Indigenous Experiences and Contributions to Western Scientific Knowledge Systems: An Ethnographic Exploration

Abstract

Knowledge systems are embedded in sets of values, worldviews, and cosmologies that affect the whole process of knowledge production. Employing an ethnographic method that integrates participant observation, interviews, and focus groups, I explore the contributions, ideas, points of view, and metaphors that individuals of Indigenous origins introduce to the scientific method when they enter Western scientific knowledge systems. This ethnographic exploration focuses on a group of students with a variety of Indigenous backgrounds participating in a field course on introduction to Ecology. Native-born students contribute innovations to the knowledge production process by shaping research questions, methodologies, and result interpretations. These innovations stem from diverse worldviews and epistemologies, and while they could significantly impact scientific knowledge production, the students may not fully appreciate their own relevance. This work may serve as a testimony of the processes of reflection and negotiation with the scientific methods, practices, and values that native students undergo when participating in a Western scientific context.

Keywords

Indigenous peoples ecology Western science knowledge production epistemologies metaphors

Introduction

Knowledge production is a universal practice. It is a process practiced in all human societies, and it is expressed in multiple ways. The cosmologies and epistemologies associated with the cultural context in which knowledge is produced determine every aspect of the process: the approaches, methodologies, classifications, nomenclatures, results, relationships, products, and the ways in which the knowledge is stored and transmitted. There are, therefore, a variety of processes of knowledge production, all of them culturally situated in their specific contexts.

Scientific research, often referred to as “Western science,” is practiced and taught today almost globally in educational and research institutions around the world; indeed, post-colonial and decolonial thinkers (e.g., Castro-Gómez and Grosfoguel 2007; Hall and Tandon 2017; Quijano 2001, 2007; Seats 2020) argue that European tradition and Western ways of knowledge are established almost worldwide as one of the manifestations of Western colonialism: with a positivist and exclusive point of view, it is self-claimed and often socially understood as the only valid mode of understanding the natural world. However, the approaches and methods it uses are embedded in a set of values, concepts, and perspectives that are not necessarily universal (Held 2019). These values include and may even be conflictive with other ways of knowledge situated at the margins, including Indigenous knowledge systems (e.g., Cajete 2000, 2004, 2006; Kimmerer 2002; Smith 2013; Santos, Nunes, and Meneses 2007). The consequences of conducting research within the context of colonialism have given rise to a complex and tense dynamic between Indigenous Peoples and Western research. This underscores the necessity of a concerted and cooperative endeavor to dismantle the colonial influence on methodologies, research practices, and the entire academic sphere (Held 2019). There is a quite extensive body of literature on Indigenous ways of knowledge and the value of Indigenous Ecological Knowledge (IEK) to understand nature and inform environmental policies and education (e.g., Bang, Marin, and Medin 2018, Held 2019, Jessen et al. 2022, Kimmerer 2012, Tilot et al. 2021).

Given its alleged universality, it is paradoxical that the incorporation of minority groups into scientific research contexts tends to be problematic: in particular, Indigenous agents constitute a minority group whose point of view is present in contexts that involve historical constraints derived from colonization processes: having been considered for centuries incapable of writing their own history, much less capable of producing valid knowledge, they have more often been subjects of scientific research rather than contributors to it (Smith 2013).

In the words of Calabrò (2012) “no one is purely Indigenous [. . .] nor purely Western.” In the context of higher education, students of native origin generally grow up in contact with at least two different cultural contexts: on one hand, their native context, and on the other, the predominant, Western context. This situation, in which an individual experiences feelings of belonging to both to some degree, is what Cajete (1999) calls “bicultural identity.” These students navigate between two worlds, having to renegotiate and reconcile both identities to be able to function, develop, and thrive in their realities. In this sense, Smith et al. (2014) point out that the academic success of students of native origin is often linked to the confidence they have in their abilities to complete their academic studies and at the same time remain faithful to their native cultural identities. Finding themselves in an academic environment often generates anxieties in students and academics of Indigenous origin, who see how the prevailing value system collides with that of their communities of origin and their worldviews (e.g., Page-Reeves, Marin, and Medin 2017; Page-Reeves et al. 2019). Acknowledging multiple epistemologies and ways of knowledge, native scholars have dealt with the situation of native students in scientific knowledge systems and the epistemological dilemmas that arise. In this regard, environmental sciences, biology, and ecology are topics that receive special attention. Authors like Cajete (2000, 2004, 2006, 2020) and Kimmerer (2002, 2012) argue that while every Indigenous group holds a distinct worldview and knowledge system, there are common grounds determining the conflicts that the students experience. For instance, native worldviews share a holistic understanding of the process of knowledge production that considers knowledge and spirituality inherently bonded. Likewise, the methodologies applied in the context of Indigenous knowledge systems transcend the strictly empirical and reductionist approach of the dominant Western science, making use of multiple ways of observation and knowledge communication. Some even refer to the multiplicity of Indigenous ways of producing, keeping, and transmitting knowledge generically as “Indigenous science(s)” or “native sciences” (e.g., Bang et al. 2018, Cajete 2000, 2004., Kimmerer 2002, 2012). Conflicting values, such as prioritizing collective goals and prioritizing spiritual aspects as opposed to individualist and strictly materialist approach of Western science produce feelings of “not belonging” in native students, which are frequently combined with situations of social or racial discrimination (Cajete 1999), which may affect decisions about their future, like the abandonment of studies or not to enter postgraduate studies (Smith et al. 2014). Indigenous scientists and students that persist in STEM¹ fields, practice and participate in Western science conscious of being at the intersection of two identities, and they confer high importance on the recognition of their cultural values and on the creation of inclusive environments that value diversity of epistemologies and cosmologies in shaping their experiences (Page-Reeves et al. 2019).

This work aims to explore the possible contributions, ideas, points of view, and metaphors that individuals of Indigenous origins introduce to the scientific method when they enter the Western scientific knowledge system learning the methods and processes of ecological studies.

Western Ecology

Kimmerer (2012) recognizes that the Western Ecology framework has demonstrated to be effective for comprehending ecological systems and diagnosing environmental degradation, but sustainable solutions at the intersection of nature and culture have been challenging for science. But what does this framework entail? Ecology deals with the relationships among organisms and the environment. With the aim of understanding these relationships and the processes driving them, Western researchers construct research questions and elaborate research strategies based on previous knowledge (i.e., scientific literature). We make use of both observational and experimental methodologies, which may involve direct observation of species in the environment, retrieving samples, and/or field or laboratory experiments (Kanazawa 2017, Sagarin and Pauchard 2012). This analytical approach allows very specific and focused research that throws results to respond to desired questions and objectives of the study. However, Ecology is, perhaps, the least objectivist of the Natural sciences: While in a quest for scientific neutrality, the use of the scientific method requires working with living and non-living natural beings as an outsider, detached, and remaining neutral and avoiding any judgment of the processes observed, ecologists are deemed to care for nature and/or the species or populations they study, which is even seen as a positive value (Candea 2013, Lautensach 2005). Once more reductionist, today’s ecological studies have a broader approach and often aim to be framed in a global context (e.g., the global biodiversity crisis or the effects of global warming) and mind societal challenges (such as dealing with the impacts of human activities, conservation of natural spaces or ecosystem services). Finally, transmitting the produced knowledge requires publishing in specific journals, following a specific structure and language, which also aims to appear neutral and objective.

