In December 2012, a powerful wave of Indigenous protest, known as Idle No More, swept across the Canadian political landscape. Massive round dances erupted in shopping centers, bustling intersections, and public squares throughout North America, echoing with solidarity actions as far away as New Zealand and Gaza. While initially triggered by a series of legislative assaults on indigenous sovereignty and environmental safeguards by Stephen Harper’s Conservative government, the movement rapidly expanded to encompass far greater issues. It became a focal point for addressing Canada’s persistent colonial policies, envisioning transformative decolonization, and exploring the potential for genuine alliances between indigenous and non-indigenous peoples, capable of reimagining the very fabric of nationhood.
Throughout this significant period, Idle No More intentionally remained without formal leaders or designated spokespersons. However, the movement amplified the voices of several artists and academics whose words and imagery resonated deeply with its core aspirations. Among these influential voices was Leanne Simpson, a remarkably versatile Mississauga Nishnaabeg artist and scholar, renowned for her contributions to poetry, essays, spoken-word performances, short stories, academic papers, and anthologies. Simpson’s impactful books, notably Lighting the Eighth Fire: The Liberation, Protection and Resurgence of Indigenous Nations and Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back: Stories of Nishnaabeg Re-Creation, Resurgence and a New Emergence, have profoundly shaped a new generation of indigenous activists. Her work emphasizes the importance of Dancing The spirit of resistance and renewal.
At the peak of these widespread protests, Simpson’s compelling essay, Aambe! Maajaadaa! (What #IdleNoMore Means to Me), rapidly gained traction on social media, evolving into a foundational text for the movement. In this essay, she articulated: “I support #idlenomore because I believe that we have to stand up anytime our nation’s land base is threatened—whether it is legislation, deforestation, mining prospecting, condo development, pipelines, tar sands or golf courses. I stand up anytime our nation’s land base in threatened because everything we have of meaning comes from the land—our political systems, our intellectual systems, our health care, food security, language and our spiritual sustenance and our moral fortitude.”
On February 15, 2013, in Toronto, Naomi Klein engaged in a profound conversation with Leanne Simpson, delving into the critical themes of decolonization, ecocide, climate change, and the strategies for transforming an uprising into a lasting “punctuated transformation.” This discussion explored how dancing the principles of indigenous thought can lead to meaningful change.
The Core of Extractivism
Naomi Klein: Let’s begin by examining the factors that have recently intensified indigenous resistance. With the expansion of the tar sands, the proliferation of pipelines, and the Harper government’s aggressive push to exploit vast northern territories, do you perceive this as a final colonial plunder? Or is it more accurately a continuation of Canada’s historical trajectory?
Leanne Simpson: Throughout the past four centuries, indigenous peoples have consistently resisted colonialism. Idle No More represents the most recent—and publicly visible—manifestation of this resistance. It is part of an ongoing, historical, and contemporary effort to safeguard our lands, cultures, nationhoods, and languages. To me, it feels like we are witnessing an escalation of colonial exploitation, or at least, that is what the Harper government is preparing for—the extreme extraction of natural resources from indigenous lands. However, it’s crucial to recognize that every Canadian government has, in essence, prioritized this mode of thinking in its dealings with indigenous peoples.
Indigenous communities have endured environmental devastation at local and regional levels since the onset of colonialism. The construction of the St. Lawrence Seaway, the near extermination of the buffalo in Cree and Blackfoot territories, and the extinction of salmon in Lake Ontario—all were avoidable and profoundly destructive events. Simultaneously, I am aware that many within the indigenous community anticipate the collapse of the current economic system within the next 10 to 20 years, recognizing the unsustainability of the present trajectory.
Extracting is stealing. It is taking without consent, without thought, care or even knowledge of the impacts on the other living things in that environment.
Our elders have consistently warned us about this impending reality for generations. They immediately recognized the unsustainable nature of settler society. Societies founded on conquest cannot endure. Therefore, I do believe we are approaching a critical breaking point. Time is running out. We are losing the opportunity to reverse course. We lack the luxury of a gradual, slow transformation into a sustainable and alternative model. I feel increasingly cornered, much like my ancestors likely felt 200 or 400 years ago. But the timing is less important than the imperative to act, to change, and to transform. For me, the urgency to act exists regardless of whether this is the end of the world as we know it. If a river is threatened, it signifies the end of the world for the fish dependent on it. Environmental destruction has been the end of the world for someone, somewhere, all along. The profound sadness and trauma associated with this ongoing destruction are, for me, ample justification for action. We must start dancing the steps needed for change.
