The rapid rise of artificial intelligence has changed the data center industry and thrust construction of giant server farms into the public eye in a way that’s triggering significant community opposition.

By Arcelia Martin

For its first three decades, the data center industry was not used to the limelight, quietly building server closets in office basements and later the infrastructure to power credit cards, digital health records, social media and streaming services.

A New Era of Data Center Development Is Like a Second Industrial Revolution

Humans are deeply responsible for the current climate crisis, and a significant root cause is the nationstate fiction that land and morethanhuman relations can be reduced to “property” to be owned, controlled, and exhausted for profit. This ownership paradigm is inseparable from the Doctrine of Discovery and Terra Nullius, by Church and Crown, which gave moral and legal cover to seize Indigenous lands and suppress Indigenous laws of responsibility and reciprocity with the web of life.​ 

The modern idea that a Crown or state holds “underlying title” to Indigenous lands in Canada flows directly from these doctrines, which treated alreadyinhabited territories as “empty” and available to Christian European empires. In practice, this has allowed Canada to assert ultimate authority over unceded territories, reduce Indigenous Nations to “claimants” on their own lands, and legitimize largescale extraction and dispossession.​

This way of thinking has fractured the integrity of land and the broader web of life. When land is seen as property rather than as a living relation, decisions are framed around shortterm economic gain instead of the continuity of waters, soils, plants, animals, and communities. From clearcut logging and fossil fuel expansion to exclusionary conservation, the same logic of unilateral control has fragmented habitats, undermined biodiversity, and disrupted longstanding Indigenous stewardship practices.​

For Indigenous Nations, climate change intensifies these harms. Shifting seasons, altered animal migrations, and degraded waters are eroding the conditions for hunting, fishing, trapping, and gathering, and with them, language, ceremony, and landbased teachings. This is not just environmental damage; it is an attack on living Indigenous legal orders that were designed to keep human behaviour accountable to the land.​

Politically, the ownership myth entrenches a hierarchy in which the state imagines itself as the final decisionmaker over territories it claims. Indigenous Nations are pushed into endless “consultation,” while absolute authority and benefitsharing rarely shift. Economically, this worldview feeds a growthdriven model in which “wealth” is measured by what can be extracted, privatized, and traded, rather than by the health of ecosystems and communities. Socially and spiritually, it normalizes disconnection from place, where many people experience land as a commodity rather than as a living network to which they belong and are accountable.​

Human arrogance thrives in this disconnection. The belief that humans stand above other beings, entitled to engineer, commodify, or sacrifice them for convenience and profit, has opened a climate change Pandora’s box: land turned into property, relations turned into resources, and the garden of life left to rot around us while humanity chooses profits over peace. Our current geopolitical and geoeconomic crises are symptoms of the same disorder, power and control elevated above responsibility and reciprocity.​

There is no doubt that human activities, shaped by colonialism, fossil capitalism, and the property mindset, are driving the climate crisis. Yet Indigenous knowledge holders and communities across Turtle Island insist that genuine solutions must be rooted in decolonization, land back, and the restoration of landbased responsibilities and Indigenous selfdetermination. Indigenousled renewable energy projects, landback agreements, and the revitalization of traditional land use practices show it is possible to align livelihoods with the wellbeing of ecosystems instead of their destruction.​

This moment demands more than new policies; it calls for a profound shift in worldview. Humans are not owners, but relatives, not masters, but participants in a living treaty with the rest of creation. Moving from ownership to relationship feeling as well as thinking our way back into reciprocity offers one path out of the current crisis.​

Householdlevel conversations are an essential place to begin reconciling with Mother Earth. These conversations can ask different questions: Who rather than What is this land to us? What are our responsibilities here? How do our everyday choices, food, energy, transport, investments, and political action support or undermine Indigenousled visions of climate justice? When families and communities begin to live as if land is a relative rather than a possession, the foundations of a different future begin to take root.

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

Image Credit: Davey Gravy, Unsplash

The post From Ownership to Relationship: Reclaiming Our Responsibilities to Land appeared first on Indigenous Climate Hub.

From Ownership to Relationship: Reclaiming Our Responsibilities to Land

Across the planet, human settlements have been built as if rivers, oceans, and forests were mere backdrops to human stories rather than powerful forces with their own laws and rhythms. Building in flood zones and reshaping rivers for convenience are among the clearest examples of this folly. The land has been forced to serve human needs, instead of humans learning to live within the land’s limits and patterns.

Floodplains are not “vacant land.”

Floodplains exist because rivers regularly rise, spread, and deposit sediment, renewing soils and supporting rich ecosystems. When development paves, drains, and walls off these areas, two things happen at once: the land loses its capacity to absorb and slow water, and the people who move in inherit predictable risk. Subdivisions, highways, and industrial sites on floodplains in British Columbia and elsewhere have repeatedly suffered catastrophic damage during extreme rainfall and snowmelt, drowning farmlands, homes, and critical infrastructure.