These methods and approaches are ultimately a product of Western worldviews and Western science values. How would non-Western, native individuals who aim to conduct scientific research deal with these methods and values? Would they adapt their views to the system or adapt the system to their views?

Research Questions and Objectives

It is important to note that this study does not intend to dig into the differences between IEK and scientific approaches, nor the possible synergies between IEK and Western ecological studies, education, or conservation efforts (see Jessen et al. 2002, Kimmerer 2000, 2011, 2012, Singleton et al. 2021). This is not a study about cultural clashes brought about by different ways of knowledge. Rather, I am interested in exploring how students with Indigenous backgrounds practice Western methods in Ecology. Do they incorporate, integrate, or adapt ideas and concepts of native cultures and of their ways of acquiring and transmitting knowledge to their research projects? How, or to what extent, is the final product shaped by the integration of concepts and ideas? How do they navigate the possible contradictions derived from the values, worldviews of a knowledge system originated in a cultural context that is, at least in part alien to them? In what ways do their priorities, interests, experiences, and worldviews influence (and are influenced by) the scientific method?

As a case study, I will focus on a group of students from different native backgrounds in a summer field course of introduction to Ecology. I analyze the data collected during the course, including field observations, interviews, and group discussions. I also explore the students’ personal interpretations of the scientific method and the role of their cultural perspectives in their understanding of Ecology.

Methodology and Ethnographic Approach

Participant Observation: Being an Actor and Observer in a Quadruple Position

As a biologist working primarily in the field of natural sciences, I have focused my research on biodiversity, conservation, and human impacts on the ecosystems. In 2014, I came across a call for expressions of interest from the Organization for Tropical Studies (OTS²) to participate as a field mentor in a summer program for Native American and Pacific Islander undergraduate students in Costa Rica. I applied and was accepted, and that summer had my first experience working with students with cultural backgrounds different from my own. In my interactions with students, I observed a diversity of perspectives and approaches related to the research I proposed, which were influenced by their cultural backgrounds. Additionally, I noticed the challenges they encountered along their academic paths, including concerns, obstacles, and reasons—some of which were not strictly academic—that could lead them away from scientific careers.

As a matter of fact, the aim of the program was to increase the representativity of native peoples in the studies on tropical Ecology within the scientific knowledge system, by offering an opportunity to learn the process of scientific knowledge production and by encouraging and enhancing self-confidence. The reason is twofold: on the one hand, it was an attempt to provide opportunities that have been traditionally denied to native students; on the other hand, the field of Ecology is in urgent need of diversity of perspectives, traditionally restricted to Western scientists (Maas et al. 2021). Diverse perspectives in ecology foster innovative solutions and broader understanding (Mouysset 2023); by embracing diversity, the field of ecology can become more robust, innovative, and effective in addressing the pressing environmental challenges of our time.

By the time I decided to carry out this study, I had participated as a mentor in the program in three occasions and felt a part of it, identified with its mission, and committed with its objectives. But by deciding to carry out this study as part of my master’s in Anthropological Research, I find myself looking at the program from different angles; I decide to be an outsider in those situations in which Ecology researchers find themselves with a look that is totally new to me. I choose to be both a biologist and an anthropologist, a mentor, and a student. This leads me to find myself immersed in a series of ambivalences whose elements, although not necessarily contradictory, can be difficult to hold in one hand. How to devote yourself to environmental research and at the same time look at its actors with estrangement? How to supervise a research project while being supervised in another? Marcus (1995) proposes that as a response to situations in which the anthropologist finds themselves navigating between various “identities” during their field work, instead of doing an exercise in detachment, what he does is to look for a common thread that confers some sort of unity to said identities; he proposes to act as an “activist anthropologist,” whose activism (in my case, I should say “commitment”) is the common thread linking the ethnographic experiences. To some extent, during this study, I identified with this idea: The missions of the anthropology student and that of the mentor in Ecology, ultimately have to do with increasing Indigenous participation in Ecology studies. The biologist research mentor tries to collaborate as an active part, an agent in the mission; the anthropology student does it by trying to document it and analyze it. Ultimately, I was committed with research in two fields: Anthropology and Ecology, and navigated this two-headed research by providing a common goal. Having a sort of “committed” position surely shaped the research questions and the course of the ethnographic work as much as it did to the Ecology work and mentorship. The decision of studying the contributions of Indigenous students to the field of Ecology comes from that commitment since I believe they will enrich a field where multiple perspectives are badly needed.

It must be admitted, however, that this quadruple position has been quite useful from an ethnographic perspective. Being a student as well as a mentor brought me closer to the students, who sometimes felt more identified with me while I also understood their concerns; on the other hand, being an anthropologist as well as a biologist (or vice versa) provides me with complementary perspectives in terms of research and knowledge systems. Somehow, it has helped me to be an observer of the knowledge system in which I work, at the same time that I am familiar with it. Mixed positions, in which the researcher studies a context where they also belong allow for a full immersion in the context, provides a deep understanding, and facilitates intimate intersubjective relations that, in turn, deepen the course of participant observation (Traweek 1998). Noting that this is not the only positionality a researcher can adopt in the field, it was, in my case, the most adequate because it allowed me to fulfill all commitments.

Given my position as a mentor of the program, which obliges me to ensure its successful achievement, and my aforementioned personal motivations, I made an effort to choose and adapt the methodologies of this study to reduce interference in it to a minimum. I chose participant observation as the main method, proposed topics for focus groups that were already part of the program, and minimized the formality of the interviews. In this way, the methodology aligns with the objectives of the program, merges, and flows with it.

Narration: Time and Space

The time frame of this work covers the summer courses carried out between 2014 and 2019 although systematic fieldwork was only carried out in 2019. The empirical material corresponding to the years prior to 2019 consists of diaries and notebooks, as well as field and laboratory notes that were taken during her role as a research mentor. Memories related to conversations or situations that were relevant to this work were registered in writing form, with the aim of “revisiting” these situations and analyzing them with her current perspective.

