I was researched. Now I research on my terms in the language of law, kinship, and Country. This statement signals my reckoning with the historical extraction of Indigenous knowledge and the need to rebuild conservation around Indigenous governance. Grounded in relational accountability, reciprocity, and Indigenous law, I argue that such principles can reshape how rigor and responsibility are understood and practiced in conservation. The same systems that marginalize Indigenous Peoples also fail to protect Country. Country, understood in Indigenous law as a living system encompassing land, waters, skies, and other living and nonliving entities with whom people are in ongoing relational accountability, is treated as an object of management rather than a source of law, authority, and obligation. This reframing is urgent because dominant conservation practices continue to reproduce colonial habits that displace Indigenous authority, extract knowledge faster than relationships can form, and make decisions for Indigenous Peoples rather than with them. Indigenous Peoples globally are not merely participating in conservation; they are leading its transformation. From Māori-led freshwater governance in Aotearoa to community-designed biodiversity programs in Brazil, relational models of care are reshaping and redefining who holds authority in environmental decision-making (Brubacher et al., 2024; Clapcott et al., 2025; Diele-Viegas, 2025; IPBES, 2019). Across Australia, calls to recenter Indigenous authority have intensified. The Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Code of Ethics (AIATSIS, 2020) embeds self-determination and community governance as national standards for research. In conservation research and practice, effective biodiversity governance is widely recognized as dependent on Indigenous leadership and long-term comanagement (Ens et al., 2015; Goolmeer et al., 2022; Robinson Local Contexts, 2023). I return knowledge to community through journal articles and plain-language reports, posters in local languages, and on-Country walks. During these walks, Elders and Aboriginal Rangers share stories of where certain fungi grow, how fire, soil, and water affect them, and which sites must not be disturbed. These exchanges expand what counts as ecological evidence, recognizing observation, story, and Country itself as legitimate sources of data in conservation research. Such recognition strengthens relationships, privileges Aboriginal expertise, and allows knowledge to remain with the places and people to which it belongs. This turns a legacy of being studied into a practice of accountable science grounded in respect, reciprocity, and responsibility and guided by the truth that Country and community come first. These practices provide a model for how conservation science can build accountability through Indigenous governance, rather than relying solely on external ethical oversight. The absence of Indigenous voices in conservation decision-making is structurally produced, not accidental (Rigney, 1999; Schofield, Stratford, Shields et al., 2024). This exclusion reflects institutional power, funding constraints, and the devaluation of Indigenous knowledge systems, not a lack of capability or care among Aboriginal Peoples (AIATSIS, 2020; Nakata, 2007; Rigney, 1999; Walter Whyte, 2017). Despite centuries of dispossession and erasure, Indigenous Peoples continue to uphold their responsibilities to Country. They treat living and nonliving entities not as resources but as kin, following law, story, and ceremony (Bird Rose, 2004; Yunkaporta, 2019). This is not a crisis of knowledge but a crisis of relationship between institutions and communities, between people and Country, and between conservation science and Indigenous law. The dominant worldview in conservation treats the living world as separate from the observer and reduces it to a collection of discrete species, populations, or systems. For example, a tree is identified taxonomically, assessed for its carbon storage, and valued for its ecological function. In Indigenous ways of knowing, that tree is also a teacher, a witness, and an ancestor in kinship networks that guide governance and ethical responsibility. Both truths coexist, but only one is consistently recognized in conservation policy, practice, and institutional decision-making. Western scientists often ask, what is this? Indigenous Peoples ask, who are you and what is our responsibility to one another? These differences shape how conservation is practiced, from policy development to research funding. When entities are understood only by their function, they become easier to ignore, substitute, or eliminate. When they are understood relationally, as kin, rather than as commodities, accountability follows. That shift from abstraction to connection is a most powerful tool. Yet, Indigenous governance systems, which have cared for these lands and waters for tens of thousands of years, continue to be sidelined. Indigenous Peoples are often added to projects rather than permitted to lead. Conservation frequently seeks innovation while overlooking long standing systems of care. Before conservation became a discipline, people cared for places with precision and purpose. These practices endure because Indigenous governance systems are systems of