When describing her understanding of Tlingit spatial perception, anthropologist Julie Cruikshank makes distinction between place, space and time. Kitty Smith, one of her collaborators, was quoted saying, “My roots grow in jackpine roots! I’m born here. I branch here,” when asserting her connections to a place. During site visits, another indigenous woman, Annie Ned, would often comment, “You don’t know this place, so I’m going to sing it for you.” According to Cruikshank, “all these women took for granted that it is largely impossible to speak about past social relationships among people without reference to place, or to speak of place without explaining how people who lived there were connected. As they reached their mid-eighties, each expressed concerns about difficulty remembering the names of once familiar places and the need to revisit them in order to recall names and associated stories and songs.”
In an open letter by Eve Tuck, a Native Alaskan, titled Suspending Damage: A Letter to Communities, the author implores readers to situate themselves within our current educational infrastructure to better acknowledge the way that research can disadvantage already marginalized communities. There is a tendency, she argues, to document pain as a way of leveraging reparation. She states simply, “We can insist that research in our communities, whether participatory or not, does not fetishize damage but, rather, celebrates our survivance” (422). Ultimately, Tuck asks us to decentralize academics from “damage-centered research,” focusing instead on desire. This could in turn allow for communities to write their own narratives, rather than dwell on the negativity of former oppression. Future is not defined by scarification, instead built successfully upon healing. She further emphasizes the role of the individual in combating narratives of homogenization and collectively assumed knowledge. Narrative often strives for simplicity, but instead as researchers and designers we must embrace multiplicity.
Indigenous cultures have long-standing relationships with the land and possess knowledge that can inform sustainable design practices. To foster sustained climate adaptation, it is crucial to acknowledge the role of land-based and vernacular architectural practices and their intersection with the validation of indigenous knowledge. Wisdom from local craftspeople possesses a wealth of building techniques that have evolved over generations to adapt to local climates, resources, and cultural values. By incorporating traditional practices into the contemporary architectural discourse, we can find valuable insights into sustainable and regenerative approaches to design and construction. In general, working within communities where the researcher or artist is an outsider, cultural sensitivity and empathy are paramount; Mutual understanding, shared interest. This is not an extractive process, instead it centers listening to and validating formerly overlooked ideologies that we now recognize as modern and innovative. Architects have the ability and responsibility to develop design approaches that are more attuned to local ecosystems and respect cultural diversity. Dismantling systems of oppression with deep empathy and active listening, we can collectively achieve a just transition in the climate crisis that simultaneously promotes indigenous sovereignty and decolonization.
The Climigrant’s Sketchbook Initiative has worked directly on projects with the aim of preserving cultural heritage and engaging with local communities to ensure the longevity and relevance of these design practices. This approach not only ensures ecological sustainability but also respects and honors indigenous cultures and their ways of knowing. By examining and learning from these vernacular practices, designers can create more contextually appropriate and environmentally responsible solutions.