Naomi: Let’s delve into the concept of extraction, as it seems to perfectly encapsulate the dominant economic vision. The Harper government views its primary role as facilitating the extraction of natural resources from the earth for market consumption. They show little interest in adding value. They have decimated the manufacturing sector due to the high dollar value, seemingly unconcerned because they perceive vast, untouched territories in the north ripe for exploitation.
Unsurprisingly, they are intensely anxious about both the environmental movement and First Nations rights, as these represent significant obstacles to their economic objectives. But extraction extends beyond mere mining and drilling; it represents a mindset—a fundamental approach to nature, ideas, and people. What does extraction signify to you?
Leanne: Extraction and assimilation are inherently linked. Colonialism and capitalism are both fundamentally based on extraction and assimilation. My land is perceived as a resource. My relatives in the plant and animal realms are seen as resources. My culture and knowledge are resources to be exploited. My body is a resource, and even my children are viewed as resources, representing the potential to perpetuate and uphold this system of extraction and assimilation. The very act of extraction severs all the intricate relationships that imbue whatever is being extracted with meaning. Extraction is fundamentally an act of taking. In reality, extraction is theft—it is appropriation without consent, devoid of consideration, care, or even basic awareness of the devastating impacts on other living beings within the affected environment. This has been a constant feature of colonialism and conquest. Colonialism has always been about extracting from the indigenous—extraction of indigenous knowledge, indigenous women, and indigenous peoples themselves. We are forced to keep dancing the steps of resistance against this.
Naomi: And children separated from their parents.
Leanne: Yes, children forcibly removed from their parents. Children torn from their families. Children alienated from their ancestral lands. Children severed from our political systems and governance structures. Children—our most precious gift—become commodities within this system. Every facet of our culture deemed even remotely useful to the extractivist mindset is targeted for extraction. The canoe, the kayak, any technology we developed that proved beneficial was appropriated and integrated into settler culture without any regard for the people and the profound knowledge systems that created them.
The alternative to extractivism is deep reciprocity. It’s respect, it’s relationship, it’s responsibility, and it’s local.
When there was a movement to incorporate traditional knowledge into environmental perspectives following the Brundtland Report, Our Common Future, in the late 1980s, it was often approached with an extractivist mentality. The prevailing attitude was, “Let’s extract any teachings you might possess that could assist us, stripping them from their context, divorcing them from the knowledge holders, removing them from your language, and integrating them into our assimilative framework.” It was based on the flawed notion that traditional knowledge and indigenous peoples held some sort of secret formula for living in harmony with the land in a non-exploitative manner, a secret that broader society felt entitled to appropriate. However, the extractivist mindset is fundamentally averse to genuine dialogue and conversation, to incorporating indigenous knowledge on indigenous terms. Instead, it is primarily concerned with extracting any ideas that scientists or environmentalists deem valuable and assimilating them into the dominant paradigm.
Naomi: Like simply taking the concept of “the seventh generation” and…
Leanne: …and printing it on toilet paper to market to consumers. There exists an intellectual and cognitive extraction that parallels the physical exploitation. The entire apparatus promoting extractivism is immense, permeating television, movies, and popular culture.
Naomi: If extractivism is indeed a mindset, a particular way of viewing the world, what constitutes the alternative?
Leanne: Responsibility. Because I believe that those who engage in extraction are primarily focused on taking, exploiting resources for their own immediate gain, and then moving on. What is fundamentally lacking is responsibility. If you fail to cultivate genuine relationships with the people and the land, if you don’t reciprocate, if you don’t remain to witness the long-term consequences of extraction, then you are essentially shirking responsibility. You simply relocate elsewhere.
The alternative is profound reciprocity. It encompasses respect, genuine relationship, responsibility, and localization. If you were compelled to remain within a 50-mile radius, you would directly experience the impacts of extractivist practices. The only way to shield oneself from these repercussions is through distance and globalization, by sourcing food and resources from distant locations. Therefore, increased distance and globalization only serve to further insulate individuals from the negative consequences of extractivist behavior. Dancing the steps towards localization is crucial.
On Idle No More
Naomi: With Idle No More, there was a pivotal moment in December and January that hinted at the articulation of an alternative vision for the country, rooted in a fundamentally different relationship with nature. Many people were drawn to the movement because it offered the possibility of a vision for the land that transcended mere resource extraction, pollution, and pipeline construction.
However, I believe that this initial promise may have been somewhat diluted when some chiefs began framing the issue primarily as a fight for resource revenue sharing: “Okay, Harper intends to extract $650 billion worth of resources; how do we secure our fair share?” While this is a legitimate question given the pervasive poverty and the fact that these resources are located on indigenous lands, it doesn’t fundamentally challenge the underlying imperative of land exploitation for wealth accumulation.
