鈥淭here鈥檚 more to community resilience than the physical protection of properties,鈥� Owens, who works with Louisiana鈥檚 state folklife program, told Grist.听

Radical change is already occurring. Louisiana鈥檚 coast is slowly being swallowed by the sea; the Southwest is drying out; Appalachia鈥檚 transition from coal has been no less disruptive than a recent battery of floods and storms. These crises, which are unfolding nationwide, interrupt not only infrastructure, but the rituals and remembrances that make up daily life.

The study of those rituals and remembrances may seem like an esoteric discipline, one relegated to exploring quaint superstitions of the past, or documenting old men in overalls playing homemade instruments. It鈥檚 true that those who study and preserve folklore don鈥檛 concern themselves with high art鈥攖hat is, the sort of thing supported by networks of patronage and philanthropy and gallery exhibitions. Their mission is to record the culture of ordinary people: us. Our jokes, our songs, our spiritual practices, our celebrations, our recipes. Such things are the glue that holds society together, and as the climate changes our ways of life, Owens and her peers say, it鈥檚 important to pay attention to how culture adjusts.听

Doing that goes beyond the practical question of how people will carry their heritage into a world reshaped by climate change. It requires looking to tradition-bearers鈥攖he people within a community who are preserving its customs, songs, and stories and passing them on鈥攆or clues to how best to navigate this tumultuous time without losing generations of knowledge. In that way, folklorists across the country increasingly strive to help communities adapt to a new reality, understand how tradition shifts in times of crisis, and even inform climate policy. Folklore doesn鈥檛 seem like it would teach us how to adapt to a warming world, but even as it looks over our collective shoulder at the past, it can prepare us for a future that is in many ways already here.

In the coal towns of eastern Kentucky and West Virginia, Emily Hilliard has written extensively on this idea, which she calls visionary folklore. She looks for ways to sustain culture as those who practice it experience incredible change so that they might 鈥渟end traditions on to the future.鈥� As climate disaster threatens to wipe away entire towns and ways of life鈥攂oth literally, in the case of the communities lost to the floods that ravaged Kentucky in 2022, and figuratively through the loss of archives and museums to those inundations鈥攕he considers this continuity an essential part of retaining a sense of place and identity, two intangible feelings that help give life meaning.听

鈥淔olklorists can help communities pass on these traditions,鈥� she said.

Hilliard is a former West Virginia state folklorist who has, among other things, collected oral histories, songs, artwork, and legends for the West Virginia Folklife Program. It鈥檚 impossible to talk about climate in Appalachia without talking about coal, and the communities she has documented have a gnarled and thorny relationship with that industry, which has both sustained them and helped create the climate impacts they鈥檙e left to grapple with. 

People, Hilliard said, face a grave risk in 鈥渢he way that climate disaster breaks up communities, so that communities may no longer be able to share food and music traditions.鈥� Visionary folklore is, in part, about trying to restore, replace, and sustain these things, while finding ways to bulwark and adapt traditions for an uncertain future.

Climate change, like the coal industry that fostered it, threatens to rewrite some of the region鈥檚 cultural memory. Hilliard recalls members of the Scotts Run Museum in Osage, West Virginia, a place where town elders regularly play music, tell stories, and share meals, talking of rising floodwaters threatening their community gathering spaces. She sees collaboration with communities to preserve these important community resources as part of her life鈥檚 work.

As she strives to help communities sustain old traditions, Hilliard sees new ones emerging as coping strategies for a world in which foundations are shifting. As floods have repeatedly swept through Appalachia, she has seen communities come together to repair and replace family quilts, musical instruments, and other heirlooms and keepsakes, some of which were painstakingly crafted by hand and many of which have been handed down through generations. Community members in Scotts Run established 鈥渞epair cafes鈥� where people with various skills helped neighbors recover. Coal company towns鈥� often hardscrabble existence made such expertise necessary, and in an era of looming environmental destruction, those knowledge pathways allow people to simultaneously come together to grieve and to begin to rebuild their community. Such things are not limited to Appalachia, of course.

鈥淭here may exist beneficial practices and adaptations to crises within our historical and current practices,鈥� said Kimi Eisele, a folklorist with the Southwest Folklife Alliance in Tucson, Arizona. Eisele, who is beginning a folklife project focused on climate change, manages Borderlore, a journal operated by the Southwest Folklife Alliance. It recently received a $150,000 grant to collect oral histories that amplify the environmental history and future of the Southwest through the eyes of Indigenous peoples, immigrants, and other historically excluded people.

In southern Arizona, where Eisele lives and works, triple-digit temperatures, aridity, and groundwater depletion present a dire threat to agriculture and even long-term human settlement. Many of the interviews Eisele and others have collected focus on the impacts of climate change on Indigenous traditions and how those traditions are changing. The Tohono O鈥檕dham, whose ancestral land is divided by the border with Mexico, have, for example, long relied on willow for basket-weaving, but as farms and groundwater diversion have lowered the water table, willows have dried up and died. Basket-weavers now use the hardier yucca plant. Climate change is also causing traditional adobe homes to crack and decay; Native architects are working to shore them up and explore how modern technology can preserve them, even as the structures provide a model for building cooler, more energy-efficient homes.听

The interviews describe adaptations made over millennia that still work鈥攎ind-boggling, perhaps, to a society that has managed to nearly deplete its resources in just a few hundred years. The Hopi, Tohono O鈥檕dham, Din茅, and other peoples have weathered climate fluctuations, droughts, floods, and famine in the tens of thousands of years they鈥檝e lived in the Southwest. Hopi farmer Michael Kotutwa Johnson, who raises corn, believes that heritage provides essential tools for adapting to the climate crisis. He is working to ensure others learn to use them.

鈥淎s Hopis, we adjust to these environmental fluctuations,鈥� Johnson told Eisele in an interview for the Climate Lore oral history series. 鈥淚t鈥檚 part of our faith.鈥� Even if this period of climate crisis is unprecedented and unpredictable, Johnson says, he feels prepared to bear it out.

Johnson is a dryland farmer, meaning he uses traditional farming methods that don鈥檛 require听irrigation. He relies on the annual monsoon to water his fields, and on what he knows of the land to prepare for the season ahead. In 2018, for example, he realized early on that a drought was intensifying because 鈥渂iological indicators that usually appear in April weren鈥檛 there,鈥� he told Eisele. 鈥淧lants weren鈥檛 greening up, so we knew the soil moisture wasn鈥檛 going to be there.鈥� In response, he and other Hopi farmers planted only a quarter of their usual crop to avoid depleting the soil. What he describes as 鈥渂umper鈥� years can take communities through leaner times鈥攊f everyone is careful and pays attention.听

鈥淲e鈥檝e had a system in place to handle a lot of it. We plant enough to last three to five years,鈥� Johnson told Eisele. 鈥淲hen you have everybody doing that, then you have to have a good supply to get through climatic changes.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He hopes other farmers, particularly Native farmers, collaborate in practicing regenerative agriculture rather than relying on destructive groundwater withdrawal to maintain crops the desert simply can鈥檛 support. Eisele finds stories like Johnson鈥檚 invaluable in helping people everywhere adapt. 鈥淲e are really looking at folklife as a tool for liberation,鈥� she said.

Along the Gulf Coast of Louisiana, Maida Owens takes such work a step farther, trying to use folklore to shape public policy and make the world more welcoming toward those displaced by the climate crisis.

The Bayou State has been losing up to 35 square miles of coastland each year for the better part of a century. As erosion and rising seas have remade the state, entire communities have had to move. Climate migration, new to some parts of the world, is as much a fact of life for Louisianans as the changing of the tides.

Even as Louisiana has focused on reclaiming lost land and restoring coastal wetland, Owens has urged special attention to adaptation, teaching people in harm鈥檚 way how to adjust their ways of life without losing what鈥檚 most important to them. She works with the Bayou Culture Collaborative, which brings together tradition-bearers from impacted communities to talk 鈥渁bout the human dimension of coastal land loss鈥� so residents, and their elected leaders, can better plan for the migration already afoot. Research has shown that when people make the difficult decision to pack up and leave, most of them go only a few miles.听

鈥淧eople from all over the coast are starting to leave and move inland,鈥� Owens said. In the parlance of her field, the places they leave behind are 鈥渟ending communities鈥�; where they鈥檙e headed, 鈥渞eceiving communities鈥� await them. Owens has begun to convene meetings online and in receiving communities to discuss cultural sensitivity to help people prepare for their new neighbors, knowing that migration can exacerbate class and racial tension. 

In the Louisiana folklife program鈥檚 ongoing 鈥淪ense of Place鈥擜nd Loss鈥� workshop series, Owens hosts discussions about the future of bayou traditions to collectively imagine what the near future might look like as the Gulf Coast changes. Artists, other tradition-bearers, and community leaders are invited to envision how they might make their towns and counties more welcoming for climate migrants, and Owens assists them in developing concrete action plans. Such an effort includes having receiving communities inventory their cultural and economic resources to see what they can offer newcomers, invest in trauma-informed care for disaster survivors, and consider what they might need to make themselves ready to integrate newcomers.听听听

The Louisiana state coastal protection and restoration authority has identified some towns that might have the capacity, and need, for more people; many of these places have the space but lack the social infrastructure to support the continuation of rural peoples鈥� foodways and artistic traditions. Though receiving communities may not be far away, those most vulnerable to displacement are often Indigenous, French-speaking, or otherwise culturally distinct, and moving even a short distance can expose them to unfamiliar circumstances. In her workshops, Owens is proposing ideas lifted in part from the adaptation strategies immigrants often rely upon, like cultural festivals and an emphasis on cultural exchange and language education. In a recent project, several coastal parishes (what Louisianans call counties) near Terrebonne created a collaborative quilt at a regional community festival as a way to draw attention to the beauty and ancestral importance of their wetlands and deepen their connections with one another.

That鈥檚 where Owens hopes folklorists can affect policy change, too. Owens is keeping a close eye on the state鈥檚 Coastal Master Plan, providing feedback with an eye towards supporting the culturally rich, and vanishing, coastal parishes. The Louisiana Folklore Society has urged the state to conduct its planning with respect to the desires and needs of the people who live on the coast, prioritizing engagement before any major mitigation project, and saving habitat not merely for its inherent value but also for its importance to the coastal tribes it sustains.

Though climate disasters have already thrown towns along the Louisiana coast and beyond into disarray and prompted seismic changes in how residents live, this is just the beginning. As floods and fires, droughts and erosion, and the myriad other impacts of a warming world wreak greater havoc, some of the answers to the crisis won鈥檛 be found in engineering or science, but in the cultural fabric that binds us together.

This article originally appeared in Grist at . Grist is a nonprofit, independent media organization dedicated to telling stories of climate solutions and a just future. Learn more at 

Typhoon Haiyan鈥攐r , as most Filipinos call it鈥攚as one of the deadliest cyclones in history, leading to and more than 28,000 injuries. At least are still considered missing. Haiyan hit Tacloban City the hardest, collapsing and flattening the city鈥檚 most formidable buildings and infrastructures and causing . 

In November 2023, the people of Tacloban gathered to remember Haiyan鈥攖he great mourning and the long journey to overcoming one of the world鈥檚 worst climate catastrophes. They鈥檝e risen from deep calamity, modeling how the people of the Global South have been鈥攁nd continue to be鈥攖enacious and united as they rebuild. There are lessons to be learned here. What has helped this community collectively survive the unimaginable?

An Avenue of Care for Survivors

Jaime Gravador, a news reporter in Tacloban, was 12 when Haiyan devastated the city. In the hours after the storm, which Gravador describes as 鈥渄ark,鈥� 鈥渉eavy,鈥� and 鈥渁pocalyptic,鈥� he and his father roamed neighborhoods where they encountered mass death. 鈥�Lahat ng nakikita mo sa daan puro patay [you find dead bodies everywhere you turn],鈥� he remembers wearily. Even after Haiyan passed, he couldn鈥檛 look at certain roads without having a flashback of the lifeless bodies that once lay there. 鈥淚t brings you back to all the deep emotion … memories na hindi mo kayang maalala. Maluluha ka talaga [memories that you can鈥檛 bear to remember anymore. You鈥檒l always end up in tears],鈥� Gravador says. 

In the aftermath of the super typhoon, survivors developed severe mental health conditions. Approximately 80.5% of survivors involved in typhoon relief efforts , and the rate of people with mental illnesses, including schizophrenia and depression, .

However, the country wasn鈥檛 fully equipped to handle this increase in mental distress. Gloria Enriquez-Fabrigas, an officer in charge of Tacloban鈥檚 health office, told the in 2019: 鈥淲hen Yolanda struck, we were all shocked. 鈥� The focus [then] was really more on the need for food and basic needs. Mental health was set aside during that time.鈥� Gravador says that some of these survivors became psychologically distressed not just because their loved ones died, but because there were others who were never recovered. For some survivors, the lack of closure, with no bodies to bury and grieve, was too much to tolerate.

After Haiyan, there were only serving Eastern Visayas, even as the . But in 2014, officials in Eastern Visayas implemented , which allotted $90,380 or 5 million Philippine pesos, 鈥渢o enable government agencies and personnel to respond to psychosocial needs through community-based intervention,鈥� according to .听

Eastern Visayas was the first region in the Philippines to provide mental health support at all levels of care: primary, secondary, and tertiary, assisting up to 鈥�384 [patients] in 2017,鈥� , a provincial health officer in Northern Samar. Health workers in Eastern Visayas offered care to communities using the Mental Health Gap Action Programme (mhGAP), an international program that 鈥渁ims at scaling up services for mental, neurological and substance use disorders for countries especially with low- and middle-income,鈥� according . 

The program is designed for large-scale communities who suffer mental health conditions like depression, suicidal thoughts, and other psychological disorders, especially when there is a great lack of resources. In summary, on destigmatizing mental health issues in the community, suicide and substance-use prevention, community follow-up, human rights awareness, and more.

Health personnel, even those who were not mental health specialists, were trained with the mhGAP curriculum. The implementation of the curriculum aided the national health staff and local communities to identify and manage mental health conditions

Lyra was 10 when Haiyan flooded her Tacloban home. At the time, she couldn鈥檛 process the magnitude of the typhoon鈥攗ntil she and her family needed to climb on top of their roof to avoid violent floods.

After Haiyan, Tacloban didn鈥檛 have electricity for three months. Haiyan also completely wiped out Tacloban鈥檚 water and sanitation services, including the . Lyra recalls drinking baby milk so she could have adequate nutrition. 鈥�Siniguro lang nila Papa na may tubig kami kahit water lang na galing sa ulan. Tapos yung mineral water, parang talaga sa mga baby lang, so yung tubig namin, [ay] tubig ulan. [Our dad found ways for us to have enough drinking water, even if it meant rainwater. The mineral water was only reserved for infants].鈥� For Lyra, nothing was ever the same.

When Lyra returned to school, most of her classmates were no longer there. Some died during Haiyan while others moved away. Thanks to the lingering trauma from Haiyan as well as the sudden changes in her everyday life, her social skills diminished: 鈥淎fter ng bagyo, mas naging silent ako. Hindi ako marunong makihalubilo. [After the storm, I became more silent. I didn鈥檛 know how to get along with others].鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

She also noticed psychosomatic effects from climate anxiety: 鈥淧ag umuulan ng malakas o鈥� pag malakas ang hangin, parang natatahimik agad ako o鈥� natutuliro. Hindi ko ma-explain yung feeling na traumatized, kasi hindi ko siya na-express nung bata ako. [Whenever I see heavy rains or hear strong winds, I get quiet and disoriented now. I couldn鈥檛 explain the feeling of being traumatized at the time since I was only a child].鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

, climate anxiety is 鈥渁n adaptive psychological response to the actual threat posed by the climate crisis,鈥� which manifests in 鈥渋ntrusive worrying, fear, and behavioral impairment.鈥� Aruta and Guinto found that the Philippines has the highest number of youth who suffer from negative emotions like hopelessness, anger, and frustration in response to the climate crisis.

After Haiyan, communities from different parts of the Philippines and around the world traveled to Tacloban . Some humanitarian organizations, such as , were birthed from these efforts. FundLife, an organization mostly led by youth leaders and mentors, provides relief goods and psychosocial support to climate survivors in Tacloban. The organization utilizes , , and 鈥攅specially football鈥攖o help youth cope with the impact of the climate disaster.听

Lyra, who was one of the organization鈥檚 first mentees, is a living testament to the impact of FundLife鈥檚 community efforts. 鈥淔undLife became a second family to me,鈥� Lyra shares. 鈥淚 wanted to share the hope I have through sports and play. Yung play, naging forgotten right na ng mga bata [Play has become a forgotten right to kids].鈥� Lyra believes that sports can be an avenue where a young person discovers how resilient they are: 鈥�Sa paglalaro鈥� dun mo malalaman na pwede kang bumangon [Play makes it possible for anyone to rise up].鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

She鈥檚 since returned to the organization to work as one of its football coaches. 鈥�Nung nag-join ako sa FundLife, hindi ko lang na-develop yung football skills ko, mas na-improve ko yung confidence at social skills ko [Since joining FundLife, my football skills improved, as did my confidence and social skills],鈥� she says. 