science held in language, law, ceremony, and Country. Indigenous Peoples do not seek inclusion in existing systems; the invitation is to recenter conservation around Indigenous authority. This requires asking whose knowledge built the foundations of Western science and whether power will be shared with that knowledge not merely consulted. The invitation to share power is realized through practice. In my work, accountability to Indigenous law is lived. We pause during fungi surveys when Ceremony takes precedence, even if it delays sample collection, and provide bilingual results. We work with Aboriginal mushroom knowledge frequently described as lost in Western records, despite its continued presence and practice on Country. I implement free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC), as articulated in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007); recognize Indigenous cultural and intellectual property (Janke, 2021); uphold Indigenous data sovereignty (Lowitja Institute, 2024); apply the CARE principles as an operational framework for Indigenous data governance (Carroll et al., 2020); and adhere to the Nagoya Protocol (Convention on Biological Diversity, 2011). These practices establish an ethical baseline, but the deeper responsibility is an ongoing relational accountability that extends beyond procedural or checklist-based compliance. Efforts to standardize ethics often reproduce the asymmetries Indigenous governance seeks to unsettle (Nakata, 2007). This ethical foundation is enacted on Country. It shapes what is researched and how that research is conducted. The Bininj/Mungguy Traditional Owners of Kakadu and I work alongside one another during fungi surveys, sharing knowledge of fungi used for food, medicine, and enjoyment. These are not only sample points but also living stories passed down with care. This research is conducted the Right Way, in accordance with Indigenous law, cultural authority, and place, and is guided by relationality and accountability rather than abstracted ethical procedure. Unlike earlier experiences of knowledge extraction, I am part of a research relationship grounded in protocol and FPIC and secured through clear agreements about what is shared, how it is stored, and how it will be returned. Even with these global frameworks in place, research conducted relationally remains rare. Structural barriers, such as externally driven program priorities, ad hoc project design, and a lack of enduring funding, continue to hinder genuine partnerships with Indigenous communities (AIATSIS, 2020; Ens et al., 2015). Ethics processes still require researchers to define aims before community consultation, privileging bureaucratic compliance over dialogue. Across ecology, data science, and Indigenous governance, institutional systems continue to measure success by productivity rather than relationships. In ecology and conservation, values-centered research grounded in integrity, respect, humility, and reciprocity is being called for (David-Chavez et al., 2024). The CARE principles for Indigenous data governance shift research from consultative to values-based relationships that recognize Indigenous authority and consent (Jennings et al., 2023). The AIATSIS (2020) Code of Ethics enshrines these principles of self-determination, leadership, benefit to community, and accountability and specifies that communities be engaged as full decision makers rather than subjects of study. If conservation and academic institutions measured success by how their work strengthens Country and returns value to community, rather than by output metrics, the foundation of research would shift from extraction to reciprocity. Indigenous governance is not an addition or protocol; it transforms conservation from a system of oversight to one of relationship and shared authority, and is the foundation of ethical practice. The challenge is to recognize Indigenous leadership and act on it. Conservation practitioners and researchers must ask themselves what they will relinquish to create space for Indigenous governance. This may mean ceding authority, embracing humility, or confronting institutional discomfort. Conservation becomes an interdisciplinary science grounded in relationality, reciprocity, and respect when guided by Indigenous law. Without justice, conservation risks continuing colonial control under the guise of care. My invitation is to rebuild conservation frameworks on Indigenous governance and cultural authority, and to redefine conservation as an ethical relationship sustained by Indigenous law and reciprocity. I acknowledge the Bininj/Mungguy Peoples, Traditional Owners, Elders, and Cultural Knowledge Holders of the Kakadu region and the Wurankuwu Clan of the Tiwi Islands. I honor my Arrernte, Yolŋu, and Scottish heritage. I thank J. Packer for inviting me to present the keynote presentation at the ICCB 2025 First Nations Partnerships symposium and my copresenters, especially R. White. My deepest thanks to H. Zimmer, whose unwavering support and friendship have been a cornerstone of my PhD journey. I acknowledge and thank CSIRO's National Research Collections Australia (NRCA) for funding my attendance at ICCB. This article arises from continuing dialogue with First Nations Peoples globally.
S. E. Bruce (Tue,) studied this question.