Leanne: Exactly, it does not, and this sentiment is precisely what our traditional leaders, elders, and numerous grassroots community members also express. Part of the problem lies in the nature of leadership itself. Indian Act chiefs and councils—while comprised of some well-intentioned individuals doing valuable work—are ultimately accountable to the Canadian government, not to our people. The Indian Act system is an imposed structure; it is not our indigenous political system, which is based on our values and traditional governance methods.
Putting people in the position of having to chose between feeding their kids and destroying their land is simply wrong.
Indigenous communities, particularly those located in areas facing intense pressure for natural resource development, endure immense imposed economic hardship. Billions of dollars’ worth of natural resources have been extracted from their territories without their consent and without equitable compensation. This is the stark reality. We have historically lacked the power to refuse development because these communities are not viewed as rights-holders but rather as mere resources to be exploited.
Instead of engaging with indigenous peoples through our established treaties, successive federal governments have opted to control us through the Indian Act. This deliberate strategy ensures their continued ability to build the Canadian economy on the exploitation of natural resources, disregarding both indigenous peoples and environmental concerns. This is a calculated and intentional approach. This is also where the most critical battles will be fought, precisely because these regions represent the most pristine indigenous homelands. Communities are rising up and rejecting the very notion of tearing up the land solely for wealth creation. What these communities urgently need is our unwavering solidarity and a broad network of mobilized individuals willing to stand alongside them when they assert their right to say no. Dancing the steps of solidarity is essential.
These same communities are also relentlessly shamed in the mainstream media, by provincial and federal governments, and by broader Canadian society for their economic poverty. Victim-blaming is an integral component of this extractivist mentality. We must understand the historical roots of this economic poverty—these communities are impoverished precisely so that Canadians can maintain their current standard of living. I emphasize “economically poor” because, while these communities may possess less material wealth, they are immensely rich in other crucial aspects. They retain their homelands, their languages, their vibrant cultures, and robust community relationships that foster strength and resilience.
I am frequently asked, “Why do indigenous communities partner with multinational corporations to exploit their land?” The answer is stark: it is often presented as the only viable path out of crushing economic deprivation. Industry and government are heavily invested in perpetuating the false dichotomy of “jobs versus the environment.” These communities are subjected to intense pressure from provincial governments, federal agencies, and industry to participate in the destruction of natural resources. Industry and government readily promote large-scale corporate environmental destruction as the sole means of alleviating poverty because it serves their vested interests to do so.
We have not had the right to say no to development, because indigenous communities are not seen as people. They are seen as resources.
There is a critical need to clearly articulate alternative visions for building healthy, sustainable, and localized indigenous economies that genuinely benefit indigenous communities and respect our fundamental philosophies and values. The hyper-exploitation of natural resources is not the only path forward. The essential first step is to cease viewing indigenous peoples and our ancestral homelands as freely available resources to be exploited at will, according to the whims of colonial society.
If Canada remains unwilling to dismantle the systemic structures that perpetuate poverty among indigenous peoples, then I question whether Canadians, who directly benefit from this imposed indigenous poverty, have the moral authority to judge the decisions indigenous peoples make, especially when so few viable alternatives are presented. Indigenous peoples currently lack control over our own homelands. We do not possess the fundamental right to refuse development on our territories. At the same time, I firmly believe that partnering with large-scale resource extraction industries for the destruction of our homelands does not lead to the transformative changes and solutions our people urgently seek. Placing individuals in the untenable position of having to choose between feeding their children and destroying their land is fundamentally unjust.
Ultimately, we are not simply advocating for a larger piece of the existing pie—as Winona LaDuke eloquently states—we are striving to create a fundamentally different pie altogether. Individuals within the Idle No More movement who champion indigenous nationhood are advocating for a profound transformation, a comprehensive process of decolonization. This entails a resurgence of indigenous political thought deeply rooted in the land and intimately connected to a close and reciprocal relationship with the land. For me, this signifies a revitalization of sustainable, localized indigenous economies that prioritize the well-being of local people. While there is broad consensus on this overarching vision, diverse perspectives exist regarding strategy, largely due to the pervasive economic hardship within our communities. We must continue dancing the vision of a different pie.
On Promoting Life
Naomi: One of the primary reasons I wanted to speak with you is that in your writings and public speaking, you articulate a remarkably clear alternative vision. In a recent speech at the University of Victoria, you stated: “Our systems are designed to promote more life,” and you elaborated on achieving this through “resisting, renewing, and regeneration”—all central themes in your book Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back.
