After Tokitae, a beloved orca at the Miami Seaquarium, died in 2023—just as caregivers were preparing to return her to her natal waters near Puget Sound—a wave of outlets published stories about orca conservation, including efforts by the Lummi Nation, an Indigenous group in the Pacific Northwest.
B. “Toastie” Oaster, an Indigenous-affairs reporter at High Country News and a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, read in one feature that members of the Lummi Nation consider orcas to be “sacred relatives of their tribe.” The phrasing stuck out to Oaster like a sore thumb: “Orcas are scientifically verified as being our relatives,” they say. “Why word that in a way that’s making it this mystical Indian thing?”
For Oaster, the phrase exemplified how non-Indigenous writers can—through poor framing or word choices—discount Indigenous knowledge and cast Indigenous voices in their articles as “mystical” or “beautiful” others, there to provide color but not to impart any serious knowledge or authority to a story.
Indigenous science—which can be briefly defined as knowledge gathered systematically by Indigenous peoples and shared across generations—is deeply interwoven with ecology, astronomy, and medicine, among other fields often deemed “Western” science. Yet journalists, alongside mainstream scientists, have not historically recognized the value and importance of Indigenous expertise.
“I think a lot of the specifics of [Indigenous science] are not really talked about,” says Joseph Lee, a New York–based freelance Aquinnah Wampanoag writer who covers climate science. For example, media coverage in 2021 hailed the discovery of more-than-20,000-year-old human footprints in New Mexico as new evidence of the onset of human activity in the Americas, when in fact Indigenous groups have long maintained an even earlier arrival of their ancestors.
That said, recognition of Indigenous expertise within Western science is growing. In 2023, the National Science Foundation gave a $30 million grant to fund the Center for Braiding Indigenous Knowledges and Science. Collaborations between Indigenous experts and scientists have become more common, and historical wrongs to the Indigenous community have entered the conversation at scientific institutions. (Though progress to right these wrongs remains slow.)
Journalism is shifting, too. Climate journalism, in particular, Lee says, is highlighting more Indigenous knowledge in the context of solutions. Grist, High Country News, and The Texas Observer have established Indigenous-affairs reporters on their rosters. “I really feel like this time it is sticking, especially with how many Indigenous outlets there are and Indigenous desks popping up,” says Indigenous freelance science writer Lyric Aquino, who descends from the Pueblos of Ohkay Owingeh and Isleta with Jicarilla Apache ancestry.
The outcome of this work is stories that stand to deepen science, benefit the Indigenous communities they draw from, and expand a narrow definition of what science is, what it can be, and how it’s done. It’s also just good journalism to bring to light all the groups that contribute to science, whether they’re entrenched in the Western scientific tradition or not.
To report on Indigenous science accurately and fairly, however, journalists have to take a thoughtful approach. That includes learning when to weave Indigenous science into their stories, how to find Indigenous voices with relevant expertise, how to verify information gathered in different ways, and how to frame stories that mix both Indigenous and Western science.
Knowing When to Feature Indigenous Science
Sometimes it’s obvious when a reporter should feature Indigenous science, such as when they’re writing about Indigenous-led research, or co-creation efforts that incorporate both Indigenous and Western practices. Journalists can find interesting Indigenous science to cover by following the work of Indigenous scholarly organizations, tribal colleges and universities, and Indigenous-led nonprofits and advocacy groups, such as those guiding land management or combatting climate change. There are also science initiatives that work to connect Indigenous people with scientific knowledge from their communities.
As with many story ideas, journalists can find those centering Indigenous science on social media. “I am a social media scourer,” says Aquino, who pays attention to Indigenous people speaking up about science issues in their communities. Aquino says she also uses Facebook to find events she can attend to learn more about science-related topics important to Indigenous groups.
Including Indigenous sources who are experts in both Western and Indigenous science (sometimes called “two-eyed seeing”) can help synthesize those perspectives in your piece.
Other stories might stem from Western research but still intersect with Indigenous expertise—whether or not scientists explicitly acknowledge it. To figure this out, reporters have to look carefully at the research they’re covering, says Andrew Curry, a Berlin-based freelance journalist, who often writes about archaeological research on ancient human histories. “Are there Indigenous co-authors on the paper?” Curry says he asks himself. He might also ask researchers whether their work used resources or occurred on land with Indigenous roots. “Did [anyone] clearly make an effort to include a Native perspective if they’re doing work in that area?”
For example, when reporting a 2023 Science story about the curly-haired “woolly dog”—a breed that was integral to the culture of many Coast Salish nations in the Pacific Northwest before it went extinct—Curry learned that researchers wove together genomic research with oral histories from Coast Salish knowledge keepers to reconstruct the breed’s history. So, he made sure to seek the perspectives of Coast Salish sources for his story, including those who weren’t contributors on the paper.
