The Indigenous Caucus: Your Power Move in UN Spaces (That Nobody Explained to You)
On what an Indigenous Peoples caucus is, how its formed and moves.
Let me share with you something that confuses the hell out of diplomats, UN staff, and even some Indigenous leaders:
An Indigenous caucus is not an organization.
Not an NGO. Not an institution. Not a board you can email.
And honestly? That confusion is costing us time, energy and power.
Here’s what it actually is, straight from the dictionary:
Caucus (noun): A meeting of members of a specific group to select candidates or decide policy; a group of people with shared concerns within a larger organization who meet to pursue common objectives.
Simple, right?
But here’s where it gets strategic, and where most people completely miss the point.
You Can’t Caucus Alone
In the BBNJ ocean treaty negotiations, I represent the International Indian Treaty Council. We’re a multi-regional organization with over 100 affiliates across four of the seven Indigenous socio-cultural regions. I have credentials. I have expertise. I’ve been in these rooms for two decades.
But I can’t start a caucus by myself.
Why? Because a caucus requires multiple regions. Multiple peoples. Multiple voices showing up in the same space at the same time.
That’s not a limitation. That’s the entire design.
A caucus isn’t something you build in advance and bring to the table. It’s something that emerges when enough Indigenous peoples from enough regions are physically present in the negotiation room.
And right now, in BBNJ, we don’t have that critical mass yet.
The Two-Track Strategy to Build Power
This is why we’re running parallel tracks, and why both matter:
Track One: The High Seas Alliance
This is the caucus-building track. We’re working to get Indigenous peoples from different regions interested, trained, and showing up to BBNJ negotiations. Think capacity development, travel support, orientation to the process. The goal? By the time we hit BBNJ COP1, we have enough people in the room to actually form a caucus.
Track Two: The International Indian Treaty Council
This is the political track. We’re already in the negotiations, already intervening, already building relationships with state delegations and other stakeholders. We’re holding space and building credibility so that when the caucus does form, it walks into a room where Indigenous voices are already taken seriously.
You need both.
Capacity without political presence is just training programs. Political presence without broader capacity is one voice trying to speak for hundreds of nations.
Nobody. Everybody. Runs The Caucus.
Here’s what blows people’s minds:
The caucus is made up of those that show up.
Period.
And the people you see standing up front, the ones taking the floor in UN meetings, the ones called “co-chairs”?
They’re not leaders. They’re facilitators.
Most people think caucus co-chair is a political position. It’s not. It’s administrative. It’s logistical. It’s making sure the meeting runs and everyone gets heard.
When I was caucus chair during the LCIPP Facilitative Working Group negotiations, my job wasn’t to make decisions for the caucus. My job was to create the infrastructure so the caucus could make informed decisions in a fast-changing environment.
That meant debrief meetings after every negotiation session. That meant keeping a Facebook Messenger group open during live negotiations so if I had to make a judgment call in the room, I could check in quickly and make that call with less risk.
FYI: I still get nightmares from the very first time Indigenous Peoples were asked for input in the LCIPP-FWG negotiations. Late night, in a room called Santiago de Chile we huddled in a corner. It looked messy.
But here’s the key: If the caucus can’t reach consensus, the chair cannot speak.
No authority to make the call. No power to override. No ability to say “well, most people agree so we’re going with this.”
The chairs facilitate. They keep things moving. They create space for the hard conversations.
They don’t decide.
Because deciding would violate the collective right to self-determination of every Indigenous Peoples’ representative in that room.
It’s Simpler Than You Think
There’s no formal declaration ceremony. No paperwork. No vote to ratify the caucus constitution.
When enough people show up from enough regions, someone just says “let’s organize as a caucus” and you do it.
That’s caucusing as a verb. Quick. Informal. Tactical.
But establishing something like an “International Indigenous Peoples Forum on [Whatever]” takes a bit more. That’s when it becomes a noun with staying power.
That usually involves more public-facing elements. An Instagram page. An announcement. Maybe a formal statement delivered from the floor of a UN meeting saying “we are now the International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Plastics” or whatever the process is.
For example, in 2025, most Indigenous Peoples weren’t even aware there was a caucus forming under the plastics treaty negotiations until a representative of that forum took the floor at the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues and announced it.
Suddenly, it was real. It was public. It existed.
But it existed because people showed up, coordinated, and decided to call themselves something.
Think G77+China
People expect the Indigenous caucus to operate like a corporate structure with a CEO, clear hierarchy, binding votes, and enforceable decisions.
Wrong framework entirely.
We operate more like the G77+China: A coordination mechanism between sovereign entities who retain their autonomy.
States gather in the G77+China to find common positions. They discuss. They debate. They aim for consensus when possible.
But no single state can bind another state to a position they didn’t agree to.
Same with us. Except we’re Indigenous Peoples coordinating collective rights, not states coordinating national interests.
We try to speak with one voice when we can. But the ability for any people to say “this doesn’t represent us” isn’t a weakness.
It’s the exercise of self-determination.
When Consensus Breaks Down
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: Regional caucuses can take positions that directly contradict the global caucus.
And both are legitimate.
Let’s say the global Indigenous caucus wants to take a strong position against fossil fuels. But the Inuit Circumpolar Council, representing the Arctic Indigenous region, has a different position because their communities’ survival depends on resource revenue in ways that other regions’ don’t.
What happens?
