The Growing Distance Between Grassroots Communities and Industry Activists
- John Hawke
- 3 minutes ago
- 8 min read
By: Johnny Hawke
When the People Can No Longer Reach the People Speaking for Them
There is a difficult conversation that needs to happen within Indigenous advocacy.
Who are our most prominent Indigenous advocates actually speaking for?
And perhaps even more importantly:
Who can still reach them?
A few years ago, through one of our team leads at the time, we reached out to a prominent Indigenous youth water advocate and invited them to come into our community, participate as a speaker, and join our grassroots water-protection actions.
This wasn't a corporate conference It wasn't a university lecture. It wasn't an international summit. It was a community trying to bring people together around water protection, Indigenous rights, land, culture and the future of our people.
We were advised that the advocate's in-person appearance would cost $10,000, before accommodation and related expenses. That experience stayed with us. Not because we believe Indigenous people should work for free. Not because we believe advocates shouldn't be compensated for their time, knowledge, travel or labour.
And certainly not because we want to diminish the accomplishments of young Indigenous people who have managed to bring international attention to issues affecting our Nations.
The question is much bigger.
What happens when Indigenous advocacy becomes so professionalized, institutionalized and celebrity-driven that the grassroots communities being advocated for can no longer afford access to their own advocates?
From Community Voice to Celebrity Voice
There was a time when Indigenous advocacy was understood primarily as community work.
You put your body, reputation and livelihood on the line and you did it whether anybody was watching or not.
Today, some Indigenous advocates have become international public figures. They travel around the world. They appear at prestigious conferences. They speak at universities and international institutions. They appear alongside celebrities, politicians, corporate leaders and prominent environmental organizations. They have professional representation. They have media teams. They have international schedules. They have speaking engagements.
There is nothing inherently wrong with becoming successful but somewhere along the way, we need to ask whether success has created distance from community. Because there is a strange contradiction developing within Indigenous advocacy:
The people with the least money can sometimes have the least access to the people with the greatest platforms.
Who Gets Access?
Consider the imbalance. A major corporation can spend tens of thousands of dollars on a conference; A university can bring in internationally recognized speakers. A government can fund major events; A large environmental organization can organize international gatherings.
A well-funded foundation can build entire programs around Indigenous advocacy but a small First Nation or Youth Activists struggling with poverty may not have $10,000 available for a speaker.
A grassroots organization may have a few hundred dollars; A youth group may have almost nothing. A community trying to organize a water-protection event may be depending on volunteers, donated food and community members giving their time.
So who gets access? The institution with the money. And who gets left behind?
Often, the community. That should concern all of us.
When Advocacy Becomes a Celebrity Industry
We need to be honest about something else. There is now an emerging celebrity culture within Indigenous advocacy. A small number of highly visible Indigenous voices can become the people repeatedly invited onto major stages, into international forums and onto institutional platforms. Their stories become recognizable. Their names become brands.
Their images become associated with particular causes. Their appearances become highly sought after.
Meanwhile, hundreds of Indigenous youth are doing extraordinary work in their own communities with little recognition, little funding and virtually no access to the same platforms.
They are protecting water; They are defending their territories; They are organizing youth.
They are documenting environmental destruction; They are challenging governments.
They are confronting corporations; They are keeping language and culture alive.
They are doing the work but they don't necessarily have a publicist; They don't have an international speaking circuit; They don't have powerful institutions opening doors for them.
They don't have the same access to media and they certainly don't have the same ability to command large appearance fees.
Why have we created a system where Indigenous youth advocacy itself has become hierarchical?
The People Who Made the Advocacy Possible
There is another uncomfortable reality. Prominent Indigenous advocates do not emerge from nowhere. They emerge from communities. They emerge from families; They emerge from Nations; They emerge from generations of struggle; They emerge from water protectors, land defenders, Elders, aunties, uncles, youth organizers and grassroots people who fought long before there were international platforms or media attention. Their communities provide the stories; Their communities provide the lived experience; Their communities provide the political context; Their communities often provide the courage.
So when someone becomes internationally recognized speaking about those struggles, we believe there should remain an obligation to ask: How do we make sure the community still has access to that person?
International recognition should not mean becoming inaccessible at home.
The Corporate-Friendly Side of Advocacy
There is another issue that deserves far more scrutiny. Many organizations that publicly identify themselves as allies of Indigenous rights, environmental protection and water justice operate within enormous institutional networks.
They may receive funding from foundations. They may have corporate partnerships.
They may work alongside governments. They may receive sponsorship from major institutions.
Some of the corporations connected to these networks are multinational companies involved in industries that Indigenous communities are actively challenging because of impacts on land, water and the environment.