The ethnographic narration of this work does not follow the natural timeline beginning in 2014 and ending in 2019. The observation situations are organized in blocks following a logic that allows a coherent analysis of the data, and said blocks are ordered according to the typical daily schedule and general calendar of the courses. In this way, the narration starts with the introductions of the first day of the program, continues with what would happen during a normal day, and ends with the final reflections in the last evening. Life at the Las Cruces Biological Station, where the courses discussed in this work take place, is structured both in space and in time. Aware of the importance of preserving the meaning of the spaces, the coordinators since 2014 have taken care to safeguard these meanings by clearly separating them according to the activities, hours of the day, and the needs of students and mentors. So much so, that it is not uncommon in day-to-day conversations to refer to a space when we want to refer to the activity to be carried out, the time of day, or even the intention. For example, a mentor who comments that she had a conversation with a student in the classroom will make us understand that it happened at the end of the day, before, or after a group activity. And if a student says that she will be at the Wilson house, we will understand that she is in a moment of rest in which mentors and coordinators are excluded. In this way, at each moment and place, different situations are generated for observation. Thus, I observe and listen to the intersubjectivities of the students in terms of their position as a collective within the scientific knowledge system both in group meetings at the end of the day and in moments of leisure or group activities: the dining room, excursions, and the waits between scheduled activities. During the work in the forest, which is carried out in small groups, I discovered how each student deals with scientific methodologies, the internal conflicts they can cause, their resolution, and the celebration of achievements.

Focus Groups

Several times a week the group gathers in the “salon” after dinner, and everyone sits in a circle to talk about a certain topic proposed by the coordinators, who also facilitates the discussion. The purpose is to reflect on general questions that might affect the students or be related to any activity of the course. These “circles” are true focus groups on which issues arise related to the concerns of the students regarding the program, the situations they face, as well as others related to science and the scientific method. For this reason, not only was it not necessary to organize focus groups ad hoc, but also the usual dynamics of the course was aligned with the ethnographic methods.

Interviews

According to R. San Martín Arce, “the interview is more effective [. . .] when, being faithful to the real life for which it is asked, it conforms to that same life as one of its phenomena, turning the interview into one of its normal situations” (San Martín Arce 2000, 106). Following this same lie of thought, and consistent with the general idea of minimizing in the interferences with the normal development of the program, I decided to replace the formal interviews with informal conversations, aimed at gathering information, which I later recorded in writing in my cabin. This strategy has been particularly useful when interviewing students from the Pacific Islands: as a mentor, I had previously observed that they tend to be less likely to answer direct questions in a formal setting, yet they still really enjoy speaking about their home and surroundings in informal conversations and in small groups.

I formally interviewed the coordinators of the 2019 course and the coordinator of the 2014 course through semi-structured interviews after the end of the program. These interviews were, therefore, recorded and later transcribed. The questions I asked addressed the following aspects: their motivations for working on the program, their vision of its importance (for students and for society), and what positive aspects they had brought to them personally and professionally. In addition, I asked them more specific questions about the organization of the Organization for Tropical Studies (OTS), about the proposal that was presented to the National Science Foundation (NSF) to obtain financing for the program, and the control mechanisms of the OET to ensure that it meets its objectives. The aim of the interviews was twofold: on the one hand, to promote a dialogue in which the interviewees provided a subjective vision of the aspects that were being investigated, and on the other hand, to obtain a clearer vision of the formal aspects of the program.

The origin of the different agents is relevant in this investigation. However, because many of the students identify with more than one native nation, I have chosen to indicate geographic place or origin (state) in references to interviews and other interventions. Also, since some of the students did not want to identify themselves by first and last name, all of them have been omitted.

Analysis

The Summer Courses of the OTS: Programs for “Attracting Indigenous Talent”

As part of its educational agenda, the OTS organizes summer courses for undergraduates. These programs are presented as an “opportunity to live their first experiences and research projects” and for a few weeks “live the life of a field biologist.” During the course, the students spend eight weeks in one of the stations that the organization has in Costa Rica. The NAPIRE (Native American and Pacific Islanders Research Experience) program was conceived to offer this opportunity specifically to students from the native peoples of the United States, both from the mainland and from the US-affiliated Pacific Islands (USAPI). The program was replaced in 2018 by the so-called LSAMP-REU (Louise Stokes Alliance for Minority Participation—Research Experience for Undergraduates), whose only notable difference from the first is that, in addition to students of native origin, students from other underrepresented minorities in scientific contexts, specifically African Americans and Latin Americans are included.

Each student, guided by a mentor, proposes and carries out and writes a research project that finally presents in the form of a talk to the rest of the participants, mentors, and coordinators in a final program symposium. The didactic strategy of these programs is mainly focused on fieldwork, which accounts for the highest percentage of hours of the day. The experience may also involve laboratory analyses and statistical analyses, depending on the needs of each project. In addition, every week there are lectures dedicated to the writing of the different sections of a scientific paper, current research by the mentors, and a scientific communication and dissemination workshop.

Each mentor is generally assigned two students. In the editions in which I participated, the numbers varied between ten mentors with twenty students and seven mentors with fourteen students. Two coordinators oversee all the activities and ensure that the program is carried out in a safe and effective manner. In 2014 and 2016, there were also two teaching assistants. To date, none of them (mentors, assistants, or coordinators) have been of native origin or have identified themselves as Indigenous.

The program takes place at the Las Cruces Biological Station, in the Coto Brus district. It has a property of 365 hectares of forest accessible by several trails, which is available for both scientific researchers and field courses. The station has several buildings: the laboratory, the dining room, and the library are in separate buildings. The mentors and coordinators stay in cabins in groups of two to four people, while the students live together in the so-called “Wilson house.” The reception and a spacious meeting room (which we call “the salon”) are in the same building in the center of the station.

The dynamics of the program presents elements based on the logic of the “Circle of Courage” described by Brendtro, Brokenleg, and Van Bockem (2002) and applied by McMahon, Griese, and Kenyon (2019) in a similar program. It is a pedagogical method developed based on a “interdisciplinary commitment between Western and Indigenous knowledge systems” (McMahon et al. 2019). Through a set of programmed activities, the method seeks to cover four basic needs or “spirits” of the student: “mastery” or wisdom, “generosity,” “independence,” and “belonging.” The model is rooted in native values, and ecological spiritual principles, and has been applied in science education programs targeting students of native origin. In the OTS program, the need for “belonging” is satisfied through leisure activities, collaborative work, as well as sharing accommodation: “independence” is fostered through individual research projects; “generosity” is expressed by sharing research results, assisting others in fieldwork, or helping cooks in the dining room; and “mastery” is achieved through classes and seminars.

