Learning an Indigenous language could save us from catastrophic climate change.
The world will soon cross a dangerous climate change threshold. That’s according to a new report from the United Nations. Maybe the way out of this mess is to teach our children an Indigenous language.
Language is not just a tool for communication; it influences how we see the world. European languages, like English and French, rely on nouns. They see the world as static, separate objects. But many Indigenous languages, like Mi’kmaq, rely on verbs. They look at the world through actions and relationships.
In English, we say “the river flows.” In French, “la rivière coule.” Both languages separate the physical object, the river, from its movement. But in Mi’kmaq, a river is not a static noun. The single verb wantaqpegitg means “it is a calm flowing current.” The water, its stillness, and its motion are contained in the word. The landscape is not a collection of things; it is a series of ongoing events.
This difference changes our relationship with the environment. Languages based on nouns objectify nature. Europeans see trees, land, and water as inanimate objects that can be owned and exploited. Because a noun is a product, the land becomes a resource.
Indigenous worldviews, built on verbs, see a living network of relationships. You cannot easily own an action. You can only participate in it. Humans are not masters over nature; we are part of an ongoing, living process.
This relational worldview even shapes how people interact. In English, “welcome” is a polite greeting. In Mi’kmaq, the word is Pjila’si. It loosely translates to: “Come in, sit down, there is space for you here.” When your language sees the whole world as alive, welcoming a guest means inviting them into a living circle.
For all my followers here, I would like to say Pjila’si.
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