When considering incorporating Indigenous expertise in a story, be careful not to assume that Indigenous knowledge is always available for public consumption. “Presuming a right to access knowledge” held by Indigenous peoples is not only disrespectful, but it can also open the door to harm, says Krystal Tsosie, co-founder of the Native BioData Consortium, an Indigenous organization that preserves data sovereignty, or the right for Indigenous people to control how their data is gathered, owned, and used. Indigenous science shared without consent can easily be misappropriated or be used to fuel biopiracy, in which Western researchers profit from patenting Indigenous knowledge.
Communicate with the holders of Indigenous knowledge early on to gauge whether it’s something they want shared outside their community, says Tsosie, who is a member of the Navajo Nation (Diné). And, in doing so, be explicit about how and when you intend to publish that knowledge. “Never assume that just because [consent] is given at a certain point, that that certain point allows ongoing use of that information,” says Barry Hunter, a descendant from the Djabugay-speaking people of the Cairns hinterland in Australia and CEO of the North Australian Indigenous Land and Sea Management Alliance (NAILSMA). That said, these stipulations shouldn’t cause journalists to shy away from incorporating Indigenous science in their work—quite the opposite. Sharing Indigenous knowledge, with permission, highlights important, often overlooked, contributions to science.
Sourcing Indigenous Expertise
Journalists in search of Indigenous experts need to recognize upfront that not all tribes are the same, and not all Indigenous people share the same knowledge. There are thousands of unique knowledge traditions spanning multiple fields, including agriculture, astronomy, genomics, and pharmacy. Take time to familiarize yourself with different tribes that hold knowledge in the area you’re covering. Look through their websites and published materials to make sure you’re reaching out to sources with the right expertise.
Even within Indigenous groups that share a language or traditions, Lee says, not just anyone will be a good source for your story. “All Indigenous people from the same tribe or community are not the same, and they’re not going to agree on everything and will not have the same expertise,” he says. It’s also important to branch out. Find sources who aren’t regularly quoted in other coverage or whom you haven’t already interviewed yourself. “You don’t want to keep going back to the same people over and over again to speak for the Indigenous community as a whole,” Curry says.
It helps to determine the structure in which Indigenous knowledge exists: Who understands its methods? Who is in charge of passing it down?
Including Indigenous sources who are experts in both Western and Indigenous science (sometimes called “two-eyed seeing”) can help synthesize those perspectives in your piece. Many tribes have scientists on staff, so for most kinds of research, “you can probably find a Native person doing that job somewhere,” Oaster says. Tribally employed scientists aren’t always tribal members, but if they are, they can have a valuable “understanding of the land from both personal experience and from generations of Indigenous science,” Oaster says. If you’re unsure whether your source is the right fit, consult this handy guide from the Indigenous Journalists Association.
Once you’ve identified Indigenous sources with relevant expertise, reach out early in the reporting process to give time to “make a bridge,” says Elizabeth Culotta, a deputy news editor at Science. Sources could be occupied by community obligations or fatigued from frequent or negative media experiences. So, they might need extra time to consider the scope and intentions of an article. The same holds true for sources who are new to you (or the media in general).
Journalists can also connect with Indigenous science experts by partnering with Indigenous journalists. Collaborating with local reporters ensures that journalists are talking with the right sources and capturing their knowledge accurately and respectfully. Successful co-creation projects often start with a group conversation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous journalists and experts to talk through a story’s focus, according to a guide published by Colombian journalist Edilma Prada Céspedes, founder of the media outlet Agenda Propia, which specializes in Latin American co-creation.
This sense of connection with Indigenous communities should continue even after a story is published, says Sofia Moutinho, a Brazilian freelance journalist who covers Indigenous communities in the remote Amazon. Make sure your sources can access and provide feedback on your piece. For example, when she writes a story in English, she sends a version translated into Portuguese, which is more accessible for some of the sources she works with. “When you go to a place and people talk to you, they give their time to you. It’s super important that you give it back,” she says.
Verifying Communal Knowledge
Indigenous knowledge is often collected and recorded in ways that non-Indigenous journalists might not be familiar with covering. Indigenous science is “a different way of knowing,” Oaster says. “It’s refined over the generations differently than Western science.” Some Indigenous knowledge comes from oral history or is protected by knowledge keepers who manage its dissemination. As such, it takes a different approach to verify reporting on Indigenous science. Journalists can take extra steps to corroborate what they learn and to properly characterize it in their stories.