The Power of Collective Storytelling

鈥淟补谤辞驳 are what you call the sediments at the bottom of a tuba jar,鈥� Joanna Sustento says as she welcomes attendees to Larog, a community storytelling project where climate survivors share stories, music, and art to process the tragedies from Haiyan. 鈥淰ery much like what we have here [in this gathering], the stories we tell are remnants of what has conspired a decade ago: stories, memories鈥攈owever much we pour out, there will always be something else to tell: the remnants,鈥� Sustento says.听

Sustento, who co-created Larog in 2017, lost her family during the super typhoon. She then became an active frontliner, providing basic necessities to affected communities in Tacloban. While her story was widely known in climate activist spaces, she didn鈥檛 have enough time to process the trauma and grieve. 鈥淎t that time, [I was on] survival mode,鈥� she says. 鈥淸I focused] more on finding my family members, kasi noong time na 鈥榶on, hindi ko pa alam kung sinu-sino ba yung nag survive, and siyempre, find shelter, food [because during that time, I didn鈥檛 know who else in my family survived, and of course, I needed to find shelter and food].鈥�

After Haiyan passed, Sustento and her friends felt like something was missing during the annual commemoration ceremonies. 鈥淲e realized that there鈥檚 this gap,鈥� she says. 鈥淸There鈥檚 no] space for people to come together and share stories. [Only] amongst ourselves, we鈥檇 tell stories of how we survived [and] our experiences during the typhoon. Pero wala yung isang space na pupunta yung mga taong hindi magkakakilala [but there was no central space where strangers can gather and tell stories], and we want to provide that.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The first Larog event ended around 11:00 p.m., but people continued to share their experiences until the following morning. 鈥�Wala na yung program. Wala na yung microphone. Pero yung audience mismo nag-usap usap na sila [There was no more program. No more microphone. But the audience members remained and kept talking amongst themselves].鈥�

At the 2023 gathering, Kay Zabala, a mental health coach, told her story about losing 11 family members during the typhoon. 鈥淚 experienced hell because of Yolanda … imagine [losing] only one [family member], what about 11?鈥� she said. After Haiyan, Zabala sought psychological and psychiatric help among other treatments so that she could heal. In turn, she鈥檚 become a mental-health practitioner.

While the pain of surviving a climate disaster will never go away, Zabala says our bodies and collective spirit are resilient: 鈥淲e are capable of surpassing and overcoming anything … because we are naturally capable of doing that,鈥� she continues. 鈥淚f you get wounded in the morning and [when you get to] the afternoon or evening, makita ka nagsasara na [the wound will close]. You see that it鈥檚 already dried.鈥�

When I asked Sustento about the healing power of storytelling, she said that collective grieving helped the community immensely: 鈥�Nag-purge kami ng mga trauma namin [We purged out our trauma together]. Nakakalungkot because yun yung pinagdaanan namin [It鈥檚 sad because we went through all of this], but at the same time, it鈥檚 just so beautiful to know that you鈥檙e not alone, [and] to know na may mga taong naiintindihan kung ano yung mga pinagdanaanan mo [to know that there are people who understand you and all that you are going through].鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Sustento says that telling her story has restored her sense of purpose. Though Haiyan took everything from her, she knows, 鈥淓nough pa rin ako [滨鈥檓 still enough]. I can still contribute to something bigger.鈥� She desires this for other climate survivors as well: 鈥淗opefully, [they] find it in them [that] hindi ito yung end [This is not the end]. There鈥檚 still so much more.鈥�

Walking for Climate Justice 

The Philippines contributes , yet it鈥檚 the world鈥檚 country and has the highest risk of being impacted by climate change. As the threat rises, a community of humanitarian organizations have been demanding world governments respond to the climate crisis that鈥檚 impacting countries, especially in the Global South.听

Members and volunteers of Greenpeace Southeast Asia, Bikers United Movement, DAKILA, FundLife, Living Laudato Si, Philippine Movement for Climate Justice, and various archdioceses in the Philippines walked from Manila to Tacloban City鈥攁 journey of more than 600 miles鈥攖o uplift their urgent call for systemic change through the Climate Justice Walk.

is a monthlong action that began on Oct. 8, 2023, . The walk highlighted the demand for climate reparations, which urges fossil fuel companies to provide reparations for the loss and damage costs for the areas most impacted by climate disasters, including but not limited to Tacloban City. The walk also supported , including the Philippine Commission on Human Rights鈥� 鈥渢hat found legal grounds to hold big fossil fuel companies and other corporate entities accountable for their climate-destroying business models that lead to human rights harms.鈥� This meant investigating 47 corporations, including听Shell, Exxon, and BP, for human-rights violations that triggered the climate crisis. However, have shown up to face the communities who filed these landmark petitions.

Greenpeace campaigner Jefferson Chua believes that reparations is 鈥渢he strongest form of accountability.鈥� Yet he and his team have sensed the resistance from Global North governments when discussing climate reparations: 鈥淚 do think it鈥檚 opening the wound up again that relates to the colonial past of a lot of Global North countries, because we do know that the word 鈥榬eparations鈥� connotes postcolonial meanings, right?,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 just don鈥檛 think [Global North governments] want to pay. They don鈥檛 want accountability in terms of their historical emissions, and also, [they are] not acknowledging the accountability for the expansion plans of [their] companies.鈥�

Beyond the Climate Justice Walk, Greenpeace Southeast Asia has been pressuring governments and companies to account for their complicity in climate change. This includes to the Shell import terminal in Batangas, Philippines, as well as establishing , which displays stories and art by climate survivors. 

Yeb Sa帽o, lead walker of the Climate Justice Walk, says that 鈥淔ilipinos refuse to accept the vicious cycle of destruction and reconstruction.鈥� As the executive director of Greenpeace Southeast Asia, he also said in a : 鈥淲e also refuse to accept that we are reduced to numbers, so it is our aim to remind the whole world.鈥澨�

More than 10 years after Haiyan, it鈥檚 important to recognize that there are many ways to process and survive climate catastrophes鈥攚ith community-led mental health interventions, play, and creative storytelling鈥攚hile also strategically preventing them from escalating any further.

She鈥檇 joined the crew of elders practicing, their moves fluid as the stream that ran by the village. She鈥檇 spotted him then, the only other face as young as hers: a thin man with glasses, thick curls of hair, and a gentle smile. Naturally, they鈥檇 felt drawn to each other, and Huaxin struck up a conversation.

After that, they met up for tea following each tai chi session. He was a lot like Huaxin: opinionated, particular, averse to vulnerability. He was also impulsive. He picked up new topics easily, researched them with relish, constantly talked to her about how the world was changing.

One day he led her back to the park and removed a ring from his pocket. It was no diamond, but Huaxin still gasped when she saw it: a smooth stone, well-worn like a comforting friend. 鈥淭he world may be changing,鈥� he said with a cheeky grin, 鈥渂ut I want you to be my constant.鈥�

He moved in with her and she introduced him to her livelihood: beehousing. They shared bowls of noodles, talked about having children, and continued to practice tai chi, nurturing their slowly aging bodies.

And then, nine years later, he left her.

鈥淎nd why do you need this information again?鈥� Huaxin snapped into the phone.

鈥淪cience,鈥� the person on the other end said. This was the third time Huaxin had asked, and now it seemed like the man was going for the simplest explanation possible. 鈥淚t鈥檒l provide useful data to prevent natural disasters. We know your region is highly flood prone. This will help you prepare for that.鈥�

Huaxin chewed her lip. Did they know how her parents had died? If so, of course they鈥檇 come running to her. 鈥淎nd you鈥檙e saying the bees will provide this data?鈥�

鈥淵es. Just click on the link I sent you. Again, I鈥檇 like to offer our services to install digital monitoring systems in the hives. It鈥檒l be completely free and will make it easier鈥斺��

鈥淣o thanks,鈥� Huaxin said, hanging up. On her computer, she clicked on the unread message.

They wanted her to download an app. Didn鈥檛 she have enough shit clogging up her phone? Wasn鈥檛 there an option to just send an email with whatever observations they wanted her to make? She clicked the 鈥淪upport鈥� button and typed: i don鈥檛 want your fucking app

Huaxin鈥檚 phone buzzed. She鈥檇 received a text.

Support: 
hey there, can you explain your dilemma to me?

Huaxin eyed the screen in suspicion. Was this an automated response? Or worse, AI? She didn鈥檛 want to talk to a robot.

Huaxin: 
are you a human?

Support: 
yes, i am.

Huaxin: 
who are you?

Support: 
i鈥檓 a scientist with sichuan resilient. i help implement the nature-based early warning system we鈥檝e partnered with the beijing office of meteorology on. is that what you鈥檙e asking about today?

Huaxin: 
i guess

Support: 
may i ask why you don鈥檛 want to download our app?

Huaxin: 
too many apps on my phone

Support: 
i understand. do you prefer another method of reporting data?

Huaxin: 
can i just email it to someone

Support: 
you can email it to me.

The scientist sent Huaxin an email address, and Huaxin breathed a sigh of relief.

Huaxin: 
thanks

Huaxin: 
what鈥檚 your name

Support: 
my name is anshui. you are huaxin lin, correct?

Huaxin: 
mhm

Huaxin: 
so the guy on the phone said i鈥檒l get paid for this?

Support: 
yes. think of it like a part-time job. we know it takes time out of your day to record these observations and send them to us, so we want to make sure you鈥檙e compensated.

Huaxin: 
i still don鈥檛 know how bees will help prevent flooding

Support: 
several studies show that some species of animals, including bees, exhibit specific behaviors prior to an extreme weather event. this program is two-fold: by telling us how the bees are behaving, we can predict if something like a flood is going to happen, and we can distribute emergency messaging to your region. on the research side, if we collect enough data that connects certain bee behavior to weather events, 飞别鈥檒濒 have more ways of predicting disasters in the future.

Huaxin: 
you鈥檙e telling me you can鈥檛 predict floods already with your fancy science tools?

Support: 
with the unpredictable ways climate events are unfolding, meteorological stations can only do so much. we鈥檙e testing supplemental methods by using nature-based solutions. nature is very wise; we just have to listen.

Huaxin: 
sounds like some hippie bullshit to me

Support: 
we鈥檙e included in that nature. doesn鈥檛 your body sometimes tell you when it鈥檚 going to rain?

That was true. If Huaxin didn鈥檛 smell it in the air, she literally felt it in her bones. She鈥檇 brought it up to a doctor once, who told her that sometimes people with joint issues could feel pressure changes in their knees. She didn鈥檛 like the idea of having weak joints. She was 37, hardly ancient.

Huaxin: 
i guess

Support: 
if you have any other questions, please let me know.

Support: 
have a nice day 馃檪 

This person seemed like they had the role of a customer service representative plus IT person. Basically, the worst job ever. She put her phone away and went outside.

It was spring. From her home in the hills, Huaxin could see cracks of color speckling into view as new buds bloomed across the valley. The bees stirred from their slumber, buzzing more than they had in the previous months.

Over the years, Huaxin had departed from her family鈥檚 traditional beekeeping and veered into beehousing, an emerging practice that was more about providing for bees鈥� needs than managing bees. She still had one Chinese honey bee hive, but she鈥檇 also dotted her garden with bee motels, plant matter, and soil mounds to serve as wild bee habitats. Similarly, she鈥檇 filled her garden with a diverse mix of native plants: sweetly fragrant lychee and peach trees, traditional Chinese medicine staples like black cardamom and butterfly bush, native pea shrub and milkvetch, and vegetables like sponge gourd and radish.

Other than harvesting honey, Huaxin didn鈥檛 鈥渒eep鈥� any of the bees. Certainly not the wild ones. She provided them shelter and food and they pollinated her plants. The bees were gentle with her. She liked this relationship; it was easy to understand. Give respect and receive respect in return. It wasn鈥檛 the same with humans.

After collecting data, she sipped homemade jasmine tea with a dollop of honey and took out her phone.

Huaxin: 
6am, roughly 50 bees per hive en route to flowers, determined dance, will report on return times in afternoon

Support: 
thank you.

Support: 
you can send me one report at the end of the day if you prefer, rather than multiple throughout.

Huaxin: 
i won鈥檛 remember all the details if i do that

Huaxin: 
would you rather me not text you every hour

Support: 
no, this is fine.

Support: 
determined dance, i like that.

Huaxin: 
thinking of their routes as dances helps me characterize them

Huaxin: 
sometimes it鈥檚 a lion dance, sometimes it鈥檚 tai chi

Huaxin: 
anyways you鈥檙e right, i don鈥檛 want to bother you with notifications

Support: 
i don鈥檛 mind. i like the frequent texts, i don鈥檛 get a lot of messages.

That was 鈥� sad. Or maybe not? Maybe it meant Anshui had a rich social life completely offline. That sounded amazing.

Huaxin: 
aren鈥檛 you texting other bee people

Support: 
they鈥檙e not all beekeepers. and most of them use the app, which automates the data delivery.

Huaxin: 
ah so i鈥檓 just a high-maintenance bitch

Support: 
you like doing things your way. which i admire.

Something tingled in Huaxin鈥檚 stomach. She bit her lip.

Huaxin: 
are you flirting with me

Support: 
鈥� no. apologies if it came across that way.

Support: 
i can stop if you want.

Support: 
texting you things unrelated to the data monitoring, i mean.

Huaxin didn鈥檛 know what to say, so she stashed her phone.

The rest of the day was like any other, with the addition of her data duties. She tended to her garden. She visited the porch when people rang to buy her products. She made lunch: yellow squash from her garden, stir-fried with fermented black beans and tofu from the weekly market. She texted updates to Anshui, who didn鈥檛 respond until the end of the day with a 鈥渢hank you.鈥�

Someone knocked on the door. The sun had set by now, so Huaxin already knew who it was. 鈥淗颈, Ms. Chen. The usual?鈥�

Ms. Chen gave a curt nod. 鈥淎nd two lychee honey sticks, please. Need something to drown out the medicine tonight.鈥�

Huaxin nodded, fetching the jars and sticks. Ms. Chen was her elderly neighbor鈥攚ell, if one counted a neighbor as someone who lived two hills away. She鈥檇 lived a nocturnal life ever since she lost her job decades ago when countrywide protests caused the country to shut down its last coal mines. Their little town had celebrated. Ms. Chen had not. With no family, she鈥檇 taken pride in her work and found her purpose lost after that work disappeared. She鈥檇 lived in isolation ever since, except to visit town every once in a while to grab groceries, or buy honey from Huaxin.

Huaxin felt a kinship with her.

鈥淗ot today,鈥� Ms. Chen said as she took the honey. Their few exchanges of conversation had to do with the weather. As it was with people who never talked to others.

鈥渊别补丑.鈥�

鈥淚 hope it was worth it.鈥�

鈥沦辞谤谤测?鈥�

Ms. Chen gazed into the distance. 鈥淪hutting down the mines. I hope it helped. The heat would be worse, right?鈥�

Oh. She was talking about climate change. Huaxin always avoided the topic with Ms. Chen. It was the global effort to decarbonize that had lost her her job, after all. And yes, shutting down the coal mines was a good thing. But the government had not made sure she鈥檇 had another livelihood to jump to after the transition.

Still, it wasn鈥檛 bitterness in Ms. Chen鈥檚 voice. Instead there was 鈥� guilt? Regret?

No. Ms. Chen鈥檚 eyes were watery. She鈥檇 been forgotten. Abandoned. She wanted to know her abandonment was worth it. It wasn鈥檛 the income she would have missed the most; the country鈥檚 social programs meant no one needed to work to survive. But Huaxin knew that for Ms. Chen, her job had also provided her a sense of routine, of camaraderie. Ms. Chen mourned the loss of that.

鈥渊别蝉,鈥� Huaxin said. 鈥淚t would be worse.鈥�

The next morning, Huaxin woke up feeling empty. She texted Anshui.

Huaxin: 
hi

Huaxin: 
you can talk to me

Huaxin: 
i don鈥檛 want this to be weird

Support: 
ok, thank you.

Support: 
sorry again.

Huaxin: 
don鈥檛 apologize

Huaxin: 
how did you sleep

Support: 
not bad. it was warm but i have good AC. you?

Huaxin: 
no good AC but i鈥檓 used to the heat

Huaxin: 
gonna get started on the bees now, will report in a bit

She went through the motions faster today and poured herself another cup of tea before going back to her phone.

Huaxin: 
6:15am bee workday start. lazy bastards. 40 bees per hive, more like tai chi

Support: 
the bees deserve to rest too.

Huaxin: 
i鈥檓 joking, i like bees more than humans

Support: 
what鈥檚 wrong with humans?

Huaxin: 
we made the mess that鈥檚 making you have to do this whole early warning thing, right?

Huaxin: 
selfishly polluting and not caring about nature

Support: 
we also realized our mistakes and put ourselves on the path to healing the planet. 颈蝉苍鈥檛 that a good redemption arc?

Huaxin recoiled. Some people didn鈥檛 deserve a redemption arc. But she couldn鈥檛 say that. Not good to come off as a bitter divorcee.

Huaxin: 
i guess

Support: 
such as you. i read your hive setup and it鈥檚 interesting. one honey bee hive, 3-4 wild bee hives.

Huaxin: 
having too many honey bees can actually hurt wild bees. they outcompete them for the same resources

Support: 
that鈥檚 mostly the case with european bees, 颈蝉苍鈥檛 it? asian honey bees are threatened, even here in china

Huaxin: 
yeah and the invasion of european bees are the reason for that lmao

Huaxin: 
but wild bees have it worse. people don鈥檛 care about them because they don鈥檛 make a marketable product like honey

Huaxin: 
wild bees are better at pollinating native plants, but that鈥檚 a service that goes unnoticed

Huaxin: 
ok you鈥檙e right, i鈥檓 biased toward wild bees, what can i say

Support: 
you like supporting the underdog, that鈥檚 a good thing.

Huaxin realized that no one had let her ramble on about bees like that in a long time. Her heart was beating fast from the flurry of typing. Or perhaps there was another reason.

Huaxin: 
eh, i鈥檓 not the only one beehousing. more people are seeing the benefit of it

Support: 
so there are others. humans aren鈥檛 so bad after all.

Huaxin: 
so eager to stifle my inner misanthrope

Huaxin: 
but true. at least humans aren鈥檛 robots

Huaxin: 
that AI shit is what鈥檚 really going to destroy the world

Huaxin: 
anyways thanks for listening to me monologue

Support: 
anytime. i like hearing your thoughts.

Support: 
make sure those bees stay hydrated.

Huaxin hated to admit it, but she was getting horrifically, deliciously addicted to texting Anshui.

Her routine had changed. After her morning data collection, she鈥檇 sit outside for a few hours, sipping her tea and texting. She learned more about Anshui鈥檚 role as a scientist鈥攏ot that she understood all the technical aspects of it鈥攁nd she answered Anshui鈥檚 many questions about bees.

