UNESCO is expanding efforts to protect living heritage across Small Island Developing States (SIDS), arguing that traditional knowledge systems are increasingly essential to disaster preparedness and climate resilience as island nations face rising environmental threats.

From the Pacific to the Caribbean, communities are using inherited practices such as cyclone-resistant housing, traditional medicine, oral storytelling, food preservation and weaving not only to preserve cultural identity, but also to respond to increasingly severe climate pressures including rising sea levels, volcanic activity, floods, cyclones and displacement.

UNESCO said these practices, often passed down through generations, represent both vulnerable cultural assets and practical tools for survival, particularly in remote communities with limited access to formal infrastructure.

Small Island Developing States account for less than 1% of global greenhouse gas emissions, yet remain among the most exposed to the consequences of climate change because of their geography, dependence on natural resources and vulnerability to extreme weather events.

In response, UNESCO, with financial support from the Government of Japan, launched a regional project involving communities in Fiji, Tonga, Vanuatu, Belize and The Bahamas to strengthen the role of intangible cultural heritage in disaster risk reduction.

The project focused on documenting community practices, supporting transmission of traditional knowledge and connecting local communities with disaster management authorities so cultural knowledge could be integrated into formal resilience planning.

UNESCO said the approach reflects a broader recognition that living heritage can serve as both a safeguard and a response mechanism during emergencies.On Vanuatu’s Tanna Island, for example, community member Warau Frederick described traditional cyclone shelter construction as both cultural preservation and physical protection.

Vanuatu is among the countries most exposed to climate-related disasters in the Pacific, regularly facing cyclones, volcanic eruptions and displacement pressures. Communities there continue to rely on long-established building methods using local materials and inherited techniques to construct shelters capable of withstanding severe weather.

Frederick said he learned the process from his uncle and chose to build a shelter for his family before cyclone season, reflecting how traditional architecture remains embedded in everyday preparedness.Traditional weaving also remains economically significant in the same communities.

Eva Namri, a community member on Tanna Island and a knowledge bearer of traditional weaving, said the practice serves as a financial safety net during periods of hardship.“Weaving brings a great deal of income to my family,” Namri said. “It supports us whenever we face financial difficulties.

The biggest challenge for weaving comes from natural disasters.”UNESCO said such examples show how cultural practices operate simultaneously as economic resilience tools and heritage systems, particularly where formal income opportunities are limited.

Across the Caribbean, communities participating in the project focused on preserving food systems and traditional medicine as part of local resilience strategies.

In Fiji, where flooding and environmental changes increasingly threaten food security, communities relied on traditional fishing, farming methods and collective cooperation to maintain access to food.

In Vanuatu, people facing repeated displacement from volcanic activity and cyclones used early warning knowledge, gardening systems and traditional housing practices to reduce vulnerability.In Tonga, communities displaced by a volcanic eruption and tsunami emphasized the importance of oral traditions and craft practices not only for cultural continuity but also for mental well-being and livelihood recovery after disaster.

UNESCO said the project also created longer-term institutional foundations by identifying community members to serve as Intangible Cultural Heritage ambassadors, responsible for helping sustain and transmit traditional practices beyond the duration of the program.These local ambassadors were tasked with ensuring knowledge transfer, particularly in communities facing relocation or demographic shifts that risk interrupting intergenerational learning.

For many participants, the initiative also had direct economic implications.Feleti Akauola, a community member from Atata in Tonga, said relocation after disaster created uncertainty over how families could rebuild sustainable livelihoods.

He said guidance from Sitiveni Fehoko, a community trainer and intangible cultural heritage ambassador, helped communities think about traditional knowledge not only as preservation, but as a source of income and long-term stability.

“One of the key aspects of the project was that it strengthened me in many ways,” Akauola said. “It explained ways we could earn a living, especially for those of us who had been relocated. This was very encouraging, and it gave me and my wife the idea to start our work and make a living for our family.”UNESCO said this illustrates how cultural safeguarding increasingly intersects with economic adaptation, particularly in island states where environmental shocks can quickly translate into displacement, unemployment and food insecurity

.The agency has argued that disaster planning should not treat heritage solely as something to be protected after crisis, but as an active component of prevention and recovery strategies.As climate risks intensify globally, UNESCO said living heritage offers continuity that extends beyond formal emergency responses, helping communities retain identity while adapting to rapidly changing environmental conditions.