I am particularly interested in exploring this concept of life-promoting systems with you because they appear to be the direct antithesis of the extractivist mindset, which ultimately revolves around depleting and extinguishing life without any regard for renewal or replenishment.
Leanne: My initial reflections on this concept began approximately 20 years ago, sparked by Winona LaDuke’s impactful work and through my experiences working alongside elders directly on the land. Winona powerfully articulated a concept deeply rooted in Anishinaabeg society, known as mino bimaadiziwin. While often translated as “the good life,” its deeper cultural and conceptual meaning, as Winona helped me understand, is better interpreted as “continuous rebirth.” Therefore, the fundamental purpose of life, according to this understanding, is continuous rebirth—to actively promote more life. In Anishinaabeg society, our economic, educational, governance, and political systems were intentionally designed with this foundational principle at their very core.
I believe this core teaching provides fundamental guidance to individuals on how to interact with one another, within families, with children, and with the land itself. As communities of people form, it extends to guide how these communities and nations should interact. In terms of economics, this translates into highly localized economies characterized by a profound sense of accountability and reciprocity. These principles begin at the individual and family levels, then extend outwards to shape interactions between communities and nations. Dancing the principles of mino bimaadiziwin guides all aspects of life.
It was the quality of their relationships—not how much they had, not how much they consumed—that was the basis of my ancestors’ happiness.
I also perceive it as being deeply connected to the fertility of ideas and the cultivation of alternatives. In our creation stories, birds play a crucial role in planting seeds, bringing forth new ideas, and nurturing their growth. Seeds embody wisdom and potential, and birds carry these seeds across the earth, fostering its continued growth and renewal. I believe we all share this responsibility to seek out these seeds, to plant them, and to give birth to new ideas. An idea conceived but never articulated, shared, or nurtured within a community remains dormant.
In Anishinaabeg philosophy, if you experience a dream or envision a vision, you are encouraged to share it with your community. You then bear a responsibility to actively bring that dream or vision into tangible reality. This process embodies regeneration. It is the process of bringing forth more life—taking a seed, planting it, and nurturing its growth. This seed can be physical, it can be a child, or it can be an idea. However, without continuous engagement in this regenerative process, growth and renewal cannot occur.
Naomi: How has this principle of regeneration manifested in your own life?
Leanne: In my personal life, I actively strive to cultivate this principle within my own children and family, as this is the sphere where I have the most direct influence. While my control over broader national and societal issues is limited, within my family, I can actively create opportunities. This involves empowering my children and providing them with opportunities to develop meaningful relationships with our land, with the water, and with the plant and animal relatives. It also means facilitating meaningful connections with elders and community members, ensuring they grow up within a strong community, supported by a network of trusted adults they can turn to for guidance and support.
One of the stories I recount in my book involves working with an elder, the late Robin Greene from Shoal Lake in Winnipeg, in an environmental education program for First Nations youth. We were discussing sustainable development, and I was explaining the western perspective of this concept to the students. I asked him if there was a similar concept within Anishinaabeg philosophy that aligned with sustainable development. He contemplated this for a considerable time. Ultimately, he responded in the negative. I was initially surprised by his “no” because I expected there to be a comparable concept. He then clarified that the concept itself was fundamentally backwards. It is not about developing to the maximum capacity that Mother Earth can withstand. Instead, our perspective is reversed. We prioritize considering how much we can relinquish to promote more life. Every decision is guided by the fundamental question: Is this action truly necessary? We are always dancing the balance between need and impact.
The purpose of life is this continuous rebirth, it’s to promote more life.
Reflecting on my ancestors from even 200 years ago, they did not prioritize accumulating capital or relying on material wealth for their well-being and economic stability. Instead, they invested their energy in cultivating meaningful and authentic relationships. Their food security and economic stability were rooted in the strength and resilience of their relationships—their connections with neighboring clans and communities. In times of hardship, they relied on people, not on monetary savings. I believe this extended to how they derived meaning in life. Their happiness was grounded in the quality of their relationships, not in material possessions or consumption. This stands in stark contrast to colonial and settler societies and the dominant values we are often taught to embrace.
Naomi: One system extracts and isolates, severing relationships; the other continuously builds and nurtures relationships.
Leanne: Precisely. Returning to my ancestors, they were not primarily consumers; they were producers, skilled in creating everything they needed. Everyone possessed the knowledge and skills to create essential items. Even within my mother’s generation, which is not so distant in the past, she knew how to make and create the basic necessities for our family. My grandmother’s generation possessed even more extensive skills, knowing how to make clothing, build shelter, and prepare food from their gardens and harvests throughout the year to a far greater extent than my generation. When food systems and political systems are highly localized, people are compelled to engage at a deeper level—not just as consumers, but as producers and creators. This fosters self-sufficiency, which becomes deeply ingrained within the system itself.