Once, they shared a meal together. At least, they did it the best they could digitally; Huaxin wanted to have a video chat, but Anshui refused. Instead, Huaxin sent Anshui a recipe and they made it individually before eating together. Anshui, who in their words was 鈥渧aguely Buddhist,鈥� taught Huaxin how they gave thanks for their food: consider the land it grew on, the hands that touched it, the human and nonhuman creatures who helped nurture it to harvest. Think of it as providing sustenance and strength for your body. Now use your newly given energy and put that care back into the world.

Huaxin: 
that鈥檚 hippie as shit

Huaxin: 
but i like it

Support: 
i thought you might.

Support: 
this recipe is really good by the way. you should share it with the center, i鈥檓 sure they鈥檙e always looking for new vegetarian meals with locally grown produce.

Huaxin: 
the what

Support: 
you haven鈥檛 been to the community resilience center in your town?

Fifteen minutes later, Huaxin heard a knock on her door. She opened it, and then stared at the young woman who stood on her patio, grinning under a thin layer of sweat. 鈥淗颈!鈥� the woman said. 鈥淗uaxin? I hear you鈥檙e overdue for a tour of the center.鈥�

鈥淗ow,鈥� Huaxin said, numb.

The woman laughed. 鈥淎nshui called me and said you hadn鈥檛 heard of us. And then they said you鈥檙e a beehouser, and I was like ohhh, I totally know where she lives, I buy honey from her! I can鈥檛 believe you鈥檝e never made it down to the center. My bad for not advertising it better.鈥�

Huaxin plastered on a fake smile as the woman talked, all the while discreetly texting.

Huaxin: 
what the fuck

Support: 
go with her.

鈥淚t鈥檚 only 10 minutes away,鈥� the woman said, pointing over her shoulder. Behind her stood a solarbike with a passenger cart attached to the back. 鈥淚 can give you a ride.鈥�

And not have a way to leave early if she didn鈥檛 like it? 鈥淚鈥檒l follow you,鈥� Huaxin said, grabbing her keys.

They biked down the hill, veering toward a large, elevated building near the edge of the town center. As they parked, Huaxin examined the building in surprise. She鈥檇 passed this hundreds of times, but always assumed it was some government office. It looked very boring, nondescript save for the giant gong beside it.

鈥淚t鈥檚 bland, but we have plans to spice it up,鈥� the woman, who introduced herself as Min, said. 鈥淲e鈥檝e only been running the center for two years. This used to be a utility office, but after they shut down the coal mines, it stood empty.鈥�

鈥淥h, right. That explains the gong,鈥� Huaxin said in realization. Back when the mines still ran, the gong rang every morning to signal the start to the workday.

Min nodded. 鈥淵es! Now we use the gong to supplement the early warning messaging, for people who don鈥檛 have phones. The town agreed to give this whole place to us after communities around here petitioned to repurpose it.鈥�

Huaxin hadn鈥檛 heard of any such petition. Had she isolated herself that much?

Inside, the center felt much cozier. It had a huge open space with tons of tables and couches, kitchens, bathrooms with showers, libraries, private rooms for sleeping or other activities, power stations, a clinic, recreational activities like ping pong, playsets for children, and both an indoor and outdoor garden. It felt like a home but meant for hundreds of people.

鈥淲ho lives here?鈥� Huaxin asked, examining the photos pinned to a corkboard.

鈥淎nyone who wants to,鈥� Min said. 鈥淧eople who need a temporary place to stay. People who need help. Visitors. Those displaced by鈥攚ell, anything. We built it initially as a gathering space if another natural disaster happens. Like a flood. That鈥檚 why the whole thing鈥檚 elevated. Or a heat wave, since we know AC penetration here is low.鈥�

鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have to live here to visit, either,鈥� another voice said, and Huaxin looked up to see a young woman in a wheelchair rolling toward them. Min made a noise of delight and ran over. 鈥淭he center is a general gathering space. We have all sorts of events here. Open mics, dinners. You can come if you鈥檙e just bored.鈥�

鈥淭his is Huaxin. She鈥檚 never been to the center before, so I was showing her around,鈥� Min said to the woman. She gave her shoulder a squeeze. 鈥淗uaxin, this is Kunyi, my fellow cofounder. And my wife.鈥�

The affection with which she uttered 鈥渕y wife鈥� bit the tender meat of Huaxin鈥檚 heart; she tried not to show it. 鈥淭his is a great place,鈥� she said. She meant every word of it. She was trying to tamp down her jealousy. Couldn鈥檛 this have existed eight years ago, after she鈥檇 been discarded?

鈥淧lease spread the word,鈥� Kunyi said. She touched Min鈥檚 hand, and Huaxin had to look away. 鈥淚t looks like we haven鈥檛 reached everyone, despite our best attempts. We鈥檇 love for everyone to feel connected.鈥�

Huaxin鈥檚 thoughts went to Ms. Chen. She wondered if she could get that hurting old lady to come here.

She zipped home on her bike. She still had data to record.

Support: 
have any pictures of the center to share?

Huaxin: 
i thought you would have seen it already

Support: 
i haven鈥檛 been in a while, i bet it鈥檚 changed.

Huaxin: 
how do you know what鈥檚 going on in my own town and i don鈥檛

Support: 
min is my friend from secondary school. i used to live nearby, you know.

Support: 
i鈥檓 glad you got to visit, it鈥檚 a special place. somewhere that makes you feel less lonely.

Right. Huaxin felt something bitter in her throat and grabbed a honey stick to swallow it down.

Bees never stopped working. Huaxin liked that about them. They knew the value of discipline and all played a role in their community. One day, as the haze of summer approached, Anshui asked her why she never took a vacation.

Huaxin: 
who will take care of the bees

Support: 
i know a few beehousers near you who would be happy to send staff your way.

Support: 
there are also ecology students here who would love an opportunity to shadow your farm.

Huaxin: 
i don鈥檛 trust them. no offense

Support: 
that鈥檚 fair. i suppose the bees are like your family.

Support: 
you could also try digital beehousing? that way you can watch them remotely.

The question made Huaxin flinch. She forced down the coldness rising up in her, but her fingers trembled as she typed.

Huaxin: 
eh.

Huaxin: 
i don鈥檛 trust tech

Support: 
i鈥檝e noticed.

Huaxin: 
remember that flood? my parents were trying to evacuate and they used one of those dumbass navigation tools

Huaxin: 
drove right into a flooded road and drowned

Huaxin: 
wouldn鈥檛 have happened if the tool actually knew our roads. but no, its fancy algorithms got people killed

Support: 
i鈥檓 very sorry to hear that, huaxin.

Huaxin: 
whatever, i鈥檓 over it

Support: 
i don鈥檛 fault you for not trusting tech. we should create a world where tech works with people. if it just tries to replace them, things go very wrong.

Huaxin: 
tell my ex-husband that

She paused. She didn鈥檛 know why she brought that up. She hated talking about him. It was a shame that always hung in the back of her mind, made her wonder if she was unlovable. Replaceable. Worse than that鈥攖rash.

Hell. She couldn鈥檛 hide it forever.

Support: 
what were his opinions on tech?

Huaxin: 
we fought a lot about it. he wanted to, among other things, digitize my beehousing

Huaxin: 
he said tech would save the world and anyone who didn鈥檛 adopt every new innovation was going to fall behind and be forgotten

Huaxin: 
and then he proved that prophecy true by leaving me for someone better hahahahaha

Support: 
i鈥檓 sorry, that鈥檚 shitty of him. you didn鈥檛 deserve that.

Huaxin felt her cheeks grow warm. She felt drunk on something. Anshui鈥檚 attention, maybe. Unearthed rage from the hurt she鈥檇 tried to bury for so long.

And at the same time, something else. A seed of a feeling that nagged at her.

Huaxin: 
why are you being so nice to me

Support: 
i don鈥檛 think i am? no one deserves to be treated that way. if he wanted a better future, that should have included a world where no one gets abandoned

Huaxin: 
holy shit

Huaxin: 
you鈥檙e not real

Everything slammed into place. Anshui always being so friendly, so available. Anshui never sharing personal details. Anshui refusing to video call.

Anshui was not human.

Support: 
what?

Huaxin: 
you鈥檙e a fucking AI

Huaxin: 
godDAMMIT

Huaxin:
you LIED to me

Huaxin: 
i鈥檓 so stupid

Support: 
鈥�

Support: 
are you serious?

Support: 
i am definitely NOT AI.

Huaxin:
i don鈥檛 know anything about you

Huaxin: 
you never want to call

Support: 
i鈥檓 sorry for trying to maintain my privacy.

Support: 
i thought YOU would understand given how untrusting you are of the internet.

Huaxin: 
yeah but we鈥檝e been texting for weeks now???

Huaxin: 
send me proof that you鈥檙e real

Support: 
i do not owe you anything.

Support: 
if you think the only reason someone would show kindness to you is because they鈥檙e a computer program, then i鈥檓 sorry that鈥檚 your worldview.

Support: 
but honestly i鈥檓 disappointed that after all this time you don鈥檛 even see me as human.

Huaxin forced herself to put her phone down and take several deep breaths. She didn鈥檛 know what the truth was anymore. All she knew was that she鈥檇 broken something that had felt so rare and precious, and she wasn鈥檛 sure she could get it back.

Summer arrived in a wave of bright orange feeling, but Huaxin still felt stifled in the gloom of winter.

By habit, she still took bee behavior notes in a long-ass document interspersed with apologies, observations, and recipes for Anshui. Obviously, she never sent it. The last texts between the two were still Anshui鈥檚 searing words that made Huaxin鈥檚 throat close up every time she read them.

She began to notice more the changes around her: the bees slowing down, Ms. Chen鈥檚 visits becoming less frequent as she blamed the heat, more people staying at the center, which Huaxin visited often now. People murmured that this was the longest heat wave in a while, and Min and Kunyi鈥檚 team were busy making sure the center was prepared to take care of everyone.

One morning Huaxin trudged into the garden. The eerie silence almost knocked her over. She ran to the hives and checked each one.

Huaxin: 
anshui help

Huaxin: 
the bees aren鈥檛 moving

Support: 
are they okay? what do they need?

She couldn鈥檛 control her swell of emotions at seeing the first words from Anshui in a long while, but she didn鈥檛 have time for that now.

Huaxin: 
i think they鈥檒l be fine if i get a continuous stream of water going

Huaxin: 
but they鈥檝e collected a ton of water for their hives. they stopped fanning the entrances and now they鈥檙e clumping outside. they know a huge temperature spike is coming

Support: 
take care of them. i鈥檒l tell min.

Support: 
have you been continuing to take notes?

Huaxin: 
yes, i鈥檒l send them to you

She navigated to the document where she鈥檇 been keeping all the notes, apologies, and recipes, and without making a single edit, sent it over.

Then she ran to the hose.

Huaxin had never seen the whole town like this: buzzing with determination, working tirelessly as bees.

By the time she arrived at the center, Min was already waiting out front. 鈥淗ow are the bees?鈥� she asked, handing Huaxin a cold water canister.

鈥淭hey鈥檒l be fine.鈥� Huaxin was worried, especially for the wild bees; they were more sensitive to heat. She鈥檇 set up more shade and hydration stations and just had to trust they could take care of themselves. 鈥淗ow is everyone doing?鈥�

Min grimaced. 鈥淐haotic, but we鈥檝e trained for this. Everyone鈥檚 been prepping on what to do if we get a warning, so they all knew to come here. Some volunteers also went to fetch anyone who might have passed out in their homes. The hospital in town and our clinic here is stuffed, but we鈥檙e making do.鈥�

Huaxin glanced over at the bike parking, which was fuller than she鈥檇 ever seen it. Something occurred to her, and she looked back at the hills. 鈥淗as an elderly woman named Ms. Chen showed up?鈥�

Min鈥檚 face furrowed in immediate concern. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think so.鈥�

She began to run toward the bikes and Huaxin grabbed her arm. 鈥淣o. You stay. I know where she lives.鈥�

鈥淏ut 鈥斺��

鈥淢in,鈥� Huaxin said sternly. 鈥淟isten to your elders.鈥�

Then she ran toward the gong and struck it with three reverberating strikes: the signal for the start of the work day.

That day, the temperature spiked to 45 degrees C for a sustained five hours. The next day was even worse, with both the mercury and humidity climbing to record highs.

Huaxin had reached Ms. Chen in time. The old woman had been sleeping, but her body had reacted to the familiar sound of the gong, and she was awake by the time Huaxin reached her house. The two had zipped back to the center.

Meanwhile, Anshui had been texting updates.

Support: 
temp should begin to dip tomorrow evening. thanks to you and other monitors in your area, we were able to contact everyone and avoid a lot of deaths.

Huaxin: 
thank god

Support: 
i appreciate the notes you sent over. i retroactively input all the data and the temp-dance curves provide a lot of new information. this will be really helpful for our research.

Huaxin: 
temp-dance curves huh?

Support: 
your metaphors were too useful not to use.

Huaxin: 
i hope you uhhh ignored all the other stuff in my notes that wasn鈥檛 bee data

Support: 
how could i?

Support: 
i鈥檝e already tried the recipe for longan honey iced tea, it was delicious.

Huaxin: 
ughhhh

Support: 
but really, thank you for the apologies.

鈥淲ho鈥檙e you texting?鈥� Kunyi asked as she and another person wheeled by, pushing a cart of wet towels. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e blushing like crazy.鈥�

鈥淪hut up,鈥� Huaxin snapped, which only made Kunyi chuckle more. Huaxin retreated to one of the center鈥檚 indoor balconies before daring to turn to her phone again.

Huaxin: 
i know this is a sensitive point but you really don鈥檛 have to be nice to me. i was an asshole

Support: 
i could have been more open myself. i鈥檓 always bad at that.

Support:
but like i told you, people deserve redemption.

Support: 
i鈥檓 not going to leave you for making a mistake. love is labor and labor is love.

From this high up, Huaxin could watch the action of the center below: people handing out food, refilling water bottles, playing with each other鈥檚 pets.

Everyone, a role. Everyone, now, including her.

She finally broke down and cried.

In autumn, for the first time in years, Huaxin walked to the park to practice tai chi.

She鈥檇 been spending a lot of time at the center, teaching others the basics of beehousing. She went there every day now. It had even become more beautiful, thanks to Kunyi hiring Ms. Chen to come up with a mural design that both covered the drab walls and created an albedo effect.

But today, Huaxin needed a break from the place. Sometimes it just had too many people.

She found a shady spot to dance. Every now and then she checked her phone to see how the bees were doing鈥攂ecause she had to admit, being at the center so often meant that some digitization was useful. Just a little.

She remembered to take time to close her eyes and listen. To the stream, the trees, the way the wind caressed the lines of the mountains around her. Nature is wise.

It wasn鈥檛 long before she heard a set of footsteps approach, and then a voice said, 鈥淵ou dance just like the bees.鈥�

Huaxin looked up at the unfamiliar face before her and smiled.

This story is part of听Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors,听a climate fiction contest from听Grist. Imagine 2200 celebrates stories that offer vivid, hope-filled, diverse visions of climate progress.听

The kid saw it first. I鈥檝e been paying him to mind the irrigation lines in the orchard now that my legs are talking back. He burst through the door like a bullet train. 

鈥淭here鈥檚 paper,鈥� he said, 鈥渞eal paper on the barn door.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

I鈥檇 been expecting it for years鈥攄ecades鈥攂ut when it finally happened it somehow didn鈥檛 make sense. I was at the kitchen table, and I just stared down into my empty mug at the little salmon painted on the bottom. 

鈥淗ow much paper?鈥� I asked. The kid didn鈥檛 know how to answer. I tapped the cup on the table and a spray of black coffee grounds turned the salmon into a catfish covered in mud. 鈥淗ow many sheets of paper?鈥� 

鈥淭here鈥檚 one white rectangle on the barn door and it鈥檚 made out of paper.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Shit. 

The kid was practically skipping as he led me to the barn. I鈥檝e got a couple dozen bonus trees between it and the house and they鈥檙e all in bloom, branches thick with white almond flowers like snow. Why does everything turn beautiful right before it goes to hell? 

The kid couldn鈥檛 stop chattering. 

鈥淚 thought it was illegal. Do you think they had to kill a tree for that paper? Why didn鈥檛 they send a comm?鈥� 

鈥淟ot of farmers went dark when the evictions started,鈥� I said. 鈥淪tate can鈥檛 serve you a notice if you don鈥檛 have a screen. So they resurrected something called a printer to put the bad news on paper.鈥�

鈥淎re you getting evicted?鈥� 

鈥淚f you鈥檇 read the goddamn thing, you鈥檇 know already.鈥� That shut the kid up. 

Sure enough, there it was on the barn door. I ripped the page off the pin and the kid gasped. 

***

Eminent Domain 

Agricultural Modification Notice 

February 20, 2090

Robert Wallace, 

We write to inform you that within the next 24 hours the State of California will breach the levee on your property that stands between your orchard and the Sacramento River. We will create four breaches in the levee wall at 50-meter intervals. Removed stones and earth will be placed in a convenient location for your reuse. Any attempt to block this levee breach or return it to its former state will result in the seizure of this property under Eminent Domain Statute 2815. 

Thank you for your cooperation. 

Cynthia Garcia

Cynthia Garcia 
California Secretary of Agriculture

***

I crumpled the paper in my hands. 

鈥淲hat are you doing?鈥� The kid yelled. 

I let the ball fall to the ground and get lost in the carpet of white almond flowers. 

It was hard to decide which was more insulting. The letter itself or the fact that the assholes didn鈥檛 even say why鈥攈ad to look it up on the goddamn weather service. An atmospheric river was coming from the Philippines. It would overflow the Sacramento River and the state wanted every floodplain along the river open to receive the water鈥攖hat apparently included California鈥檚 last almond orchard. 

鈥淒iego Rivera painted these trees,鈥� I said.  

鈥淲ho鈥檚 Diego Rivera?鈥� The kid and I were back in the house, both staring at our screens. 

鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 matter.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淲ill the orchard make it?鈥� the kid asked. 

I read down my screen: Fifty-eight centimeters of rain in 48 hours. Dams will be opened when water levels exceed winter capacities. And then in bright red letters, ALL FARMS SOUTH OF SACRAMENTO REQUIRED TO FLOOD. 

