Imagine if you live at the center of a global conservation spotlight,
but you have no voice.
Your aspirations are not valid,
and your knowledge does not count.
Sadly, this happens very often in local communities of key ecosystems
around the world.
In conservation, my field of work,
I call it community-based conservation washing,
which is basically when conservation organizations
claim to work for communities
only to inform and impose pre-designed conservation plans
instead of including them,
misguiding media and funding sources.
Think of greenwashing, and then apply it to conservation.
Hopefully we can all agree that approach is not right,
and it needs to be tackled.
And how about we start
by twisting classic community-based conservation questions upside down?
Say, instead of wondering how to bring science
and policy to communities,
how about we find a way to bring the voice
and centenary knowledge of communities to research and policy making?
But see, the answer to such questions is never a one-size-fits-all solution,
because it needs to be tailored to the unique environmental,
social and economic realities of each community.
Let me give you some context.
I get to work in one of the most incredible wetland systems on Earth.
The sources of the Kavango Zambezi Transfrontier Conservation area,
KAZA for short.
But now KAZA spreads through five countries
and is home to iconic African wildlife,
incredible landscapes, like the Okavango Delta,
and up to 2.5 million people.
Its sources in eastern Angola are the heart, the lungs
and the backbone of the entire KAZA,
yet they’re unprotected.
In one of the many research trips I've done to the area,
I met Mama Lerógio,
the oldest lady of a Luchaze village,
and she was genuinely surprised to still see me alive.
She told me the story of the Mukissi,
this mythical, giant snake-like creature
that protects the rivers and thus life.
And she told me that if the Mukissi spared me, my life,
after spending four months in dugout canoes
from the sources to the Okavango delta in Botswana,
it meant it trusted me.
And if it did, so could they, the Luchaze people.
But see, most Luchaze children do not know of the Mukissi
or any other local tale.
And that is because the 40-plus year-long war they have endured
has created a gap in storytelling
and has stripped away ownership of their heritage.
So now the ancient wisdom,
which is key to stewardship,
is locked in the older, disappearing generations.
And so we started this journey to bring back these stories
as an effort to restore pride and ownership.
Oral storytelling has always played a fundamental role,
not only in African culture but in conservation efforts, too.
We also do mapping exercises
to help villagers visualize the influence and impact not only of their land,
but also of their daily actions beyond their geographic reach.
To give them a sense of importance
to counteract how they felt abandoned all these years.
And we also help give them back the power of decision
by instigating curiosity
on alternative livelihoods that they can trial on.
All of this in an effort to bring back ownership of their heritage
and make them stewards of their own land
and also of their own future.
But see, through the years,
that trust that I've mentioned before, grew stronger.
So now they scold me, they teach, they feed, they protect me,
they tell me secrets of their traditions.
Children tease me and call me names,
but I will never be one of them.
And thus they will never fully, truly trust me.
But that is the point of this whole talk.
They're not supposed to trust me, you
or anyone else coming in with a grand plan to save the world.
They're supposed to trust themselves.
Real community-based conservation
goes much beyond ensuring an elder has a ceremonial seat at the table
and is interviewed.
It fosters fierce independence, doesn't further dependency.
Lasting conservation comes from within.
From believing, from belonging, from dreaming.
So whether you are a conservationist yourself
or a donor or a media outlet,
or maybe just plain curious,
let's be vessels for that,
for stewardship, for ownership,
for pride.
Don’t just tick the boxes.
Ask the difficult questions.
And always wonder:
Are we working for communities
or with communities?
Thank you.
(Applause)