We have no formal mechanism for “disassociation from consensus.” No procedural way to say “we’re out.”
So you get two options, and neither is pretty:
Option One: Water down the language until everyone can live with it. The position gets weaker, but it stays unified.
Option Two: The caucus moves forward with the stronger language, and explicitly notes that the Inuit have disassociated themselves from this consensus position.
It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It reveals our internal contradictions to states and other observers.
But it’s real. And it’s honest.
Because the alternative is pretending we all agree when we don’t, which is a lie. Or forcing a people to accept a position that violates their right to self-determination, which is worse.
Why States Actually Listen To Caucuses
Here’s something that surprises people:
States treat unified caucus positions more seriously than individual Indigenous interventions.
Not because they suddenly respect us more. But because coordination is hard.
When I’m the only Indigenous representative engaging with 10 different Geneva based UN processes and 60 Human Rights Council resolutions a year, states know I’m one voice. Maybe I’m speaking on behalf of the International Indian Treaty Council. Maybe I’m tapping my broader network for input on specific topics. Maybe I’m checking my thinking with regional experts.
But I’m still functionally one person trying to track everything.
When a caucus speaks, it means multiple peoples from multiple regions sat down, hashed out their differences, found common ground, and agreed on a position.
That’s political work. That takes time and trust and negotiation.
States know that. And they know that if they ignore a caucus position, they’re not just dismissing one advocate. They’re dismissing a collective political process.
It changes the math.
The Caucus Landscape
Different UN processes, different caucuses.
Pure Indigenous Peoples’ Caucuses:
UNFCCC: International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Climate Change
Plastics Treaty: International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Plastics
IFP-CWP: International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Chemicals Waste and Pollution
UNESCO: International Indigenous Peoples Forum on World Heritage
Hybrid Model:
CBD (Biodiversity): International Indigenous Forum on Biodiversity
Again, this doesn’t mean that there’s no caucus under the EMRIP, UNPFII, etc. They can still caucus (as a verb). And still do.
Notice something about that last one?
It includes “local communities” alongside Indigenous Peoples.
And within Indigenous circles, that’s controversial.
Here’s why.
The One Rule: Protect The Space
When you’re 0.01% of the voices in a UN negotiation room, you need a space where 100% of the voices are yours.
The CBD hybrid model creates problems. Real ones. Particularly around what’s called the Article 8(j) meetings under the biodiversity convention, where Indigenous peoples and local communities get conflated.
Because a caucus isn’t just a coordination meeting.
It’s where we hash out our differences before we walk into the negotiation room. Where a representative from the Amazon can disagree with a representative from the Arctic about tactics. Where we have hard conversations about trade-offs. Where we figure out what we’re willing to compromise on and what we absolutely cannot.
That only works if everyone in the room shares the same structural relationship to the state system. The same legal status under international law. The same collective rights framework under UNDRIP.
The moment you add other actors, even allies, the dynamic changes.
People self-censor. Strategic conversations get watered down. Someone says “well, we should probably be careful how we phrase this” because now it’s not just us.
The space that’s supposed to be ours becomes another stakeholder coordination meeting.
This isn’t about gatekeeping. It’s about protecting the one room where we can actually organize.
What “Consensus” Actually Means
Here’s something that drives me crazy:
People think consensus means unanimity. It doesn’t.
Consensus means good enough that no one objects.
Not that everyone loves it. Not that it’s everyone’s first choice. Not that it perfectly represents every single perspective.
Just that no one is willing to block it.
We waste so much precious time trying to get everyone to enthusiastically agree when that was never the standard. We’re aiming for unanimity when we should be aiming for “can everyone live with this?”
Inside a caucus meeting, the process is talking until objections are resolved or people agree to stand aside.
Stand aside doesn’t mean you agree. It means you’re not going to stop the group from moving forward even though this isn’t your preference.
That’s how you get things done with dozens of peoples in the room.
The Critical Mass Question
So how many people do you actually need to form a caucus?
There’s no universal rule that I’m aware of.
But ideally? Five out of the seven Indigenous socio-cultural regions, with consistent engagement.
Not just people who show up once. People who keep showing up. Who learn the process. Who build relationships with each other and with state delegations.
BBNJ isn’t there yet.
It’s a new treaty. Most Indigenous peoples don’t even know it exists. Funding is a factor. Capacity is a factor. Awareness is a factor.
But we’re not at COP1 yet. When we get there, that’s when it matters.
That’s when we need the critical mass in the room.
The Bottom Line
The Indigenous caucus isn’t your boss. It’s not an organization that will do the work for you.
It’s your organizing tool. Your coordination mechanism. Your way of turning individual voices into collective power.
But it only exists when you show up.
And right now, in spaces like BBNJ, we’re still building toward that critical mass.
So if you’re an Indigenous Peoples representative with ocean connections, with marine knowledge, with a stake in how the high seas get governed, this is your invitation.
Not to join an organization. Not to sign up for a membership.
To show up. To be counted. To help form the caucus.
Because the caucus is made up of those who show up.
And we need you in the room.
Before You Go
If you’re already working in UN spaces, ask yourself: Have you found your caucus yet? Have you connected with other Indigenous peoples navigating the same process?
And if you’re not in these spaces yet but want to be, reach out. The next time you walk into a UN meeting and see Indigenous Peoples coordinating in the corner, join them. Ask questions. Learn the rhythm.
Because the next caucus that forms could be the one that changes everything.
We just need you to show up.