A climate change talanoa: exploring creative possibilities for a hopeful future

Abstract

This article explores creative possibilities for climate action through talanoa (a form of dialogue practised in the Pacific Islands). Built on inter-subjective empathy, the dignity of persons and reciprocal justice, engaging in a talanoa creates a relational space for reflecting on the profound questions of planetary life. While a talanoa is usually produced “face-to-face”, this article demonstrates how a talanoa can also be achieved across space between a political scientist in Sweden and the Archbishop emeritus of Polynesia in Fiji. Together, we reveal the value of talanoa as a powerful medium for empowering climate change action. The content of the talanoa is critical of a scientific worldview that maintains a gap between humans and nature. Instead, emphasis is placed on relationality-as-knowledge, the importance of integrity and actively listening to the voice of nature. Values are thus taken seriously as a form of transformation and a source of hope and justice.

Introduction

Carbon emissions, unsustainable practices in the production of goods and other human activities are causing permanent changes to the Earth’s surface, climate, ecosystems and biodiversity resulting in the extinction of species, rising seawater levels, coastal erosion and extreme weather. This is often quantified through the so-called “planetary boundaries”, which sets the limits for sustainable life. Two such boundaries, climate change and land and ocean system change, are precariously close to crossing the boundaries, while biogeochemical flows and biosphere integrity have already exceeded these thresholds (Dryzek & Pickering, 2019; Steffan et al., 2015). If a crisis is understood as a perceived threat to the “normal” functioning of society (Boin, 1995), then we can justifiably refer to the changes in the climate and the environment as a crisis.

Featuring some of the most at-risk countries in the world, the climate and the environmental crisis is palpable in the Pacific region. Climate-induced changes include increasing sea water levels, coastal erosion, ocean acidification, drought and cyclones, such as the devastating 2015 cyclone Pam in Fiji, Tuvalu and Kirabati. Faced with these and other daunting environmental crises that can threaten the very existence of some island states (Steiner, 2015), Pacific islanders have established sustainable ways of living according to a different value system from the Global North for the past two millennia (Beddoe et al., 2019; Hollis, 2021). Insights from the South Pacific, ranging from everyday practices in agricultural techniques and the management of coastal erosion to Indigenous concepts of time and space, offers a rich source of imagination that, together with Western science, have created innovative ideas for climate adaption and sustainable living. Examples include revitalizing traditional wells in the Federated States of Micronesia, climate smart agriculture in Papua New Guniea and preserving coastal and marine ecosystems in Palau (Mcleod et al., 2019).

Many commentators now recognize that if the physical reality we occupy is radically changing, then we must also re-consider what it means to live in a world defined by an ongoing climate and biodiversity crisis and to confront complex questions about our world and our place within it (Dryzek & Pickering, 2019; Latour, 2014; Page, 2020). As reflected in the Paris Agreement 2016, the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework and the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), there is universal acknowledgement for a drastic change in our behaviour, attitudes and values in the following decades (Fazey et al., 2018; O’Brien, 2018) that go beyond typical instrumental measures by the international development community.

Alternative voices and different epistemologies on sustainability are thus crucial for maintaining diversity of thought, creativity and a broader understanding (Brush, 2020). However, Pacific climate governance has not always been acknowledged, which is partly due to “biases in climate research that prioritize Western science and technological solutions over other systems of knowledge” (Mcleod et al., 2019, p. 2). This relates to post-colonial studies that underline the importance of maintaining Indigenous epistemologies and practices (de Sousa Santos, 2018; Smith, 2012) including Pacific Island Indigenous communities (Plange, 1985, 2023; Va’ai & Casimira, 2017) and resisting “Western” scientific views (Nunn, 2009).

Even if we are in a crisis of our own making, the way in which we imagine this crisis is formed predominantly through a single modern scientific frame of reference. Research on climate transformation has acknowledged this imbalance by including Indigenous knowledge in their work. However, even this literature fails to examine how local Indigenous populations understand transformation including how their distinct worldviews shape how they see humanity, the earth and the natural environment. Instead, it selectively uses Indigenous knowledge to confirm scientific knowledge (Chandler & Reid, 2019; Lam et al., 2020). If “knowledge of climate always carries with it beliefs and values about the world it is seeking to describe” (Mahony & Hulme, 2018, p. 410) then it is important to critically reflect on the politics of knowledge and the values we uphold.

This article begins to address this gap through a creative form of scholarship whereby a talanoa (a form of dialogue practised in the Pacific Islands) is practised “across space”, leading to new insights in respect of different epistemologies. In this sense, the Indigenous practice of talanoa is being developed beyond its original context; however, equal agency is given to Indigenous and non-Indigenous voices, allowing for an equitable space from which spontaneous and creative ideas and new energy for action can emerge.

The content of our talanoa on climate change is critical of a scientific worldview that maintains a gap between humans and nature. The importance of language, symbols, beliefs, values and the social construction of climate action are equally important to science because they inform the possibilities of climate action. It is our conviction that fundamental change will not occur without the restructuring of ontology—how we see, and epistemology—how we know, the world and the restructuring of our relationality to all humanity and the environment. This does not mean we have to start anew or reject science, but we have to carefully reflect on the underlying value systems that construct our worldviews and make necessary adjustments for increasing the value of planetary life. This talanoa offers a means for starting this conversation at a critical time. This also begins to answer the call for creative “transformative skills” to enable meaningful climate action through a relational approach (Wamsler et al., 2020, 2021).