“Aloha.” Introducing (Bi)cultural Identities in a Scientific Context

The first day at Last Cruces starts with presentations. Following the instructions of the coordinators, we put the chairs in a circle among everyone and sat in no particular order, trying not to place all the mentors in adjacent seats. The atmosphere is relaxed but the students seem somewhat nervous. One by one, we introduce ourselves:

“Aloha, my name is C and I come from the University of Hawai’i in Hilo. . .” (C, Hawai’i)

“Aloha, I’m J from Big Island . . .” (J, Hawai’i)

“Yáʼátʼééh, my name is C, member of the Diné or Navajo tribe. . .” (C, New Mexico)

The students introduce themselves by saying hello in their native languages. Some even say a few sentences that they translate immediately afterward. In an interview conducted at the end of the program, a coordinator tells me that these demonstrations are “more or less prepared, and more or less spontaneous.” The first day in San José they are given a short introduction in which “we explain to the students that what they have in common is being natives, and that in this program we want them to feel at home; they are invited to express themselves as they would if they were at home among their people, they are told that they can use any language if they feel comfortable. . . yes, in some way we encourage them to do so,” explains.

Then each mentor meets with their students, to get to know each other and start talking about the research projects. Then we discover that, in many cases, the students come to Las Cruces on the advice of others who have participated in the program in previous years so that they already have an idea beforehand about what they are going to find. This is especially common in those who come from small institutions, such as tribal colleges or universities in small islands, where students who participate in the program give a small talk on their return to share their experiences with their peers. “My friend J came last year. There is a professor who encourages us to apply. J already told me to bring more than one traditional dress” says A, from American Samoa. Through these interactions with students from previous years, students know in advance the dynamics of the program and the emphasis placed on the “cultural dimension.” This prior preparation generates a predisposition in the students that contributes to creating an atmosphere of continuous celebration of Indigenous identities.

A set of activities called “cultural exchanges” and organized once a week contribute to promoting these demonstrations. It is about “celebrating culture,” in a series of activities that range from teaching and learning traditional dances or songs to cooking, photograph exhibitions or playing traditional games. One of the coordinators, explained in one occasion that these activities “help the students to feel comfortable being Indigenous in a scientific context. Seeing their cultures celebrated gives them confidence.” In this way “culture is enhanced. It is about giving the students a sense of belonging, strengthening bonds.” The students enjoy these activities, and they state that “it is important to show our diversity, to learn from each other that there are different ways of living, not just one that is seen everywhere” (K, Hawai’i).

In this environment of “celebration of native cultures,” manifestations of Indigenous identity occur throughout the program: visual, oral, and written elements of “native identity” appear on practically all the occasions that students have to express themselves; these elements appear in their work and in their leisure moments indistinctly, they become an integral part of life in Las Cruces: there are songs, flowers in their hair, braids, geometric patterns and native languages that appear in presentations, assignments and games, in what seems to be a mixture of intentionality and spontaneity in equal parts. In many cases, they do it intentionally, being aware of the message they are communicating and receiving. Thus, when speeches and presentations in public begin with greetings in their language and include aesthetic elements that are typical of their places of origin, they do so as a hallmark; in other cases, there seems to be no particular intention: for example, they braid their hair like her grandmother does just because they miss her, they wear customs in special occasions because they would normally do so. What can be inferred by the diversity of these manifestations of native identity is that there is a wide spectrum in terms of both the assimilation of Western culture and the involvement in the native culture among the students, which will be seen throughout the program and will have effects on the approach and development of the research projects.

During the first few days the group is busy settling in, preparing the laboratory and equipment, familiarizing themselves with the station. Before the students and mentors begin to work on their projects, the station staff organizes a guided tryp through the forest surrounding the station so that the group visits for the first time the areas available for fieldwork. L, a teaching assistant from Hawai’i, asked the group to stop before entering the forest. He began to sing, and all the group stayed silent, in what was afterward described as a “mix of awe and respect.” When he finished, he explained that it was an act of respect for the forest. Admittedly, not all students, including the Native Hawaiians, received the chant with equal enthusiasm. While mostly accepting smiles were seen, there were some comments later that exuded some discomfort.

. . . I just don’t know what that was about. It is not like in Hawai’i people sing before entering the forest, nor that we sing every time this or that. . . (C, Hawai’i).

Even when for some of the students the chant did not make sense, the truth is that these identity acts are never devoid of meaning. A few days later, in a moment of leisure, I asked L to explain the song to me:

“I sing because it is part of the culture that we want to recover. Chants are part of the tradition in Hawai’i, and they are going lost [. . .] Some people do it before starting a meeting; It is like a ceremony, which meant to do out of respect. We basically acknowledge that there is something sacred about what is happening. And because I can sing, there is something that I can do to preserve our culture, and something I can share. I think it’s important to feel comfortable doing this kind of things. I think students perceive it” (L, Hawai’i).

Corntassel (2012) explains how through ceremony, chants, language, etc., Indigenous peoples reconnect with nature while activating mechanisms of “resurgence,” the latter understood as a movement parallel to the decolonial process that focuses on “rebuilding and strengthening Indigenous culture, knowledges, and political orders” (Gaudry and Lorenz 2018). On the other hand, it is interesting to note that frequently in native ways of knowledge, ceremony is part of the methodology and knowledge production strategy (Johnson 2016). Singing frames the process of knowledge production in a spiritual dimension, making the approach to study personal. Tradition and ancestors are evoked, and they become part of the process. This approach that involves the researcher as a whole, in mind and spirit, as well as the community, clearly differs from the Western approach, based on detachment. Through the chant, L was able to introduce a native epistemological perspective into an activity that was organized to set up a Western science context.

In the following days, mentors and students leave the station every morning and head into the woods to visit their respective sampling sites or field experiments. We go in small groups: normally each mentor with her two students, sometimes even the mentor divides his time to go with one student at a time, if the sites or the schedules do not coincide. We often say that the forest has something special: “the forest has a relaxing, healing effect” (J, mentor). “The students tend to open up in the forest [. . .] they talk about their personal lives, about their family, their concerns, things at Casa Wilson. . .” (B, coordinator). Indeed, it is on field trips that longer conversations arise, and when the bonds between each mentor and their students are strengthened. Often the topics related to the projects are interspersed with other more personal ones, and “home” is a recurrent topic.

“Many afternoons I go to dance Hula with my cousins, I love it and we have a great time [. . .] In my family most of us are natives, but my grandma was Japanese” (M, Hawai’i).

M is a proud native Hawaiian who seeks to express its culture in all areas. She attends dancing classes, speaks the language, and while she is studying Western medicine at the university, she also studies traditional medicine. She says that her goal is to combine the two in her career as a medical doctor.