Each socalled “natural disaster” becomes an expensive lesson paid in insurance claims, disaster assistance, and rebuilding costs, even though the river did what floodplains are meant to do: spread, move, and reclaim space. When homes and farms in interior B.C. flood, or when subway tunnels in Toronto fill with water during intense storms, it is not simply climate change striking at random; it is climate change colliding with decades of landuse decisions that pretended water had no right of way.

Dams and the broken lives of rivers

Dams are often framed as engineering triumphs, providing flood control, hydropower, and water storage. Yet every dam interrupts a river’s life systems: sediment transport, fish migration, nutrient flows, and seasonal flooding of wetlands and floodplains. Large dams have submerged valleys and Indigenous homelands, altered fish populations, and changed downstream flow regimes, undermining food security and cultural practices.
Their economic “benefits” frequently ignore these losses, as well as the costs of maintenance, aging infrastructure, and climatedriven changes in flows that can reduce power generation and increase safety risks. When dams fail or when extreme events exceed their design standards, the damage can be enormous: lives lost, communities evacuated, ecosystems damaged, and public funds poured into emergency response and repair. Each failure is a reminder that rivers have their own energies and attempts to control them permanently will always carry risk.

The planet is already saying “no.”

The future of infrastructure is being negotiated now, not only in boardrooms and design studios, but also in floodwaters, wildfires, coastal erosion, and heat waves. Coastal erosion and storm surge are claiming homes built too close to retreating shorelines, with houses collapsing into the sea in Atlantic Canada and other coastal regions. Increased wildfire frequency and intensity have led to devastating townlevel burns in communities like Lytton, B.C., and Jasper, AB, revealing how forestinterface development and fire suppression have amplified risk.

Urban flooding in cities like Toronto, where underpasses and transit systems are routinely overwhelmed, shows that stormwater systems designed for a gentler climate are no match for today’s extremes. In all of these cases, the planet is effectively setting new terms: specific forms of development, placement, and density are no longer viable. Engineering can delay consequences, but cannot cancel the underlying reality that water, fire, and wind will seek their own paths.

Responsive and adaptive infrastructure

The built environment of the future must move away from bruteforce control toward responsive, adaptive relationships with natural systems. Key shifts include:

Building with, not against, landforms

• Avoiding new development in highrisk floodplains, steep fireprone slopes, eroding coasts, and other hazard zones, while prioritizing retreat, relocation, and restoration.

• Using green infrastructure such as wetlands, permeable surfaces, and urban forests to absorb water, reduce heat, and buffer storms instead of relying solely on concrete and pipes.

Allowing rivers and coasts to move

• Restoring floodplains and riparian zones so rivers can expand safely during high flows, reducing downstream damage.

• Reconsidering and, where possible, removing or reoperating dams to restore ecological function while meeting human needs in less damaging ways.

Designing for failure and change

• Accepting that some infrastructure will be overtopped, burned, or inundated, and designing systems that fail safely with clear recovery pathways.

• Regularly updating risk assessments and landuse plans as climate patterns shift, rather than assuming static baselines.

These approaches require money, time, and political will, but rebuilding in the same vulnerable places again and again also carries immense financial and human costs.

Honouring land instead of abusing it

At the heart of this shift is a change in how land is understood:

• Not as an object of ownership and control, but as a place with its own history, rights, and patterns to be respected.

• Not as a blank slate for any project, but as a living system that will answer attempts at domination with erosion, flooding, fire, and instability.

For Indigenous Nations, this perspective is not new. Land, rivers, and other beings are understood as relatives with agency, not passive surfaces. Planning and building within this framework means asking whether a place can safely host a particular kind of development, not just whether it is technically feasible, and designing structures and communities that can adapt as conditions change instead of locking in rigid forms that will become liabilities.

A call to new generations

This is a moment for younger generations of planners, engineers, architects, and community leaders to refuse the old arrogance that assumed the land would adapt to human projects. The new work is to create infrastructure and communities that adapt to evolving land and climate realities. That means learning to read landscapes, waters, and fire histories as carefully as any technical manual; challenging developments that place people and ecosystems in predictable harm’s way; and innovating in ways that honour place, minimize disruption, and embrace reversible, flexible, ecologically grounded design.

The foolishness of building in flood zones and of damming rivers without regard for human life has been exposed by climate change. The question now is whether humanity will continue to abuse land as if it were inert or finally treat it with the dignity it has always deserved, recognizing that the planet will always have the final word.

Blog by Rye Karonhiowanen Barberstock

Image Credit: Ries Bosch, Unsplash

The post Human Foolishness in Floodplains appeared first on Indigenous Climate Hub.

Human Foolishness in Floodplains