My ancestors tended to adopt a long-term perspective, planning and considering the well-being of seven generations into the future. I believe they foresaw potential challenges ahead. Through the original treaties and our diplomatic traditions, they were genuinely attempting to reconcile differing worldviews. They sought to protect vast tracts of land where indigenous peoples could maintain their way of life, continue their own economies, and preserve their political systems, hoping that settler society would adapt and evolve in a direction that was more parallel and congruent with indigenous societies. We must continue dancing the vision of long-term sustainability.
On Loving the Wounded
Naomi: You often begin your public presentations by vividly describing the pristine state of your territory in the past. It strikes me that your approach differs significantly from conventional green environmental discourse, which often emphasizes imminent ecological collapse—the impending disaster if we fail to take immediate action. You are, in essence, suggesting that the collapse has already occurred in many places.
Simpson speaking at an Idle No More protest in Peterborough Ontario.
Leanne: I am uncertain whether focusing solely on imminent ecological collapse effectively motivates Canadians to embrace change, considering the spectrum of climate change denial prevalent across society. While it may inspire a surge of apocalyptic films, I suspect that the overwhelming and traumatic nature of such pronouncements may lead people to shut down and disengage as a coping mechanism. This underscores the critical importance of articulating clearly defined visions of viable alternatives.
In my own work, I began to vividly describe the past state of the land because so few people retain any memory of it. In my ancestral territory on the north shore of Lake Ontario, the salmon population collapse occurred remarkably early, by 1840. Salmon migration to Stony Lake was once a significant event for our nation. Subsequently, the eel population crashed with the construction of the St. Lawrence Seaway and the Trent-Severn Waterway. Again, on a very localized scale, indigenous peoples have witnessed and lived through profound environmental disasters where entire facets of their world collapsed in the early stages of colonization.
These cycles of collapse continue, growing progressively larger and more pervasive. We are reaching a point where I feel compelled to describe the pristine state of my land in the past because contemporary generations have no direct memory of it. No one remembers what southern Ontario looked like even 200 years ago, which I find deeply unsettling. How can we envision a path out of this crisis if we have collectively lost our memory of the natural environment we are striving to restore? We need to remember the dance of life that was once vibrant.
Naomi: I have spent the past two years living in British Columbia, where my family resides, and have been deeply involved in the ongoing battles against tar sands pipelines. The situation there is markedly different. Vast tracts of pristine wilderness remain, and people feel a profound connection to and protectiveness of this land. For many, the anti-pipeline movements have fostered a deeper love for the land. It is not solely an “anti” movement rooted in animosity; it is driven by a passionate declaration: “We love this place too much to allow you to desecrate it.” This sentiment imbues it with a different character than any movement I have previously participated in. Furthermore, the anti-pipeline movement on the West Coast is fundamentally indigenous-led and has forged remarkable coalitions between indigenous and non-indigenous peoples. I wonder to what extent these struggles have contributed to the emergence of Idle No More—the power of these incredible coalitions and the unified stance of First Nations in saying “no” to Harper, working in solidarity…
Leanne: Crucially, the Yinka Dene Alliance grounded their resistance in indigenous law. I recall feeling immense pride when the Yinka Dene Alliance organized the train journey to the east. I was in Alberta at the time. We need to build upon this momentum, because if you examine the financial sections of newspapers over the past few years, there are growing indications that pipelines are being planned for central Canada as well, particularly with the refinery in Fredericton. A similar movement against pipelines needs to emerge here, mirroring the strength of the movement in British Columbia. Central Canada is lagging behind in this critical fight. We must start dancing the steps of resistance here.
No one remembers what southern Ontario looked like 200 years ago, which to me is really scary.
Naomi: I believe a significant factor is the current state of the land itself. In B.C., the outrage over the Northern Gateway pipeline routing was palpable—“You intend to build a pipeline through that part of B.C.? Are you insane?” In a way, it was a catalyst for movement-building because they were not proposing to build through urban areas; they were targeting some of the most pristine wilderness in the province. Our task here is more challenging because it requires not only protecting the land but also, as you mentioned, rediscovering the land in order to protect it. In B.C., the inherent beauty is undeniable and readily apparent.
