Climate resilience won’t save us — but Indigenous Peoples’ sovereignty might

Lala Forrest, MD
Pit River Tribe, and Modoc and Wintu Tribes

I’m tired of being called — and hearing the term — resilient.

I am waẁá acúmmááwi, an original inhabitant of the lands now commonly referred to as northeastern California. My people have been called resilient after genocide, relocation, poverty, and grief. The word is meant to be a compliment — but these days, it feels more like a dismissal.

“Resilience” has become a buzzword — celebrated in climate plans, public health programs, and mental health grants. But in Indian Country, resilience is not what we need more of. The word now praises us for surviving trauma while ignoring the systems that caused it: colonialism, environmental racism, disinvestment, extractive economies, and violence.

The burden to recover is placed on those most harmed, while the structures that created the harm remain intact. Survival and adaptation should not be the measure of success. Justice should.

Too often, resilience language justifies underinvestment: ‘They’re tough. They’ll survive.’ That same logic fuels chronic underfunding of IHS, inadequate mental health care, and climate policies that prioritize survival strategies instead of systemic change. Indian Country doesn’t need more resilience. We need repair, equity, and sovereignty.

On climate, especially, there is a better way.

A growing body of evidence supports Indigenous land return and custodianship. A recent report on the State of Indigenous Peoples’ and Local Communities’ (IPLC) Lands found that 91 percent of lands owned and governed by IPLCs — regardless of legal status — are in good or moderate ecological condition. IPLC lands also contain 36 percent of the globe’s Key Biodiversity Areas. This is not coincidence — it’s the result of Indigenous guardianship rooted in relational, spiritual, and ecological responsibility.

Indigenous peoples are on the frontlines of climate advocacy and conservation. This frontline role often comes at great cost: in 2019, 40 percent of those killed defending the environment were Indigenous. Yet their resistance has real impact. Fossil fuel resistance blocks high-emission projects, land defense prevents deforestation and emissions, traditional fire practices reduce catastrophic wildfire risk and promote biodiversity, and the recognition of Indigenous Peoples’ sovereignty enables adaptation strategies rooted in deep ecological knowledge, restoring ecosystems through regenerative practices.

Yet despite recent investments, funding across U.S. agencies still overwhelmingly emphasizes “resilience” and “adaptation” while sidelining Indigenous traditional ecological knowledge. Federal climate–health investments — across NIH, CDC, EPA, and HHS — remain framed around ‘resilience,’ yet this emphasis sidelines Tribal governance and Indigenous custodianship, reducing climate justice to endurance rather than sovereignty.

Urban planning discussions often focus on how Indigenous communities can build their resilience to environmental threats like flooding — but rarely ask how historical displacement, neglect, and infrastructure inequity created that vulnerability in the first place. That’s not just inaccurate — it’s dangerous. When resilience becomes the goal, we lose urgency to transform the systems that cause harm. We stop asking harder questions: who benefits from the way things are? Who continues to profit off Indigenous land while promoting the very ‘resilience’ demanded of those surviving on its margins?

To move toward true climate justice, we must restore Indigenous land and governance rights as foundational to climate solutions, not as charity or inclusion, but as reparative justice and ecological necessity. We must invest in Indigenous data sovereignty, including tools like the Native Land Information System, to strengthen environmental protections and redistribute decision-making power. And we must resource grassroots movements like the Indigenous Environmental Network and NDN Collective, not only to defend sacred lands but to enable long-term systems change rooted in relational, place-based knowledge.

What Indigenous communities offer is far more powerful than resilience. We offer worldviews rooted in ecological harmony, which stem from accountability to land, people, and spirit. Our responses to trauma are not about bouncing back — they are about re-rooting in who we are. As President of the Native Village of Paimiut Estelle Thomson tells us, “As long as we’re able to continue to practice our traditions, tell our stories, we will always have the basic building blocks to maintain the culture and to continue to grow it.”

Dr. Forrest is a psychiatrist in training at Yale University, a Climate and Health Equity Fellow at the Medical Society Consortium on Climate and Health, and a member of the Pit River Tribe, and a descendant of the Modoc and Wintu Tribes. Their work focuses on Indigenous mental health, climate justice, and the decolonization of psychiatric practice. They are committed to amplifying Indigenous knowledge as essential to collective healing and planetary survival.

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