鈥淒epends on how much water we get,鈥� I said. 鈥淗ell, next time you see paper it could be from one of our trees.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The kid looked out the window. 鈥淚 hope I never see paper again.鈥� Bless him. Then he started bargaining. 鈥淢aybe it鈥檒l be good. Almonds are a thirsty crop and we鈥檙e coming out of a drought. Maybe this is what they need. Maybe you can shut off the drip lines for a whole year and just let the trees drink.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淵ou shut off the drip lines, didn鈥檛 you?鈥� I asked. The kid nodded. 

I put down my screen and looked him square in the face. 鈥淪tate鈥檚 been on my ass since I took over this farm. Those trees 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 even be here. We should be farming rice, or blueberries, something that can flood. But our trees take too much water and when the big rains come, that levee blocks the river from overflowing its banks and seeping back into the ground.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淏ut there are a million other farms that can flood.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

I turned my screen around and showed him. 鈥淭his says we鈥檙e getting a two-day downpour, and that鈥檚 probably the last rain 飞别鈥檒濒 see until next year. If the state doesn鈥檛 save that water in the ground, nobody gets to grow.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淵ou鈥檙e talking like one of 迟丑别尘.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淲hy not? I understand it, doesn鈥檛 mean I have to like it.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淏ut the orchard is a piece of history.鈥� It was what I told him to say to tourists. But now, he said it like he believed every word. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not fair.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

I tried to smile at him, the little idiot. Had I ever been that young?

The bulldozer came in the afternoon. I sent the kid home and set up on my porch with a bad bottle of whisky. Might as well watch the show. 

The wind was quiet in the orchard, but I could see clouds amassing in the east. The birds were squawking each other deaf. The land knew something was coming. 

BANG! 

It came from the levee. They must have taken the access road on the other side. Goddamn fusion engine, I hadn鈥檛 heard a damn thing. Bang, bang, bang! A shovel punched through the wall like a fist. A long metal arm appeared behind it and the deed was done. 

When the thing finally rolled through the hole, there was no person driving it鈥攏o cab, no steering wheel鈥攊t was just a giant shovel on tank tracks. Then I watched it clear a perfect 5-meter hole in the wall and stack all the rocks and dirt next to it with a forklift it produced out of its ass. The situation was pretty funny when you thought about it鈥攖he orchard I鈥檇 tended for 30 years taken down by a soulless machine with a pointy ass. 

It drove up the levee wall another 50 meters, this time on the orchard side because it knew I knew the jig was up. Then it punched its hole and cleared its rocks, and then it did it again, and again. By the time it rolled out my front gate, there were four perfect holes in my levee and I was drunker than a fence lizard. 

Soon, the rain started and I sat there staring at the hole. I couldn鈥檛 take my eyes off it. A feeling鈥攁 fear I鈥檇 shunted down for decades rippled through me. What was going to come through that wall? 

When the sun went down, I didn鈥檛 bother with sandbags or pumps, I just got in bed. The house was elevated 4 feet, maybe it would be enough. On the edge of sleep, I pictured the water pouring through the windows, cold and brown, lifting the bed off its frame with me on it. 

It was a fantasy. It was a memory. 

Sacramento, California, 2058

The sentence always starts the same way, but he doesn鈥檛 know how to finish it.

The Folsom Dam broke and I don鈥檛 know where my kids are. 

The Folsom Dam broke and I can鈥檛 reach my wife.

The Folsom Dam broke and my entire life will be underwater. 

The house erupted in sound when the alert came through. Every speaker he talked to throughout the day was suddenly yelling at him. Get to high ground! Sacramento would be inundated in 9 minutes and 38, now 37 seconds. It was not an evacuation order, it was an order to shelter in place. 

There is a banging on his door. He opens it and a family of four charges in. They live across the street. 

鈥淲e need to get upstairs!鈥� one of the moms yells. His is the only two-story house on the block. 

鈥淔ollow me,鈥� he says.

They run up the stairs and he pulls down the ladder to the attic. The other mom takes his arm. 

鈥淲e鈥檒l cross that bridge if we need to,鈥� she says.  

They all end up in the bedroom, and the two kids huddle together in the middle of the big bed the way his own kids do when they鈥檝e had a nightmare. These two are a little older鈥攕econd or third grade鈥攈e can鈥檛 remember their names. 

His kids are at a one-story daycare 2 kilometers away. Terror shoots through him. He can鈥檛 get there, he can鈥檛 get to them in time. Does the daycare have an evacuation plan? They must; he and Ayla paid enough for it. 

Ayla can get them, the hospital is just blocks away. But where would they go? The thought of Ayla鈥攐f something happening to Ayla鈥攎omentarily paralyzes him. 

He forces himself onto the balcony and holds his phone up to the sky in the rain trying to get a signal. There is nothing. The whole city is clogging up the servers doing exactly the same thing, and yet the clock that appeared on the screen with the municipal alert keeps counting down. 

Six minutes, 42 seconds. 

One of the moms is out there too, phone in the air. Her name is Kalani. He looks at her expectantly. She shakes her head. 

鈥淎t least you鈥檙e all together,鈥� he says, more jealous than he has ever been. 

鈥淎yla鈥檚 amazing. She鈥檒l be fine, she won鈥檛 let anything happen to your kids.鈥� Her words are toothless, but in this moment they are all he has.

鈥淲ho are you trying to reach?鈥� he asks. 

鈥淢y dad鈥攐r my dad鈥檚 caregiver. He hasn鈥檛 been particularly mobile for a while.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He nods and thinks of his own parents aging safely in Michigan. Kalani hits her phone against her thigh and looks at it. Nothing.

鈥淒ammit!鈥� she tries again. Nothing. 鈥淗ow did this happen?鈥� She means the dam break, the flooding, everything. 

He shakes his head. 鈥淛ust two wet years.鈥� It鈥檚 true. Last year there had been 19 atmospheric rivers between January and March, and the whole state celebrated when the drought was declared over. When it happened again, there was nowhere for the water to go. 

He looks back at his phone鈥�4 minutes. Then the sound begins. 

At first, he can hardly make it out through the rain, a low rumble that seems to come from everywhere. He and Kalani look to the hill at the east edge of the neighborhood. They know this is where the water will come from. They see nothing. 

鈥淐an they swim?鈥� He asks, indicating her kids. 

鈥淭hey鈥檙e Hawaiian, of course they can swim,鈥� she says. He nods. Can his kids swim? The oldest can, can鈥檛 he? The sound is steadily increasing, and something changes on the hill. Light crests over it, a little at first, then more and more like a second sunrise. The rumbling rises. This is it. The water is early. 

Kalani runs back to her family, huddled on the bed. He stays on the balcony, and stares at the otherworldly light鈥攃ould the flood be reflecting it?鈥攈e needs to stop it. He needs to will the water to wait. Ayla will need the next three minutes. He grips the railing. He is soaking wet.  

鈥淪top!鈥� he screams as though the flood can hear him. 鈥淪top!鈥� 

It doesn鈥檛. Angry water crashes over the hill, then buries it鈥攁 wall of brown and white carrying cars and sheds鈥攑ieces of a city that is quickly ceasing to exist.  

鈥淣o!鈥� he screams. But he can鈥檛 hear himself over the roar. He looks back into the bedroom. The family already knows. The kids are holding onto their mothers and the women are holding each other. 

He looks back out and the first few houses in the subdivision have been reduced to their roofs. The water is ping-ponging through the neighborhood, downing lampposts and trees and smashing front porches into walls. It鈥檚 almost at his door.

鈥淗old on!鈥� he yells back into the house. Then he hears the flood blow out his downstairs windows. The balcony shakes. He runs into the bedroom and holds onto a wall. He can feel the water tearing his house apart through the floor. A lamp crashes to the ground next to the big bed. A bookshelf drops its contents and falls over. He sees that nothing has fallen on the family, but Kalani is staring at him. They lock eyes. Her nose is in her child鈥檚 hair, her arm is around her wife, but her eyes are fixed on him. 

They stare at each other for what feels like hours. They are thinking the same thing鈥攁s long as they can hold each other鈥檚 gaze, the house will stand, the sickening bumps coming through the floor will not hit a load-bearing beam. As long as they keep staring, they will live. 

Slowly, the crash of water softens below them. The bumps stop coming through the floor, and at last, all that is left is the sound of rain on the roof. Only then do the kids begin to cry.  

鈥淛ust shut up and take the canoe,鈥� Kalani says. They are in what鈥檚 left of her garage. 

It took the two of them about a half hour to wade through his house and across the street. His ground floor was unrecognizable. The couch had been ripped in half, and framed photos, kitchen utensils, and other bits of his and Ayla鈥檚 life bobbed around them like dead bodies. 

The water was up to their waists as he and Kalani crossed the street. It looked placid on top but they could feel it had a current and they took slow, measured steps toward the gaping mouth of her garage. The door had blown off but the Hawaiian outrigger canoe was still hung up on the ceiling. 

Now, he stands under it, staring at the carvings in the wood: a bird with a long beak, a man with arms outstretched, and waves鈥攚aves everywhere. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 a family heirloom,鈥� he says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a piece of history.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淚t鈥檚 a boat,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd it works.鈥� She is loosening the ropes to lower the canoe down. 鈥淗elp me out.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He undoes the knots with her and soon the canoe splashes down into the water. It looks like it can hold four, maybe five people鈥攈is family. Another carved wooden float connects to the main canoe with long poles so it won鈥檛 tip easily and there is a rope and six oars inside. 

Kalani stares him down. 鈥淭his is a loan. I expect you to bring this back to me in one piece with your people inside.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淚 will,鈥� he says, forcing himself to believe it. 

They both get in the canoe and Kalani shows him how to paddle鈥攍ong strokes, one side and then the other. He drops her off at his house and doesn鈥檛 leave until she waves to him from the upstairs with her wife and kids. 

Then he is paddling through Sacramento, picturing his children, picturing Ayla, and letting the thought of them blot out any comprehension of what he is seeing around him: people holding each other on roofs鈥攏o one attempts to flag him down鈥攁n old man鈥檚 body face down in the water, his city transfigured. All he can do is row and look for street signs which, when unbent, are miraculously the same. 

Then he is at the daycare building and it鈥檚 locked. The water is halfway up the door. He bangs on it from the canoe, yelling his children鈥檚 names.

鈥淐onrad! Alice!鈥� He hears nothing on the other side and imagines them floating face down like the old man. He鈥檚 about to tear the door off its hinges when he sees the writing on it. 

Evacuated to North Capitol steps, it says in black marker. 

The journey from S Street to M Street is the difference between a city and a rapid. The Sacramento River has overflown its levees and it is spewing water in all directions. He has to paddle as hard as he can to go a few meters. 

An ambulance goes by on a freeway overpass. He hears howling. He looks around and sees a pack of dogs on top of a truck. Their dog walker is holding their leashes and they鈥檙e howling at the ambulance like it鈥檚 the moon. He catches the dog walker鈥檚 eye鈥攁 girl in her 20s with a gap in her teeth, and just for a second, the two of them smile at each other. 

鈥淚 can come back for you once I get my kids,鈥� he yells to her.  

She shakes her head. 鈥淚 won鈥檛 leave 迟丑别尘.鈥� She means the dogs. There are too many to fit in the canoe. She salutes him.  

The Tower Bridge road is completely under water when he turns onto the Capitol Mall. The water is moving fast and he rows with a strength he didn鈥檛 know he had. 

He sights the capitol. The steps are filled with people. Children are chasing each other and splashing water but he doesn鈥檛 recognize them. He paddles as fast as he can. He hits the steps and he鈥檚 about to jump out of the boat when a guy yells, 鈥淭ie it off!鈥� He throws him the rope. 

Then he is roving the steps, yelling 鈥淐onrad! Alice!鈥� He inspects each child, but they continue to be little strangers.

鈥淩ob!鈥� He hears his name. He turns around but the crowd is dense. 鈥淩ob!鈥� A Brown woman in scrubs cuts through. She has never looked more beautiful. He runs to her and takes her in his arms, buries his face in her hair. Then he feels small arms grab his legs. They are together鈥攖he four of them鈥攁nd they are alive. 

鈥淚f we make it through this, we鈥檙e moving to Vorden and taking over Dad鈥檚 orchard,鈥� Ayla says. They鈥檙e rowing together with the kids between them. 

鈥淎lmonds are illegal,鈥� he says. 

鈥淥urs are grandfathered in. Historical Registry.鈥� She winks at him. 

鈥淲hat do a doctor and an engineer know about farming?鈥� 

鈥淲e鈥檒l figure it out.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淎 fish!鈥� Conrad yells and wakes Alice who had been asleep in Ayla鈥檚 lap. They all look into the water. He鈥檚 right, there are fish swimming around them. They鈥檙e the size of his hand and they have silvery spots. 

鈥淕ood eye,鈥� he says, and kisses his son鈥檚 head. 鈥淎re they salmon?鈥� he asks Ayla. 

鈥淗ell if I know.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淭hey are!鈥� Conrad says. 鈥淎nd they鈥檙e babies.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淲here did you learn that?鈥� Ayla asks. 

鈥淚n school. The baby salmon live in the river, but only if the river is healthy. They鈥檙e a good sign.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淣o more salmon,鈥� Alice says, and goes back to sleep. 

They are not rowing home. They are rowing back to the hospital. Every doctor, including Ayla, has been called in. She directs them to the loading dock at the back of the building, which is miraculously dry. 

鈥淲hen will you be home?鈥� he asks. 

鈥淭hey can鈥檛 keep me longer than two days,鈥� she says. Then she hugs and kisses Alice and then Conrad. The kids protest but they鈥檝e been trained in these partings. Then she kisses him goodbye, and her smell envelops him. 

鈥淚 love you,鈥� she says, and climbs out of the boat. 

This is the last time he will see her. In a few hours, half of the hospital will collapse on top of 800 people, and one of them will be Ayla. 

For the rest of his life, good days and bad days will be determined by one of two thoughts: a bad day鈥�I should have forced her back into that canoe; and a good day鈥�at least I got to say goodbye. 

Vorden, California, 2090

He woke with the sun, which was out. The rain had stopped, and when he put his old feet on the floor, it was dry. 

His head throbbed. He went into the kitchen and saw the empty whisky bottle on the table and remembered why. His screen told him his kids were worried about him, and he sent back a comm saying he鈥檇 made it. Then he steeled himself and went to the window. 

The orchard was a lake. The trees rose out of it like beams under a pier, their white flowers diminished by the rain, but still there. 

He found his waders in the closet and went out onto the porch. The house was an island above 3 feet of water. He went down the porch steps one at a time, thinking there would be a current, but the water was calm and still and when he sloshed onto the ground the water level was just below his belly button. 

He walked to the closest almond tree, silhouetted against the sky, running his hands along the surface of the water. It was cold and crisp, and the thought that was always near found him again. Ayla would have loved this. 

He put his hands on the tree鈥檚 trunk, fingers gliding into the ridges of its bark, and looked up into the canopy. It was a little cloud. Then something splashed him鈥攁 fish. He looked down. There were young salmon swimming all around him, and he watched white almond flowers float down and land on them as they swam between the trees.

This story is part of Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, a climate fiction contest from Grist. Imagine 2200 celebrates stories that offer vivid, hope-filled, diverse visions of climate progress.

滨鈥檓 bundled in a wool overcoat against the 6 a.m. winter chill of Los Angeles. The former New Yorker in me scoffs at how soft I鈥檝e become against the cold鈥攐r rather, the 鈥渃old,鈥� since it鈥檚 a full 50 degrees and 滨鈥檓 shivering. Today鈥檚 high is 80, so by noon I鈥檒l have stripped down to a crop top. I know it鈥檚 climate change and all, but I鈥檇 be lying if I said 滨鈥檓 not just a tiny bit excited for a short reprieve from the monotonous months of 50-degrees-and-rainy that we鈥檝e been having this winter.

The morning frost on my Subaru is tenacious, even after I run the engine for a little while. 滨鈥檓 bordering on late for kathak class, so I pull out of the driveway with icy windows and hurry to beat the rush-hour traffic.

In the studio it鈥檚 a steady thrum of the tabla over the stereo system:

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥攇in na 

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na鈥�dha

gin na鈥�dha

gin na鈥�dha

And then a relentlessly driving pace of chakkar, or one-count spins:

tig da dig dig ek鈥�

诲辞鈥�

迟别别苍鈥�

肠丑补补谤鈥�

辫补补苍肠丑鈥�

肠丑丑别鈥�

蝉补补迟丑鈥�

And on and on鈥�

After an hour of this, 滨鈥檓 breathless. We鈥檝e been drilling a composition with 31 chakkar, and even after months, 滨鈥檓 losing my balance somewhere around 26.

I leave class and head back to my car, protein shake in hand, sweat gluing my kurta to my skin, a string of profanities running through my mind as I scold myself for tapping out at 26. I鈥檝e just slipped into my driver鈥檚 seat when my phone rings. One peek at the screen and my mood elevates. 

鈥淗颈 Amma,鈥� I say with unrestrained fondness as my mother鈥檚 face grins back at me over FaceTime.

鈥淗颈 chinna,鈥� she responds with equal affection. 鈥淛ust finished kathak?鈥�

鈥淵eah, about to head to the grocery store on my way home.鈥�

鈥淪hall we quickly call Ammamma before she sleeps?鈥�

鈥淪ure, my parking meter鈥檚 out in 10, though.鈥�

鈥淲e can just say hi. FaceTime or Whatsapp?鈥�

鈥淔aceTime. Can you add her in?鈥�

鈥淥ne minute.鈥�

After some shuffling around, a second little box populates on my screen, offering me the stray wisps of white hair otherwise known as the top of my grandmother鈥檚 head.

鈥淗颈 Ammamma,鈥� I say.

鈥淗颈 Amma,鈥� my mom chirps.

鈥淗颈 kanna. Bujie kanna re. Sweetie kanna,鈥� croons my ammamma鈥檚 forehead. 鈥淗ow are you both?鈥�

鈥淕ood, can you bring the phone down?鈥� I say, holding back a laugh. 鈥淲e only see the top of your head.鈥�

Amma and I call Ammamma together every week. It used to be Sundays, like clockwork, when I was in grade school. Now it鈥檚 sort of whenever we catch each other. Every week we remind her to tilt the phone down so we can actually see her face. And every week she insists on greeting us with her forehead.