“Yesterday at Casa Wilson we talked about what we are going to do after the program. J wants to go hiking, but I prefer San José. After all, I’m a city boy, I’m not used to this” [laughs]. S (California).

S says that although his grandparents grew up on the reservation, his parents did not, and that they almost never go there. He does not have much contact with them.

“I need a break! Yes, I like hiking, on my island we walk a lot. . . but it’s completely flat! ” [. . .]. V (Micronesia).

M lives on a very small island, where they are all natives, and her father is a local leader.

C (New Mexico) is Navajo:

“I grew up on the reservation, but two years ago I moved to Hawai’i to go to college, so I’m used to this weather,” tells on the first day, a few steps after leaving the station and entering the forest. C speaks Navajo fluently, knows and lives the traditions, and, as expressed by one of the mentors, “even seems to breathe as Navajo.” She enjoys talking about the Navajo ways of living. She studies biology in Hawai’i, and says she wants to pursue a PhD in New Zealand so she can learn about how the Maori culture has gained visibility and then bring back that knowledge to her community.

Talking about home and relating their experiences in Costa Rica with their places of origin reflect the deep bonds that the students have with their communities, and the importance that they confer to their roots. Indeed, studies show that relevant conditions for native students to persist in STEM careers have deep connections with their concept of “home,” and include factors like finding research that could be applied to help their communities or that their absence is accepted (Kerr et al. 2018, McMahon et al. 2019).

We also learn from these conversations that students live immersed in non-Western cultures, while others have more limited contact with their native heritage. It is also true that native groups have different histories of colonization and cultural resurgence. Students hence navigate between two cultures, with which they feel identified to a greater or lesser degree, and some of them engage in cultural resurgence attitudes or movements with varying levels of commitment. As we will see, the varying links with native identities will influence the way the students approach and navigate the learning process of Western Ecology scientific methods.

The Fieldwork: “My Crab is Dead.” Battling With Nature as Spiritual Reality Against Western Scientific Practices and Values

In the field, the students learn the most used techniques of the Western scientific research process of sampling or experimentation for the chosen topic. As my field of expertise is aquatic invertebrates, my students work in the streams surrounding Las Cruces, and often they collaborate with other students who also work in the streams. At times, sampling techniques are not entirely unfamiliar to the students: for instance, fishing (or sampling fish) is usually quite familiar for those living on the islands. Many of the students also report that they usually go fishing in rivers as part of their leisure activities when they are at home. For this reason, they generally not only learn the techniques and handling of the animals quickly but also propose modifications to the sampling nets and traps used by academics based on the traditional or more common gear in the place where they come from. For example, one student made modifications to the so-called minnow-traps to select small-sized crabs; another came up with an idea to improve the performance of a Surber net. Z lost a string in the woods and decided to make one using the bark of a tree. He sat on a rock and started peeling a branch and rolled it around his leg while the others prepared the nets for fish sampling:

“This is the traditional way. Normally we buy ropes in the store, but sometimes we make them like this. I used to make them with my uncle. Older people prefer these instead of the ones from the store, I think for sentimental reasons, because it is the way of doing things that our elders passed on to us. Young people. . .no, not so much. To me, because my uncle taught me, and he already passed away, it also brings me memories, so I like to do it.” (Z, Washington)

The string was not strictly necessary at the time, but Zane enjoyed making it and demonstrating the technique with pride. The students of the program rarely question the methods suggested by the mentors, nor do they express disagreement or suggest significant modifications of the usual Western research methodologies. However, they seem to enjoy the opportunity to contribute with elements or techniques produced in the context of their cultures of origin: embodying those Indigenous elements with pride.

The idea of modifying sampling methods does not always arise from a technical need, but from a discrepancy between the priorities of Western science and those of a native culture. T (New Mexico) talked about the sacredness of insects in the Navajo tradition during a mentor’s workshop:

“According to the myth, insects have always been in the world. The world has changed, there have been several worlds throughout history, but insects were already in the first of the worlds, and in the fourth world they intervened in the creation of the humans. That’s why insects are considered sacred, a Navajo doesn’t kill insects [laughs]. The truth is, that is only for those who want to be very strict. . . There may be some, older people mostly, who perhaps . . . they will disagree with killing insects.”

When I was explaining to C (New Mexico) that we were going to work with aquatic invertebrates and that most of them would be insect larvae and end up preserved in alcohol, I remembered this conversation and T’s explanation. I asked C to what extent there were taboos regarding insects in the Navajo tradition. She did not seem to confer much importance on mythology in this case. She told me about the vast Navajo mythology, some of its meanings, and the utility of the lessons taught in the myths. When I explicitly asked her if she would have a problem sacrificing so many insects for her project, she answered with ease:

“Oh yeah. . . well, it’s not like there’s anything forbidden. I think those things are better put aside because they really don’t matter that much anymore. I mean, yes, it is good to maintain the traditions, and it is important because there is a lot of wisdom there, but if they prevent doing science, then it is not necessary, taboos should not be maintained.”

While native ways of knowing spiritual values and mythology are often part of the process of knowledge production (Johnson 2016, Kimmerer 2012, Singleton et al. 2021), the positivist focus of the Western scientific tradition denies the validity of beliefs, taboos, or any spiritually driven (and not empirically demonstrated) element. In spite of her commitment with Navajo’s ways of living, C seems to accept giving up on certain elements of the tradition for the sake of the scientific method. She is not alone. Page-Reeves et al. (2017) found that native STEM professionals often have a “strong sense of their native self” and are proud of their native identity, they also admit that sometimes have to compromise to find balance in their daily lives at work when conflicts arise.

However, after a few days of fieldwork, she told me that she had been reading some articles on methodologies and had an idea to continue his work minimizing the number of insects to be killed. Instead of focusing the research only on invertebrates, she would also focus on the inputs from the riparian vegetation, which would require more sampling of this vegetation but fewer insects. C claims that she does not believe in taboos, but she is committed to keeping traditions alive and the knowledge and values they entail. At this point, applying the most used research techniques creates a conflict that she solves by finding alternatives. Although she found such alternatives within the same knowledge system, it is remarkable that the new methodology provided additional results to those initially planned. With the new methodological approach, we would gather data about the diversity and variability of riparian plants, instead of a detailed account of the aquatic invertebrates. In other words, the motivations brought in by a native perspective provided deeper insights and produced additional results to the process of knowledge production.

One day I encountered Z sitting in one of the streams where he was conducting his experiments. Z was studying the predation rate on a species of crab. He had tethered several crabs to rocks with fishing lines at different points in the streams, which he had to monitor and assess survival and predation rates. Normally he looked very satisfied every time he found the remains of a crab that had been preyed upon, having one more datum for his analysis. This time, however, he looked rueful as he picked up the fishing line.

