Petala Ironcloud

The papaya tree is such a powerful metaphor throughout your book. Can you share the personal story of how this symbol emerged for you and what it means as a displaced Indigenous woman and a scientist?

Dr. Jessica Hernandez

For my second book, I wanted to focus on a native plant relative. In my first book, I talked about banana trees and their role as displaced relatives for us, especially given the ancestral connections and the central role they play in Baja and Central America. This time, I wanted to honor a native plant.

Papayas—and many other trees—are one of those polarizing species that people either love or hate. The more I researched, the more I found that when people were asked if they liked papayas, it was almost always a strong response: “I hate them” or “I love them.” There was rarely any middle ground.

When I thought about displacement and migration, especially in the context of the current administration, I realized how polarizing the topic of immigration is in U.S. history. People are either pro- or against immigration, without understanding the nuances, particularly the kind of displacement that continues to affect Indigenous people. My parents didn’t want to leave their land, but they had no choice. Often, because people from Latin America are categorized as Hispanic or Latino, the deeper, more complex concept of what Indigenous means—especially across the Americas—gets lost.

The papaya became one of those symbols that reminded me of time spent with my mother. I also wanted to honor her in this book.

Petala

Your mom left Oaxaca in the 1980s due to a drought that devastated your family’s orchards. How has climate-induced migration from Latin America changed since then, and what do you anticipate for the next decade?

Dr. Hernandez

In 2015, I was in Oaxaca when we received the first caravan of unaccompanied minors from Central America. Children were being sent on dangerous train journeys by their parents to reach the United States. My parents’ generation would often say, “We would leave our children behind because the journey is too dangerous. It’s not an easy journey, even for adults.” Imagine a child, without the height or strength of an adult, making that journey alone.

More recently, we’ve seen more children being displaced. It started with adults, then a few years ago, we saw entire families—fleeing climate change and the inability to live off the land—coming in caravans to seek asylum. Where it once was about adults going north to work and sending money home, now entire family units are forced to leave. I believe this will worsen, especially as we continue to see floods. What happened in Haiti a few years ago—where Haitians sought refuge here only to be mistreated at the border—is a glimpse of what’s to come. If this continues, it will only escalate into a larger crisis.

Petala

In the book, you make the powerful statement: “You are significantly closer to being a climate refugee than a billionaire.” Can you talk about how climate displacement is distinct from other forms of migration and why migration systems fail to recognize climate refugees?

Dr. Hernandez

It reminds me of when Vice President Kamala Harris visited Guatemala and told people, “Don’t come. You should stay home.” Yet many people, like those I work with at the International Maya League, are facing the direct impacts of climate change. I hear their stories and see how they have no choice but to migrate. Despite this, they receive little to no governmental aid or support.

I remember the earthquake in Oaxaca on June 27, 2020. It destroyed many homes, including my aunt’s. The only government aid they received was a bag of candy. I used my platform to launch a fundraiser, and with that support, we were able to rebuild 200 homes, traditional structures made from bricks and adobe. This is the kind of action that’s needed; not just for disaster relief, but for the climate displacement that’s becoming a constant reality.

This is the reality, right? Even in Alaska, many Alaska Natives are being displaced due to flooding, yet there is still no government support. Migration systems don’t recognize these people as climate refugees, and that’s a serious gap. That’s why we launched a fund with the nonprofit Earth Daughters. We’ve received countless applications from Indigenous peoples working on climate change projects.

Petala

What does it mean to you that Indigenous peoples, while comprising less than 5% of the global population, protect 80% of global biodiversity? What does this tell us about who should be leading climate solutions?

Dr. Hernandez

That shows us that Indigenous science is very powerful. Oftentimes, even when I wrote my first book, people just wanted to extract Indigenous science. They wanted a manual on how to implement Indigenous science to solve the world’s problems, even though Indigenous peoples didn’t necessarily contribute to the climate change problems happening around the world.

Our communities are able to steward our environments. In Latin America, Indigenous peoples steward 80% of the world’s biodiversity. It shows that across the Americas, we are still actively protecting our lands, despite us not having title or legal recognition. We practice sustainable self-determination, where we’re able to advocate for our lands.

Even as we speak, communities in the Amazon and in the Congo are facing a lot of violence because they’re going against huge mining companies. We are seeing land and environmental defenders continuing to be targeted and displaced. Even though we talk about how Indigenous knowledge or science should be amplified on global stages, land defenders are still being targeted and face violence from police and military employed to control them and, in some instances, forcibly remove them from their land.

Petala

The book powerfully critiques how some people claim Indigenous identity for personal gain while actual Indigenous communities suffer. How do we have these difficult conversations about authenticity without gatekeeping?

