Lessons in Connection from the R.U.N. in Unity Conference

It has been a few weeks since Emily and I attended the Rise Up Northwest In Unity conference in Portland. The 2-day event was packed with incredible panelists representing Indigenous interests in thriving Columbia Basin salmon, orcas, free-flowing rivers, and powerful reminders that the U.S. government is falling short on its agreements to honor Indigenous lifeways by, among other things, not maintaining healthy salmon populations for tribal fishing rights. The R.U.N. in Unity Convening is hosted by tribes of the Columbia Basin - this year led by the Nez Perce and the Columbia and Snake River Campaign. It was an assembly of Northwest partners and allies connecting and unifying voices to develop and implement best practices for the protection and preservation of water, orcas, and salmon in the Northwest.

The event prioritized education, cultural awareness, the exchange of ideas, inspiration, and powerful stories surrounding the current needs of water, orca, and salmon. The conference was a profound reminder that everything is inextricably interconnected, a concept that has always felt like a special kind of magic to me.

As I reflect on my notes from the two days, I see a story of my experience as a person who very much wants to communicate, in the most compelling way possible, the vital importance of protecting our environment. And when I say “ours,” I mean ours as in “a part of us,” something we belong to and are shaped by, not something we’re separate from or above. 

One of the things that resonated most with me was the way the panelists spoke about the First Foods and their relationship to them. Carla Timentwa, Nimiipuu elder and Nez Perce Wallowa Homeland Executive Committee member, said while talking about a family member, “He was lonesome for the foods.” Loneliness is a feeling we can all relate to, which carries heavy resonance. To hear this kind of language used to illustrate the relationship between human and food source describes an intimate dynamic. Chairman Shannon Wheeler, who serves on the Nez Perce Tribal Executive Committee, also said that “we are no different from our foods. When we realize that, we will be able to speak the truth.” These messages set the tone for the days that followed and stayed with me as I reflected on my own relationship to place and belonging.

I’ve been reading “The Light Eaters” by Zoe Schlanger, and in it, she mentions that the concept of an ecosystem was introduced in 1935 by a British ecologist named Arthur Tansley. Maybe when this term first “dropped,” it provided a scientific way to “legitimize” something that had always been understood through instinct and cultural storytelling: that everything in the natural world is interdependent.

I think that without cultural stories guiding us to care for our environment, many of us, especially in Western culture, can be slow to understand the “value” of nature. Recently, I watched an OPB special on the disappearance of the last salt marshes in the US (as in the complete and total disappearance of salt marshes as an ecosystem in this country). When the program cautioned that without intervention, there will be no more salt marshes in 100 years, the person next to me said, “Well. We’ll be dead in 100 years.” This perspective is devastating to me, and it underscores why storytelling, connection, and cultural teachings matter so much.

Carla also said, “Leadership is standing together. Be the example. Be the heart. Without this, the teachings fall flat”. The panelists at this conference all embodied this idea, and their presence made these teachings feel alive and grounded.

Panelist Molli Myers has been involved in efforts to remove the Klamath River dams for over 20 years. She remembers the devastation of the 2002 Klamath fish kill, the largest adult fish kill in United States history, where an estimated 34,000 to 70,000 adult fish died because of low flows and high temperatures in the water around the dams. She lives on the Klamath, and after so many years of dedication, she is now watching the river come back to life after the removal of four of the dams last year. Chairman Wheeler asked her a beautiful question: “What does the river look like, smell like, and feel like now?” Her answer exemplified and reiterated the depth of human connection to place.

Molli talked about the smell first, which is the sense most strongly connected to memory. She said the sediment that first came through after dam removal was tough to smell, but now she says you can smell that the river is healing. Scientists say it will take time before the data shows the river is truly bouncing back, but as Molli noted, you could feel the shift almost immediately. People with a relationship to the river know. They can feel it. They can smell it. Again, connection is deeply important. 

The last panel that I attended was the panel of youth leaders. One of these incredible teens said that they (the indigenous youth) know what they’re talking about and that we should trust their connection to the land. “What matters to us is true, and it is part of our tradition. We lose our identity when we lose salmon.” 

There are so many angles to illustrate why healthy and plentiful salmon matter. Salmon are culturally and spiritually essential. Pacific Northwest Tribes are salmon people. Salmon are present for celebrations of life, death, and everything in between. Salmon are a keystone species, like the keystone in an arch. Without them, we have structural collapse. This conference heavily emphasized connectivity, something we center in our work at GHCC. 

Another powerful presenter was Deborah Giles, lead killer whale scientist with the SeaDoc Society. Giles shared an update on the Southern Resident Orcas. It is devastating to be reminded that there are only 73 remaining. The three main threats to their well-being are vessel noise, toxicants in the water, and a lack of Chinook salmon. The Southern Resident orcas are obligate Chinook salmon eaters, and the data show that one-third of them are in poor body condition. Because they cooperatively share food, even when the salmon are too few and too small, they still share. If salmon disappear, the orcas do too. 

Seattle Times writer Lynda Mapes added a powerful ecological connectivity lens by talking about how salmon carry marine nutrients upriver. Their bodies feed the forest, something you can see in satellite images and in core samples from the trees. Predators drag salmon carcasses 15 kilometers inland to feast on them, and the forest grows stronger because of it. If you want to learn more about this, pick up her book “Dispatches from the Salmon Forest.”

The conference was attended by scientists, youth leaders, and Indigenous, government, and NGO leaders with lifetimes of experience dedicated to protecting salmon and rivers. But there were just as many storytellers, writers, filmmakers, and concerned citizens in attendance. This broad-ranging group reminded me that this work happens on many fronts, and all of them matter.

I have dreamed of a parallel life doing something like Deborah Giles, a life’s work of collected data and footage, and experience protecting our orca friends. But after this conference, I feel deeply connected to the importance of storytelling at this vital point in time for our wild places and the creatures inhabiting them.

Molli shared that for non-Native allies, the most important thing we can do is support Indigenous-led conservation. It is not about the individual; it is about all of us. The water connects us. She said sometimes it is not safe for Indigenous people to fight this fight and that we need to show up in support. As a queer person, I understand this in my own way. Being a good ally means showing up ready to listen and support. Listen to the people who are in need, listen to the fish, the whales, and the rivers. We are fighting to protect salmon, but as Molli said, the salmon are fighting for us. They are fighting like hell.

Something Carla said in a short documentary about tribal efforts to protect the Pacific lamprey really struck me. She asked several youths, “What do we do when one of our community members needs support?” One of the teens replied, “We help them.” Right now, our non-human community members need our support to tip the scales in favor of the health of our entire ecosystem. Columbia Basin salmon are enfeebled by dams, which create a warm water pond-fish paradise. To add insult to injury, there are thriving populations of introduced fish - shad and walleye which feed on juvenile salmon. The salmon need us to step up for them, and they, in turn, will replenish the system with vital nutrients and continue to provide for Columbia Basin tribe’s way of life. As parts of this ecosystem, we are not above any piece of it. When part of the system is sick or in need of support, we show up. We don’t need heroes in this fight; we need to listen and do what needs to be done for our collective well-being and the well-being of the ecosystems we belong to. 

If salmon have what they need, free-flowing rivers and unimpeded passage, they will do the rest. We just have to take what we’ve learned and put it into action. So much life in the Pacific Northwest depends on thriving salmon. We need to get out of the way and let the rivers heal.