Consequently, this article aims to (a) demonstrate the value of a talanoa across space and as a site of transformation through an illustrative example and (b) contribute to climate change action through the content and outcomes of the talanoa, which emphasizes the importance of knowledge-as-relating, listening to the voice of nature, values and acting from the “heart” as a basis for meaningful and long-term climate and environmental engagement.

The article proceeds with an elaboration of talanoa as epistemology that can be used (a) in the relational production of knowledge and (b) as a form of dialogue for policy deliberation. This is then followed by a talanoa on climate change and concludes with an epilogue that reflects on the talanoa process and its multifaceted value.

Methodology

There is a richness to be discovered in the diverse worldviews we bring to climate change. We believe in, and celebrate, talanoa as a vehicle that can facilitate this discovery.

Talanoa is a common form of dialogue practised throughout the Pacific and it can take on a variety of forms from talanoa-faikava (focus group of two or more people sharing kava (a ceremonial beverage made from the roots of the Piper methysticum plant) to talanoa-tevolo (emotional and spiritual communication; Vaioleti, 2013) or hui (meetings; Robinson & Robinson, 2005). The value of talanoa has also been recognized and used in international fora, such as Conference of the Parties (COP) meetings (Kirsch, 2021; Lesniewska & Siegele, 2018; Mundaca et al., 2019) and as a diplomatic tool for reconciliation (Halapua, 2002), and has been discussed, used and reflected upon as an Indigenous method (Cammock et al., 2021; Fa’avae et al., 2016; Vaioleti, 2013; Wibeck et al., 2019).

In this article, we refer to talanoa as a form of dialogue built on reciprocal justice, inter-subjective empathy and the incommunicability of the person as it relates to their dignity. While it shares some similarities with Socratic dialogue and dialectic forms of exchange (Tecun et al., 2018), it is also set apart by its emphasis on the following four characteristics as expressed by W. Halapua (2008):

• 1. Justice: Each participant is awarded enough, with an equal amount of space, to tell their story. This is a “safe space” designed to ensure no participant is excluded or unheard (Farrelly & Nabobo-Baba, 2014).

• 2. Space: Emphasis is placed on what we have in common, the context of difference and what is yet to be understood. This space ought to be creative and engaging for all.

• 3. Listening: A talanoa setting encourages us to listen to others, silence, the environment and to God. This listening is deeply relational as it can reveal who we are. Halapua uses the image of the waka (canoe) whereby each person aboard the sailing vessel listens to different aspects of the environment, such as the clouds, the sea, birds and the crew. An inter-weaving of these roles work together to navigate towards distant shores.

• 4. Dialogue: This is about entering into a sacred space where we acknowledge that everyone has profound contributions to offer in the “infinite possibilities of the other” (W. Halapua, 2008, p. 66). Close parallels can be seen here in von Hildebrand’s (1933/2017) discussion on reverence as a fundamental attitude for moral conduct: “reverence for our neighbors is the basis for all true community life” (p. 7).

The Pacific represents a specific seascape defined by a worldview dissimilar to the Western imagination (Haúofa, 1985). It relates to a “non-linear, culturally-embedded, circular, spiritual way of thinking, theorising and communicating” (Quanchi, 2004, p. 5). For instance, the tā-vā (Tongan theory of reality) practised through tauhi vā (maintaining social relations) provides an alternative understanding of how to live with strong links to rhythm, art, nature and a circular concept of time and space (Hollis, 2021; Ka′ili, 2017). Talanoa is embedded in and resonates this cosmology: it can be more than a means of communication, it can also be a way of knowing through relating to others in unity.

Based on this cosmology and the four characteristics mentioned above, talanoa is understood as a dialogue built on the sacred—empathy, dignity, respect, vulnerability, producing a state of -noa (equality; Tecun et al., 2018), as well as solidarity, creativity and potentiality. This form of dialogue is foremost about relationality where stories are knowledge and interaction can lead to new understanding. Emphasis on this talanoa thus complements previous research on talanoa by emphasizing its epistemology. This is not about a scientific quest for extracting facts and testing statements against an empirical reality; instead, it is about relationality. To know is to relate. We thus follow others who recognize relational knowing through talanoa (Māhina, 2010; Tecun et al., 2018; Vaioleti, 2013) and connect it to climate change.

A talanoa epistemology begins by fully respecting the turangawaewae (a place to stand) of each participant. Accepting the place where people stand highlights the importance of difference as a source of creativity and potential change. The following pages illustrate a talanoa on climate change between two persons deeply committed to seeing climate transformation that can lead to greater quality of life. Distance separates us, which is why this cannot be a typical talanoa of physical presence and non-verbal cues. Nonetheless, we believe there is potential for a talanoa of deep sharing and commitment. We first met in person through a mutual friend where we engaged in our first talanoa on climate change. There was a strong desire to continue this conversation in the weeks and months that followed despite the physical space that separated us. We, therefore, began correspondence over email. We have been fully committed to the sacred principles of talanoa and entered the experiment with great expectations. Talanoa is a way of giving and entering into an honoured space with openness. Talanoa can embrace the other in the silence and in the exchange of story, even over physical distance.