Leanne: For me, it has always been a personal struggle. I have often longed to live in B.C. or the north, where the land remains pristine. Emotionally, it feels easier. However, I made a conscious choice to remain in my territory and to bear witness to its current state. I believe that within indigenous women’s politics and traditional indigenous political thought, there is a politics rooted in love. This was a defining characteristic of Idle No More—the prominent role of women stepping forward. Due to colonialism, we were historically excluded from the Indian Act chief and council governance system. Initially, women were prohibited from holding office, and it remains largely patriarchal. However, this exclusion, in a way, became a gift. All of our organizing around governance, politics, and this continuous rebirth has occurred outside of that imposed system, grounded in a politics of love.
When I perceive the land as my mother, or when I think of our relationship in familial terms, I do not hate my mother if she is ill or has been abused. I do not cease visiting her because she has endured an abusive relationship and bears scars and bruises. On the contrary, the need to intensify that relationship becomes even greater because it is a relationship of nurturing and care. In my own territory, I strive to maintain that intimate, loving relationship—even when witnessing the damage—to recognize the enduring beauty that remains. There is still profound beauty within Lake Ontario. It is a threatened and fragile lake, and many avoid consuming its fish. Yet, immense beauty persists within that lake. Love endures within that lake. I perceive Mother Earth as my first mother. Mothers possess remarkable resilience and healing power. The notion of abandoning something because it has been damaged is a luxury we cannot afford in Southern Ontario. We must dancing the steps of healing and restoration.
Naomi: Precisely. But it represents a fundamentally different political project, doesn’t it? The initial stage involves establishing that there is still something worthy of love and protection. My husband often speaks about how growing up beside a lake deemed unsafe for swimming shapes one’s relationship with nature. Nature becomes something perceived as existing elsewhere, not in your immediate surroundings. I believe many people do not believe this part of the world is worth saving because they perceive it as already destroyed, thus justifying further abuse. There is a need for more voices articulating what it means to cultivate an authentic relationship with non-pristine nature. A different kind of environmental voice is needed—one that speaks to the wounded, not just the idealized and pristine.
Leanne: If swimming is no longer possible, canoe across it. Find a way to connect. When the lake is too degraded for swimming or fishing, healing ceremonies become even more vital. Ceremonies can still be performed with the water. In Peterborough, I composed a spoken word piece centered on salmon, imagining myself as the first salmon returning to Lake Ontario, back to our territory. The lift-locks were gone. I learned the salmon migration routes in our language. This was one way I attempted to reconnect my community to that story and to that river system through this performance. It did spark renewed interest in salmon among community members. Children became more engaged, particularly through their participation in the dance component of the work. We are dancing the stories of our land to revive connection and healing.
On Climate Change and Transformation
Naomi: In the book I am currently writing, I am grappling with understanding why we are failing so spectacularly to address the climate crisis. Numerous factors contribute—ideological, material, and systemic. However, powerful psychological and cultural dimensions are also at play. We—and I speak here of the “settler” “we”—have been colonized by the logic of capitalism, rendering us uniquely ill-equipped to confront this particular crisis.
Leanne: To enact the necessary changes, to achieve this “punctuated transformation,” it inevitably entails a reduction in the standard of living, particularly for the wealthiest 1 percent and the middle class. Ultimately, this is the fundamental reality. I believe that in the absence of a meaningful life beyond the confines of capital accumulation and material wealth, this prospect becomes profoundly frightening.
If we are not, as peoples of the earth, willing to counter colonialism, we have no hope of surviving climate change.
Naomi: Essentially, it is perceived as a threat to one’s very existence because consumerism has become so deeply intertwined with our cultural construction of identity. The role of consumption in our lives has dramatically shifted, especially in the last 30 years. It has become inextricably linked to our sense of self. Therefore, when someone suggests, “To combat climate change, you must consume less,” it is often interpreted as, “You must be less.” The reaction is often one of sheer panic.
Conversely, if one possesses a rich community life, if relationships provide sustenance, if a meaningful connection to the natural world exists, then the prospect of contraction is far less daunting. However, if one’s life is primarily defined by consumption, as is the case for many in this culture, then we must acknowledge the profound nature of the threat this crisis represents. The transformation we must undergo is truly profound—we must relearn how to derive happiness and fulfillment from sources beyond shopping, or we are all in dire straits.
Leanne: I envision this transformation differently: Your life will not be diminished; it will not be over. Your life will be enriched. The transition itself will undoubtedly be challenging, but from my perspective, from our perspective, cultivating a rich community life and deriving happiness from authentic relationships with the land and the people around you is inherently wonderful. I believe Idle No More tapped into this by incorporating round dances and expressing joy as part of the movement. “Let’s make this joyful.” Women, in particular, brought this element of joy to the movement. We are dancing the joy of community and resistance.
