By Elizabeth A. Sumida Huaman and Stephen J. Smith
In 1999, Māori scholar, Linda T. Smith, challenged what she called the “mystical, misty-eyed discourse” surrounding the way that Indigenous relationships with land are often characterized. She argued that while knowledge of land was spiritual, it was also empirical: “I believe that our survival as peoples has come from our knowledge of our contexts, our environment, not from some active beneficence of our Earth Mother. We had to know to survive…We still have to do these things” (pp. 12– 13, our emphasis).
We are a biologist (Smith) and Indigenous Studies researcher (Sumida Huaman) whose environmental work is guided by Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities1 and institutions in North and South America. Our research strives to contribute data to Indigenous self-determination, and alongside community members, we use science and educational research towards protection of our lands. We believe that Indigenous-directed scientific efforts demonstrate the vitality of Indigenous Nations as key environmental leaders and contributors, yet Indigenous peoples are not guaranteed opportunities to contribute meaningfully to environmental studies, even on their own lands. Thus, underlying our work is the need to rectify Tribal peoples’ lack of access to STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics), including learning and training, tools and resources, and leadership, which we see as necessary in Tribal and Indigenous efforts to preserve, protect, and defend land and life today.
Significance of Indigenous Peoples in STEM
Over recent decades, educators have pursued solutions to STEM inequities for Indigenous peoples, and the resulting approaches depend on where interventions are directed. Our approach includes Tribal and Indigenous graduate students, including Tribal College and University students and STEM latecomers who did not have robust learning experiences as children but who seek them as older students. In our experience, Tribal and Indigenous adults are important connectors to past generations and influencers for current ones.
However, in the U.S. alone in 2022, American Indians and Alaska Natives earned 0.17% of STEM master’s degrees and 0.13% of STEM doctoral degrees, while white and international students earned 84% and 89%, respectively, of all STEM graduate degrees. Over the last decade, while other racialized groups in the U.S. show increased STEM graduate degree numbers, the total number American Indian and Alaska Native (and Pacific Islander)—extremely small to begin with—has declined. For example, in 2012, American Indians and Alaska Natives earned 59 STEM doctoral degrees, and in 2022, they earned 39 (see National Center for Education Statistics, 2023).
Behind these numbers are stories of what is lost or gained when Tribal Nation and Indigenous students lead environmental solutions for their own and other communities. As global environmental shift accelerates, the stakes are higher for Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities racing to understand what is happening while developing policy, curbing local impacts, and amassing evidence to effectively participate in environmental debates and advocacy.
Universities are incredible spaces of learning where students gain knowledge and tools to solve environmental, social, health, and other problems. However, they have also been historically very difficult for Tribal and Indigenous students to access, resulting in misses for our lands and peoples, which we feel intimately: While we work in the university, we are from families and communities that safeguard the places we call home but who need support to continue doing so. Ongoing marginalization is a missed opportunity for broader impact: Indigenous scientists with strong connections to their communities see problems differently because they know their lands very well. They strive to care for those places long after university research projects and federal funding end.
Indigenous Scientific Development and Violence by Reduction
We currently collaborate on research planning with the American Indian Higher Education Consortium (AIHEC), which represents the 36 Tribal Colleges in the U.S. While the history of higher education writ large reveals failures to Tribal Nations, from land grabs to ethical research violations, what we do next together is crucial, especially as Indigenous relationships with land are increasingly challenged by contamination, extraction, and development.
We assert that as First Peoples and original rights-holders, Tribal Nations have the educational right to learn about these problems and how to counter them through science. We are also aware that education at all levels stands as an untrustworthy institution: Indigenous peoples across the Americas have experienced the weaponization of schooling by state, secular, and private agencies. However, over the last 50 years, Indigenous-led education as an outcome of Indigenous self-determination has gained traction across the Americas. In other words, alternative ways to do education can lead to building a critical mass of conscientious Indigenous and Tribal Nation scientists, including those who wish to serve our homelands. Yet the road to authentically reaching this goal, together, requires institutional introspection—identifying the ways that institutions and states benefit from Indigenous lands, confronting dominant resistance to Indigenous self-determination, and examining institutional norms that perpetuate structural violence.
Our aim is not to paint universities broadly as structurally violent entities. Universities do many good things with Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities, but we also wish for institutional stakeholders to understand that the scarcity of Tribal Nation scientists is not an Indigenous capabilities or preparation-only concern but an outcome of violence. Salmi’s (2000) typology of violence describes violence as direct and indirect. Although Indigenous communities and Tribal Nations have faced well-documented direct violence (deliberate injury to the integrity of human life), we build our educational argument from indirect violence (indirect violation of the right to survival), including violence by omission (lack of protection against poverty, hunger, disease, accidents, and natural catastrophes) and mediated violence (harmful violations to the environment making conditions for human life extremely difficult). We draw from Salmi’s (2000) definition of repressive violence—deprivation of fundamental rights (i.e., civil, political, and social)—and alienating violence, deprivation of higher rights that produce racism, ostracism, cultural repression, and living in fear. To this typology, we add violence by reduction and diminishment. The reality of Indigenous peoples is the cyclical encounter with direct and indirect violence. Within this cycle, educational access is not a privilege; it is the right to gain the tools to exit it. Thus, denial of the possibility to access the skills that scientific training offers forecloses Indigenous abilities to fully respond to environmental threats, mitigate damage and heal from it, and facilitate the caring and resilience of their own lands and more than human relations. Violence by reduction and diminishment is the denial of the skills and knowledges required by Indigenous peoples to craft healthy ecological futures.
