On August 8, 2023, a 13-year-old named Kaliko was preparing for her hula class at her mother’s house in West Maui. The power was out, and there were whispers of a wildfire in Lāhainā, where her father lived.

Kaliko didn’t think much of it at first; after all, wildfires were common during the summer months. But within hours, it became clear that this was no ordinary fire. News reached her that her father’s house, like thousands of others, had been consumed by flames. The Lāhainā fire ravaged the town, claiming 102 lives and destroying over 2,000 buildings. Fanned by a potent mix of climate change and historical injustices, the blaze marked the deadliest wildfire in modern U.S. history, forever altering Hawaii’s landscape and its people's lives.

A year after the fire, Kaliko is more determined than ever to defend her community. Now 14, she has become an ardent advocate, joining a group of plaintiffs that compelled the state of Hawaii to commit to decarbonizing its transportation system, which is responsible for half of the state’s greenhouse gas emissions.

For Kaliko, this fight is deeply personal—a matter of “kuleana,” a Hawaiian concept encompassing both privilege and responsibility, a duty to her ancestors and her homeland in West Maui, where her Native Hawaiian family has resided for 19 generations. "I'm from this place," she says. "It's my main kuleana to take care of it like my kupuna have in the past."

A Growing Movement Led by Indigenous Youth

Across the globe, young people are taking to the courts to hold governments and corporations accountable for their roles in exacerbating climate change.

At the forefront of many of these legal battles are Indigenous youth like Kaliko, who feel an urgent duty to protect their lands and cultural heritage from the latest wave of colonial exploitation.

This year alone, several groundbreaking cases have been brought by young Indigenous activists. In May, eight young Alaskans, half of whom are Alaska Native, filed a lawsuit against the state to halt a liquefied natural gas pipeline project expected to triple Alaska’s greenhouse gas emissions. In June, a coalition of Indigenous youth and environmental groups in New Mexico won a crucial early victory in a lawsuit targeting the oil and gas industry. And in July, Montana's Supreme Court heard arguments in a case brought by young residents challenging a state law that prevents agencies from considering climate change in their environmental reviews. Among the plaintiffs are Native American youth who argue that the increasing frequency of wildfires and rising temperatures are threatening their cultural traditions.

These lawsuits are not just confined to the United States. Around the world, Indigenous youth are increasingly stepping up to challenge policies and projects that threaten their communities and the planet.

In Australia, Indigenous youth scored a significant victory in 2022 against a destructive coal project. Earlier, young Indigenous activists in Colombia joined a broader youth lawsuit that successfully argued for the rights of the Amazon to be protected and conserved.

Why Indigenous Youth Are Leading the Charge

The surge in climate litigation reflects a growing recognition of the unique vulnerabilities Indigenous communities face due to climate change. Korey G. Silverman-Roati, a fellow at Columbia Law School's Sabin Center for Climate Change Law, notes that Indigenous people are not only disproportionately affected by climate impacts but also benefit from unique legal protections that can strengthen climate cases.

Kaliko’s lawsuit was not explicitly centred on Indigenous legal rights, but the fact that most plaintiffs were Native youth brought additional weight to the case, leading to one of the most successful outcomes in the history of U.S. climate litigation. "This might be a signal to future folks interested in bringing climate litigation that these might be especially persuasive plaintiffs," Silverman-Roati suggests.

To Katy Stewart from the Aspen Institute’s Center for Native American Youth, the leadership of Indigenous youth in these cases is both logical and inspiring. Her organization recently surveyed over 1,000 Indigenous youth and conducted focus groups to gauge their concerns. When it came to climate change, emotions were intense. "What we are seeing and hearing a lot was anger, frustration, and a want to do something," Stewart says. "It was hopeful to me that there wasn’t a sense of 'giving up,' but rather, 'we need to do something because we’re the ones seeing this right now.'"

For teenagers like Kaliko, litigation provides a means to force change in a political and economic system that has long resisted calls for climate action. It also feels like an urgent necessity to protect their homes. "It’s really important to me that other kids don’t have to go through what I’ve experienced," Kaliko says. "But it’s really just the thought of, ‘If I don’t do it, then who will?’"

The Legacy of Environmental Racism

For many Indigenous youth, the fight against climate change is deeply intertwined with a broader struggle against environmental racism and colonial exploitation. Johnny Juarez, a 22-year-old from Albuquerque, New Mexico, sees climate change through the lens of his state's booming oil industry. New Mexico, which ranks second in oil production among U.S. states, has seen a tenfold increase in oil output over the past two decades. This surge has occurred despite widespread recognition of the environmental and health damages caused by fossil fuels.