We are not suggesting that every organization accepting institutional funding is acting in bad faith. We are asking a more uncomfortable question:
What happens when the institutions with the money increasingly determine which Indigenous voices receive the largest platforms?
If an Indigenous advocate can travel internationally to speak for a well-funded organization but cannot realistically appear in a grassroots community because the community cannot afford the cost, we should be asking whether something has gone wrong.
If corporations can sit in the audience and hear Indigenous environmental advocates speak while grassroots Nations struggle to get those same voices into their communities, we should be asking questions.
If organizations can build impressive advocacy campaigns while the people living beside contaminated water, industrial development or environmental destruction remain under-resourced, we should be asking questions.
This isn't about accusing every organization of hypocrisy. It is about following the money, following the access, and following the power.
Indigenous Advocacy Should Not Become a Luxury Product
Water is not a luxury. Indigenous rights are not a luxury. Community education is not a luxury.
Youth leadership is not a luxury.
And access to Indigenous knowledge and advocacy should not become something that only wealthy institutions can purchase.
We believe there should be an ethical distinction between: a multinational corporation hosting a high-profile conference and a struggling Indigenous Youth Group trying to bring an Indigenous youth water advocate into its community.
Those circumstances are not equivalent.
A wealthy institution may be able to pay a substantial professional speaking fee. A grassroots community may need that same money to feed people at an event, compensate Elders, transport youth, rent a community facility, purchase supplies or support actual water-protection work.
That difference matters.
Where Are the Other Indigenous Youth?
Perhaps the most important question is what this celebrity culture does to everyone else.
What happens to the young Indigenous person who is doing incredible work but doesn't have the right connections?
What happens to the youth organizer whose community doesn't have money?
What happens to the land defender who isn't invited to international conferences?
What happens to the water protector who doesn't have professional representation?
What happens to the young person doing the work every day but whose name has never appeared in an international media story?
Do their voices matter less? Of course not. But our current system can make it appear that way. We should be creating more Indigenous leaders, not fewer voices concentrated around a handful of recognizable names.
We should be opening doors, not building gates.
Celebrity Should Never Replace Community
We are not arguing that Indigenous advocates should remain poor, unknown or disconnected from the wider world. Indigenous people deserve every opportunity.
Take the platform; Speak internationally; Go to the United Nations; Challenge governments. Challenge corporations; Tell the world what is happening.
But don't lose the community along the way.
Because there is a fundamental difference between being a spokesperson for a community and being accountable to a community. The first can become celebrity. The second remains leadership.
We Need a Different Model
We need to start having a serious conversation about ethical standards for Indigenous advocacy.
That conversation could include:
Sliding-scale or waived speaking fees for grassroots and impoverished First Nations.
Community-access commitments for prominent Indigenous advocates working on issues directly affecting Indigenous peoples.
Greater transparency around corporate, institutional and foundation funding relationships.
Greater opportunities for lesser-known Indigenous youth activists to access major platforms.
More investment directly into grassroots Indigenous organizations, rather than concentrating resources around already-established public figures.
Recognition that community engagement is different from commercial speaking engagements.
Most importantly, we need to stop measuring Indigenous leadership solely by international visibility. A person does not become more valuable to their people because they have spoken on more stages.
A person does not become more knowledgeable because they have travelled to more countries. And a person does not become more representative because institutions have decided they are the face of an issue.
Who Are We Building This For?
This is ultimately the question. Are we building an Indigenous advocacy system that is accessible to Indigenous people? Or are we building an Indigenous advocacy industry that is accessible primarily to institutions with money?
Are our most visible advocates still reachable by the people who need them? Are we creating opportunities for the next generation of Indigenous youth? Are grassroots communities receiving the same attention as international organizations?
And are we willing to examine the relationships between advocacy organizations, governments, foundations and multinational corporations — particularly when those corporations are involved in activities affecting Indigenous lands and waters?
These questions are uncomfortable. They should be because if we cannot ask difficult questions about our own movements, how can we demand accountability from governments and corporations?
Our Water Protectors Belong to the People
Water protection did not begin on an international conference stage. It did not begin at a university. It did not begin inside a foundation. And it certainly did not begin with celebrity.
It began in communities.
It began with people standing beside rivers and lakes. It began with Elders teaching young people. It began with Nations defending their territories. It began with people who often had no money, no professional representation and no guarantee that anyone would ever hear their voices.
Those people still exist. They are still doing the work. They deserve to be heard.
They deserve resources. They deserve platforms.
And they deserve access to the advocates who speak publicly about the issues affecting them.
Indigenous advocacy should never become something that Indigenous communities themselves cannot afford.
The question is not whether Indigenous advocates deserve success.They do. The question is whether, as that success grows, the distance between the advocate and the community grows with it.
And if it does, we have to ask ourselves:
Who are they speaking for — and who are they still listening to?
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