Ammamma鈥檚 puttering around her kitchen in Hyderabad, 8,711 miles away from me in California. My memory conjures up the smell of hearty palakurrapappu and fluffy idli. Chili-spiced tur dal roasting on the tava for homemade podi. The softness of her orange sari, pallu tied securely around her waist so it stays out of the way of her busy hands. 

She鈥檚 lived alone in Tarnaka for almost 40 years, ever since my grandfather passed away. She鈥檚 85 now and wobbles about her small flat with the vigor and determined independence of a 20-year-old. My amma got this from her, I think. I swear my amma will be single-handedly shoveling piles of snow as tall as she is (5 whole feet) from her Park City, Utah, driveway until she鈥檚 90 years old.

I tell Ammamma about kathak class and she glows with pride. 鈥淰ery good, kanna, Very good. 滨鈥檓 very glad you鈥檙e keeping up with kathak. Very good.鈥�

鈥淚鈥檒l show you this new composition when I next come, Ammamma.鈥� She smiles the most when I promise this. Every year, when we visit her in India, I dance for her. In those 15 minutes while she watches, she鈥檚 filled with more childlike joy, more wonder, more freedom of spirit, than any other moment I see her. My grandma, like many women in her generation, carries a deep anxiety. Kathak transcends that, transports us together, unlocks her. Dance is hardly my profession, but it has a cemented place in my life as a psychosomatic way to stay rooted in culture and family, from half a world away. As a way of staying connected to Ammamma.

鈥�Aim chestunavu, Amma? What are you doing?鈥� my mom asks her mother.

鈥�Aim ledu. Just putting away the food.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淲hat did you make for dinner?鈥�

鈥淣othing much,鈥� Ammamma says. 鈥淪ome pappannam, that is all. Tomorrow I鈥檒l make some cabbage koora.鈥� She pauses in her puttering to pick something up off the counter. 鈥淪ee? Do you see the cabbage?鈥�

Ammamma adjusts the angle of the camera in an effort to show us her cabbage.

鈥淒o you see?鈥� But she鈥檚 pointing the camera at her ceiling, and 滨鈥檓 having a hard time repressing my laughter. 

鈥淣o, Ammamma, we can鈥檛 see. You鈥檙e showing us the ceiling.鈥�

Ammamma adjusts the angle again, and now we鈥檙e feasting our eyes on a sliver of her ceiling that鈥檚 been joined by a section of her wall.

鈥淣ow? Now do you see? Do you see the cabbage?鈥� 

Amma is openly laughing. 鈥淣o, Ma, we don鈥檛 see the cabbage. You鈥檙e showing the wall.鈥�

Another unsuccessful adjustment, then: 鈥淥K, now? Now do you see the cabbage? Do you see the cabbage?鈥�

Ammamma鈥檚 excitement is only intensifying, but no appearance from any cabbage thus far. Now Amma and I are both shaking with mirth.

鈥淒o you see it?鈥� Ammamma continues to insist. 

We don鈥檛 answer, because we鈥檙e too busy gasping for breath. Then, miraculously, we see a sliver of a blurry green leaf flash across her FaceTime camera.

鈥淥h!鈥� Amma and I both shout. 

鈥淲e see it, Ammamma!鈥�

鈥渊别蝉, yes, we see it, Ma.鈥�

鈥淵ou see the cabbage? You see it?鈥�

鈥淵es! Yes, Ammamma, we see the cabbage!鈥�

Now even Ammamma is laughing. 

I screenshot this moment several times, never wanting to forget these small winks of diasporic joy, the three of us spread across three cities and three generations, giggling like sisters together on a sunshine summer afternoon.

It鈥檚 not long before Ammamma鈥檚 chuckles turn into coughs, peppered by a sort of rough wheezing that I learned as a child is part of her chronic asthma. My parking meter blinks red.

Tuesday, November 19, 2047

滨鈥檓 in the front yard, doling out carefully measured sprinkles of water to the small garden I鈥檝e struggled to nurture for the last several growing seasons. The water rations for victory gardens have gotten more and more economical over the last 10 years. In our little patch we still get tomatoes and kale and grow some neem, and the occasional surprise potatoes spring out from wherever we鈥檝e last dug in compost. The rest of our food comes from the community garden (which does better some years than others), the local co-op (which is not always well-stocked because it hasn鈥檛 quite yet reached financial stability), or with great burden to our wallets (anything requiring long-distance freight costs an arm and a leg now, partially because it鈥檚 just too expensive at a basic resource and carbon level, and partially because of the taxes they鈥檝e been trying to institute on non-local food). 

It鈥檚 been a tough transition period. Here in California, we have the farming infrastructure but not the water. In other parts of the country, land that鈥檚 been monocropped under generations of agribusiness is in various stages of transition to regenerative farming. The question of who pays for this transition, what carbon taxes get charged or credited and to whom, and who leads the proposed solutions that take the place of the old order 鈥� well, it鈥檚 been a thorny time. But it鈥檚 also a time of inspired experimentation. I remind myself of that when the overwhelm hits. I remind myself of the energy:

Where we live, in the historically Black neighborhood of Leimert Park, our family鈥檚 borne witness and supported as those who鈥檝e been holding it down here for generations lead the charge on collective care. Community gardens, co-ops, free fridges, heat shelters, communal front-yard victory gardens, shade-tree planting, seed saving, after-school programs, 鈥淏uy Nothing鈥� gift economy groups, car shares, and so much more. Funding is a constant issue for these initiatives (right now the biggest source of funding is private donors, but the community is keenly problem-solving for a self-sufficient model). Everything鈥檚 decided at our monthly town hall meetings, which are always lively and full of opinions. There鈥檚 a small group of us South Asians in the neighborhood, and our agreed-upon job at these meetings is mostly to listen well and provide the chai. 

Out in the garden, dusk is dancing vividly before me, blues chasing pinks chasing oranges across the hazy horizon. I always stop to cherish it, never knowing how many more I鈥檒l savor before the smog swallows up color altogether. 

I pause over the far end of the garden, which has been exceptionally dry no matter how much I try to feed it. It鈥檚 honestly a little embarrassing. My neighbors鈥� victory gardens look far more luscious than mine. The community decided at one of our first meetings years ago that victory gardens would go in the front yard (communal, conversational, open, and engaging) rather than in the backyard (hidden, private, inaccessible). 99 percent of the time, I love that we made this decision. The 1 percent is just the occasional despair I feel when I remember that my garden is on display and not in the best shape, and my ego gets to me. I make a mental note to hop next door tomorrow to Amrit and Hari鈥檚 to ask Hari what cover crops are working in his yard these days鈥攈is green thumb has always guided mine, and maybe he鈥檒l know how to better nourish this dry patch.

From somewhere inside the house, my phone rings. 

鈥淎mma!鈥� Gita鈥檚 voice calls to me. 鈥淚t鈥檚 Ammamma.鈥�

Her 5-foot frame, identical to mine, comes bounding through the open screen door, my phone in her hand. 

Gita鈥檚 hair is curly like mine, and I fucking love that about her. She鈥檚 smart as a whip, and I love that even more about her. Sometimes I look at her and marvel at the fact that I made that creature. Now I understand what my amma鈥檚 always saying about 鈥渉aving a kid is like putting your heart outside of yourself and watching it walk around,鈥� or some shit like that. Sometimes I want to gather Gita up and store her safely back inside my body.

She comes over to me and scoops me into an affectionate hug before setting the phone up flat on the porch table and hitting 鈥渁nswer.鈥� We both activate the bracelets on our wrists. Almost immediately a spark of light projects upwards from the Beam projection port on my phone, and a three-dimensional hologram of my mother takes shape from the light. 

鈥淗颈 Amma,鈥� I say.

鈥淗颈 Ammamma!鈥� Gita says brightly.

鈥淗ello? Hello?鈥� my mom says. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 see you.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

No matter how many times we do this, she always comes in perplexed at the beginning of a Beam call.

鈥淎mma, did you put it face down on the table again?鈥�

鈥�Allari pilla! Troublemaker. I kept it properly face up, 滨鈥檓 not that technologically challenged. But still I don鈥檛 see you?鈥�

鈥淒id you turn the brightness back up or is it in night mode?鈥�

鈥淥h. One minute. How do I do that again?鈥�

鈥淭here鈥檚 a control on your bracelet. This is why I was saying you should just leave it on the automatic setting.鈥�

鈥淚 can figure it out. I don鈥檛 like how bright it is on auto, it makes my eyes burn.鈥�

We watch her hologram-self fidget with something off-camera, before lighting up in delight. 

鈥淕ot it!鈥� she says. 鈥淗颈! Oh, Gitu, you鈥檙e looking so nice. Are you going somewhere?鈥�

鈥淭hanks, Ammamma,鈥� Gita says. 鈥淚 was invited to a prayer circle tonight, in preparation for the burns next week. Elena is leading, and she told me I could bring some jasmine and haldi and chandan as offerings from our family.鈥�

For the past few years, Gita鈥檚 been volunteering with the Tongva Conservancy鈥檚 ceremonial burns, covering any responsibilities she鈥檚 invited to participate in. Fire season has worsened over the last 10 years in California, so many regions, including L.A. County, realized survival depended on working with local tribes to revive cultural burning practices. The prescribed burns that Indigenous folks across the world have practiced culturally since time immemorial kept rampant dry brush under control and created a cycle of nourishment for the forests, until colonialism outlawed the practice. In L.A., the late fall burning they鈥檝e restarted allows for plant life to rejuvenate in the rainy winter season, the goal being to once again transform dry underbrush into verdant vegetation come spring. 

鈥淗ow are you going there?鈥� my amma asks Gita. 鈥淚 thought your driving permits are Monday, Wednesday, Saturday?鈥�

鈥淓lena got a Tuesday slot in the community car share, so she鈥檚 coming to pick me up. I think she got one of those Rivian two-doors!鈥�

鈥淔ancy,鈥� I say.

Gita goes inside to start gathering her things while I ask Amma what she鈥檚 up to.

鈥淣ot much,鈥� Amma replies. 鈥淛ust making your Ammamma鈥檚 cabbage koora.鈥�

鈥淭ease!鈥� I accuse.

鈥淚 sent you seeds last year!鈥� Amma says defensively.

鈥淵eah, yeah, but they don鈥檛 grow, I told you. The water they need is way beyond our rations.鈥�

We bicker warmly about cabbage koora鈥攁 nostalgic but water-intensive vegetable I probably haven鈥檛 eaten in 15 years at this point. As the cool night air sets in, Amma鈥檚 hologram shines brightly above the porch table. A few stray moths, confused, start circling in the vicinity. I watch their wings disturb the pixels here and there. 

When Elena鈥檚 car (indeed a Rivian two-door) pulls up, Gita flashes by me with a kiss and hops in, leaving the divine aroma of jasmine and chandan in her wake. At the same moment, a second set of footsteps tip-tap up the stairs from the street into our garden, and 滨鈥檓 engulfed in a familiar embrace.

鈥淗颈 buddy!鈥� a voice coos at me. It鈥檚 Aditi, close friend and co-conspirator. She plops her bike helmet and backpack onto a chair on our porch. Seeing that my mom鈥檚 on Beam on the table, she grins. 鈥淗颈 Aunty!鈥� She hits the 鈥渏oin鈥� button on her Beam bracelet so that my mom can see her hologram, then sprawls out in the grass beside me. 鈥淗ow are you?鈥�

鈥淗颈, Aditi! Good, good. How are you, how鈥檚 Noor?鈥�

鈥淭hey鈥檙e good, they鈥檙e still at the courthouse, or they would鈥檝e come by with me.鈥� Then Aditi nods at her backpack and looks at me conspiratorially. 鈥淚 went to the Indian store today.鈥�

I let out a whoop. This is a luxury we reserve only for special occasions. 鈥淪hut up. What鈥檙e we celebrating?鈥�

鈥淲ellll, Noor Beamed me from the courthouse today and told me that our permit request for the collective is next in line for consideration. And that they think we鈥檙e a sure thing.鈥�

Amma鈥檚 hologram gasps. 鈥淭he housing collective?鈥�

鈥淭he one and only!鈥� Aditi says. 

That night, with Amma still on Beam, Aditi pulls out fresh guavas and late-season mangoes, a rare pleasure all the way from the subcontinent, and we twirl around鈥�

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥攇in na 

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥攇in na

鈥etween bites of home.

Friday, July 9, 2077

I eye the box on my coffee table with suspicion. Gita鈥檚 had some strange contraption called Iris delivered to me, and she swears it鈥檚 worth whatever trouble it surely brings. I asked Aditi and Noor about it, and they agreed that the concept of sticking digital contact lenses in one鈥檚 eyes is unpleasant, to say the least. Gita instructed me to be open to it and threatened to call me an old codger if I refuse to even try it out.

鈥淚ris makes your eye a projector, Amma, your eye. Can you believe it? It鈥檒l be like Reyna and I are there with you, 3D, walking and talking and interacting with you and your space. Like we鈥檙e literally there,鈥� she鈥檇 said when we last talked. 

The idea of feeling like my daughter and granddaughter are physically with me ultimately makes Iris an easy sell, despite my hesitations. Remembering her words, I decide to open the damn box.

After great difficulty and no small amount of grumbling, I鈥檝e finally affixed the small translucent contacts to my eyes, and, scrutinizing the user manual, I figure out how to power on this incredibly invasive piece of technology. I鈥檝e had it on for less than two minutes when the accompanying earbud headphones inform me that I have an incoming call. It is, of course, Gita.

鈥淎mma!鈥� she shouts joyfully. 鈥淵ou did it! You finally listened to me! This is so cool.鈥�

滨鈥檓 not sure exactly what is so cool, as my vision is blurry and 滨鈥檓 completely baffled by how she could possibly be seeing me right now. But I take her word for it. Gita does some troubleshooting that I don鈥檛 understand, laughs at me quite a few times for being a bumbling fool with this new device, and finally coaches me through getting the focus in the lenses calibrated. 

And then I see what鈥檚 so cool. Gita has set it so that the simulated world we鈥檙e in is my real front yard. 滨鈥檓 really here, right here, right now, lying in the grass. And it looks like they鈥檙e here, too, as full-scale renderings of their real selves. They can interact with me, with my garden. On their end, Gita tells me, it鈥檚 like being in virtual reality. She tells me that next time, 飞别鈥檒濒 make the setting her house, where she and Reyna can move around in the real world and I鈥檒l be visiting via virtual reality. Once I鈥檝e quit my grumblings, we settle into our regular pattern of conversation鈥攚hat we鈥檙e all eating, how everyone鈥檚 love interests are, whether we鈥檙e taking care of our health鈥攅xcept it is quite cool, because the whole time it鈥檚 like Gita and Reyna are lounging in the yard with me. I tell them this reminds me of way back when I was a kid in India, loitering outside all afternoon with my cousins.

鈥淵ou used to go to India every year, Ammamma?鈥� Reyna asks me, eyes wide. 

鈥淓very year. We were very lucky.鈥�

鈥淒o you think you鈥檒l ever go back?鈥�

鈥淲ith the flight restrictions, it鈥檚 almost impossible,鈥� I say. 鈥淣ow I think it鈥檇 take me three trains and a whole-ass ship. No, I don鈥檛 think I鈥檒l ever be able to go back. But sometime in the future 鈥� I think you will.鈥�

My girls both reach out to me as glittering pixels in the golden summer afternoon. I like how realistically Iris portrays them, truly as if they鈥檙e here in the grass with me, just like Gita promised, reaching towards me to comfort me. But the technology misses what I love most about them: their smell, the warmth of their skin, the calm in my own heart when 滨鈥檓 in their physical presence. 

When Gita told me she and her partner Gloria had decided to move away from L.A. to raise Reyna somewhere that was more climate-stable, I understood. My mother left her mother in India to come to America in search of a better life, an economically stable life, a life that would offer the opportunity of abundance for us鈥攆or me鈥攁fter the literal and metaphorical scarcity that British colonialism imposed on the subcontinent. At the time, who would鈥檝e thought that decades later, rampant consumption and capitalism would finally deliver that same scarcity here to our doorsteps in America? 

Then I moved away from my mother, starting a life in L.A. in community with other South Asian storytellers who were committed to drawing attention to climate and culture. Those of us who鈥檇 joined the movement as soon as we became conscious of it saw the writing on the wall long back, but it took the bubble actually popping around the wealthy for those in power to take any real action on what was going on. 

In L.A., most of the mansions in the hills got wiped out by fires long ago. A staccato of winter storms caused irreparable mudslides along Mulholland Drive. The Pacific Ocean claimed Santa Monica. The city was forced to implement retreat strategies, which led to them regulating lot sizes as more people had to relocate to the livable areas of L.A. Predictably, some millionaires really fought against this and did everything they could to rebuild their mansions and add 鈥渃limate-protective measures,鈥� but no one ever got too far in the process because insurance companies no longer cover houses built in long-designated Hazard Zones, and after a certain point with all the carbon taxes levied on any building project that exceeds Reciprocal Resourcing Standards, the mansions were no longer financially viable. Other millionaires were shockingly supportive of the lot size restrictions, and wound up working within Reciprocal Resourcing Standards to build sustainable collectives.

Of course, some people still went the route of save-myself-at-the-expense-of-others. They built bunkers with the goal of 鈥渟elf-sufficiency.鈥� It鈥檚 a seductive idea, until you realize what it means is isolation from any sense of community. We are by definition interdependent. Our survival is predicated on our ability to work together. But 滨鈥檓 pretty sure Elon Musk鈥檚 kids are still raising their families all alone in their secluded fortress. Their only outside interaction is probably with the drones that deliver their caviar.

Ultimately, it was the local resilience, the grassroots ideas, the place-based knowledge that allowed us to survive. These days, I live at Aunty Gang Collective (the name was inspired by Gita always calling me and my cherished group of South Asian women friends 鈥渁unty gang鈥�). Here, there鈥檚 no caviar (never understood the appeal, anyway), but there鈥檚 music in the streets every day.