Juarez, an enrolled member of the Pueblo of Laguna, is one of the plaintiffs in a lawsuit claiming that New Mexico's failure to regulate pollution from the fossil fuel industry violates the state constitution. For Juarez, this legal battle is a continuation of his family's legacy of fighting against environmental injustices. Decades ago, his great-grandfather sued the operators of the Jackpile Mine, a massive open-pit uranium mine, for violating their property rights. Although the family lost that case, the fight left an indelible mark on Juarez’s consciousness. "As Pueblo people, we’re really fortunate that, despite very violent attempts, we were never removed from our ancestral homelands," he says. "Environmental justice feels like another birthright."

Juarez's commitment to environmental justice is shared by others across North America. In Canada, Beze Gray of the Aamjiwnaang First Nation is among a group of young plaintiffs challenging Ontario's decision to weaken its climate goals. Growing up amid dozens of chemical plants and oil refineries, Gray witnessed firsthand the toll that industrial pollution takes on Indigenous communities. "We used to have a month to do sugar bushing, and now it’s spread out into days," Gray says, referring to the traditional practice of collecting maple water and boiling it into syrup. "This feeling of loss and grief of experiencing life with climate change — it impacts so many of our traditional ways."

The Challenges and Triumphs of Climate Litigation

Despite the passion and persistence of these young activists, the path to victory in climate litigation is often fraught with obstacles. Many lawsuits face significant legal challenges, ranging from questions of standing to procedural hurdles. In some cases, courts have dismissed claims on the grounds that the plaintiffs lacked the legal right to sue or that they targeted the wrong defendants.

However, setbacks have not deterred these young leaders. Organizations like Our Children’s Trust, an Oregon-based nonprofit that has spearheaded many of the youth-led climate lawsuits in the United States, have adopted a long-term strategy. When discussing the ongoing legal battle in Alaska, attorney Andrew Well makes it clear that the current litigation, Sagoonick v. State of Alaska II, is a continuation of an earlier effort. The first case was dismissed because the court ruled that the youth plaintiffs could not sue the state for systemic actions but could challenge specific state agency decisions. Now, the plaintiffs are targeting the state's support for a proposed 800-mile liquefied natural gas pipeline stretching from north to south.

The urgency of these legal battles is underscored by the rapid changes taking place in regions like Alaska, where the effects of climate change are stark and accelerating. As permafrost thaws, salmon disappear from the Yukon River, and crabs vanish from the Bering Sea, the environmental and cultural landscapes that have defined Indigenous life for generations are at risk of disappearing. For young plaintiffs like those in Alaska, the stakes could not be higher.

The Broader Implications of Youth-Led Climate Action

Globally, Indigenous communities are often the first to bear the brunt of climate change due to their close ties to the land and water. In the United States, modern-day reservations are more vulnerable to climate-related disasters, such as droughts, wildfires, and extreme weather events, compared to Indigenous traditional homelands.

For Indigenous youth like Juarez and Gray, the fight against climate change is not just about preventing future disasters; it is also about reclaiming their cultures and ways of life. Many are only a generation or two removed from the trauma of government boarding schools that sought to erase Indigenous cultures and languages. Now, as they work to revive their traditions and reconnect with their heritage, they face the additional challenge of a rapidly changing climate that threatens to upend their efforts.

Stewart from the Center for Native American Youth believes that engaging in climate litigation and activism can help Indigenous youth turn their grief into a force for change. "If you can take this despair and anger and frustration and be able to put it somewhere, that does wonders for your own self-esteem and your own belief in the future," she says. "The starting point of believing that you matter is being listened to. And I think we’re seeing young people stepping into that role and having hope that things can get better."

The Continuing Fight for Justice and Resilience

As the one-year anniversary of the Lāhainā wildfire passes, Kaliko reflects on how much has changed in such a short time. The wildfire may have shocked her, but it wasn't her first experience with losing a home to climate change. In 2018, when Kaliko was just eight, a tropical storm struck Maui, leaving her family's home destroyed by flooding. Her family was the only one in their valley to evacuate before the storm hit, and when they returned, theirs was the only house that had been completely destroyed. The loss of cherished belongings, including a favourite painting and dress, was devastating.

The Lāhainā wildfire, however, was a different kind of loss, one that upended her entire life. School went online, then moved to a temporary campus. Her familiar beaches were closed, and her friendships were disrupted as families relocated. Despite the chaos, Kaliko remained grateful for what she still had—her mother's house, her family’s safety—and was motivated by the desire to ensure others wouldn’t have to experience what she had.

Determined to hold the state accountable, Kaliko joined the Department of Transportation’s youth council, created as part of her lawsuit’s settlement, to oversee the state’s decarbonization efforts. Looking ahead, she remains committed to her community, hoping that by staying involved, she can make a meaningful difference. "I want to mainly be advocating for my community," she says. "I don’t think I can imagine myself doing anything else."

Kaliko's journey is a testament to the resilience and determination of young Indigenous activists everywhere. As they confront the twin challenges of climate change and historical injustices, they are not only fighting to protect their lands and cultures but also shaping a new narrative of hope and empowerment. Through their efforts, they are reminding the world that the fight for climate justice is far from over—and that a more just and sustainable future is within reach.