Raiding Together
Of the educational needs identified by Tribal Nation and Indigenous leadership is capacity to lead care of land (stewarding minerals, trees, water, soil, plants, animals, birds, insects, air, etc.) and care of people. Higher education is a powerful way to meet these needs but is seen as a privilege or luxury (as opposed to the right to elementary education). However, when Tribal Nation and Indigenous community members make it into STEM, they do so for reasons that challenge their presence in universities as individual beneficiaries of privilege. Tribal and Indigenous students raised on their lands or closely connected through land-based activities have ongoing commitments to family, community, Nation, and land. Apache scholar Philip Stevens links these commitments to higher education through “academic raiding,” or how Tribal and Indigenous students make sense “of the world around them with the intent of bringing it [knowledge from elsewhere] home” (Anthony-Stevens et al., 2017, p. 26). Effective student advocacy means learning their stories over time, respecting their raiding, and appreciating to whom and why their presence in STEM and university programs matters. Such relationships are not genuine if adopted to diversify university-based research, perform goodwill, or assuage individual or institutional guilt. Allies who sympathize with Tribal and Indigenous long-term goals will instead seek to understand students’ mental models of what it means to go home, to places that are complex but also unique sites of regeneration and restoration. Therefore, we encourage educators to co-develop with their students a shared baseline regarding land and Tribal values that is holistic and inclusive, with the land itself—perhaps an ethic, set of principles, or key commitments.
However, intentions alone will be insufficient. At many universities, thoughtful people work to learn better ways of serving Tribes. But as federal policies and interests shift, and in moments of duress, we ask if the good people will preserve and grow nascent relationships with Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities, even as they seek protection for themselves and their work. Without a shared baseline, answers cannot be dialogic, and university allies and Tribes risk mutual isolation and conditional good intentions rather than rooted ones. From our point of view, Indigenous appeals to the university for visibility, representation, or rights are not effective. Tribal and Indigenous researchers cannot be dependent on others to save or stand by us, so we stay inward with Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities and our students, we seek knowledge-based alternatives that celebrate agency and resourcefulness, and we cautiously open our hearts to allies.
We share our commitment to a unified baseline of valuing Tribal lands and all that they touch as a call to collective learning and building a global community of Tribal Nation and Indigenous advocates in restrictive and abundant times. Education at its best is by nature reflexive and limber. As its processes and structures are tested, Tribal Nation and Indigenous would-be scientists in different learning spaces are envisioning healthy environmental futures for their lands and people, and university STEM faculty and leaders consider the future of science. Both need each other, and both are strongest together.
Note: This article is based on a joint talk that was provided for the “Repurposing Universities for the Climate & Nature Emergency” (February 2025), hosted by the UBC Faculty of Education Professor Climate Complexity and Coloniality. We offer special thanks to Dr. Sharon Stein for the opportunity to share our work, and we are deeply grateful to the American Indian Higher Education Consortium, the Spencer Foundation, and to colleagues in the College of Food, Agricultural and Natural Resource Sciences, College of Science & Engineering, College of Biological Sciences, College of Liberal Arts, and College of Education and Human Development at the University of Minnesota.
1 We keep Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities distinct throughout this article. Tribal Nations and Tribal Nation students refer to U.S. federal government treaty-based relationships with federally-recognized Tribes. Descriptors like “Indigenous communities” and “Indigenous students” constitute a very broad way of speaking about Indigenous and autochthonous peoples worldwide, including Tribal Nations and their members and others who are explicitly recognized by their national governments as Indigenous. However, “Indigenous” in this article is a convenient paraphrasing for discussing non-Tribal Nation Indigenous peoples.
REFERENCES
Anthony-Stevens, V., Stevens, P., & Nicholas, S. (2017). Raiding and alliances: Indigenous educational sovereignty as social justice. Journal of Critical Thought and Praxis, 6(1).
Salmi, J. (2000). Violence, democracy and education: An analytical framework. LCSHD Paper, 56.
Smith, L.T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples, Second Edition. Zed Books.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Elizabeth A. Sumida Huaman is Wanka/Quechua from the Mantaro Valley, Peru. She is Professor in the College of Education of Human Development and Chair of the Department of American Indian Studies at the University of Minnesota. She conducts critical and participatory Indigenous land-based studies with Indigenous communities towards environmental learning interventions. Her recent projects include co-developing ethical guidelines for weather systems research with agrarian communities and documenting water stories and networks across the Andes in Peru and Ecuador.
Stephen J. Smith was raised on the Leech Lake Reservation and is an enrolled citizen of the White Earth Tribal Nation. He was a lab scientist for Minnesota Chippewas Tribe, later leading the lab, before teaching STEM courses at the Leech Lake Tribal College. He is currently completing a Ph.D. in Conservation Biology at the University of Minnesota. He conducts ecological studies with Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities and specializes in limnology and aquatic invasive plants. His current fieldwork addresses how the invasive Starry Stonewort (Nitellopsis obtusa) competes with the native grass and sacred food to the Ojibwe or Manoomin (Zizania palustrus) under rapidly changing weather systems.