“Hi Z! What’s up?”—I asked—“Everything alright? Do you need help?”

“Hey . . .This one is dead”

“What do you mean? Has been eaten? “

“No, it just died . . . my crab is dead”

Z was holding and swinging the crab to show me that the body was intact. I tried to ease his sadness while helping him to collect the materials.

“It happens, sometimes.”

“I guess so. It’s part of the game, man. Do you think he died of hunger? Maybe, he was already sick before, like with those parasites that J studies?”

Z spent the rest of the way to the station in almost complete silence, occasionally trying to find a reason why the crab had died. He was content with the sacrifice of specimens as part of the experiment, but a death without a scientific purpose was for him unjustifiable and caused him some anxiety.

Animal sacrifice is often considered to be part of the scientific process in many disciplines. It does create anxieties in students and science trainees, which is overcome with time by finding justification for the greater good of learning or advancing in the research field (Solot and Arluke 1997). Experimental animals are ultimately objectified in labs, losing their status as living beings and treated as mere scientific tools (Birke 2012). Ecologists and field biologists have a different perspective. As mentioned in the introduction, emotional engagement with the animal study subject is accepted and even encouraged. However, detachment is always sought to avoid interference with scientific judgment, which needs to be as objective as possible (Candea 2013). As noted by some Indigenous scholars (e.g., Cajete 2004; Kimmerer 2012), in native traditions knowledge production and transmission are creative processes that involve the totality of the individual who creates and transmits that knowledge, as much as the elements on which he acts during the process: the environment, the study subject. Moreover, in Indigenous approaches, knowledge involves responsibility for the consequences and the benefits of the processes of its production and transmission (Cajete 2004; Kimmerer 2012). It is not surprising, therefore, that the methodologies used in the field are sometimes a source of internal conflicts among students of native origin. The death of a crab in the process is, in a way, that of a part of a whole, a part of Z. At times, students in the program like C and Z show some discomfort with the methodologies taught by the mentors, but they usually do not openly express it, and in spite of proudly and continuously expressing their native identities during the course of the program, very rarely propose alternatives that significantly deviate from the principles and paradigms of Western science; they believe that they must adapt, try to “fit in” if their aspirations involve a career in science.

When we leave the forest, we are tired, hungry, and most of the times, also smiling and satisfied. The forest, indeed, has “a healing effect.”

Usually students, coordinators, and mentors meet in the salon after dinner, sit in a circle, and discuss a topic that is relevant to the program.

One night a coordinator proposed to gather the group to discuss the telescope construction project on Mauna Kea and the protests that were emerging around it.³ The debate revolved around the Western science system of values and priorities when choosing research topics and methodologies. What follows were some of the students’ reflections:

“Is it interesting to know the meaning of the universe, but not that of a sacred place? Why? I mean, who decides what is more important? " (A, Guam)

“If you don’t put emotions into the science you do, you should ask yourself how far you are willing to go without causing harm” (A, California)

“Whatever happens, science will continue to advance, so the sacred should be respected. Seriously, it’s not that science is going to stop advancing if the telescope is not installed there now” (D, Cameroon)

Someone mentions that one of the concerns of the protesters is the pollution of the aquifers in the area. A (Guam) intervenes:

“As a scientist, I would always put people’s health and safety first.”

From there on, the debate turned to the students, to some aspects of their fieldwork and their position as future researchers and Indigenous peoples:

“All this time I have felt I was harming these crabs. But I know that it will benefit future research, and you also have to think about that. My cousin studies salmons, he must have killed more than a thousand, which are sacred to my people. But it is important because he is trying to find a cause for the diseases. Also, if it comes to preserve this resource, it is good for us too. I mean, you have to think carefully about priorities” (Z, Washington)

Z reflects on the internal conflict that the sacrifice of animals meant to him. Although clashing with his moral principles, he is willing to renegotiate those principles, but only if it serves common good, or at least for the sake of conservation of the studied species

Some refer to dialogue, listening and spirituality to reconcile scientific goals with native priorities when conflicts arise:

“We should first ask the people who may be affected” (A, California)

“Science these days is like pure math, but it should be used for good. There should be more ethics” (A, New Mexico).

Their comments align with the work of Kimmerer (2012), who proposes that the exploration of possible synergies between different knowledge systems can be stimulated by giving visibility, and therefore validity, to the spiritual or emotional dimension in its production. As indicated by Cajete (1999, 2004), there is no differentiation between spirituality and knowledge. The students are aware of the ethical and moral dilemmas they face in academia when prevailing Western values conflict with those of their native traditions. And they have ideas on how to deal with these conflicts: they revolve around (a) the inclusion of emotional aspects in the approach to knowledge production and decision-making and (b) the dialogue between the different parties to ensure that the research priorities are defined in terms of consensus.

The coordinator closes the session:

“Increasing the presence of a diversity of perspectives in the scientific field helps to avoid these problems. One does not need to put themselves in the shoes of native peoples when those shoes are their own, when they are natives. That’s what this program is all about. That is why we are all here.”

Clash and Reconciliation of Epistemologies: “If You Don’t See the Compartments, I’ll Show You the Rivers”

Indigenous insights, perspectives, and metaphors expand the scientific knowledge production process

The day comes when the students present their work. It is organized as a symposium: there is a defined schedule, time slots, questions, and coffee breaks. All the students show up dressed up in formal clothes. Samoan and Hawaiian girls wear flowers in the hair, some even traditional costumes. The boys in shirts, some with patterns that evoke their native heritage. They are happy and nervous, proud and anxious at the same time. Mentors have similar feelings; despite most of us have gone through the same situation together several times, and after all, we are not the ones who present, we allow ourselves to be infected by all the emotions. Still, the atmosphere is festive. The presentations begin. Again, just like in the first-day presentations, there are greetings in different languages, decorative elements, and also deeper native perspectives.

C (New Mexico) has studied the invertebrates present in streams in areas of the forest with different degrees of degradation and reforestation. She explains that vegetation and canopy cover influence invertebrate communities because it provides food and regulates the amount of light and the temperature of the water. She presents the data in Figure 1 (left):

Figure 1.

Left: first diagram showed by C. Right: second diagram showed by C.

It is an Multi-Dimensional Scale (MDS) analysis, which represents a virtual space reflecting the values of a similarity index, and in which each symbol is a sampling station. The closer the stations are in space, the more similar the fauna communities are to each other. To facilitate the visualization and interpretation of the diagram, ecologists often group stations with a certain similarity percentage with circles or ellipses. C found the diagram easy to understand, but she was not quite happy with the groupings. In her presentation, after showing the diagram with the points grouped in circles, she continued to present the figure in Figure 1 (right).

