By Rocío Almuna, Cristina E. Ramalho, Lynette Knapp, Carol Pettersen, Iris Maude Bonshore, Elizabeth M. Woods, Gail E. Yorkshire-Selby, Mick Hayden, Rhys Bonshore, Larry Blight, Peter Speldewinde, José Tomás Ibarra, and Stephen D. Hopper

This Plain Language Summary is published in advance of the paper discussed. Please check back soon for a link to the full paper.

When we think about large predators like eagles and dingoes, many of us imagine threats to livestock or dangerous animals to avoid. But what if there were another way to look at this?

We worked alongside eight Noongar Aboriginal Elders from southwestern Australia to understand how their communities relate to wedge-tailed eagles (called Waalitj in Noongar language) and dingoes (Twert). What we learned challenges what mainstream conservation typically tells us about “managing” predators.

For the Elders, these beings aren’t predators at all, they are higher powers. They are kin, spiritual guides, and essential carers of the land. When a dingo howls or an eagle soars overhead, it carries messages about weather changes, the wellbeing of Country, and guidance for the community. These animals clean the landscape by taking weak or dying animals, help control introduced species, and maintain the ecosystem’s health.

Rather than trying to control or eliminate these animals because of their potential threats, Noongar people have always lived alongside them through principles of reciprocity, avoidance, respect and care, and humility. If dingoes came near camps, families would light fires as deterrents, keep watch over children, but not resort to killing. The real “predators,” according to the Elders, are the introduced species like foxes and cats, and the colonial systems that disrupted and marginalised Noongar culture.

This matters because current threats to native predators, such as poisoning, shooting, and habitat loss, fundamentally conflict with Noongar ways of caring for Country.

The Elders emphasize that effective conservation must work “two-ways”, bringing together traditional knowledge with Western science, and crucially, letting Indigenous communities lead decisions about their own lands.

What if conservation stopped being about human dominance and control, and instead centred on belonging, respect, and recognizing that we share this world with beings who have their own important roles to play and are interconnected with us?