The Hands That Pull Us Down
On why we're losing our strongest youth voices (and what to do about it)
Tabea team,
Something different this week.
I posted eight lines on Facebook the other day. About Indigenous leaders who got their seat and locked the door behind them. No framework. No principle. Just something I have been thinking about on my morning commute to the UN.
My DMs filled up. Not with pushback. With relief.
One Indigenous youth rep commented directly under the post: “We need to ensure as we age, we keep the door open. Wish the cycle would stop already.”
She is right. The upcoming generation does not want ivory towers. They want open doors. My generation? Still some gatekeeping. The one before mine? It was the culture.
So I need to talk about it. Because the crabs in the box are real and they are costing us more than any external fight ever has.
If you have ever watched crabs in a box at a fish market, you know what happens. One starts climbing. Gets a leg over the edge. Almost free.
The others pull it back down.
Not because they have a plan. They just grab whatever is above them. Instinct.
The human version is not instinct. It is a choice.
And I have been watching that choice get made. Geneva. New York. Regional meetings. Indigenous politics. The most effective opposition I have ever faced did not come from hostile States or corporate lobbies.
It came from inside.
And it generally comes from three types of people. Not one. Not two. Three. If you do not know which one you are dealing with, you will keep wasting your energy on the wrong response.
Type one.
The one who left.
Been out of the game for a while. Stepped back. Moved on. And then watches someone jump into the space they left behind and do a good job. Instead of saying good, keep going, the jealousy kicks in. Your success reminds them of what they stopped doing. That is uncomfortable. So instead of celebrating, they pull.
Type two.
The one who made the institution their identity.
This person lives and breathes the UN. Their whole sense of self is wrapped up in being “the one” in that space. The expert. The voice. The name on the process. When someone else steps up and does a good job, or worse, makes them feel like they are out of their depth, that is not a professional challenge.
That is existential.
So they pull. Hard. Not because they are bad people. Because your competence threatens the story they tell themselves about why they matter.
Type three.
The bookworm.
Hiding behind reports and publications. No community connection. Leaning back against a stack of books they have written. And from behind that stack, they decide who is legitimate. Who gets to speak. Who has “earned” the right to be in the conversation.
Here is a thought. If the world revolved around reports, or books, we would be set with the Bible, the Quran, and the Torah.
These three types I’ve come across, all do one thing: Build ivory towers. And they never say “I do not like you.”
They say “I do not know you.”
And then they throw rationale around it. “The [fill in the Indigenous region of your choice] does not know you. You need to report to them first.”
Or worse, they talk behind your back trying to create “critical mass” of negativity around you.
I experienced all of this when I came up. That period when my mom stepped back from the work. Every type. Every version of the pull.
But there was always one thing I kept in the back of my mind.
I represent Maluku. I do not need the academic’s permission. And if you do not know me? That is your problem. Not mine.
Something else.
Every COP, Indigenous youth shadow me in the negotiations. One year I took a young Indigenous woman under my wing. Coming up in the environment space. Sharp. Committed. Wanted to learn how the human rights machinery works. I showed her the ropes.
She got scolded. Not by the system. By the “elite.” Because they did not know her.
End of that sentence should be enough.
Now here is what gatekeeping actually looks like when it happens to you.
Your idea getting presented by someone else in the meeting.
Your email not on the distribution list, so you miss the follow-up briefing.
“We will contact you soon” when you try to engage.
Being told to step back because “you are too inexperienced.”
Fresh research getting crowded out by older names who show up with reputation instead of preparation.
None of that is dramatic. All of it is effective. And none of it leaves a paper trail.
The structure behind it is not broken. It is working exactly as designed.
Any system that creates artificial scarcity around seats, microphones, and access will produce this behavior. One slot for “Indigenous Peoples.” One seat. One budget line.
People will fight each other for the single slot, funding, etc. instead of asking why there is only one.
The structure creates the competition. The competition creates the pulling down. And the people who designed the scarcity never have to lift a finger.
The box does the work for them. We become partners in our own loss.
Every brilliant person who walked away because the hands pulling them down looked exactly like them. That is capacity lost. Knowledge gone. Potential continuity, lost. Not because the system beat them. Because we did. The system did not even have to spend a dollar.
Pure waste of Indigenous talent.
Because here is what I fundamentally believe. The future is not reported.
The future is broadcasted. Broadcasted with humility. Aka sharing what you know so far. Not pretending you have it all figured out. Look at what I’m doing here, I do not have it all figured out. Not even close. But I am a student of life and diplomacy through rolling up my sleeves, getting my hands dirty, keeping my eyes and ears wide open.
That is the opposite of gatekeeping. And that is the direction.
So see the structure for what it is. The scarcity is designed. There is no natural law that says only one Indigenous rep can be in the room. Those are rules someone wrote. Rules someone wrote can be rewritten.
When one of us rises, that is not a loss. That is infrastructure. A new route for everyone behind them. Every person who learns the system, who gets a seat, who builds a channel into a room that was closed, that is one more way in. Not just for them. For all of us. The system already has us outnumbered. We cannot afford to fight each other and the system at the same time.
The math does not work.
Nobody owns “the Indigenous voice.” It is not a franchise. It is not a territory to be defended. The more voices, the harder we are to ignore. The more people who understand how the machinery works, the harder it is for anyone to lock us out.
And to the Indigenous youth reading this. You are the direction. Not the ivory towers. Not the gatekeepers. Not the stacks of books nobody reads anymore. You. Your energy. Your willingness to show up and learn and share what you find. That is what this work needs more of. Not less.
And if you are the one climbing right now. If you can feel the hands on your ankles.
Keep going. Not out. Up.
And then reach back.
See you next week!