Pachamama.
I first came across this word while working with Susana, my colleague from Peru, with whom I share reflections and content for this newsletter each month.
We were preparing a project on biodiversity when, in an article about COP16, I stumbled upon a reference to a prayer to “Pachamama.”
“In my country,
she told me,
many communities still thank Mother Earth."
As she spoke, I realized it wasn’t just a cultural anecdotes -it was an invitation to rethink our way of inhabiting the planet.
She described a widespread practice in the Peruvian Andes, where communities gather to thank Pachamama through symbolic offerings: coca leaves, seeds, flowers, wine, sweets.
An ancient, collective gesture born not from a desire to receive, but from the need to give back.
This ritual reflects a deep-rooted ecological knowledge that sees reciprocity with nature as a foundational principle of climate justice.
The same idea was echoed at the Fortaleciendo las voces indígenas rumbo a la COP30 conference, which emphasized the need to integrate ancestral knowledge into the development of environmental policies -not as folklore, but as a concrete form of resilience and global coexistence.
The Ritual of Pachamama, or ‘Pago a la Tierra’
So I asked myself: what if the starting point weren’t a sustainability strategy, but a relationship?
Because every true transformation begins with an act of listening.
And to genuinely share a space - with people, with the environment - we must first recognize one another, understand our differences, and build mutual respect.
Setting goals isn’t enough.
We need to learn how to be. Together.
When we talk about sustainability, we often look to the future - emerging technologies, predictive models, global scenarios.
But there is a form of knowledge already here, long-standing and often overlooked: the wisdom of Indigenous communities.
A knowledge rooted in experience, in close observation of ecosystems, and in a continuous relationship with nature.
It is not based on extraction or control, but on care, reciprocity, and belonging.
Today, even the scientific community acknowledges its value: integrating this ancestral knowledge into environmental management strengthens ecosystem resilience, improves climate policies, and brings visibility and agency back to those who have lived with, listened to, and cared for these lands for generations.
So let’s try to listen.
This knowledge doesn’t just speak of conservation - it speaks of coexistence.
Of another way of being in the world.
A Firelighter ignites a traditional fire on Yurok land, following ancestral cultural practices
Fire isn’t always the enemy.
In many Indigenous cultures, it’s quite the opposite: an ancient ecological system that supports biodiversity and protects forests.
In California, for example, the Yurok Tribe has revived the practice of cultural burning - controlled, intentional fires - to prevent catastrophic wildfires, encourage the growth of native plants, and protect species like oak and hazel.
Today, this approach is also recognized by U.S. fire departments as an effective land management tool.
@East-West Center
Since 1988, Nepal’s forests have grown by approximately 22%, now covering 45% of the country’s territory. This remarkable achievement has been made possible through community-based forest management, entrusted to local and Indigenous populations.
An independent study by the East-West Center, supported by NASA, confirms this progress: between 1992 and 2016, the country’s vegetative cover nearly doubled. This shift was driven not only by environmental policies but by a fundamental change in the way forests are perceived.
In the past, when forests were under exclusive state control, they were viewed primarily as a resource to be exploited: trees to cut, firewood to collect.
Today, with the rise of community forest management, an ancient worldview has resurfaced - one that Nepal’s Indigenous communities have preserved all along. The forest is not something to own. It is something to live with, to respect, and to protect. It is part of one’s identity, of the village, of the future.
This approach is not merely administrative - it is cultural: it is rooted in a deep relationship between people and ecosystem, in a sense of belonging that turns every act of care into a collective gesture.
This is not just reforestation, it is mutual regeneration.
The reindeer herders of the Yamal peninsula
In the Siberian Arctic, Indigenous reindeer herding communities are showing how traditional knowledge can work hand in hand with modern science to face climate change.
Renowned for their millennia-old expertise in following herd migrations according to natural rhythms, these communities have partnered with scientists, meteorologists, and agencies like NASA to track seasonal movements and anticipate changes in ice routes.
Through the Ipy Ealat project, Siberian herders are integrating ancestral wisdom with satellite data to monitor the environment, anticipate climate shifts, and adapt migration paths. It’s a collaboration that bridges culture and science -protecting fragile landscapes and ancient knowledge systems.
In the business world, sustainability often takes the shape of reporting, ESG frameworks, and KPIs.
But what would happen if companies truly centered their work on local territories, their rhythms, and their communities?
Fortunately, a few signs are already emerging.
In Canada, some energy companies are collaborating with Indigenous cooperatives in the planning and development of renewable energy systems - sharing governance and economic benefits. This model strengthens social acceptance and builds shared value.
Right here in Friuli, the Art Aia center hosts residencies where artists live and work alongside farmers, activists, and local businesses. This is more than art: these collaborations become opportunities to rethink the human–nature relationship, spark new ideas on sustainability, climate change, and land use. The resulting works -installations, workshops, performances - offer a deeper, more grounded vision of place, with the potential to shape corporate strategies.
Ohoskin by Adriana Santanocito
In Sicily, a company has decided to radically rethink the concept of waste.
It’s called Ohoskin®, and it has developed an alternative to animal leather using by-products from oranges and cactus. The result? A durable, elegant, high - quality material - completely Made in Italy - designed for the luxury industry and created with a circular economy approach.
Initiatives like this show how industrial sustainability can be rooted in local resources, avoiding waste while valuing endogenous knowledge.
They’re still exceptions - but they point us in a possible direction. Instead of focusing solely on stakeholders, accountability, and compliance, what if we embraced words like care, coexistence, and interconnection?
Susana once told me: “In Peru, in many communities, children still grow up learning that there is no ownership over Mother Earth - only relationship. We belong to her, not the other way around.”
Those simple words deeply shifted how I think about sustainability.
Maybe we don’t need more strategies. Maybe we need to start again from relationship - from a form of sustainability that is less performative and more mindful.
From small, shared daily gestures that acknowledge our place in the world - not at the center of it, but within it.
And deep down, I’m sure you know: to truly belong to this planet, we first have to learn how to be here.
Listening. With respect. With memory.
As Levante sings:
“Take care of me
Take care of us
For every step I took to reach you
For the ones I’d take, for the ones I will”
Small, everyday acts of attention. The quiet courage of truly showing up. Of taking care of what really matters. Simply. Without excess.
Until next time,
Chiara Pontoni
Sustainability Manager Gesteco