Naomi: Another significant barrier to genuinely confronting the climate crisis is related to another of your recurring themes: the critical importance of having a relationship with the land. Climate change unfolds on the land, and to discern early warning signs, a form of communication with the land is essential. The changes are often subtle—until they become undeniable and dramatic.
Leanne: Every March, I take my children to the sugar bush to make maple syrup with them. Over the past 20 years, our sugaring season has progressively shortened each year. Last year was nearly disastrous due to an unseasonable week of summer-like weather in mid-March. Maple sugaring requires a very specific temperature range. It dawned on me last year: I am investing all this time with my children in the sugar bush, yet in 20 years, when it is their turn to manage it, they may have to relocate. It may no longer be viable in our territory. This is something my generation, my family, will witness the demise of. This is profoundly sad and painful for us.
Individual choices aren’t going to get us out of this mess. We need a systemic change.
Practices like sugar bushing are not merely stories or teachings; they are integral to our system of governance, where children learn crucial life lessons. It is yet another piece of the puzzle we are attempting to reconstruct, which is on the verge of disappearing. This is unfolding at an incredibly rapid pace, dramatically altering our world. Indigenous peoples have always demonstrated adaptability and resilience. However, the sheer speed of this change—our stories, our culture, our oral traditions—cannot keep pace.
Naomi: One of the most challenging aspects, when one immerses oneself in climate science and grasps the limited time remaining to reverse course, is the stark realization that meaningful political action requires time. It cannot be rushed. A sense of urgency can even be counterproductive, potentially used to justify dismissing complex issues like colonialism, racism, and inequality. The environmental movement has a history of doing precisely this—using urgency to marginalize all concerns except immediate human survival. However, we are undeniably at a point where incremental steps are insufficient. A transformative leap is essential.
Leanne: This is one of the critical areas where the environmental movement must evolve. Colonial modes of thought have precipitated the climate crisis. We require a fundamentally new approach because the environmental movement has been actively combating climate change for over two decades, yet we are not witnessing the transformative change needed. I believe that groups like Defenders of the Land and the Indigenous Environmental Network hold crucial insights for the mainstream environmental movement because they are advocating for large-scale systemic transformation. If we, as peoples of the earth, are not willing to actively counter colonialism, we have no hope of surviving climate change. Individual choices alone will not extricate us from this predicament. Systemic change is imperative. Manulani Aluli Meyer, a Hawaiian scholar and activist, recently visited Peterborough and spoke about “punctuated transformation.” Punctuated transformation implies that we lack the time for gradual, incremental steps. Change must be far more rapid and profound. We must start dancing the steps of systemic change.
This is the source of hope and inspiration I draw from Idle No More. It originated with small groups of women gathering around kitchen tables, declaring, “We are not going to sit here and analyze and plan endlessly; we are going to act.” Then, three more women joined, then two more, and soon a larger collective of people, including men, mobilized and acted. There was no extensive planning, strategy sessions, or detailed analysis. People simply stood up and declared, “Enough is enough. I will use my voice, I will speak out, and I will see what unfolds.” Because it remained emergent, without centralized leadership or institutional structures, it became an incredibly potent force.
On Next Steps
Naomi: What do you foresee as the next phase of this movement?
Leanne: Within the movement itself, we are currently in a phase of internal growth and reflection. Extensive teaching is happening within our communities and through public teach-ins. A great deal of internal work, education, and strategic planning is underway. Significant nation-building efforts are in progress. The future trajectory of the movement is difficult to predict precisely because of its inherent diversity and decentralized nature. I envision a potential second phase that will be deeply rooted in the land—localized actions where people rise up to oppose large-scale industrial development projects that threaten our very existence as indigenous peoples—in regions like the Ring of Fire in Northern Ontario, the tar sands, fracking operations, mining projects, and deforestation. However, whereas past resistance may have focused on policy changes, environmental assessments, or legal challenges, future actions may increasingly involve direct action. Only time will reveal the precise course. We must continue dancing the steps of resistance, wherever they may lead.
Naomi: I want to revisit your earlier point about knowledge extraction. How do we navigate the inherent dangers of cultural appropriation while acknowledging the pressing need for the dominant culture to learn crucial lessons about reciprocity and interdependence? Some suggest that it is about everyone discovering their own “inner indigenousness.” Is this the answer, or is there a more effective way to recognize indigenous knowledge and leadership that avoids a superficial, “hit-and-run” approach?
