to exist as a people. Understanding that connection is what makes the solution possible.