We have three reasons for conducting this form of engagement. First, it is about searching for new ways of thinking about climate change and contributing to existing debates on how we ought to transform. Second, it is an attempt to challenge dominant approaches on knowledge construction in the Global North by emphasizing relationality in practice. Third, it is an experimental technique that could be used as an alternative form of knowledge construction that contributes to existing literature on talanoa as a research method. Many publications on talanoa have focused on the practice as an alternative method for collecting empirics (Cammock et al., 2021; Fa’avae et al., 2016, 2022; Feetham et al., 2023). This article contributes to this small but growing field of research by illustrating how a talanoa holds much promise as a form of knowledge production (Tecun et al., 2018). This also allows for a more direct and equitable contribution for Indigenous researchers and contributors.

The following talanoa can be read with an image of a weaved mat or basket. When you examine the weaving, you will notice certain patterns begin to emerge as a work of art. These include, but are not limited to, hope, integrity, justice and the social construction of space. Another way to approach a reading of this talanoa is to liken it to jazz improvization where each person reacts to and creates a common beat; an analogy closely aligned to tauhi va (Ka′ili, 2017). The talanoa is consequently kept as “raw” as possible, keeping revisions to a minimum. As the following talanoa represents the start of an ongoing series of talanoa, it has been edited and some text removed to keep within a standard word limit. Finally, as a talanoa is about the loto (heart), it is also personal and sacred knowledge (Tecun et al., 2018). We, therefore, ask readers to keep this in mind when reading the following pages.

A talanoa on climate change

Hollis

I come from Te Waipounamu (the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand). Growing up in Whakatū, more commonly known as Nelson, a predominately White suburban town in the Tasman Bay region, I had a happy and healthy childhood. Many of my memories often cast me back to times spent with my family and friends in nature: swimming and kayaking in the local rivers, tramping the ranges of St Arnaud, climbing at Paynes Ford, and fishing in the Marlborough Sounds. I have maintained this love of nature during my studies in Canterbury and I now enjoy spending time with my children in the forest and sailing around Stockholm’s archipelago.

After living in Sweden for 15 years, I have been surprised how I still feel a very real, if not profound, connection to my homeland. I feel a strong love not only to my friends, family and church, but also to the land, flora and fauna of Aotearoa (New Zealand). My faith has been a great source of strength, comfort and peace in life’s struggles and a source of joy and praise in times of blessings. So, when I see nature, I see God’s creation and there is a certain form of reverence that emerges out of this viewpoint. However, I feel increasingly uneasy with a modernist predisposition that pervades my sensibility, namely a division between nature and humans. I think this has prevented a fuller appreciation of seeing God in nature. While on one hand they are blessings, many technologies bifurcate nature. I see it in clock-time and screen-time and experience it in the mundane, such as when I look through the car window. This division is also reinforced in some interpretations of Genesis where God grants us authority over nature as “stewards”.

Some of these concerns have drawn me to the intertwining of nature and society as expressed in Pacific cosmology. There is a lot to learn from Pacific epistemologies, not only for my own personal and spiritual development, but also as it relates to what I see as one of the most profound questions of our time: how can we transform towards a more sustainable and climate-friendly mode of living while also ensuring quality of life for all? There is a lot of doom and gloom discourse and apocalyptic imagery associated with climate change, which does little good. It is important that we do not become defeatist or succumb to Learning to Die in the Anthropocene (Scranton, 2015). Instead, we need to focus on the form in transformation. Yet, I feel frustrated and concerned about imagining a future purely from a Western-modernistic epistemology. A multi-perspectival view is necessary for reconsidering hyper-individualism, utilitarianism and ecomodernism, to name just a few trajectories that are, in my mind, unhelpful.

Halapua

Thank you for the vivid sharing of your rich formation. You were brought up in a very beautiful part of Aotearoa New Zealand. I understand your rich connection with the environment because of the raw beauty you encountered as a child.

The Diocese of Polynesia has long connections with your part of New Zealand. Our first Bishop—Bishop Kempthorne—was from Nelson. I have visited Nelson often. I remember an unforgettable occasion when with other clergy we were taken up the Marlborough Sounds on a launch to remote Māori [Indigenous people of New Zealand] settlement. The Māori welcomed us because long ago the Anglican Church supported the people when there was an outbreak of tuberculosis. I remember the warmth of the people and the kai moana (seafood) freshly caught and prepared. I also remember the vineyards and the abundance of grapes.

My childhood was very different from yours—but the exposure to nature resonates with me and also the gift of coming to faith in the God who made us and came to us in Jesus.