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥攇in na

After weathering a long waitlist at the permitting office, our little collective of 15 homes was finally greenlit and built with reclaimed and organic material as part of a government-sponsored hyper-localization effort. Over the last 30 years, L.A. was essentially renovated and rewilded by a team of what we would鈥檝e called environmental architects back when I was growing up (today we just call them 鈥渁rchitects鈥�), led by a group of Indigenous engineers and designers.

We can鈥檛 drive much anymore (even electric cars, which over time proved to be too resource-intensive to continue manufacturing at scale), but it鈥檚 OK, because the electric buses and trains are much more connected than they used to be. Plus, Aditi and Noor are original Aunty Gang members and live just down the street. We hobble over to each other鈥檚 houses almost every day.

鈥淥K, so India鈥檚 off the table,鈥� Gita says, cutting off my thoughts, 鈥渂ut more realistically, can you come here, Amma? I told you, Gloria and I can arrange for the flight permits鈥攚e have so many credits from volunteer days with the ceremonial burning crews. The aunty gang can help you pack up, and you can be here by next week.鈥�

I make a face at her. I hope with Iris that she can properly see the extent of my disdain for this idea. 

鈥淣ot this again, kanna.鈥� I stick her with an exaggerated eye roll. 鈥淓very call, the same thing: 鈥楢mma, now that Dad has passed what鈥檚 left for you in L.A.? You鈥檙e allllll alooone, why don鈥檛 you leave everything you鈥檝e known for the last 60 years and come here to fucking Duluth, Minnesota, to join us in this commune of white people.鈥� Chhi!鈥�

鈥淲ell, it was either this or Vermont,鈥� Gita quips back. 鈥淎nd it鈥檚 not called Duluth anymore. It鈥檚 Onigamiinsing鈥攊t鈥檚 Ojibwe. Anyway, please just think about it.鈥�

鈥淚鈥檒l think about it,鈥� I lie.

鈥淵ou say that every time, but you never really do.鈥�

鈥淎nd yet you keep asking.鈥�

鈥淚 worry about you.鈥�

鈥淎nd I worry about you, kanna.鈥�

鈥淎bout me? I have Glo and Reyna. I don鈥檛 like you being alone over there, you鈥檙e 82, and that鈥檚 not young.鈥�

鈥淥K, first of all, rude. Second of all, 滨鈥檓 not alone! I have Aunty Gang, all my friends within walking distance. The Collective has grown a lot since you last visited. It鈥檚 like a mini Wakanda here now. But with less beautiful superheroes and more elderly people.鈥�

鈥淲补办补-飞丑补迟?鈥�

鈥淣ever mind, it鈥檚 before your time. How鈥檚 kathak class, Reyna?鈥� I change the subject swiftly.

鈥淥h. Good!鈥� Reyna says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e working on chakkar. 滨鈥檓 up to 31 in a row! I can Iris you from our studio next time and show you, Ammamma. It鈥檒l be like you鈥檙e watching me dance in person.鈥�

The thought fills me with pride. With longing. With wonder at the fact that so many generations, so many geographic locations and climate-related disruptions later, we preserve this art purely because it makes us happy.

鈥淭hat would be lovely, kanna.鈥� I pause. 鈥�Actually, I wanted to show you 蝉辞尘别迟丑颈苍驳.鈥� I take a few steps over to my left. 鈥淐an you see?鈥�

鈥淪ee what? You鈥檒l have to be more specific, Amma,鈥� Gita says.

I point. 鈥淥K, do you see this?鈥� 滨鈥檓 gesturing to the front left corner of my garden, the dry section that insisted on following me from Leimert Park to Aunty Gang Co. The dry section where years ago I鈥檇 planted some cabbage seeds my mother had given me, though they鈥檇 never grown. The dry section that now was鈥� 

鈥淚 don鈥檛 see where you鈥檙e pointing, Amma,鈥� Gita says. 鈥淚t must be out of scope. Let鈥檚 expand range on your Iris.鈥�

I fidget with the control she directs me toward. 

鈥淥K, did it work?鈥� I ask. 鈥淐an you see?鈥�

Gita stifles a laugh and Reyna openly giggles. 鈥淣o, Amma. I think you narrowed the scope.鈥�

鈥淥h. What do you see?鈥�

鈥淵our foot.鈥�

鈥淥ops,鈥� I say. I try again, but the touchy control is so minimalist that I can鈥檛 tell where on the range scale I am. 鈥淗ow about now? Now can you see it?鈥�

鈥淣o, Ammamma,鈥� Reyna laughs. 鈥淣ow we see your left big toe. In precise 诲别迟补颈濒.鈥�

I mumble some R-rated expletives under my breath. 鈥淏ut I can see you. How am I supposed to know what you鈥檙e seeing? I told you I wouldn鈥檛 like this Iris thing.鈥�

鈥淥K, let鈥檚 stay calm,鈥� Gita says, still chuckling. She talks me through the bewildering device and finally the formerly very dry patch of my garden is evidently in view, because鈥� 

鈥淚s that cabbage?鈥� Gita exclaims in shock.

鈥淵es!鈥� I exclaim right back. 鈥淚t鈥檚 cabbage! Cabbage!鈥� I let out a loud hooray.

鈥淥K, OK, we see it,鈥� Gita laughs. 鈥淲e see the cabbage.鈥�

鈥凌别测苍补, choodu! Look!鈥� I say. 鈥淏aby cabbages!鈥�

Reyna looks perplexed at my joy. 鈥淰ery cool, Ammamma 鈥︹��

Personally, I don鈥檛 think either of them get the hype at all, so I try again. 鈥淭hese haven鈥檛 grown here since I was around your age, Gita. My ammamma used to make cabbage koora all the time. And to think Reyna鈥檚 never even seen one!鈥�

鈥淲hat? I see them all the time,鈥� Reyna protests. 鈥淎mma made cabbage koora last week!鈥�

鈥渊别蝉, kanna,鈥� I say, 鈥渂ut that鈥檚 that hydroponic shit you people grow over there. The real stuff is grown in the dirt. Real soil. Real food.鈥�

鈥淥K, Amma, let鈥檚 not get into this again,鈥� Gita says, clearly miffed. 鈥淗ydroponics have fed a lot of people over the last 50 years. But 滨鈥檓 very happy for you about your cabbages. You can Iris us once they ripen, and we can make cabbage koora together. Reyna and I with our 鈥榟ydroponic shit鈥� and you with your 鈥榦f-the-dirt鈥� stuff.鈥�

We dream for a while together about cabbage koora, until Gita declares that it鈥檚 bedtime for them over on Ojibwe Land. 

I disconnect from Iris and allow the shimmering afternoon to envelop me. I slip my shoes off and dig my feet into moist soil. I feel my pulse.

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥攇in na

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na

My back hurts more often these days, and the asthma鈥檚 been back for nearly 20 years (one can鈥檛 blame my lungs鈥�they put up a heroic fight against nearly half a century of summer wildfire smoke). I鈥檝e had my share of cancer scares, too, like the rest of us. 

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na

I think of the two generations before me, who saw the world change so much in their own lifetimes: my ammamma watching India gain independence from the British Raj, and my amma, moving to a completely different continent and building a new life from scratch. 

I think of the two generations after me: Gita, who didn鈥檛 see stars for the first three decades of her life until regulations helped clear the smog. Reyna, who鈥檚 never seen the snow but can do 31 chakkars and accompanies her mom to volunteer for ceremonial burn support. 

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na

I think of the descendants that follow, from whom I borrow this earth.

And in the cabbage patch, loam between my toes,

tha ki ta tha ki ta鈥�gin na鈥�dha.

      鈥�gin na鈥�dha.

      鈥�gin na鈥�dha.

I dance.

This story is part of Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, a climate fiction contest from Grist. Imagine 2200 celebrates stories that offer vivid, hope-filled, diverse visions of climate progress.

I got my first glimpse of the place today. Drove out there by myself and knelt in the dirt and ran my hands through the dry clods. Nobody else out there, save a few crows picking over some years-old corn.  

I don鈥檛 think the seller will be a problem. That land gave all it could give and it won鈥檛 give any more. The ground is all hard and rocky, rutted out with old furrows and bits of crabgrass here and there. I鈥檝e seen parking lots with more life. 

It鈥檚 the only piece in that area that butts up to Stanton Forest. The guy across the road seems to be going strong, but not too many other nearby farms are. It鈥檚 perfect. 

I found this old notebook in a desk drawer at home and started writing about all this. We鈥檒l see what happens. 

April 30, 2022

Everything鈥檚 signed. Me, at the age of 58 and only ever worked in the city, now the owner of 94 acres of south Ohio cropland. Or what used to be cropland, at any rate. 

She鈥檇 be proud of me, and that made me smile on the drive home from the seller鈥檚 office. She was always going on about how we needed to give stuff back to nature. 鈥淲e have so much,鈥� she鈥檇 say, 鈥渟o, so much. We have to give it back, Daddy. We gotta find a way.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淪ure, sure,鈥� I鈥檇 always nod. And now she鈥檚 gone and I never gave her an answer. 

Well, Firefly, here goes nothing. 

May 6, 2022 

When I stand next to the road, the trees at Stanton are a green row on the horizon. Behind me is the neighbor. To the left and right my land stretches out for about a half mile. 

Neighbor鈥檚 name is Brett. He came by in his truck when I was out there today. 鈥淗owdy, neighbor,鈥� he said like a cowboy with his head sticking out the window. 

鈥淲hat are you growing?鈥� he asked. 

鈥淎 forest, if I can.鈥�

He looked confused but tried not to show it. 

鈥淪oy prices aren鈥檛 bad these days,鈥� he said. 鈥淎 hell of a lot more in soy than trees. And quicker.鈥�

鈥湵踱�檓 not gonna cut it down.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He shook his head. 

鈥淲ell, it鈥檚 your place,鈥� he said and then took off. 

May 16, 2022 

Most of what鈥檚 left of that forest is in the beams of the old Victorians on Euclid Avenue in Cleveland or in Palmer Woods in Detroit. The rest got burned or blighted and then we plowed it under and grew corn and soy until we couldn鈥檛 anymore. It鈥檚 gone, save a few patches here and there. 

I鈥檝e been reading. This land used to be a forest, one of the biggest in the world. Stretched from where the swampland ended in south Georgia all the way up to the tundra in Canada. There were wolves and bears and chestnut trees that showered so many nuts you had to wade through them. 

One of those is the Smokies down in Tennessee. We went when Sadie was 8. I thought she鈥檇 want to see a bear, but she talked about birds the whole way down鈥�245 species there, she said. We walked all over and I could tell that this was a different sort of woods. Deeper, darker. Smelled like old leather and life.  

Sadie wanted to camp in the park, but I didn鈥檛 care to sleep on the ground. Still don鈥檛, actually. I woke up in our hotel room to find her on the balcony, staring off at the mountains, her little hands gripped tight on the railing. 

We can鈥檛 do the Smokies here. Sorry, dear, we gotta crawl before we walk. We鈥檙e gonna start with grassland and then trees. We could just let it go, let nature take her course. But we鈥檇 probably just end up with a haphazard field of soy plants. So, grass. And water. And these people over in England think pigs are a good idea. So maybe pigs, too. 

June 4, 2022 

I don鈥檛 know where she got it from. It wasn鈥檛 from me. I grew up in the Columbus suburbs. Lived in the Columbus suburbs. Ran the dealership in the Columbus suburbs after Dad died. My idea of interacting with nature is one of those documentaries with the British guy talking about starfish and antelopes. 

But there was a little creek behind our cul-de-sac, and she鈥檇 spend hours down there, looking at bugs and toads and building dams with rocks. Come back all muddy and I鈥檇 hose her down in the backyard, with her screaming and trying to dodge the water. 

鈥淲hy do we have all this grass and nothing else?鈥� she asked me once as we walked through our neighborhood. 鈥淲hat are the animals supposed to eat?鈥� 

Which brings me to the pigs. The pigs can help because they root around and turn up the hard soil. Then they shit everywhere and help fertilize the ground for other plants. Or that鈥檚 what this guy I called in England said. 

But right now my land is like those lawns, nothing for the pigs to eat. And that鈥檚 saying something, because I鈥檝e learned pigs will eat about anything, even roadkill. So I gotta plant grasses and berry bushes and other plants to create a first layer of food. 

I鈥檒l also build a few ponds to try to attract birds and create a different type of habitat. And I gotta do it all before winter gets here. 

June 15, 2022

It鈥檚 not much of a pond, but it will do. Rented a backhoe and dug out a pond at the base of where the land slopes slightly down to the south. It鈥檚 about the size of the neighborhood swimming pool by the place Sadie grew up. 

Then I ran a pipe up from the water main and filled it.  It won鈥檛 stay, but 滨鈥檓 hoping the fall rains will keep it filled just a bit. 

Today, I seeded half the place with grass, wandering the whole place with a bag of seeds over my shoulder, tossing them everywhere. It took all day, out in the heat, no shade. A few birds swooped in to eat some seeds, but it was lonely otherwise. I鈥檒l come back tomorrow and do the rest. 

I went with a mix of big bluestem, switchgrass, and prairie dropseed, which are all tall grasses native to this area. Big bluestem will be shoulder height in a few years. And I did red clover and buckwheat, which are lower grasses. The clover apparently will restore some of the chemicals we need to grow in the soil. 

Next week, I鈥檒l do wildflowers and shrubs, like black-eyed Susans, butterfly weed, sunflowers, and elderberry bushes. Those will shoot their roots into the dry and compacted soil and break it up, allowing for water and worms and nutrients to get in. 

And next to the pond, I planted a few cattails that I dug up from the stream behind the house. They鈥檒l probably die in a week, but it felt good to have something Sadie would have touched on the land. 

August 25, 2022

The most magical thing happened today. I went out to the land and was walking around like I always do. There鈥檚 some green shoots all over from the grass I planted, plus I saw a few flowers that I didn鈥檛. 

Ever since I planted the grass, I鈥檝e been seeing mice scurrying around eating the seeds I threw down. I was near the pond, watching a mouse maybe 30 feet away dip in and out of my sight as it hurried up and down the old furrows. 

And then, wham, a red-tailed hawk shot from the sky and grabbed the mouse in its talons. I was so close I could hear the mouse scream. The hawk swiveled his head, looked at me for the briefest moment and then took off again, heading toward Stanton Forest. 

It all happened so fast that I didn鈥檛 realize I was holding my breath. 

October 14, 2022

Fall鈥檚 here, and 滨鈥檓 worried. We haven鈥檛 had much rain, and not much of the grass has rooted in. The pond is just a muddy puddle. The cattails are still there, thankfully, but I haven鈥檛 seen as many ducks as I saw at first. 

滨鈥檓 afraid I didn鈥檛 get things in quickly enough and winter will kill off everything that鈥檚 been growing. But I dearly hope it all makes it through winter alright. I could say the same for me. 

I drive by the spot where she hit the black ice on my way to work. Even in the summer, I find my foot hitting the brake a little early. In the winter, I go through it so slow cars behind me hit their horns every now and again. 

The tree she hit still has the scar, this unholy blotch of black. I thought it might kill the tree when I first saw it two years ago. But it鈥檚 still hanging in, that old oak. I get a real good look at it in the winter. 

March 16, 2023 

I didn鈥檛 go out there much this winter, so there wasn鈥檛 much to write about. Just twice, both times all frozen over and snow on the ground, the grass brown and the cattails shivering in the wind. A desolate place, really. 

But now, spring, and melt. And disappointment. Even this early, there鈥檚 buds on trees and low lines of green in some of the fields along the road on the drive out there. My place is mostly dirt and mostly empty. 

There鈥檚 some tufts of grass, but it鈥檚 hard to say what I put there and what the wind did. I must have planted things too late. Or the rains didn鈥檛 come. Or something else. The upshot is it鈥檚 no closer to being a forest than I am to being a raven. 

Makes me wonder what 滨鈥檓 doing out here. Maybe I鈥檒l just sell the place. 

March 19, 2023

I couldn鈥檛 stand the thought of her trapped in the ground. Her mother and I hadn鈥檛 talked in a few weeks when we both went out to the river that ran about two miles from our house with the urn. It was spring, a few months after the wreck, and the water was a swirl of snowmelt. 

The stream behind our house ran into this river. Sadie had it all drawn out on a map in her room, otherwise I wouldn鈥檛 have known. A summer project, mapping our watershed. She had decided by then that she was going to either be a freshwater ecologist or a zoologist. 

We poured the ashes in the river and watched them float away, just a small patch of gray in a sweeping current of brown. 

March 22, 2023

I was out all day today with my seed sack, getting grass down all over again. By the end my boots were so caked with mud they felt like cement blocks. Too tired to write more. 

March 26, 2023

Today I brought my pigs out. Eight of them, full grown and snorting. The guy I bought them from brought them here in a trailer and everything. 

鈥淵ou got a place to put them?鈥� he asked when he pulled up. 

鈥淎nywhere is good.鈥�

Guy shook his head and undid the latch and the eight of them trampled out onto the mud. They were all old sows, done producing piglets and set for slaughter when I got them. $150 a piece, a steal, the guy had said. 

I鈥檒l be putting corn out for them to eat, but the idea is that they鈥檒l be able to find their own food by the summer. 

With them out there, I鈥檒l have more reason to come back. 滨鈥檓 excited about that. 

April 5, 2023 

I woke up this morning with a voicemail from Brett. We鈥檇 exchanged numbers last fall when we were both looking for a lost dog from the neighbors further down the road. 

Apparently, some of the pigs had gotten into his soybeans and rooted up a few plants. He didn鈥檛 sound too happy about it. 鈥淭hose pigs are feral. If I see them on my land again, I鈥檒l shoot 鈥檈m.鈥�

Fair enough. I ordered a couple movable fences today. Instead of having them roaming, I鈥檒l keep them on an acre or so then move them in a week or so. 

But already, 滨鈥檓 seeing more grass, more blooms. When I was out there most recently, there was a whole flock of finches singing and hopping among the green shoots. 

July 15, 2023 

Full summer, as of a few weeks ago. My Lord. I鈥檝e got grass and sunflowers up to my knees. There鈥檚 a couple of geese that seem to have taken up residence in the pond. I saw my first deer a few days ago. 