She explained that the stations located where with denser canopies are most similar to each other (represented by sketches of canopy) and that the invertebrate communities of certain areas are connected, “flowing” from one site to the other, while still being separated (represented by rivers). In this way, she substituted the metaphor of the “compartments” for that of the “river and the canopy.” The metaphor of compartments is widely used in Ecology, and refers to limits, borders that are built on the differences and similarities between distinct elements or entities of a system. It is a static metaphor, focused on limits, and describes the state of the system. The metaphor of the canopy and the river, on the contrary, is a dynamic metaphor focused on connectivity and explains the connections or discontinuities of the elements of the system. And there is still another relevant difference: the metaphor of the compartments is completely disconnected from the system it describes and is an abstract term (there are no physical compartments in the forest), while the metaphor of the river and the canopy connects tangibly with the environment (the canopy is a real part of the forest that is being studied, and there are rivers under that canopy). Perhaps the most interesting thing about this set of metaphors is their complementarity. They both describe the same system: the invertebrate communities of the forest rivers. And both describe the same aspect of that system: the similarity between the communities in different locations. But each one is the product of a different look, they explain the result in a different way, expanding the limits of the knowledge produced, that becomes broader. Clah, showing the two versions of the diagram, tries to articulate two different perspectives: that of the groups with their abstract metaphors and that of the connections with their metaphors of the tangible.

The beginning of the presentations of the students who have worked with crabs surprise the mentors. The introduction starts by explaining the importance of the target species, and some of the students highlight an aspect that we did not expect:

“The species I’m going to talk about is important because it serves as an occasional food resource for the surrounding communities.” (K, Hawai’i)

“. . . Allacanthos pitteri is one of the inhabitants of the streams that surround San Vito. It plays a role in the lives of the inhabitants of San Vito, since it is recreationally fished, children play crab fishing, and also sometimes it is used for food” (Z, Washington)

Spontaneously, they focus on the importance of the species in its relationship with the inhabitants of the communities of the area. In addition, they focus part of the introduction on this interaction and accompany it with images even though their projects had nothing to do with that interaction. This surprises the mentors who work with this species, since the students had not written it down in their manuscripts and in fact, we did not know that the surrounding communities fished these crabs, so the students have looked for this information independently. Nor do they mention it again: it appears as one more interaction of all possible within the ecosystem. The Western paradigm makes a clear division between human societies and the environment, to the point that any interaction is understood in terms of “impact.” The mentors had not mentioned the role of the human being in the “history” of the crabs because the students’ work was not going to focus on the possible human impacts. Indeed, botanist and native Potawatomi Robin W. Kimmerer is amazed at the inability of the majority of society students at US universities to find a single example of non-negative interaction between people and the environment (Kimmerer 2012, 2013). Kimmerer emphasizes that in much of the native traditions there is a notion of “reciprocity” with the land, which implies positive relationships in both directions. In other words: “they see themselves as part of nature” (Medin et al. 2014). The students not only found the human–crab interaction relevant enough to include it in their work as one of the interactions of the species within the ecosystem, but they have also made the effort to investigate what that interaction could be. The students thus show us an approach to the study of the species that distances itself from the Western scientific paradigm. This approach opens up avenues for research questions and perspectives on the answers, although it is true that we do not see it explicitly reflected in the final work. Otherwise, both in the manuscripts and in the presentations, students stick to the instructions and advice provided by their mentors.

The lectures are over, and it is time to relax and celebrate: group pictures, a picnic in the garden, hugs, more laughter. The course is coming to an end, and it is time for farewells and final reflections.

Looking Ahead: Insecurities, Responsibilities, Reaffirmations

The need to “give back” and the difficulties to face for an Indigenous scientist

At the end of the program, the whole group gathers to celebrate the completion of the work and say goodbye to the new friends. But before, they gather in a circle at the salon for making last reflections and evaluation of what has been lived and what has been learned. In this final group meeting, the coordinators ask students and mentors to express themselves about what has impacted them the most about the program and how they think it will impact their future. Initially, the speeches revolve around the great “opportunity” that participating in the program has meant, because of how much they have learned and because of the push it represents in their curricula. For example, J (American Samoa) affirms:

“Now I have much clearer what science is, how it works, and what my work as a scientist would be like. I definitely want to continue; I see myself as a scientist.”

Almost unanimously, students express their desire to pursue a career in research, many in Ecology, others in medicine. They seem to be optimistic, and talk about their goals:

“After graduation, I would like to continue doing research on aquatic Ecology. I am interested in the topic of bioindicators, aquifers and rivers are very important in my community. . . It is a way to contribute to my community.”

“My degree is in marine biology. I want to work on something related to environmental biology. There is a lot that can be done on this subject in my island [. . .]. there are very few natives in research and I think it is important to [. . .] contribute to representation and conservation; I feel that can be my way to bring something back, since I’ve had so many opportunities” (J, Micronesia)

Students in the program very often express a desire to have something to “bring back” to their communities after graduating. As authors like Smith et al. (2014) and Meyer (1998) indicate, the fact that their research is useful for students of native origin, particularly for their communities, who are determinant in their decision to pursue a professional career in research. Similarly, and as mentioned above, native authors and researchers emphasize that in Native American approaches, knowledge and responsibility are intrinsically linked. The students of the program expressed this sense of responsibility toward two main aspects: first, toward the ecosystems (i.e., producing knowledge leading to conservation or restoration); second, toward their communities (i.e., producing knowledge that directly benefit the community). Notably, both aspects are understood locally and have to do with the places and context that they consider “home.” Additionally, they feel responsible for “representing” their communities in the academic contexts in which they will interact, and also for increasing the representation and participation of Indigenous peoples in contexts traditionally dominated by Western academics. M (Hawai’i) is clear:

“When I graduate [in medicine] I think I will go to graduate school. I know it is difficult, you need the best grades to get a scholarship, but it is important that natives are more represented at the university, there are very few. I would like to investigate what molecules that can be extracted from plants can be useful in medicine. I think there is a lot of traditional knowledge that is not sufficiently recognized. It corresponds to natives to use it in academic research.” (M, Hawai’i).

M introduces two relevant issues: representativeness and cultural appropriation, and specifically suggests the first as a solution to the second. As mentioned, the Western paradigm only admits as valid the knowledge produced within the Western science system. However, when traditional knowledge passes the “filter” of the scientific method, then Western knowledge appropriates it, and it is used and exploited without any kind of recognition to those who produced it in the first place. M suggests that, if Indigenous knowledge must pass through a laboratory in a Western institution to be considered valid, then native agents must carry out the transfer.