My father came originally from a very remote island Nuiatoputapu. Lapita (prehistoric Melanesian culture) type pottery from settlement 4,000 to 5,000 years ago has been excavated from this island. It was once named Traitors Island by European explorers. We do not own that name Traitors—toputapu—means sacred place. We are an ancient people of the Sacred Island. My father, Fine, was schooled in Nuku álofa, the capital of Tonga. He married, became a teacher at an Anglican school and had children—I was the seventh. I was called Winston after Churchill the British Prime Minister who declared peace in 1945. Money was very short and so I helped my family on the plantation and by fishing alongside my father.

As a boy, after school, I used to leave home for the plantation with a horse and work alone until it was time to sleep. I made a little shelter from coconut fronds and lit a fire to ward off mosquitos. In the morning, I loaded the horse with crops and any fruit growing and I returned to the family. This exposure to the environment—to planting and to harvesting, to living outside by myself, to providing food for the family, was a very important part of my formation. Growing up in Tonga of course I was aware of crops fruits and flowers in season and climate but with the plantation experience I became even more acutely aware of the natural world.

With you, I see the gap forged by human beings between the natural world and ourselves, which is sometimes so glaring. This gap may widen with technology, which keeps us from connecting with the wonder of creation. This gap may harden hearts and attitudes both to the wonders of nature and to the threats to its wellbeing.

Many Pacific Islanders seem to have an affinity with the natural world. This affinity can be found in other cultures too. My wife reminds me of the love of creation in the Celtic tradition.

Sometimes it seems we are spoken to in small significant ways by creatures. The flying of a white owl in Tonga may herald death. There are other stories to share in our talanoa.

We need to hear creation speaking. It is speaking so loudly now with the sea level rising due to climate change. On a Palm Sunday after a devastating cyclone, we travelled to the other side of Viti Levu [the largest island of Fiji] along the King’s Road. Along the hillsides, stripped of their branches, were hundreds and hundreds of trees. They stood like hundreds of crosses.

I am with you in your love of boats and the Ocean. I have such early memories of swimming for hours in the Ocean and fishing with my father from Pangaimotu. Pangaimotu is an island off Nuku’alofa. The island is now being destroyed because of climate change. We will talanoa more about that.

Hollis

Thank you for your response and sharing part of your story. When conversing in our initial meeting at Suva Point you said something that struck me, especially as an academic and political scientist. You said that you are not interested in knowledge, but in relationality. Engaging in this talanoa is helping me understand this statement as I allow your words to resonate with me.

The differences in our stories, just as much as their similarities, form a space for friendship, respect and discovery. I see this not only as a rich source of relationality, but also as a primary vehicle for climate action. One of my heroes is the second United Nations Secretary General, Dag Hammarskjöld. At an address at John Hopkins University, he said:

International service requires of all of us first and foremost the courage to be ourselves . . . it requires that we should be true to none other than our ideals and interests—but these should be such as we can fully endorse after having opened our minds, with great honesty, to the many voices of the world. (Hammarskjöld, 1955, p. 64)

As a keen mountaineer and nature enthusiast, I think Hammarskjöld would include nature, just as much as you and me, in the “voices of the world”. The harrowing image you mention of hundreds of crosses left in the aftermath of the cyclone and the white owl are good examples of this.

I am learning to listen to nature’s voice. When I marvel at the tranquillity and beauty of my local surroundings, from the sea to the forests, I speak to nature in admiration. However, I am learning that reverence is just the beginning of discovering nature. Reverence allows us to be open to nature, but we also have to be willing to take the next step: to stop speaking and to listen. We need to listen to nature and let this provide meaning in our lives. And when we stop and listen, we hear so many voices. Some are desperate cries of help while other voices offer profound insights into life. I recently picked up a leaf and listened to 1,000 metaphors. Images of ageing, rejuvenation, uniqueness, beauty, loneliness, imperfection, God’s creation and many other voices rang true in the silence of my own mind. The leaf provides another way of seeing time, space and reality, which I believe is beneficial for rethinking how we think about nature as a means for changing our behaviour for a more sustainable future. It can begin to repair the nature–human gap created by technology.

Winston, I believe you have ventured further in this journey; I feel empowered by your story and your insights. There is much to be learnt from the Pacific “affinity with nature” and other Indigenous connections to nature like the Celtics in Scotland and Sámi (Indigenous peoples of northern Scandinavia and northwest Russia) in Sweden. Learning from these voices of the world is, for me, not about cultural appropriation or a critique of the Eurocentric gaze. Rather, to use one of your analogies, it can be likened to a dance where each worldview is appreciated in a creative space that opens up the possibilities for change.

Being in nature is about adventure, discovery, peace and friendship. These human traits bring quality to our lives in nature, enabling expressions of creativity, love, respect and reverence. It forms us—such as your connection to agriculture and the profound beauty and majesty of Aotearoa’s mountains etched in my mind—and calls to us, if we are ready to listen. I wonder then, should decision-makers continue to talk about climate change as a crisis? Of course, we are living in a crisis, but it is one of our own making and one that began with a disregard for nature; a choice to stop listening to nature. Reverence, respect and love have been overshadowed by short-term economic interests and the love of oneself. Many of us recognize that we are the cause of our own demise, but we nevertheless continue to excavate carbon from the earth and emit it into the atmosphere in unsustainable quantities. Like Paul writes, “For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (New International Version Bible, 1973, Rom 7: 15). But hope must remain, and my hope for change is about practising reverence and actively listening to “the many voices of the world” (Hammarskjöld, 1955). I think this talanoa can be a small expression of what this can look like.