The pigs are basically magic. Anywhere I鈥檝e put them, a few weeks later, it explodes with life. 

For the first time, when I stand on the road with my land on one side and Brett鈥檚 on the other, I can really tell a difference. His is all these ordered rows. Mine is haphazard. His is all green. I鈥檝e got yellows from sunflowers and black-eyed Susans, greens in the grass, some orange and red from flowers that I have no idea what they are, and browns where nothing is growing yet. 

It feels like mine, this stretch of land. I don鈥檛 know what to call it. It鈥檚 not a farm. It鈥檚 not a forest. It鈥檚 still in that long in-between. But it makes me smile, looking out onto my misshapen kingdom, a kind of patchwork quilt knit by no one in particular. 

August 24, 2023 

The letter came in the mail to my home address. It was all dressed up and on legal letterhead. McCovey and Haines, it said at the top. 

To Mr. Gregory Elroy, the owner of property located at 501 E. Larson Road,

We write to you regarding the nuisance you have created on your property at the above address. Our Client, Mr. Brett Tubbs, of 400 E. Larson Road, has noticed a considerable uptick of deer, squirrels, birds, and other nuisance animals entering his property and disrupting his planting, seeding, and growing of crops. 

Having farmed this land for 17 years, Our Client has never been so disrupted in his labor. We urge you to cease from all activities related to your 鈥渞e-wilding鈥� of the property at 501 E. Larson Road including the planting of wild grasses, trees, shrubs, and other flora and fauna and the additional lack of maintenance that might further disrupt Our Client鈥檚 legitimate farming operations. 

If you do not, we will have no choice but to pursue legal action to remedy this situation in a court of law. 

Sincerely, 
Mike McCovey, Attorney at Law

Rewilding. It鈥檚 funny they used that word. Brett had driven by a few weeks back and we鈥檇 talked about the weather and the Reds. He seemed over the pigs thing. 

I told him the word for what I was doing was 鈥渞ewilding,鈥� which I鈥檇 only just learned from some YouTube videos. He鈥檇 shrugged. 鈥淎s long as it don鈥檛 bother me,鈥� he said. 

It must have. 

My second thought came unbidden. It鈥檚 working, I thought. It鈥檚 working. 

August 29, 2023 

After a long time thinking, I decided to ignore the letter. What could they really do? I owned the land outright. If they wanted to come and take it from me or sue me over a few deer wandering into Brett鈥檚 fields, they could go right ahead. 

I got a call from one of the principals at school when Sadie was 12. Apparently she鈥檇 found a baby squirrel on the playground and had been keeping it in her front pocket and feeding it Gatorade with an eyedropper in class. Her teacher had heard it squeaking. 

鈥淚f I don鈥檛 have it in my pocket, it鈥檚 gonna die, Dad,鈥� she said over the phone, her voice panicked and teary. 鈥淚t won鈥檛 stay warm enough anywhere else.鈥�

I begged the principal to let her take it home and we鈥檇 take care of it here. I found a shoe box and hooked up a light to keep it warm. 

鈥淭hat won鈥檛 keep it warm enough. It鈥檚 gonna die,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hen it鈥檚 that little it鈥檚 supposed to be next to its brothers and sisters and mother almost all the time.鈥�

I had to drag her to school and we left the squirrel at home. I don鈥檛 know what happened, but when we got home the light had gone out and the baby squirrel wasn鈥檛 moving much. It died a day later. 

She didn鈥檛 talk to me for a week, just slamming doors and scowling. Any time I walked in a room where she was, she鈥檇 screw up her face and yell, 鈥淢urderer!鈥� And then storm out. 

Look what 滨鈥檓 doing now, Firefly. The opposite of murder. 

September 25, 2023

I got another letter. Said similar stuff but then asked for a meeting at the lawyer鈥檚 office, and I went a few days later. The letter said I should bring a lawyer with me, but I don鈥檛 know any lawyers and didn鈥檛 feel like calling one. 

The office was downtown, with lots of wood paneling and leather chairs. Brett was there, in the guy鈥檚 office who sent the letter. He just nodded when I came in. 

鈥淢r. Elroy, you have been in violation of the county鈥檚 land-use regulations,鈥� the lawyer said, his voice oiled and smooth.  

鈥淵our land is intended for use in agriculture, and you seem to be doing nothing of the sort. As a result of your negligence to your land, my client has suffered damages from the excessive wildlife disturbing his crops.鈥�

There was a silence, as I thought about it. 

鈥淲hat do you mean by excessive wildlife?鈥� I said. 

鈥淭here鈥檚 deer out there every morning,鈥� Brett broke in. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e eating my seedlings. And the birds, too. So many damn birds. I just had my lowest yield in 15 years.鈥�

I shook my head. 

鈥淏ut it鈥檚 my land,鈥� I said. 

The lawyer smiled a thin smile. 

鈥淲ell, yes, but that doesn鈥檛 mean you can do anything you want with it. And the law says that parcel is to be used for agricultural use. I hope you understand.鈥�

I didn鈥檛 understand. But I didn鈥檛 get angry until I was driving home. I looked out the window and at the strip malls and fast food chains and parking lots with little bits of grass and trees in between. And beyond it, for miles, more asphalt and concrete with little bits of green in between. All the way to the ocean in either direction. 

As we walked out of the office, Brett had said, 鈥淚t鈥檚 because of you environmentalists that people like me can鈥檛 make a decent living anymore.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

I never thought of myself as an environmentalist. But Sadie was right. We did have too much. But, apparently, it was illegal to give any of it back. 

October 17, 2023 

I went out to the land today and just walked around. I wouldn鈥檛 say it鈥檚 pretty, especially now that it鈥檚 fall and the flowers have gone for months. The grasses are all scruffy and brown. The pigs are all brown and muddy and old. 

I think maybe what鈥檚 scary to some people is that 滨鈥檓 just letting it go. Brett is out there every day on his tractor, tilling or planting. 滨鈥檓 not. 滨鈥檓 just letting it be. I really don鈥檛 know what鈥檚 going to happen to it. Maybe that鈥檚 a little scary to be next to. 

On the night she died, Sadie was at my place for the week. Her mother and I had just bought her her first car, a used 2014 Honda Civic, after she鈥檇 spent a few months learning to drive on ours. Simple, easy to drive. Safe. Good gas mileage. I thought she鈥檇 love it. But she didn鈥檛. 

鈥淚 don鈥檛 want a car, Dad. I only learned to drive so I wouldn鈥檛 hurt your feelings. Do you even know what cars are doing to the Earth?鈥� she told me when I first showed it to her a week or two before. 

It鈥檇 been sitting in the driveway ever since, the keys still on the counter where she鈥檇 put them. Her mother had dropped her at my place. 

And she鈥檇 been sulking all week. She鈥檇 get like this in the winter. Couldn鈥檛 go outside except to tramp around the block in her snow boots. Plus, you know, being a teenager. 

I thought I might take her to the movies or something. She was sitting on the couch, lookin鈥� out the window. 

鈥淔irefly, you want to go鈥斺��

鈥淵ou call me that, but did you even know that fireflies are going extinct?鈥� she snapped. 

I balked. I didn鈥檛 know that. 

鈥溾�機ause there鈥檚 no more woods for them to live in. They can鈥檛 just live on sidewalks and front yards. But that鈥檚 all there is around here.鈥�

鈥淲ell, can鈥檛 we do something about鈥斺��

鈥淪ure, we could. But people like you never will. 滨鈥檓 not your firefly, Dad.鈥�

With that, she stormed out of the room. I sank back into the couch. I heard a car start up in the driveway a minute later. Huh, I thought, maybe she wants that thing after all. 

The phone rang 20 minutes later. 

October 30, 2023 

When I pulled up to the land this morning, there was a sheriff鈥檚 car in the rut where I usually park. He got out as I pulled in, and he was holding a brown packet in his hand. His name tag said Lt. Briggs. 

鈥淢orning,鈥� he said, as we approached each other, like we were friends. I nodded. 

鈥湵踱�檓 guessing you probably know what this is,鈥� he said, handing me the packet. I nodded again. 

I took the packet and could feel the heavy pages inside of it. This must be how all this ended. We stood there for a second, him looking off in the distance, me listening to the breeze. 

鈥淵ou know, I鈥檝e been driving by here for as long as you鈥檝e been doing this,鈥� Briggs finally said. 

鈥淵ou think 滨鈥檓 crazy too, probably,鈥� I said. 

He shook his head and crossed his arms and looked out over my scraggly land. 

鈥淚 don鈥檛. I truly don鈥檛,鈥� he said after a while. 鈥淢y family鈥檚 lived around here for five generations. My great-great-grandfather was one of the men who cut down these woods and tilled the first farms. I used to take a lot of pride in that.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淏ut you don鈥檛 now?鈥� I said. 

鈥淥h, I do. But, my kids, they lose their minds when they see a deer. They don鈥檛 know anything about anything wilder than our backyard.鈥�

I looked out on the land. I couldn鈥檛 say it was much wilder than a backyard, but just then, three ducks took off from the pond and beat their wings over our heads. 

鈥淲ell, not everyone agrees,鈥� I said, holding up the brown packet. 

Briggs laughed. 

鈥淣o, clearly not,鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut have you talked to the land trust? Or the people at Stanton?鈥� 

I shook my head. 

鈥淚 haven鈥檛 been talking to much of anyone recently. Just been out here where it鈥檚 quiet.鈥�

He laughed again, a deep, throaty laugh. 

鈥淲ell, maybe you should give them a call. They might be able to help you more than the birds and deer.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

With that, he tipped his hat and strode back to his car, leaving me with the packet in my hand and the wind blowing in my ears. 

February 19, 2024 

Well, it鈥檚 settled then. The land is now a nature preserve. And it鈥檚 being absorbed by Stanton State Forest. 

The people at the land trust straightened it all out rather quickly. They paid me one dollar for the land. Then they transferred it to the state鈥檚 control. But not before they helped me secure the right to live and traverse the land for me and my ancestors for all time.

That last part was their lawyer鈥檚 words, not mine. But I like it. For all time. 

滨鈥檓 building a cabin out there. It might be ready in a year. Maybe one day I鈥檒l move out there.  And 滨鈥檓 finally going to get around to the other pond once the freeze breaks. 

Then, trees. It鈥檚 time to plant trees. We鈥檒l have our forest yet, Firefly. Oaks, hickories, maples, dogwoods. I can just see the saplings shivering in the spring air. It鈥檚 beautiful. 

And the fence. 滨鈥檓 helping Brett build a fence around his land. It was part of the condition of the agreement for them to drop the lawsuit. It鈥檒l be tall enough to keep out most of the deer. 

I don鈥檛 blame him. The fact is, there鈥檚 no way for the wild to co-exist next to his rows and rows of soybeans. We wave to each other again. 

And the people at the state agreed to one more condition. They鈥檙e going to call this little patch the Sadie Elroy Preserve. 

August 4, 2031 

I watched the sun go down from my little porch in my little forest. The birds were singing: sparrows, mockingbirds, an owl a little later. 

The trees aren鈥檛 high or thick enough to block the view and cast much shadow yet, but one day they鈥檒l tower over this place and it鈥檒l be in shade all day long. 

There鈥檚 water striders on the pond, and birds dipping through to catch them. I saw two raccoons drinking from the other pond yesterday. A few turtles too, years and years after I鈥檇 introduced them. Day before that, it was a flash of fox fur in some of the low bushes. The soil, when I kneel down and cup it in my hands, is soft and loamy. Some nights, there are even fireflies. 

I walk the trails most mornings as the sun comes up and see what I can see. Every day, it鈥檚 something. I walk a lot slower these days, but that鈥檚 okay. 

Some days, in the quiet of the morning, when my mind is focused on a deer track or a birdsong, I can hear her laughing, off in the distance. 

This story is part of Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, a climate fiction contest from Grist. Imagine 2200 celebrates stories that offer vivid, hope-filled, diverse visions of climate progress.

The leak came as no surprise to activists, environmental groups, and government officials who have been fighting against the facility for nearly a decade. Red Hill contains 20 tanks that are each 250 feet tall and can hold a total of 250 million gallons of fuel鈥攁nd all this has been located just 100 feet above the island鈥檚 sole source aquifer. 

Built during World War II and classified until the 1990s, the Red Hill facility has since been exposed as a source of multiple leaks . The November 2021 leak happened weeks after the Hawai驶i Department of Health fined the Navy for a host of operations and maintenance violations, and provided false testimony and withheld information about corrosion at the facility.  

In the wake of the 2021 leak, hundreds of water protectors and their allies descended onto the state Capitol to demand the immediate shutdown of the facility in Red Hill, a site originally known to K膩naka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) as Kap奴kak墨. They called out elected officials and the military for putting U.S. imperialism over human lives. 

Demonstrators stood in front of a statue of Queen Liliuokalani, the last monarch of Hawai驶i. She ruled until 1893, when the U.S. Navy aided sugar barons in the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom. The prevailing rallying cry was and has been: 鈥淥la i ka wai鈥� (鈥渨ater is life鈥�).

鈥淭hey鈥檝e done so much damage that it will take years, decades to heal from what they鈥檝e done to us,鈥� says Healani Sonoda-Pale, an organizer with the O驶ahu Water Protectors, a coalition working toward environmental justice, sovereignty, decolonization, and demilitarization. 鈥淎nd when I say 鈥榰s,鈥� 滨鈥檓 talking about the Indigenous peoples of this land who have been under U.S. rule since 1893. As the first peoples of Hawai驶i, we are the voice of the land, the voice of our water, and our nonhuman relatives. What happens to them happens to us and vice versa.鈥�

Sonoda-Pale鈥檚 genealogy on O驶ahu can be traced back hundreds of years. She says she dealt with the trauma of growing up in poverty and watching her family struggle to survive under the grip of U.S. rule. 鈥淭his gives me the fire and strength to continue on with all of the issues we see in Hawai驶i,鈥� Sonoda-Pale says. 鈥淭he fact that my people recovered from the brink of an apocalypse and is still here after 131 years of occupation gives me a lot of hope.鈥�

An Ongoing History of Contamination

This most recent spill was just the K膩naka Maoli鈥檚 latest chapter in a century-long fight against the U.S. military and its continued displacement of people and destruction of Native land and natural resources. 

鈥淭he story of Indigenous people on O驶ahu is a David and Goliath story,鈥� says Sonoda-Pale. 鈥淜膩naka Maoli are up against the most powerful military in the world, which also happens to be the biggest polluter in the world. With climate change and global warming looming, our struggle for liberation has become about ensuring a livable future, not just for us but for everyone and all life.鈥�

The U.S. military has come to occupy more than 250,000 acres of land across the island chain, taking up more than 20% of the land on the island of O驶ahu alone. Nearly half of the military鈥檚 combined acreage is also on so-called ceded lands, which were annexed of K膩naka Maoli or their sovereign government.

The Red Hill fuel facility is just a few miles from Pu驶uloa, also called Pearl Harbor. Prior to contact, Pu驶uloa was one of the most abundant food sources in the islands, rich with marine resources, and numerous loko i驶a (traditional fishponds) and lo驶i kalo (taro patches). It was fed by the water of 12 different watersheds and served as the seat of political power for Hawaiian royalty.

This was destroyed by the dredging of the Pearl Harbor Naval Station in the late 1870s. Today it is one the most contaminated military installations in the nation, with six Superfund sites.  

According to a , in the waters surrounding O驶ahu, the U.S. military has dumped thousands of bombs, tons of unspecified toxins, hydrogen cyanide, and 4 million gallons of radioactive waste liquid. In 2019, the military was also found to have dumped 500,000 pounds of nitrate compounds鈥�. 

As recently as January 8, 2024, the Navy released of partially treated wastewater into Pu驶uloa鈥檚 waters after heavy rains knocked out a power transformer. This came a year after the Department of Health ordered the Navy to pay $9 million in fines for hundreds of at the water treatment plant.

The location of the Pearl Harbor Memorial鈥攖he popular tourist destination for the sunken battleship the USS Arizona鈥攊s also home to an active oil leak that has been spewing fuel since World War II. Its iridescent toxins float visibly on the water鈥檚 surface at all times. Despite having the equipment and knowledge to clean up the spill, the military has chosen not to so as not to disturb the bodies of the 900 service members who lost their lives and remain entombed in the ship. This is a grace the military often hasn鈥檛 (ancestral bones) or sacred sites of K膩naka Maoli. 

The O驶ahu Water Protectors have spent the past two years holding the Navy and public officials accountable by creating awareness and helping mobilize thousands of people through social media campaigns, press conferences, protest marches, and calls to action. But these days, for the first time, K膩naka Maoli and their allies are standing together with military families who joined them to demand justice, accountability, clean water, and aid for the military鈥檚 affected service people and civilians. 

Wayne Tanaka, water protector and director of the Sierra Club, which successfully sued the Department of Health twice over regulations regarding Red Hill, says, 鈥淚 guess there鈥檚 a little bit of irony in [members of the military joining the movement], but also a lot of inspiration. To see people from completely different backgrounds coalescing around the bigger picture鈥攑rotecting what we need to thrive, what we need to give the best chance to have a bright future for our kids鈥攊t鈥檚 been so inspiring to witness and gives me hope to come together to tackle some of these existential crises that we鈥檙e facing.鈥�

Water Protectors and Military Families Working Together

When families in Kapilina Beach Homes鈥攃ivilian housing southwest of Joint Base Pearl Harbor鈥揌ickham鈥攂egan getting ill, they were told by both Kapilina apartment management and the Navy鈥檚 emergency operation commander that they weren鈥檛 on the Navy water line. After that was proven to be false, those in Kapilina were offered nothing. Active military members, in contrast, were given water and housing in hotels for months. 

The , despite various residents鈥� reports of sheens on the water, odors, and health problems. Sampling from the EPA determined there are still hydrocarbons in the water and advised the Navy to investigate the root cause and provide water to affected residents.

K膩naka Maoli veteran Aidyn-Rhys King, with his wife, Mandie, and roommate Xavier Bonilla, were among the several affected in Kapilina. They, alongside O驶ahu Water Protector Mikey Inouye, formed Shut Down Red Hill Mutual Aid (SDRHMA) shortly after the leak, which has been providing water to that community every month since. 