It helps to determine the structure in which Indigenous knowledge exists: Who understands its methods? Who is in charge of passing it down? “Oftentimes, Indigenous knowledge is a communal knowledge,” says Moutinho. In her reporting, she acknowledges important individuals in the community hierarchy and looks for a shared narrative among people to verify what she writes.
Framing Indigenous science in a way that empowers the communities it comes from goes beyond good journalism.
You can also corroborate information across tribes who share traditions. When working on a 2022 piece for High Country News about how seed keeping helped Indigenous farmers maintain food sovereignty in northern New Mexico, Aquino asked people in different local tribes to confirm dates, events, and timelines about the region she was reporting on. “Talking to other people in that vicinity [is helpful], whether it’s a similar seed keeper from the same tribe or other seed keepers from other tribes,” she says.
Carefully attributing the source of information in a story is another way journalists can maintain accuracy. Let readers know what comes from oral history or other forms of Indigenous knowledge and what those practices look like. For example, it isn’t “wrong” that some Native American groups believe their ancestors were in the Americas earlier than Western archaeological evidence has confirmed. “If you’re making it clear that they’re speaking from their oral history and that you’re not necessarily presenting this as a peer-reviewed scientific fact from a Western perspective … it bolsters that story,” Oaster says.
Finding the Right Frame
When writing your story, framing can be what makes a perfectly accurate story go from helpful to harmful. When covering Indigenous science, using appropriate terminology, avoiding reinforcing stereotypes, and checking unfair biases are important to presenting your story equitably.
Pay careful attention to the language you use in reference to the groups and traditions you’re covering. For example, some dispute the term “Western” to describe mainstream, peer-reviewed science because the geographical label can be imprecise. Depending on the story, it might make more sense to use “the scientific method” or “non-Indigenous science,” instead. Similarly, some prefer the term “Indigenous science” to “Indigenous ways of knowing” because it more directly acknowledges Indigenous peoples’ contributions to science. There are also specific terms used to describe subdisciplines of Indigenous knowledge, such as Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK). When featuring Indigenous expertise in your stories, ask sources about their preferred terms to describe their work.
It’s also important to acknowledge in your stories that neither Western nor Indigenous science follow a singular definition, Lee says. Traditional, peer-reviewed Western science can still mean a lot of different things in the same way that Indigenous knowledge can mean a lot of different things. And the two traditions aren’t exactly a binary, nor are they always juxtaposed. They can influence each other and overlap, he notes.
Journalists should also avoid framing Indigenous knowledge as secondary to Western science. “There’s a tendency for science reporters to look to Indigenous knowledges as [a] form of evidence that confirms ‘Western knowledges,’” Tsosie says. But “[Indigenous knowledge] is just another form of evidence,” she adds. Similarly, it’s wrong to imply that Indigenous knowledge is inherently suspect, or needs to be backed up by Western science. In many cases, Indigenous science provides perspectives and solutions that science desperately needs. In a 2023 article for The Conversation, for example, Hunter and his co-author emphasize how Aboriginal land-management practices are crucial for the climate.
Due to their different approaches, Indigenous and Western science on the same phenomenon might lead to different, even opposing, conclusions. But that’s not a negative thing. Highlighting this “productive disagreement,” Curry says, can lead to a more well-rounded story. For example, while covering a study on the dispersal of horses across North America, Curry learned that the research arose when an ethnohistorian from the Oglala-Lakota Nation reached out to a geneticist at the University of Toulouse to challenge his earlier study about the lineage of horses. The new paper—co-authored by both Indigenous and non-Indigenous scientists—overturned previously held beliefs of Western historians. In his 2023 Science story, Curry wrote that “Native views and laboratory science can enhance—and also challenge—each other.”
Framing Indigenous science in a way that empowers the communities it comes from goes beyond good journalism. It can challenge stereotypes and combat colonial narratives*, Oaster says. “I just get really excited about all the awesome shit that tribes are doing,” they say. “They don’t get the applause, but they’re doing way more than a lot of other scientists are to actually help the animals and the plants and the waters and the lands. And it’s just inspiring.”
* Correction 11/5/24: An earlier version of this story attributed this statement to Oaster: Featuring Indigenous knowledge accurately and appropriately in science stories is “fundamentally decolonial.” Oaster meant that Indigenous affairs reporting was decolonial.
Emma Gometz is a journalist, illustrator, and performance artist based in New York City. When she’s not writing or thinking about writing, she’s probably waiting in a rush line for a Broadway show, doing yoga, or trying to learn about space by reading books meant for children. She’s currently a digital producer for WNYC’s Science Friday, but you can also find her words in Teen Vogue, The Open Notebook (where she’s an early-career fellow supported by the Burroughs Wellcome Fund), and The Columbia Spectator. Find her on X at @monkey_cabinet.