Halapua

Bula (hello, welcome), Simon. Life to you.

Since I last shared with you, I have visited New Caledonia for the Assembly of the Pacific

Conference of Churches. I have visited many Pacific Island Nations before, but not New Caledonia. I was struck by the hospitality and humility of the people.

As you might have imagined, the addressing of climate change formed a significant part of the Conference that brought together Church leaders from many parts of the Pacific region. I am including a small quote from my own keynote address:

The largest existential threat to Planet Earth confronts us. Climate Change is a geopolitical threat for all nations. It directly impacts Pacific Island nations with sea-level rising, drought and frequency of devastating cyclones. In Paris 2015 we contributed to putting forward a limit of 1.5 degrees to Global warming, not just for ourselves but for the whole Planet. There is need to unite as Churches and to unite with people of good faith in vigorously addressing care of Creation. Meeting this challenge is a huge task. Climate Change presents an opportunity to unite people widely, as together we strive for justice and peace in our Planet. (W. Halapua, 2023, p. 1)

Yes, our talanoa is a setting out to extend the listening to “the many voices of the world”. You once kindly visited our home in Suva Point and I remember our sharing on the deck overlooking the garden. Now we talanoa across distances—vast distances and yet our intention to forge friendship and the help of technology brings us near.

Distance can be positive—the allowing of space. I crossed the Pacific by plane recently. When I first came to Fiji to study, it was before regular air flights. I travelled by boat from Tonga many times. On those trips, I was exposed to the vastness of the Pacific Ocean—the Moana. There was space: time to allow for the presence of the other, time to reflect, time for awe and wonder, time to consider the journey ahead.

The Pacific Ocean is the oldest Ocean and has great depths—depths greater than others. The Pacific Ocean is the largest of all the Oceans and the Ocean itself calls us to treasure space. The first part of the word talanoa is tala—means story. The second part of the word talanoa—is noa which means space. So, to talanoa must be to give space for the other and the environment to become, to speak. Talanoa potentially provides for integrity and justice.

I mentioned that I would share something of the tiny island of Pangaimotu off Nuku’álofa, the capital of Tonga. This island is important to my formation and also to my on-going journey in the addressing of climate change. As I told you, my father, Fine, took me fishing on Pangaimotu. I was a boy then. It was a small journey from home and we crossed to the island when the tide allowed us to cross the sand. My father fished with a spear and I carried the sack. I learnt from my father to observe the tides and the winds, to know where best to fish.

Pangaimotu has been used by the Royal Family as a garden to grow crops for the benefit of the Palace. The name indicates it is a royal island. Arriving on Pangaimotu today, you might think that it is unchanged. The sand is golden. The palms ring the island. But the interior tells the story of change—climate change. A brief walk into the interior of Pangaimotu, allows for a view of coconut palms standing bereft of their fronds. Sea-level rising has meant the seeping of saltwater poisoning roots and destroying palms and vegetation. When we visited, the interior of Pangaimotu seemed like the graveyard of some sea monster—palm trunks stood like bones. To Pangaimotu we have taken Bishops from the United Kingdom and from New Zealand and others to help tell the story of destruction due to sea level rising and the frequency of cyclones. We have taken Tongan school children also. On Pangaimotu, we have given thanks for the beauty of creation, and we have also prayed that we may care for creation. On one occasion, with school children, we planted mangroves—in a small way contributing to the preservation of Pangaimotu. Pangaimotu is dear to my heart, as you will understand. There are so many other places dear to the hearts of people that are being threatened.

I have talked about vastness—the vastness of the Moana, which speaks of space allowing dignity for differing voices. I was struck by the leaf you picked up and which spoke to you in so many ways. This morning in a reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus speaks of God who knows the number of hairs on every person’s head and cares for tiny birds. It seems important that we hold both the great and the small in creation as valuable in the great scheme of things. Thinking of children planting mangrove saplings—small efforts are not meaningless. This talanoa has its value.

I am reading again your quote from Dag Hammarskjöld and hope to share my reflection in further talanoa.

Halapua

It is the beginning of the Advent Season that prepares us for the celebration of Christmas. The old frangipani tree is blooming in the garden. The tropics are vibrant with colour at this time. Nature decorates for Christmas. Inside our home, the carved olive wood figures of the Nativity I brought long ago from Nazareth have been arranged. The magi are following the star which led to Bethlehem.

I have been thinking of that strange story in Matthew’s Gospel—the story of the foreigners, reading the heavens. Following a star, reading creation and journeying; and as they journeyed, they discerned their way avoiding the machinations of political power (New International Version Bible, 1973, Matt 2). The magi are in tune with the deep power of nature and they are deeply discerning. There is deep wisdom here. The COP28 is meeting at this time, a great gathering of people converging to address climate change. There is value in sitting face to face and building relationships in formal and informal ways. We hope and pray that those who have journeyed to Dubai will address the facts, will see clearly the signs that creation is sharing and will journey with integrity and humility, discerning a way forward with deep wisdom.