Dr. Hernandez

It’s very complex. Oftentimes, people say, “Everybody from Latin America is Indigenous.” There’s this narrative that if you’re Mexican, you’re Indigenous, but there are communities that still have to advocate for their resources. At the same time, you don’t want to gatekeep from people who have lost their sense of culture because of assimilation and colonialism.

You have to find a balance. Even as a displaced woman, I shouldn’t speak over my community members who are still living in my lands. That’s important to understand. It doesn’t necessarily remove our Indigeneity, but I do have the privilege to go to my lands and spend time there. There are people who don’t have that privilege. And because of systemic displacement, there’s often a lack of direct connection to the rhythms and language of communities connected to the land. People don’t always do their activism well. Sometimes, they end up silencing the voices of the people who are still living in their lands and facing everyday struggles.

When I was younger, there was a wave of reactive activism, where people often argued for gatekeeping. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to see that even in movements like renewable energy, there are real nuances to consider. Sometimes gatekeeping happens for a reason, because people are also gatekeeping Indigeneity. I see that a lot among Indigenous communities in the United States: “You’re not federally recognized,” or “You don’t have tribal enrollment.” But those are colonial constructs. As long as we don’t speak over Indigenous people who are still living on their lands, in reservations, or in pueblos—and don’t try to dictate what their Indigeneity should look like—I think that’s how we start to address these issues.

Petala

You connect the genocide in Palestine to your father’s experiences surviving genocide in El Salvador. Why is it essential to link climate justice movements with opposition to war, genocide, and the systemic displacement they cause?

Dr. Hernandez

It’s important because when we think of war, we don’t always connect it to its impact on the land. War produces enormous greenhouse gas emissions, and genocide is always tied to the exploitation of land and natural resources.

In my father’s case, there weren’t cell phones or digital tools. He was 12 during the war, and although there are some photographs from journalists, we don’t have the kind of visual record that exists today. For me, and for many people whose parents or grandparents have lived through genocide, seeing those images helps us understand what our elders endured and what so many people are still living through now.

Whether in Palestine or elsewhere, the politics are complex, but at its core, it’s a struggle over land and who has access to it. When land is treated purely as a commodity or property, we lose sight of the human cost, especially the suffering of children. Seeing that suffering made me realize that war is deeply intergenerational. It doesn’t just scar one generation; it shapes the generations that follow.

I share my father’s story because those children grow up carrying those experiences of pain and displacement. When I interviewed him for my first book, he told me, “Oh, I was an adult.” And I said, “Wait a minute, Dad, you were only 12.” But trauma forces children to become adults much sooner than they should.

Petala

The book closes in a dark political moment marked by rising anti-immigrant rhetoric. What would you like displaced Indigenous peoples to know right now? And what message of resilience would you share with them?

Dr. Hernandez

That’s a hard question, because you don’t want to fall into toxic positivity. Too often, the media amplifies the fear-mongering that’s happening in this country. But it’s important to remember that our ancestors have been resilient for generations. We’re still here. When we talk about displacement and immigration, our communities have been telling these stories for centuries. That doesn’t take away from Indigenous tribal sovereignty in the United States, but we are living under an oppressive system that uses fear-mongering to appease the far right.

It’s hard to stay neutral when witnessing injustice, but it’s also crucial to uplift stories of climate displacement. Media narratives about immigration often focus on the pursuit of the “American Dream” or economic opportunity, but for many of our people, it’s not about money or ambition. It’s about survival. It’s about keeping families and communities alive. If we start to view immigration through a more holistic lens—not just as people moving for prosperity but as people seeking safety and continuity—then perhaps more of us will understand that migration is rarely a choice. It’s often the only option left.

Through testimonies and stories, people can begin to learn. Of course, there will always be those who remain closed off. But there’s power in our stories. That’s my message: Even as we protect anonymity, especially when migration policies endanger lives, there is still power in the act of telling them.

Petala

Your grandmother’s memory at the end—playing with dragonflies in Oaxaca—is so tender. When you close your eyes, what’s the most powerful memory you hold of your ancestral lands, and what is it you most long to return to?

Dr. Hernandez

I think of the nature: the grass, the trees. 

When I look at Seattle, even though we’re still on Indigenous lands, it’s become so urbanized. You open your eyes and see a 20-story building, towers, homes, and endless concrete. Cities might have a tree here and there, but I miss that sense of openness and feeling at home, feeling safe. In cities, I don’t know if it’s the same everywhere, but our anxiety levels are higher. There are cars and sirens, and you’re always stopping, starting, crossing streets. It’s not like walking freely through open land.

What I think about most is a future where people can return to their lands. From listening to people’s stories, especially Indigenous stories, I’ve learned that so many just want to go back home. My parents always say, “We want to go back home. We want to retire there.” But with security threats worsening every day, it’s hard not to worry when they talk about returning.

I want everyone to have that dream—to be able to return home, to live safely and freely on the land. Because that’s what it really comes down to.