Neal Kelso

My work is driven by a dedication to collaborate with and for communities as they apply their unique strategies for sustaining life and land. In Vanuatu, a country rich in both species and languages, my colleagues and I like to introduce our work with the concept of the Haos blong Diversiti, Bislama for “House of Diversity.” The idea is that the three sides of this house—structured like a traditional Vanuatu cyclone house—represent cultural, linguistic, and biological diversity. Like a real house, if one wall were to fall, the other sides would fall with it. When a language is lost, so too are cultural and linguistic traditions used to live in harmony with the environment. When a forest is felled, it becomes much more difficult to preserve the names and knowledge of its lost plants and animals. Unfortunately, one or more sides of the Haos are threatened in most places in Vanuatu. 

My primary research involves “ecological calendars,” which have long been used to protect Vanuatu’s people and ecosystems. These are complex systems in which people follow environmental rhythms to keep track of time, and make decisions about sustainable agriculture, climate monitoring, disaster prevention, and conservation. For example, on Aneityum Island, lobsters are only supposed to be harvested during the months when the leaves of intejed (Terminalia catappa) are red. This keeps lobster populations healthy, which is good for both lobsters and people. And on Tanna Island, signs in plants, animals, winds and more are used to know when to build or repair the houses that keep people safe during cyclone season. These kinds of applications are relevant everywhere, as communities worldwide face issues ranging from climate change and language endangerment. In working to preserve living environmental knowledge, we keep local cultures, ecosystems, and endangered languages thriving. 

I was introduced to the field of ethnobiology through linguistics. The basic premise is simple, but it completely changed my perspective on science: every culture, situated in a unique environment, has a unique way of knowing the world, encoded through their language. Language, culture, and biodiversity are intertwined almost everywhere across the globe, but all three are under threat. So, I set out to work with international experts, from farmers to foresters to ornithologists, to investigate how these connections can support human and ecosystem resilience. 

My first research in this field involved the development of Talking Dictionaries of endangered languages, focusing on the presentation of environmental knowledge. This led me to Oaxaca, Mexico, where I worked alongside Zapotec language activists to document local names and knowledge of plants. Then, after making dictionaries of Vanuatu languages remotely through the first years of COVID-19, I went back into the field as an ethnobiology researcher for the New York Botanical Garden’s “Plants and People of Vanuatu” project. Through this project, I get to talk with people about the cultural significance of everything from bugs to magic to stars.

Thanks to all my experiences in the field, I have become a steadfast advocate for the need to understand and support the diversity of human relationships with nature. One of my favorite things about this work is how it pushes the definition of “science” to include Indigenous methodologies that integrate practices such as music and magic into empirical investigations. These methods often lack the same recognition and support as Westernized sciences, but they are equally valid and rigorous ways of knowing the world.