The organization said the project also raised awareness of vulnerable traditions that may otherwise disappear as migration, urbanization and repeated disasters disrupt local transmission systems.Even in cases of displacement, UNESCO found that communities continued practicing oral traditions, crafts and local environmental knowledge, reinforcing the adaptability of living heritage under pressure.

The initiative aligns with broader United Nations Sustainable Development Goals related to climate resilience, cultural sustainability and inclusive development, particularly in regions where environmental vulnerability and cultural preservation are closely linked.UNESCO said future efforts will continue to focus on integrating heritage protection into national disaster reduction policies while supporting local ownership of cultural safeguarding.

For Small Island Developing States, the agency said, resilience increasingly depends not only on infrastructure and funding, but also on whether communities can retain the knowledge systems that have helped them survive for generations.

Under trees, inside narrow sheds, and along dusty alleyways, artisans work for hours arranging colourful threads into narrow patterned strips that are later stitched together into wider cloth used for ceremonial wear, designer outfits, shoes, bags and accessories. Despite rising international demand and repeated attempts to modernise production, many weavers insist that aso-oke must remain handwoven to preserve its authenticity.

Located about 200 kilometres from Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial and fashion hub, Iseyin is widely recognised as the historic centre of aso-oke production. The fabric, whose name roughly translates to “cloth from up country,” has long been associated with Yoruba identity and social prestige.

Traditionally worn by wealthy families and ruling elites during weddings, festivals and major ceremonies, aso-oke has expanded far beyond formal occasions. It now appears in contemporary fashion collections across Nigerian cities and on international runways in London and Paris, reflecting both the influence of Nigeria’s fashion industry and the visibility of its diaspora abroad.

Its growing global presence was highlighted when Meghan Markle wore an aso-oke wrapper and shoulder shawl during her 2024 visit to Nigeria with Britain’s Prince Harry, bringing renewed international attention to the textile.For many weavers in Iseyin, however, the craft remains less about fashion visibility and more about livelihood.

Waliu Fransisco, 34, sits at his wooden loom weaving a cream-and-blue fabric, the repetitive click of the machine filling the workshop. A decade ago, he left his job as a nightclub singer in Lagos to learn the physically demanding work of weaving.

“Now I earn a decent living from weaving aso-oke and I’m satisfied,” he told AFP.Like many younger artisans entering the trade, Fransisco represents a generational shift in an industry traditionally dominated by middle-aged men.

Rising unemployment and limited formal job opportunities have drawn young people, including university graduates, back to Iseyin to learn the craft.The work remains labour-intensive. Historically, artisans prepared threads from raw cotton or silk by cleaning, spinning and dyeing fibres manually before setting them on wooden looms.

Colours were limited, and production was slow.Today, many weavers use pre-prepared threads in a wider range of colours, often imported from China, allowing for more varied designs while preserving the manual weaving process.

According to 42-year-old weaver Abdulhammed Ajasa, imported loom-ready thread has made it easier to experiment with patterns and respond to changing market preferences without abandoning traditional production methods.Still, the weaving itself remains entirely manual.Artisans spend hours arranging and tightening threads before weaving narrow, densely patterned strips.

The final product depends heavily on precision, rhythm and experience, qualities many say machines cannot replicate.“This is what Iseyin is known for,” said Kareem Adeola, 35, speaking from behind his loom. “We inherited it from our forefathers.

”Efforts to mechanise aso-oke production have largely failed, according to local weavers, who argue that machine-made versions lose the texture, strength and visual depth associated with authentic handwoven fabric.“If you use a machine to weave aso-oke, it won’t come out as nice as if it was handwoven,” Adeola said while working on a yellow-and-olive design.

“People have tried it before, and it did not work. It is meant by God to be handwoven.”That resistance to mechanisation reflects both economic and cultural concerns.Handweaving creates jobs in Iseyin, where much of the local economy depends directly or indirectly on textile production.

It also preserves a cultural identity tied closely to Yoruba history and craftsmanship.The physical cost, however, is significant. Long hours of sitting at wooden looms can cause chronic pain and other health problems, particularly for older weavers. Yet many continue to accept the strain as part of preserving the craft.For designers, aso-oke’s international rise presents both opportunity and concern.

Ayomitide Okungbaye, creative director of Lagos-based fashion label Tide Chen, has exhibited aso-oke designs in London and sees its growing global appeal as a positive development.“There is nothing wrong with your culture being worn by other people,” the 31-year-old designer said.But she warned that global recognition also raises questions about ownership and misuse.