I am reflecting that deep wisdom is found in unlikely places among unlikely people. There is a wisdom in being deeply close to nature. There is wisdom in being aware of the mystery and source of creation.

It is so interesting that you refer to Dag Hammarskjöld. You know, I remember hearing of his tragic and untimely death in a plane crash when I was growing up in Tonga, I would have been about 16. I can imagine that the Swedish Secretary-General of the United Nations, is a hero of yours. Dag Hammarskjöld had an understanding of the interconnectedness of humanity with all its diversities that enabled him to pursue peace and justice with determination and integrity. It seems to me that Dag Hammarskjöld was wise. The quote you shared from Hammarskjöld (1955). These words speak to me of a call to great integrity. It is a call to openness “to the many voices of the world” (Hammarskjöld, 1955, p. 64). These words speak of an integrity, which allows for the integrity of the other. Yes, I more than suspect Dag Hammarskjöld today would include the voices of creation that speak so urgently and loudly.

It seems to me that to have integrity is not to be static in thinking or approach. It is a discovery of who we are and what is deeply meaningful and the allowing of others to make their own discoveries. In the process of great openness to the other, there will be potential growth in relationship, which activates inclusivity and promotes new ways of wellbeing for humanity and the planet.

Hollis

What a privilege to deliver a keynote speech at the recent Pacific Conference of Churches (PCC). Your call to address climate change risk by asking churches to rally around this cause is a bold and much needed approach for planetary justice and peace. One question continues to re-emerge among academics, media and popular culture: how do we motivate meaningful and transformative change for a more just and sustainable future? One answer is what you are proposing: to unite churches in our common care of creation. I believe real change in our society will occur only when we are moved by our hearts in addition to our minds. For the past half century, activists and scientists have presented evidence of global warming and underlined the corresponding risks. Given the slow progress in achieving the climate and SDGs, this has not been enough. Perhaps the role of the church is to motivate meaningful action through the heart in accordance with scripture. I wonder if this can also be extended across faiths to the many voices of the world based on dignity and integrity.

The connection you make to integrity reminds me of Henri Nouwen’s (1975) reflections on hospitality, where we create a free space for strangers to “enter and discover themselves . . . free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free to . . . follow their own vocation” (p. 72). Just like integrity, hospitality is deeply relational, providing us the space to discover ourselves as well as the recognition that this cannot be done alone. When we open our hearts to others, we can also assist each other in our own self-discovery by revealing one another’s uniqueness. This is more than a word of encouragement; it is an active and relational means of helping each other flourish. In many ways, this relates to the potential I see in talanoa in its ability to create sacred spaces for discovery.

I find your previous comments on space intriguing. How we think about space, as well as time, tend to form our social imagination including how we think about climate change. A lot of Eurocentric thought tends to place emphasis on freedom from rather than freedom within, to use a phrase from Isaiah Berlin. The “I” almost always precedes the “we”. When we are confronted with the enormity of our role in contributing to climate change and environmental degradation, we reflect on these problems as individuals with a capital I. This often results in eco-anxiety, fatalism and depression, because it is a burden too heavy to carry. We feel responsible, but also overwhelmed with the idea that we can contribute to meaningful change. This is, again, why the statement you shared at the conference is so profound: the church provides not only a means to think with the heart and advocate integrity, but to think and act collectively. I am encouraged by this thought because it creates hope.

The stakes are high if our actions and thoughts are conditioned by the spaces we occupy. There are great possibilities for positive and transformative change if we can create hospitality or spaces of self-discovery on the basis of integrity. This can also provide a balm for eco-anxiety: as we make deeper connections between each other in a safe space, hope and healing can emerge. Equally though, destructive and fatalistic narratives lead to despair, reduce quality of life and our ability to transform towards more sustainable ways of living. This should highlight the profound importance of how we relate to others.

We recently celebrated advent Sunday at church and as a family gathered around our dining table. We lit a candle, ate saffron buns and drank mulled wine. This is a space created through tradition, religion and family. A treasured space where each family member is respected in their uniqueness while belonging to something bigger than themselves. In contrast to this intimate space, I experience vast space when I think of you in Suva and my friends and family in Te Waipounamu. I have rarely thought of this space as positive. However, reflecting on this, the value I place on what I miss—my family, my friends, the mountains and the rivers—is enhanced. I wonder too, if this has not also motivated me to appreciate my immediate surroundings in Sweden. I thank you for affording me this insight.

Halapua

Thank you for your response on my return from New Caledonia. It was indeed a privilege to deliver a keynote address to the PCC Assembly as new ways forward were being sought. I did address climate change as did other speakers. The churches in Oceania are becoming more alive to the issues of climate change. Climate change of course is affecting us hugely with sea level rising and increased frequency of cyclones of great intensity. This cyclone season there is a prediction of more cyclones with great strength.

Among the churches, there is progress in forging a united approach. Yet we also recognize that we need to do more work in teaching about creation in Parishes, Seminaries and Schools. We ought to receive the gift of creation with gratitude from a Good Creator. From the Biblical text, we learn that creation is good and that we have a responsibility to care for and cherish such goodness.

