I’m writing this column 30,000 feet above the South Pacific Ocean – somewhere north of Bora Bora and French Polynesia. South of Hawaii. Above me, a thousand stars sprawl across night’s canopy. Below, the Vantablack ocean stirs.
To say I’m carrying a full heart and enriched spirit feels like an understatement.
I’ve just spent a week in beautiful Auckland, New Zealand. This is where the 2025 WIPCE conference (the World Indigenous Peoples’ Conference on Education) was held. It is the world’s largest gathering on Indigenous education. This year, it became the largest conference ever hosted in Auckland.
From all centres and corners of the world, Indigenous Peoples journeyed to this shimmering gem in the Pacific – the home of the Māori.
The week was nothing short of magic. Breathtaking landscapes, delicious food, wonderful hospitality, and leading minds from every avenue of education.
And what is the feeling I’m carrying home in my heart and soul?
It’s hope.
What was the oasis bringing forth such pure water?
Was it watching the beautiful Haka that welcomed us visitors, speakers, and delegates?
Yes.
Was it flying to the other side of the planet and climbing to the pinnacle of Mount Eden to experience a single, staggering moment of sunset over the ocean?
Yes.
Was it the free-flow of ideas and visions for the future?
Yes.
But most importantly, one truth was unmistakable and equally undebatable this week. We are living in a time of reclamation. This is true in many areas such as language revitalization, law, governance, health, media creation, and in the healing of family systems. Razor-sharp minds with unshakable confidence and unconquerable spirits are looking toward the horizon with ideas, goals, dreams, and strategies firmly in sight.
And the energy is spreading.
Before attending, a colleague told me that attending WIPCE is “like filling a cup you didn’t even know needed filling.”
Truer words, never spoken.
When dedicated minds come together, sparks can fly anywhere. You could feel it all week on the island – the energy, the momentum, the potential, the promise.
And here is what I humbly learned:
Whatever work we do (whatever dreams, commitments, strives, or responsibilities we pour ourselves into), it’s easy to lose sight of the panoramic view. Each of us is but one thread in a sprawling tapestry, one small ripple in an ocean. But if we are organized, intentional, and conscious that we are but one source of concentric rings, those ripples can join with others and reinforce one another geometrically.
They can become waves.
Currents.
Even tsunamis of influence.
Even if we can’t see the sum of our efforts from a bird’s-eye view, we cannot surrender the hope that sustains us. What we do in our towns, our regions, our corners of the world matters. It resonates. And we are joined by innumerable others doing meaningful work in every field imaginable, even if it is not obvious day to day.
Years ago, my cousin – one of my closest friends – traveled to Vancouver to see Muse with me at the Pacific Coliseum during the Resistance tour. During a late-night talk overlooking the city, she said something I’ve carried with me ever since:
“Fast change often doesn’t last. A sudden tsunami can shift houses, docks, and buildings… but all of that can be rebuilt where they were. It’s the slow, continuous waves – rolling in and rolling out over years – that erode stone and reshape coastlines.”
Her words resurface as I write this tonight.
The creative energy we pour, the time we commit, the passions we refuse to extinguish, the promises we make to ourselves, and the missions we align our lives with – they all matter.
When the daily grind blurs the grand movements and tempts us with doubt (“Does what I do matter?”), it is an illusion. Hope dispels it.
Gatherings like WIPCE are more than events. They are reminders. Refillings of the cup. Rekindlings of the heart. Acts of profound self-care before we step back into the ring for round eight after the bell.
Whatever work you do, whatever legacy you aim to build, however high the odds seem stacked, let your ripple become a wave. Others are building theirs. Those before us have already set currents in motion.
Sometimes massive waves travel near without ever being seen – until the moment they begin to shoal.
And then, suddenly, they rise.
Whatever your passion – be it language revitalization, medicine, civics, education, or any path where your heart invests its energy – keep building your wave. You are not alone. You are part of something larger. What you do matters.
It’s a beautiful night over the Pacific, especially when returning home atop a high and beautiful wave, forged in the stirring currents of hope and vision and shared by others across this wonderful world. And from what I can see, there isn’t a high-water mark in sight where it will finally break and roll back.
As I turn out the reading light above the seat, remember to keep hope alive and shimmering. No matter the odds.
Burn bright.
Shed light.
Scatter sparks –
and ignite all lanterns.
– Robert Horton is an educator, author, orator, and linguist. He is a member of Rainy River First Nations.
