Do Rivers Have Rights? Reframing Local Governance During Earth Week

Book Inspiration: Is a River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane

During Earth Week, it feels appropriate to pause and reconsider how local governments relate to the natural systems that sustain our communities.

In my experience, it’s not that these systems are taken for granted. In fact, many communities have made meaningful progress—adopting climate action plans, investing in sustainability initiatives, forming environmental boards, and incorporating environmental considerations into capital planning and land use decisions.

But these efforts are often initiative-driven and outcome-focused and limited or shaped by the practical realities of governance in Michigan. Charter cities, for example, remain creatures of the state—operating within legal frameworks that can limit how far local policy can extend, particularly when it comes to environmental regulation.

That context matters.

Because it suggests that while local governments are increasingly active in environmental stewardship, the work is often framed through what we can do—programs, plans, and incremental improvements, rather than through a deeper question:

What is our relationship to the natural systems themselves?

Recently, I came across an idea that challenged that framing, not through policy papers or professional networks, but through a journey. In Is a River Alive, Robert Macfarlane explores a growing legal and philosophical movement known as the Rights of Nature—an approach that starts not with initiatives, but with a different premise entirely.

A Different Starting Point: Nature as a Rights-Bearing Entity

The Global Alliance for the Rights of Nature (GARN) defines the concept simply: ecosystems--rivers, forests, mountains, have the legal right to exist, maintain themselves, and regenerate.

That idea runs counter to the traditional Western legal framework, where nature is treated as property; something to be managed, used, or extracted from.

But what if that hierarchy is incomplete?

What if governance began not with ownership—but with relationship?

The Magpie River: A Familiar Case for Local Leaders

In the book, Macfarlane shares his experiences with three river systems subject to the Rights of Nature movement. One was the Magpie river in Quebec. Hydro-Québec (a province owned enterprise) advanced plans in the early 2010s to construct a series of dams along the Magpie River—a remote and powerful river system running from through boreal forest to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The proposal promised renewable energy generation at scale, positioning the project as part of a broader clean-energy transition. Locally, a proposal like the Magpie River dams would be easy to understand—and, in many ways, compelling.

It could be framed as an opportunity to attract clean energy investment and jobs, to quantify renewable energy gains, and to demonstrate a meaningful shift away from carbon-intensive sources like coal. Provincial and municipal governments could point to alignment with broader national policy goals and position themselves within a growing clean-energy economy.

From a city management perspective, there’s real upside in that narrative. It reflects the kinds of tradeoffs and opportunities local leaders are asked to evaluate every day.

But in Is a River Alive?, Macfarlane pushes the reader beyond that frame.

He immerses us in the history and lived experience of the Innu people, whose relationship with the Magpie River spans generations. Their seasonal navigation routes—some of which the author retraces—reveal a system not just of movement, but of natural and spiritual meaning.

At the same time, the book expands the lens on what “development” entails.

The dams themselves are only part of the story. Supporting infrastructure—roads cut through boreal forest, increased access leading to deforestation and loss of riverbanks, and the emergence of secondary economic activity like service stations, retail, and worker accommodations—would follow. Each element could be justified through economic or workforce lenses.

But taken together, they reinforce a familiar hierarchy: people over ecosystems.

And over time, that hierarchy would fundamentally alter the river, the forest, and the broader ecosystem—likely for generations.

From Global Movement to Regional Practice

The Rights of Nature movement is not theoretical. It’s evolving in real places, often in response to real pressures.

According to the Eco-Jurisprudence tracker, hundreds of initiatives across dozens of countries have emerged over the past two decades—each experimenting with how law and governance might better recognize the rights of natural systems.

In Northern Michigan, the Sault Tribe of Anishinaabe (Chippewa) people have adopted a Rights of Nature resolution, building on earlier efforts to guide stewardship of culturally significant natural resources like regulations for harvesting the Ginko tree. Their approach reflects a worldview grounded in relationship and responsibility—one that predates modern environmental policy frameworks.

Further south, communities in Ohio offer a different—but equally instructive—model.

In Yellow Springs, Ohio, rising concern over fracking activity catalyzed a community-driven effort to pass a rights-based ordinance in 2012. While the immediate goal was to prevent resource extraction via fracking, the ordinance also embedded a broader recognition of environmental rights and local self-governance.

In Waterville, Ohio, a similar dynamic unfolded. An unpopular industry project that could have waterway implications prompted residents to pursue a charter amendment establishing a Community Bill of Rights, affirming that natural ecosystems within the city possess the right to exist and flourish.

In both cases, a specific outside disruption created the opening—but the resulting policy extended far beyond the initial issue.

Where This Fits in Local Government Practice

For those of us working in or alongside local government, the question isn’t whether we adopt “Rights of Nature” wholesale. It’s whether we are paying attention to the conditions that create these shifts.

Historically, these movements gain traction when:

• A community faces a perceived environmental threat

• Existing regulatory frameworks feel insufficient

• Residents seek greater local control over outcomes

Sound familiar?

Today, we’re entering another period of disruption—this time driven by AI infrastructure and data center development, with significant implications for land use, water consumption, and energy demand.

As these proposals emerge, local governments will be asked familiar questions:

• What are we protecting?

• Who decides?

• What tradeoffs are acceptable?

A Rights of Nature lens doesn’t replace zoning or infrastructure planning—but it can inform the values behind them.

It invites us to ask: Are we managing impacts, or defining relationships? The Rights of Nature framework offers something different, not necessarily to immediately transform regulatory structures, but to begin shaping how a community defines its relationship with its natural assets over time.

In that sense, it’s less about immediate outcomes, and more about long-term orientation.

Hey, local governments have made meaningful progress through climate action plans, sustainability initiatives, and capital investments aligned with environmental goals.

But these efforts often operate within familiar constraints: limited fiscal capacity of Michigan local government, a de-prioritization of federal resources toward climate resilience, rising costs of labor and infrastructure, and the reality that many targets—particularly around greenhouse gas reduction—remain aspirational within these constraints.

That doesn’t diminish their importance. But it does highlight their limits.

A Personal Paddle Forward

This reflection doesn’t end at theory. For me, it’s leading to two simple actions—both grounded in place.

1. Reconnect with Local Watersheds: In Southeast Michigan, the Clinton River Watershed Council has done meaningful work helping communities integrate sustainability into infrastructure planning.

Since reading this book, I’ve reached out to the Huron River Watershed Council to explore how I can contribute my time and experience. And I’m looking for opportunities to involve my family more directly in stewardship—both along the Huron and within the Rouge watershed.

2. Experience the System Firsthand

This spring, I’m planning to kayak the Huron River—starting with the stretch from Kensington to Ann Arbor.

It’s not the Magpie River. But that’s the point.

Local leaders make decisions about systems we don’t always experience directly. Getting on the water—seeing how development, dams, and land use shape flow—offers a different kind of understanding. One that doesn't come from a report.

What would change if we governed not just for our communities, but with the systems that sustain them?