Thinking and praxis is shaped by how we see creation, such as Reverend Doctor Ilaitia Sevati Tuwere’s exploration of a theology of the vanua (land) and also my own exploration of a theology of the Moana. We will talanoa more on the significance of vanua and moana (ocean, sea).

The Roman Catholic Church is a member of the PCC. The Catholic bishops met a few days before the PCC Assembly. Catholic Archbishop of Suva, Fiji, Peter Loy Chong, shared a pastoral letter from all the Roman Catholic Bishops stating their position on climate change to the Assembly.

These are brief quotes from that pastoral letter, which was printed in the Fiji Sun, December 2–3, 2023:

We, the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Pacific speak from Oceania to communicate the pastoral and prophetic voice of the churches and vulnerable voices of people regarding the threats of climate change . . . . Our Oceania home is vulnerable from two main threats, namely climate change and economic exploitation and both have destructive impacts on the environment . . . . Oceania people are rooted in relationships with people, land and the sea. We are the vanua (land) and the moana (sea) and likewise the vanua and the moana is us. Climate change and economic exploitation threatens our very dignity, identity, livelihood and existence. (Conferentia Episcopalis Pacifici, 2023, paras. 1–24).

Yes, it is good when people are united in hearts and minds in addressing the climate change. It is so good that the churches are uniting in their mission to address the abuse of creation—we do need to increase effort—but it is good that we are moving. The Christian churches in this part of the world have often respect from, and are consulted by, governments.

Leaders of the Pacific met together in Rarotonga before the assembly. The findings of the assembly as a voice of the united churches of the assembly in New Caledonia were designed to be conveyed to the representatives of the Pacific at COP28 in Dubai. The General Secretary of the PCC and the Roman Catholic Archbishop were also present in Dubai to support the one voice of Oceania in addressing climate change.

The engagement of young people who are being educated and who are responding with action to care for the environment is so promising. Sometimes, small activities lead to wider involvement. Young people from a nearby Church in Suva Point formed a group to pick up plastic rubbish from the foreshore of Suva. This small movement was joined by groups from other churches and organizations in Fiji.

Increasingly, it seems to me that there is a wonderful opportunity to build bridges and unite with people of faith and no apparent faith in addressing climate change. This, as Pope Francis (2015), has stated is “our common home” (p. 9). Together, we will have the energy to care passionately and effectively and in doing so learn from each other bringing peace and justice to our troubled world. Living in Fiji with a population that includes Muslims and Hindus, makes me even more aware that other faiths are potential allies in the challenging of the abuse of creation.

Returning to the Magi—those wise people, who according to the Gospel of Matthew, journeyed to Bethlehem 2,000 years ago, guided by a star (New International Version Bible, 1973, Matt 2). It is a fascinating story. Yes, it would be wonderful to talanoa with them and hear from them how they felt connected to a deeper meaning that united their smallness, in contrast to the enormity of the universe, with the greatness of a God-given purpose. Thinking of them staring into the heavens, I am remembering a time when at night I stood on a hillside in Vava’u Tonga above the little harbour of Port of Refuge. I looked up and felt I was almost walking in the Milky Way. I felt small but at the same time embraced by the heavens. Distances were spanned.

Matthew’s Gospel has been shaped by the Wisdom Tradition, which was open to insights from other cultures (Sandstrom, 1989). The Magi were not Jews. They were foreigners. Yet, they were wise in their reading of nature and their discernment. I am interested that they not only read the heavens, but they also read the heart of Herod and saw through his duplicity, his political power hunger that would destroy innocents. Yes, they also represent the many voices of the world and have much to teach us.

Results and discussion

This talanoa does not neatly dovetail into a conclusion. Instead, it opens, rather than closes, various lines of inquiry. It asks for a tala-talanoa (continual talanoa) on climate action leading to deeper insights and creative ideas for rethinking how we think about and react to climate change—in fact, our series of talanoa continues as we edit this article. A concern for invigorating climate action by reimagining the value of planetary life, humans and nature is the common rhythm followed in this talanoa.

More specifically, the tapestry formed in this talanoa highlights themes that would profit from further discussion and reflection. These themes are based on points of resonance between the participants of this talanoa; some aspects of the talanoa resonated more with participants than others, influencing the tapestry of the dialogue—re-emerging patterns. While the themes remain interwoven and cannot be fully isolated, the following attempts to pinpoint a number of re-occurring themes in our talanoa.

Worldviews

One major theme is a concern with a gap between humans and the natural world, which can “harden hearts and attitudes”. This gap is attributed to a scientific worldview that contrasts against a Pacific cosmology: “We are the vanua . . . and the moana and likewise the vanua and the moana is us” (Conferentia Episcopalis Pacifici, 2023, para. 24). Here, the emphasis is placed on relationality rather than knowledge. This Indigenous notion is well known; however, taking this seriously—especially in the Global North, and reflecting on the extent to which we can restructure our own perception on nature would go a long way in providing a deep-seated transformation. A closer connection to nature is also understood as a key for motivating climate action whereby we lead from the heart rather than the mind. Of course, we need to work with and respect climate and environmental science, but we also need to guard against a separation from nature. Ultimately, this places emphasis on the underlying value system that animates our worldview on nature and carefully reflect on how this leads climate (in)action.

