Beyond the tipping point
Over the past year in my Environmental Education Master’s program I’ve spent some time thinking about ‘systems’. You know, like ecosystems, social systems, digestive systems, the solar system – all those things with system in the name. The neat thing about systems is that there are similarities across the different kinds. Although seemingly unrelated, a digestive system shares features with an ecosystem or a justice system. One of these shared features is the concept of a ‘tipping point’ – the point at which the system is altered so drastically, it changes completely in structure and function. Also called a ‘boundary threshold’, this can cause some systems to collapse completely, while others may be resilient enough to bounce back from the disturbance (Holling 1986). Whether it’s a social or ecological system, restoration and reparation can help a system rebound to a stable or healthy state.
I’ve spent the past few days with my class near Ucluelet, British Columbia, living and learning in the community of Hitacu (pronounced Hit-tat-soo), within traditional Nuu-Chah-Nulth Nation territory. I feel so, so grateful for our group to have been welcomed into this place, where social and ecological systems are so inextricably interwoven. The learning experiences have been plentiful and powerful, whether touring a forest regeneration site or listening to the wisdom of elders in the community, many of them residential school survivors.
In reflecting on people and place, I observe similarities emerging; in particular, the dramatic and transformative changes that have occurred in both social and ecological systems in this area. Within both, there are boundaries that have been tested, pushed, and crossed – leading to tipping points and incredible shifts in the ability of systems to function.
We walked through cool and moist* forests near Lost Shoe Creek with Mandela Smulders of the Central WestCoast Forest Society. Their group is contributing to a massive effort of forest restoration in response to years of ecosystem disturbance and decimation from clear-cutting. For thousands of years prior to the clear-cutting, these forests were used with care by the Nuu-Chah-Nulth people. Now, in order to help the forest re-grow from logging and reach a stable, mature state, workers plant long-lived, slow-growing species like Douglas Fir, and thin the canopy branches to allow light to reach the forest floor. These efforts require an intense awareness of the broken boundaries of the ecosystem and a dedicated commitment to reparation.
The day after walking in the forest, we were introduced to Anita Charleson Touchie, a counsellor for the Nuu-Chah-Nulth Tribal Council. She led us through a workshop on inter-generational trauma, where we discussed the real and deep pain carried by generations following traumatic events. For her and many other First Nations people, this means the lasting effect of colonization, systemic oppression, racism, the Indian Act, and residential schools. Languages and land have been lost, cultural practices banned, and entire communities altered. The social and cultural systems of First Nations have been pushed far past their tipping point, and Anita spoke of the importance of acknowledging, remembering, grieving, and forgiving to work with this pain both individually and collectively.
My time on the west coast has had a profound effect on my understanding of pain, loss, resilience, and recovery. As I walk the paths in the forest and reflect on the pain and suffering of the social and ecological systems here, I am reminded of the interconnectedness of people and place, or as we have been taught this week, ‘hiishookish tsawalk’, meaning ‘everything is one’.