Leanne: I believe Idle No More provides a valuable example. It demonstrated the potential for the environmental movement, social justice groups, and mainstream Canadians to stand in solidarity with us. A segment of Canadian society, once informed, showed a willingness to stand alongside us. This was both helpful and deeply inspiring. I believe it signifies a shift in mindset—moving away from perceiving indigenous peoples as mere resources to be extracted towards recognizing us as intelligent, articulate, relevant, living, breathing peoples and nations. I believe this requires individuals, communities, and broader society to cultivate fair, meaningful, and authentic relationships with us.
We possess profound knowledge about living sustainably within our territories in a way that respects separate jurisdictions and distinct nations coexisting within a shared territory. I believe mainstream Canadian society bears a responsibility to find pathways to live more sustainably, to liberate themselves from extractivist thinking. They must undertake their own work and assume responsibility for learning how to live responsibly and be accountable to the next seven generations. This shift in consciousness and action is the responsibility of Canadian society. Our responsibility is to continue reclaiming our knowledge, revitalizing our practices, recovering our stories and philosophies, and rebuilding our nations from within. If each group fulfills its respective responsibilities in a conscientious manner, we can move beyond these limiting paradigms. We must start dancing the steps of respectful relationship and shared responsibility.
Numerous opportunities exist for Canadians, particularly in urban centers, to build relationships with indigenous peoples. Now more than ever, avenues for learning are expanding. The past decade has witnessed an explosion of indigenous writing and creative expression. This underscores the importance of my presence here today—these conversations provide pathways to transcend existing limitations, to glimpse those sparks of insight, those threads of possibility that, when nurtured, can grow into transformative change.
Idle No More is a shift in mindset to seeing us as intelligent, articulate, relevant, living, breathing peoples and nations.
Naomi: Could you elaborate on the title of your book, Dancing On Our Turtle’s Back, and its significance in this current moment?
Leanne: I have listened to Elder Edna Manitowabi recount one of our creation stories, involving a muskrat and a turtle, for many years. In this story, an environmental crisis has unfolded. Within Anishinaabeg cosmology, we understand that this is not the First World; perhaps it is the Fourth World we currently inhabit. Whenever imbalance arises and is not addressed, crisis inevitably ensues. In this particular instance, a great flood engulfed the entire world. Nanabush, one of our sacred beings, becomes stranded on a log with numerous other animals, adrift in a vast ocean with no land in sight. This imagery resonates deeply with our current situation. I feel as though we are on a crowded log; the world my ancestors knew has vanished, and my community and I must devise a solution, even as we grapple with feelings of overwhelm and unease. It is an intensely challenging situation, and no one possesses a clear path forward, no one knows how to create a new world.
Why Canada’s Indigenous Uprising Is About All of Us
When a new law paved the way for tar sands pipelines and other fossil fuel development on native lands, four women swore to be “idle no more.” The idea took off.
The animals take turns diving down into the depths, searching for even a small pawful of dirt or earth to initiate the creation of a new world. The strongest animals go first, but they return empty-handed. The smaller animals then attempt the task. Finally, Muskrat succeeds, bringing a pawful of dirt to the surface. Turtle volunteers to have the earth placed upon her back. Nanibush offers prayers and breathes life into the earth. All the animals then begin to sing and dance in a circle on Turtle’s back. As they dance, Turtle’s back expands, growing larger and larger until it transforms into the world we know today. This is why Anishinaabeg people call North America Mikinakong—the place of the turtle.
When Edna shares this story, she emphasizes that we are all like Muskrat, each bearing the responsibility to leave the perceived safety of the log and dive into the depths, no matter how daunting, to search for that essential earth. This was profoundly transformative for me. We cannot passively wait for someone else to devise a solution. The key to creating a better future lies in everyone actively engaging their own unique gifts and embodying this movement, embodying this transformation. We are all called to dancing the creation of a new world.
This story has profoundly shaped my life and holds immense relevance in the context of climate change, indigenous resurgence, and the revitalization of the Anishinaabeg Nation. Therefore, when people began round dancing the circle across Turtle’s back in December and January, it filled me with immense joy. Witnessing the transformative nature of those actions reinforced my belief that embodiment is crucial—we must embody the transformation we seek.
Naomi: What emotions did you experience as this unfolded?
Leanne: Love. On an emotional, physical, and spiritual level—pure love. Yes, it was love. An intimate, profound love. Like the love I feel for my children or for the land. It was that kind of authentic, deep-seated love, not a fleeting, romanticized notion. It was a grounded love.
Naomi: And it can be felt even within a shopping mall.
Leanne: Even in a shopping mall. And how truly remarkable is that?
