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The Nyishi Fly on the Hornbills’ Wings

Removed from their lands by a tiger conservation project, Indigenous villagers in Northeast India reconnect with their forest home through hornbill conservation. WORDS AND IMAGES Upayan Chatterjee  . “If we choose to walk into a forest where a tiger lives, we are taking a chance.” Searching online for images captioned with this famous Peter Benchley

Wellsprings of Territories of Life

Gaoli pastoralists in central India assert their traditional natural resource governance against fortress conservation. Ajinkya Shahane, Pandhari Hekade, Kanna K. Siripurapu, and Prafulla Kalokar   The Melghat region of the Satpura Range in central India is renowned for its lush green forests, its tigers, and the Korku Indigenous tribe, who once lived in the forest

We Are Wildlife; Wildlife Is Us

Indigenous Peoples have a right to draw resources from the local environment and an obligation to follow traditional practices to protect it. WORDS Saw Moe Aung | IMAGES Karen Environmental and Social Action Network   Among the many crises that keep unfolding around the world, the climate crisis is one of the main global concerns.

Where Elephants Drink: Water Bodies and Human–Elephant Coexistence

Water patterns and an ancient human–elephant social contract hold important lessons for eco-justice. WORDS AND IMAGES Elizabeth Oriel     A brief walk by three water bodies in rural southern Sri Lanka is a tour through history and through different ways of relating to landscapes and to other beings. Amid teak and jackfruit trees sits

Hunting with Amnesia: Remembering Our Responsibilities to Indigenous Lands

Indigenous cultures understand wildlife as fellow nations whose actions enable or curtail human aspirations. Jay Cooney and Brandon Harrell   The notion of extending rights beyond humanity is hardly new, and from the beginning the act entangled us in responsibilities. In Becoming Kin, Ojibwe writer Patty Krawec describes the Anishinaabe myth of a flood unleashed upon

Reclamation

Sand sculpture by Roxanne Swentzell

Page Lambert They say the traffic in London has killed the song of the nightingale. When they serenade each other, they sound more like the honking of horns, the squealing of brakes, and so the nests lie empty. Yet a coyote sought shelter in a Chicago Starbuck’s last month, the closest thing to a cave