Integrity

It should be clear by now that scientific figures and facts are not providing the fulcrum for change needed for climate action. In addition to the mind, we need the heart. This is where integrity emerges as a useful concept. As noted above, integrity is a discovery of who we are and what is deeply meaningful and the allowing of others to make their own discoveries. This, in turn, can assist in an openness towards others, encouraging wellbeing for humans and for the planet. This includes an openness to religious and secular voices in the world as well as the voice of nature. Reflecting on the talanoa, Hollis experienced a movement of self-discovery by gaining a new perspective on the integrity and agency of nature. This has provided a first-hand source of deep motivation to fight for environmental integrity and garnered a genuine belief in the value of engaging in talanoa.

Hope

Integrity and dignity lead to hope. In a world of conflict, war and the threat of human extinction coupled with eschatological narratives of death and tragedy, hope must come forward as a counterpoint that can look towards a future where the value of planetary life can improve. This source of hope is seen as complementary to the many initiatives in the Pacific that contribute to climate adaption, resilience and justice (Steiner, 2015).

Space

Various means of thinking about and constructing space is a theme running throughout this talanoa as well as a defining aspect of a talanoa. Crucially, a talanoa has the potential to transcend physical spaces by creating an equitable and a safe space for the participants to flourish, to develop their ideas, express themselves and to improvise. It is a space that allows for but never forces change. Space is also juxtaposed with physical place in this talanoa. Our connection to, and love of, the vanua and moana are deep sources of motivation for engaging in this talanoa.

This talanoa was guided by the principles of justice, space, listening and dialogue. These were conditioning factors that allowed the talanoa to take place and also practised throughout the dialogue. Unusually, this talanoa placed greater emphasis on space rather than place because of the physical distance between the participants. This is not ideal as physical context and non-verbal cues are important means of communication that are lost. However, we have discovered that conducting a talanoa across space has been rewarding as the loss of physical cues heightens others. Each participant was given more time than normal—justice—to tell their story. We latched on to what we had in common, especially our faith, but also allowed room for difference—space. The latter was challenging and most rewarding as it encouraged growth and new insights for both participants. A talanoa across space also helped us to actively listen to each other in silence—listening. We also encouraged each other to listen to the voice of nature and the many voices of the world, each contributing different insights on our waka of discovery. Finally, the talanoa was shaped by believing in the infinite possibilities of the other—dialogue. This and the other principles were aided by a common spiritual connection providing a means for self-discovery, growth and new insights. One of these was gaining a deeper realization of relationality as knowledge. Talanoa is not just a method or conversation but can also be about knowledge and the re-evaluation of values that condition our turangawaewae.

Talanoa provides the possibility to harness safe and creative spaces to challenge us to be climate active persons who lead with our hearts just as much as with our minds. The talanoa presented in this article—which we continue to write—has been in itself a deep source of motivation for continuing and developing climate action. The reason for this can be located in a shift in underlying value preferences towards a more meaningful connection to nature as a source of motivation and relationality as a source of knowledge.

A talanoa does not shy away from difference but should embrace it. One of those differences has been recognizing the agency of nature: creation speaks to us if we are willing to listen. For example, creation speaks to us is the increasing intensity and frequency of natural hazards that are destroying the vanua in many Pacific islands. Crucially, vanua is not just about land, but about loto. When the land is under threat, the identity, culture and the life of Pacific communities are also under threat. In response to this, many Pacific islanders are fighting climate change such as the 350 Pacific Climate Warriors, the Pacific Islands Students Fighting Climate Change and the Youth Empowerment in Climate Action Platform. If not already in use, integrating talanoa as practised in this article holds much promise as a form of dialogue for changing hearts, not only minds. Talanoa could also be utilized to assist research and policy issues that relate to ideational tensions in Pacific communities resulting from climate change (Steiner, 2015) and as a means for allowing the voice of Pacific climate governance to be heard and respected globally.

As many programmes are restricted by time and financing, effecting long-term change has been a continual challenge for governments, non-governmental organizations and international organizations (Hollis, 2021). Climate change talanoa have the potential to connect participants to climate issues at a more personal level, enable local ownership through equitable dialogue and facilitate climate re-location and donor priority setting. Many Pacific islanders do not need to be convinced about the effects of climate change, but a talanoa can provide a more meaningful exchange for creating spaces for mutual care, long-term change and justice.

Conclusion

Achieving a talanoa across space, or “face-to-face”, can help us to reflect and meditate on the underlying values that inform our worldviews on climate change. As illustrated in this article, this relational process has generated new insights, helping to reevaluate our turangawaewae. Commitment to the principles of justice and dignity as the cornerstone of talanoa provides a powerful yet equitable and safe mode of communication that can facilitate transformation towards a hopeful future. If climate action can only be fully realized when the heart works with the mind, then a Talanoa can provide an appropriate space of discovery for assessing the values that animate our imagination on climate change for a hopeful future.