“Where we start to have a problem is when there’s misappropriation or people start to claim ownership,” she said.The concern is not theoretical. Another Yoruba textile tradition, adire — produced using tie-dye techniques — has already faced challenges from counterfeit versions manufactured abroad, particularly from China. Designers fear aso-oke could face similar risks if demand continues to grow without stronger protections for local artisans.

At the same time, the expansion of aso-oke into mainstream and international fashion has changed how the fabric is used within Nigeria itself.“It is no longer reserved for special occasions,” said Isiaq Yahaya, a 45-year-old mathematician observing the shift in consumer behaviour.

Today, aso-oke appears not only at weddings and traditional ceremonies but also in everyday fashion, adapted into shoes, handbags, purses and contemporary ready-to-wear collections.This evolution has helped sustain the craft economically while keeping it visible to younger generations who may otherwise see traditional textiles as outdated.

In Iseyin, finished rolls of brightly coloured cloth are stacked in small shops waiting for buyers from Lagos, Abuja and overseas markets. Some weavers now collaborate with graphic artists and fashion designers to develop new patterns that appeal to younger customers without losing the fabric’s traditional identity.

The balance between innovation and preservation remains delicate.For artisans here, the question is not whether aso-oke should evolve, but how far that evolution can go before the fabric loses the very qualities that made it valuable in the first place.

As global demand grows, Iseyin’s weavers continue to work under open skies and wooden sheds, preserving a process that has survived generations not because it was the easiest method, but because it carried something machines could not reproduce.

The Navajo Nation, the largest Native American reservation in the United States spanning roughly 27,000 square miles across New Mexico, Arizona and Utah, is confronting the dual pressures of historical trauma and modern socio-economic challenges as its people work to preserve cultural identity.

Home to the Navajo, or Diné, meaning “the people,” the region faces persistent issues including inadequate housing, limited infrastructure and restricted access to technology. These challenges have shaped daily life for many residents while also influencing patterns of migration and cultural continuity.

Elders point to the long-term impact of U.S. assimilation policies, particularly the forced placement of Indigenous children in boarding schools during the 20th century. Virginia Brown, 69, recalled being taken from her family at the age of six and punished for speaking her native language. Such experiences contributed to the erosion of cultural practices and created generational gaps in language transmission.

The UNESCO classifies the Navajo language as “vulnerable,” with recent declines in fluency despite it remaining one of the most widely spoken Native American languages. In response, schools such as Holbrook High School have introduced language and culture programmes aimed at revitalising linguistic heritage among younger generations.

Younger community members express concern about shifting cultural priorities. Teenagers in towns such as Tuba City describe a growing influence of social media and mainstream culture, which some believe is reducing engagement with traditional practices.

At the same time, efforts to sustain cultural traditions continue across generations. Artisans like Drake Mace, who raises Navajo-Churro sheep and weaves rugs using techniques passed down within families, maintain longstanding practices tied to identity and livelihood.

Economic and infrastructural constraints remain significant. Around 30% of households lack running water, requiring residents to transport water from communal sources. These conditions have led some families to relocate to nearby towns, while others balance traditional lifestyles with modern employment.

Tara Seaton, 48, works remotely for Texas State University while living on the reservation, using satellite internet services to maintain connectivity. Such arrangements illustrate the blending of traditional living with contemporary economic opportunities.

Community leaders emphasise that cultural evolution does not necessarily equate to loss. Residents note that practices and values have adapted over time while maintaining continuity with ancestral traditions.

Cultural preservation initiatives include public performances by groups such as the Diné Tah Navajo dance troupe, which present traditional dances in schools and community events. Organisers describe these performances as a means of reconnecting younger generations with heritage while addressing historical trauma.

Entrepreneurs and activists are also working to strengthen cultural and economic resilience. Ira, a community member involved in agricultural and textile initiatives, described efforts to revive traditional weaving while integrating sustainable practices such as hemp cultivation. He also highlighted mentorship programmes and Indigenous farming cooperatives aimed at strengthening community networks and trade.

These initiatives reflect a broader trend in which Navajo cultural practices extend beyond reservation boundaries. Migration to urban and border areas has contributed to a diaspora where traditions such as weaving, silversmithing and language use continue in new settings.

Community members say the concept of Hózhó, which emphasises balance, harmony and beauty, remains central to Navajo identity. As cultural practices evolve alongside changing economic and social conditions, efforts to preserve language, traditions and community ties continue across generations.