The idea that nature can offer solutions to our problems isn’t exactly new. Today, we call them “nature-based solutions” or refer to “ecosystem services”, but for centuries — even millennia — many communities have lived, farmed, and built in ways that reflect this logic.
The theory is well known: we must, urgently, reduce our reliance on fossil fuels. A transition to renewable energy and a reduction in overall consumption are essential pieces of this shift. And yet, many barriers persist.
Each year, one third of the food produced in the world is wasted. Meanwhile, alarming figures keep piling up: biodiversity loss, emissions from the agri-food system, and an ever so slightly earlier “Overshoot Day” —the calendar day when humanity officially starts living beyond the Earth’s ecological capacity to regenerate for that year.
Environmental law and Indigenous peoples’ relationship with the world sometimes – fortunately – have more in common than one might expect. “We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children,” says a proverb that reflects well the worldview of many Indigenous traditions, where cooperation and trust between generations and within ecosystems are key to their preservation.
Les villes sont souvent représentées en vue aérienne — à vol d’oiseau — sur les cartes, mais à quoi ressemblerait en fait l'urbanisme vu par les oiseaux ? La façon dont nous concevons les villes en dit long sur ce (et ceux) que nous valorisons, et les oiseaux sont largement négligés dans l'urbanisme traditionnel: imaginez-vous être un pigeon au milieu de déserts de béton, remplis de verre (trompeur) et de bruit.