However, many of the students speak about their futures in STEM in terms of “difficulties” and obstacles.” When the coordinator asks the students to elaborate on the difficulties, D (New Mexico) is the first to answer, pointing out the academic level of the institutions:

“It is difficult, I think that discrimination is a problem. Community colleges and schools at the reservations are not very good, you have to work hard to catch up, and I think that when you come from a reservation you are never taken seriously.” (D, New Mexico)

On the other hand, M is concerned about the economic aspects. She is starting her senior year, the workload is heavy, and she is not sure if a part-time job will let her enough time to prepare for the exams. She wants to get good grades: “that would be key to my future,” explains. As she speaks, many heads in the circle bob vehemently. Indeed, the financial effort required for some of the students and their families is often an obstacle in the academic careers of Native Americans and the Pacific Islanders (Kerr et al. 2018; Uehara et al. 2018). However, the students generally do not talk about this topic at Las Cruces. Only toward the end of the program, they feel comfortable enough to raise their financial concerns at loud.

K will transfer from the Palau Community College to the University of Hawai’i at Hilo to continue his studies and pursue a master’s degree. She has mixed feelings:

“. . . I really want to, but I will miss my family. At the same time, I really want to live new experiences, see new places, learn a lot. . . and my family is very proud, that is important” (K, Palau).

Others intervene supporting her words, expressing the role that their family bonds play in their decision-making. As mentioned before, the family is very important and always present for the students and adds a difficulty for native students being away from home. But they do not perceive it as an obstacle: in most cases, the family is a great support, and they make sure to express it. Thus, phrases such as “my family is proud,” “my mother wants me to be an example for my siblings” “my dad has supported me a lot to be able to come,” are frequent, indicating that the strength of family ties, far from stopping their desires to move to another place for a long time, promotes them. Contrary to the findings of other works (e.g., Kerr et al. 2018), for the students of this work the family is a support, even a motivation, to continue their studies far from home.

Conclusion

The students enrolled in the program exhibit significant heterogeneity, both in terms of their cultural background and their level of immersion in the dominant culture. This diversity is evident in their varying degrees of involvement in the “Indigenous” discourse, the causality attributed to their Indigenous identity in relation to the challenges they face, and their contributions to the scientific knowledge system throughout the program.

These students are aware of their position as Indigenous peoples acting in an academic context where the prevalent value system may be alien to them, the difficulties they might encounter, and the possible conflicts to be faced. Being used to navigating between two cultural identities (the “native” and the “Western”), they resolve to adapt to a greater or lesser extent to the academic context although many of them actively make an effort to maintain their cultural identities and incorporate them in their daily activities and their scientific projects. However, during the process of carrying out their research projects, they rarely openly challenge the established codes of the scientific knowledge system.

Although they rarely question or disagree with the methodologies proposed by the mentors during fieldwork, occasionally they show some degree of discomfort if a certain aspect of the process collides with their values system. We see these conflicts being resolved in two ways:

Adapting the methods: Some of the students come up with innovative solutions that serve the same research question while better aligning with their personal values. This is particularly noticeable among those who have a deep connection to their native nations. Interestingly, the resulting modifications often yield additional data that would not have been available with the original techniques.

Renegotiating the moral value of the action: They resolve their discomfort with certain parts of the process by subordinating the action to a greater good that it is intended to serve (i.e., production of valuable knowledge).

At times, students express alternative perspectives, both in the approach to the research and in the way of understanding the results, that do challenge the paradigms of Western science. These perspectives seem to arise from cultural contexts that are different from the context in which the scientific knowledge system is developed, and thus complement and challenge the classical paradigms leading to a broader understanding of the results. In this way, native-born students are capable of providing innovations that affect the entire process of knowledge production: from the beginning, setting the priorities for the research question, continuing with alternative methodologies, and finally providing perspectives and understandings of the results that expand the knowledge produced. Although these incorporations do not come directly from other knowledge systems, they do arise from alternative worldviews and epistemologies to the Western paradigm.

Through these adaptations, negotiations, and incorporations, they gain agency over the scientific knowledge production process by embodying their cultural identities. However, despite potentially generating profound transformations in the scientific knowledge production process, and despite being aware of their position, it does not seem that most students realize the relevance of their contributions.

Often times, the effort involved in either carrying out a specific research project or in pursuing a professional career in STEM, is only worthwhile for students if it has a transcendent utility, that is, it has relevance or can help a larger community, be it the environment (e.g., studies leading to conservation efforts) or their communities (e.g., studies that can later be applied for natural resources management), or their own families (e.g., serving themselves an “example” for siblings or cousins, or making their parents proud).

They perceive difficulties on their way. Many seem to be related to issues external to the student, mainly of an economic nature, although others have to do with fears or concerns about having to move to live far from their communities. Occasionally, they also mention existing taboos in their communities. These are perceived as difficulties if they consider that there are aspects to be “overcome” if they intend to be scientists. Students find support in their families to overcome such difficulties, both emotionally and (sometimes) financially. The strength of family ties and their central role in the decision-making process are determinant when for moving to other places to enter graduate programs.

Knowledge systems are complex and culturally dependent, but permeable and, like their cultural contexts, in constant development. This ethnographic exploration suggests that when individuals with differing cultural identities participate in a knowledge system that is alien to theirs, the values and perspectives that bring about have the power to influence the process of knowledge production, permeating the system and challenging its paradigms, and therefore contributing to its constant growth and evolution.

This study may serve as testimony of how native students in STEM may adapt, negotiate with, and make novel contributions to the so-called Western scientific knowledge system when they are introduced to the field Ecology. Previous studies and testimonies have dealt with the historical, societal, and personal difficulties faced by native individuals within the academia, as well as the particularities of “native science” and Indigenous knowledge systems. This work expands our understanding of the intersection of knowledge systems by providing an overview of the perspectives, ideas, metaphors, and alternatives brought up by a group of native students in an ecological sciences program. This study indicates that a context that celebrates Indigenous identities and allows alternative ways of approaching the scientific method would foster self-confidence in students, facilitating the use of alternative methods, metaphors, and perspectives that emerge from synergies between knowledge systems. Further, it shows that multiplicity of perspectives and values can expand the possibilities of the process of ecological knowledge production.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The author is funded by FCT – Fundação para a ciência e a Tecnologia, I-P, in the scope of the contract foressen in th enumbers 4, 5 and 6 of article 23 of Decree-Law 57/2016 of 29 August, changed by Law 57/2017 of 19 July.Thensk are due to the support of CESAM by FCT/MCTES (UIDP/50017/2020 + UIDB/50017/2020 + LA/P/0094/2020, throu national funds.

ORCID iD

Patricia Esquete Garrote

Notes

Author Biography

Dr. Patricia Esquete Garrote’s main field of study is marine and aquatic ecology and biodiversity. She has mentored students with indigenous backgrounds since 2012, and her anthropological research digs into the intersections of different knowledge systems.

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