In addition to clean water, the SDRHMA collective has also been providing the affected community with political education, resources, and tools to organize themselves for justice and accountability. They also hold community picnics to give military families and others affected a safe forum to share concerns. Through this organizing, they have been able to build solidarity between military families and K膩naka Maoli, so the historically opposing groups can communicate together, learn each other鈥檚 histories, and figure out how everyone can show up for each other鈥檚 struggles.   

鈥淚t鈥檚 a bridge that many of us never thought to be possible within the next 10 years, but is now possible because of this terrible crisis,鈥� says Inouye.  

Jamie Blair Williams, who lived at Red Hill Mauka Army housing, eventually became a core member of the group. Williams, whose spouse is in the Coast Guard, was who got ill and continued to get ill after drinking and bathing in water that the Department of Health reported had petroleum levels 350 times higher than the department considers safe.  

Williams also lost her two dogs, her home, and thousands of dollars in personal belongings contaminated by the water. She, alongside thousands of others, are part of various litigations against their housing complexes and the Navy, who denied their health concerns were related to the fuel leak. A mass tort, with more than 1,000 litigants, is set to go to trial in 2024. Another mass tort claim, in which Williams is the lead plaintiff, will go to trial in 2025. 

Williams got involved with the water protectors after she, like many, felt that affected residents were being denied salient information. She posted a video from her home鈥檚 security camera showing Army officials talking about hazards worse than fuel on her property. She made the video public on social media in hopes that it would force more transparency from the military. 

Inouye amplified the video鈥檚 reach on the O驶ahu Water Protectors鈥� social media pages and invited Williams to a sign waving. Already looking for ways to get involved in the activism, but not sure where to begin, Williams accepted and has since participated in panels, protests, and joined the O驶ahu Water Protectors in a demonstration in front of the White House. 

Inouye also helped get her and others associated with the military access to M膩kua Valley鈥�5,000 acres of land that was seized during World War II for live-fire practice. Back then, K膩naka Maoli were evicted with the promise that their lands would be cleaned up and returned after the war. Nearly 80 years later, that hasn鈥檛 happened, and much of the valley鈥檚 native forests and cultural sites have since been destroyed by wildfires. 

In 1996, the nonprofit M膩lama M膩kua formed for the preservation, community access, and return of the valley. Due to a court-sanctioned Cultural Access Agreement in 2002, M膩lama M膩kua is given cultural access to the valley twice a month, which is how Williams was able to see it. And in December 2023, the military training there. Many credit the nonprofit for this decision.

Williams says she came to Hawai驶i with a very surface-level understanding of the contentious relationship between the military and K膩naka Maoli, but after multiple trips to M膩kua, now her understanding is deeper in a way that she says feels knitted into the fabric of who she is. Though she also adds, 鈥淎s someone who is not Indigenous, the true depth of pain that comes with when you are part of a culture that considers wai (water) and 驶腻颈苍补 (land) as a spiritual part of human existence and the kind of violence that the military then unleashes and how that injures you as a human being, as an individual, and as a community, I鈥檒l just never fully be able to understand.鈥�

Collective Successes

Near the one-year anniversary of the 2021 leak at the Red Hill facility, yet another leak occurred: 1,300 gallons of toxic fire-suppression foam leaked from the facility. The foam is a per- and polyfluoroalkyl substance (PFAS)鈥攁 鈥渇orever chemical鈥� that does not break down naturally.

Twelve days later, thousands of demonstrators, including the O驶ahu Water Protectors and 65 other organizations, coalesced in a 鈥淲alk for Wai.鈥� They were led by Ernie Lau, the manager and chief engineer of the Board of Water Supply, as they marched from Ke驶ehi Lagoon to the Navy Exchange. 

Despite having called for the aquifer鈥檚 protection for years, this was Lau鈥檚 first time joining to publicly support the group鈥檚 efforts to pressure the Navy. 鈥淚t鈥檚 time for me to come out of the box and not be a typical government official that stays in his office,鈥� he told .

The Board of Water Supply recently filed a claim for $1.2 billion against the Navy to cover the costs of the crisis.  

The collective efforts of water protectors and military-affiliated organizers on O驶ahu over the past two years eventually forced the Department of Defense to order the Red Hill facility be shut down and emptied of fuel. This is after the Department initially fought the facility鈥檚 closure. In the fall of 2023, more than 104 million gallons of fuel was removed from the Red Hill tanks. Some 64,000 gallons remain, which are set to be removed starting in January 2024, with permanent closure of Red Hill set for January 2027. 

Inouye says the reason why the military responded to their public pressure in such a historic way was because they saw that the situation was so bad that it threatened their future presence on the islands. Many of the 65-year land leases that the U.S. military obtained for a mere $1 in the 1960s will expire starting in 2029. If the leases aren鈥檛 renewed, the military may be forced to vacate. Activists have already begun . 

Many water protectors say they are not done organizing around Red Hill until the last drop of fuel is out of the facility, and there is a guarantee of no future use. Still, the movement they have built has been a success in many ways. They have created lasting systemic change through education, mutual understanding, and learning how to show up for one another鈥檚 struggles, which Inouye says involves more of a deep organizing approach within communities.

鈥淚t happens at a person-to-person level, neighbor to neighbor. While not as flashy as thousands of people at a protest, it鈥檚 the type of work required to build towards disruptions that actually create a crisis for decision-makers of powerful institutions,鈥� says Inouye. This way, he added, when it鈥檚 time to mobilize for larger issues, it鈥檚 not a call to action for strangers, but a call to action to comrades who have organized their own community.

Water protectors, impacted residents, affected members affiliated with the military, and Sierra Club representatives in a Community Representative Initiative (CRI) as part of a consent decree the Navy signed with the EPA and the state of Hawai驶i. After , federal officials did not attend the next meeting in January 2024, . The O驶ahu Water Protectors contend that the CRI was created as 鈥�.鈥�

鈥淲hat鈥檚 still up in the air is whether this giant bureaucracy will also be able to acknowledge the bigger picture鈥攖hat it鈥檚 not within our national security interests to jeopardize resources we need to survive the climate crisis, especially water,鈥� Tanaka says.

Kalehua Krug is one of the organizers of Ka驶ohewai, a coalition of Hawaiian organizations that erected a ceremonial 办辞驶补, or fishing shrine, in front of the U.S. Pacific Fleet command headquarters days after the 2021 leak. It remains there today to create awareness and serve as a place for the Hawaiian community to gather.

鈥淓ducation is the only proactive way we have to reshape reality,鈥� Krug says. 

Krug is the principal of the Ka Waihona o ka Na驶auao Public Charter School, where students are taught through a culturally informed educational model that centers the Indigenous worldview. He teaches them about kinship with nature and the importance of water so they can appreciate, love, and care for it鈥攁nd then grow up to have more ethical values around how to treat the world.

Whereas mainstream culture鈥檚 attachment to the idea of progress is to leave the past behind, Krug says, 鈥淚t鈥檚 the past that informs the future.鈥欌�� He points to the fact that before colonization, Native Hawaiians developed ways to live on the islands sustainably for thousands of years in ecological harmony. With that data, he says, 鈥淲e鈥檝e got enough science to rebuild the world.鈥� And he says an Indigenous worldview, at this point, is a must for everyone on the planet: 鈥淲e鈥檝e all got to behave different.鈥�

In 2014 when we started , on the rare occasions that climate and reproduction were discussed together, they were always framed the wrong way around: focusing on childbearing鈥檚 impact on the climate. As we began talking with people about their reproductive lives in a changing climate, we found that populationist rhetoric was a major obstacle to just having this conversation. In early media coverage we were often wrongly assumed to be populationists. The deeply ingrained population myth has been pervasive in the Global North for so long that it is now largely understood as common sense.

Those of us in the United States are living in a dangerous confusion of policies that both push and pull at all our rights to reproductive self-determination. The narrative is not as simple as 鈥渉ave more babies鈥� or 鈥渉ave fewer babies.鈥� Rather, it is: 鈥淵our body is not your own.鈥� Today more than ever, beware of population 鈥渟olutions,鈥� which are at best ineffective, instrumentalizing, and freighted by white supremacy and classism. Whatever problem it names, the population 鈥渟olution鈥� punches down, enabling powerful players to evade responsibility while continuing to harm.

As we have learned from justice movements鈥攁nd faith traditions鈥攖he path is the goal. The values we hold dear, of self and community sovereignty, anti-fascism, and human rights, are what we enact to find our way to the world we want to live in. There are no shortcuts through gray areas.

Someone Else鈥檚 Babies

Look in the Conceivable Future inbox and you鈥檒l see a folder that Josephine, in a moment of inspiration, labeled 鈥渂arf.鈥� In it you鈥檒l find some of the worst emails we鈥檝e gotten over the years; trolls and bullies, mostly. But one notable genre of unsolicited communication is a kind of amateur policy paper from aspiring authoritarians about how to control the global population. The authors tend to be from the United States, Canada, or Western Europe, mostly (but not exclusively) men, and although they don鈥檛 always share their demographic information, they tend to be white and of retirement age. Their 10-point plans will propose some combination of carrot-and-stick strategies for reducing births, and they typically want us to elevate their plan. Maybe we could send it on to the UN, or share it through our socials?

Some other features these strange missives have in common: The authors think they鈥檝e arrived at an ignored鈥攐r unjustly repressed鈥攕olution; they think it鈥檚 the silver bullet; they think we are an anti-natalist group and therefore simpatico to their program; they鈥檙e touting the affordability of this vs. other more popular climate initiatives.

We put these and other letters in the barf box for a few reasons. First, because these individuals fundamentally misunderstand what we鈥檙e trying to accomplish, but we save them because they tell us about what we鈥檙e dealing with. Second, as should be clear by now, we find these letters deeply disturbing. And third, we have to make some horrors into a joke or we鈥檇 never get out of our beds, let alone open the inbox.

We will never achieve a more just world by curtailing people鈥檚 reproduction. We don鈥檛 get there by control, coercion, or force. The future we are struggling for stands on a foundation of human rights, in which we share and defend full self-sovereignty.

The argument for population control is based on three interwoven and equally toxic assumptions: first, that rapid population growth is the cause of 鈥渦nderdevelopment鈥� in the Global South; second, that policy should persuade (or if necessary, force) people to have fewer children rather than improving the conditions in which they live, and; third, that some combination of finance, managerial, technological, and Western intervention techniques can 鈥渄eliver鈥� birth control to the Global South in a top-down fashion in the absence of comprehensive health care. In the priority promotion of contraceptives, the premise is clearly that pregnancy prevention matters most.

These days population-focused international aid work 颈蝉苍鈥檛 synonymous with human rights violations. The ongoing problem is in the priorities. Jade Sasser, a professor in the Department of Gender and Sexuality at the University of California, Riverside, learned this firsthand as a Peace Corps volunteer in Madagascar, and later as an NGO worker focused on family planning. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not like I am suggesting that these institutions are sending people into poor countries to coercively round people up and sterilize them or anything like that,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a narrative. But that narrative makes it possible to fund particular kinds of work. And where that work is problematic is, for example, in places where, let鈥檚 say, girls and women have all sorts of reproductive challenges and health issues and health concerns. But when they go to the clinic, the only kind of reproductive services they can access are family planning services and maybe STI prevention.鈥�

Population scholar and author Betsy Hartmann describes how contradictory political views have converged on this singular issue: 鈥淭he early Neo-Malthusians supported birth control as a means of improving the condition of the poor by limiting population growth; feminists and socialists believed it was a fundamental woman鈥檚 right; eugenicists embraced it as a way of influencing genetic quality. These strange bedfellows combined to give the birth control movement its unique character: It carried within it the seeds of birth control as a liberating force, as well as a means of coercive population control.鈥�

Unwelcome Interventions

Although this thinking developed as part of an international development agenda, countries have engaged this ideology domestically, plenty. In the United States alone, the government, as well as NGOs, have repressed the reproductive rights of Indigenous women and women of color by implicit and explicit policies for hundreds of years, from the foundational policies of genocide, slavery, and abuse to the present day. Between 1909 and 1979 approximately 20,000 people were forcibly sterilized in California, a practice that continues to this day in Canada and elsewhere. In the United States, the idea of the IUD as a 鈥渃ure鈥� for poverty has a disturbing hold on public discourse, and as recently as 2017, judges have shaved off sentence time for people who agree to undergo sterilization procedures. Black women are still disproportionately targeted for violent reproductive interventions, including abortion, sterilization, and contraception.

These practices are rooted in a lethal trifecta of sexism, racism, and classism. Cultural attitudes about population amplify beliefs about who is a 鈥渇it鈥� mother. And the concept of 鈥渇itness,鈥� in turn, derives from ideas about who is or is not a valuable human being or (in the eugenicist tradition) what are 鈥渧aluable鈥� traits and genes. Around the world we find legacies of reproductive violence and oppression.

The Magdalene Laundries of Ireland are one notorious example. The Laundries were part of an interlocking system of orphanages, industrial schools, 鈥渕other and baby homes鈥� for unwed mothers, and church-run institutions in which thousands of Irish citizens were once confined. Roman Catholic orders of nuns ran the (for-profit) laundries, and women and girls were made to work there, nominally as a form of penance for their sins. The laundries were filled not only with 鈥渇allen women鈥濃�攑rostitutes, women who became pregnant without being married or as a result of sexual abuse鈥攂ut also those who simply failed to conform to the expectations of their society. Children born to women in the laundries had their names changed and were adopted out without their mothers鈥� consent.

As another example: During the early years of the Salvadoran Civil War, which lasted from 1979 to 1992, the military, which had led a coup, took thousands of children from their (anti-coup) families. The children鈥檚 identities were changed and they were sent abroad for adoption, primarily to the United States and Europe. In other words, El Salvador also 鈥渄isappeared鈥� children of people who were identified as insurgents, as a way of controlling adults. These operations were carried out by lawyers with military contacts and foreign adoption centers that watchdogs have since flagged as part of the international human trafficking black market.

As recently as May 2017, a Tennessee judge issued a standing order allowing inmates to receive 30 days鈥� jail credit in exchange for undergoing a voluntary鈥攆or the dubious value of voluntarism while incarcerated鈥攕terilization procedure. The message here was unmistakable: that people who wind up in prison should be bribed to rescind their human right to have children.

As all three of these examples show, when powerful people make moves to determine who is 鈥渇it鈥� to be bearing and raising children, these determinations target marginalized people, and women specifically, marginalized communities more broadly, and often reward families from the dominant group, sometimes even with the children of those marginalized groups. Even when those biases are not an explicit policy, wealthy people are more apt to be considered fit parents. These practices have been a weapon used by the powerful to control the less powerful. This is the history of population movements鈥攁 history we must learn, and whose wounds are still open.

Populationism and Climate

This kind of paternalistic repression is having a renaissance in the context of the climate crisis. Our movement鈥檚 recent history shows us that when our societal focus shifts to policing the behavior of private citizens, we can be handily distracted from the crimes being committed right over our heads. Confronted with an urgent need for change, whom do we pressure for that change: those with the most or the least power? One of those projects is certainly easier than the other.

And since its early days, the mainstream environmental movement has recruited these strategies in service of 鈥渃onservation鈥� goals. For instance, the best-selling book The Population Bomb, written by Paul and Anne Ehrlich and published in 1968 at the suggestion of then-director of the Sierra Club David Brewer, predicted worldwide famine in the 1970s and 1980s due to overpopulation. It also prophesied other major upheavals and advocated immediate action to limit population growth (suggestions in the book included the idea of adding birth control to the food or water supplies). The Sierra Club鈥攐ne of the best-known environmental organizations then, and now鈥攁ctually sponsored publication of the book, and during the 1980s some members (including Anne Ehrlich) steered the group into the field of U.S. immigration, arguing that overpopulation was a significant factor in environmental degradation and advocating halting and reducing U.S. and world populations. In 1988, the organization鈥檚 Population Committee and Conservation Coordinating Committee argued publicly that immigration to the United States should be limited so as to achieve population stabilization.

When population control and border control efforts converge, it鈥檚 easy to see that both programs are built to uphold the inequality of the status quo. And even when the tactics are not explicitly violent, the paternalistic disregard for people鈥檚 rights is plainly evident. Overpopulation is an ideology; it diverts criticisms of capitalist consumption and unequal distribution by blaming devalued people鈥攎ostly women, and often poor women鈥攆or reproducing. It serves to justify a system (capitalism) that creates needs among many while satisfying them only for the very few.

The most notorious and widespread campaign to control population size was China鈥檚 One Child policy, which began in 1979 and continued for more than three decades. In some environmental corners this policy is even quietly admired; by the Chinese government鈥檚 projections, its population would have been 1.8 billion without it, instead of today鈥檚 1.435 billion. Some scholars dispute this claim, arguing that 鈥渁s much as three-quarters of the decline in fertility since 1970 occurred before the launching of the one-child policy鈥� and that 鈥渕ost of the further decline in fertility since 1980 can be attributed to economic development, not coercive enforcement of birth limits.鈥� Aside from the policy鈥檚 matter-of-fact disregard for citizens鈥� human rights, it also caused major societal problems, including the proliferation of sex-selective abortions and the resulting scarcity of adult women, and the emotional scars that people continue to carry after forced abortions, sterilizations, and massive fines and jail sentences for violating the law.

And while this was happening, China鈥檚 emissions rose to surpass those of the United States. Turns out that human rights abuses aren鈥檛 the key to decarbonization, after all.

To its credit, the Sierra Club has reversed many of its organizational positions on population and done so quite publicly (although there are still groups within the Sierra Club advocating for a return to a population orientation, and the controversy resurfaced when three anti-immigration proponents ran in the 2004 Sierra Club Board of Directors election). But these harmful ideas about population are still firmly lodged in the public consciousness; ideas that logically manifest in racist, xenophobic, and violent ways. The men who perpetrated mass shootings in Christchurch, New Zealand, and El Paso, Texas, cited 鈥渙verpopulation鈥� as a reason they targeted immigrants, many of whom are fleeing the devastating effects of climate change in their home countries. It is a short step from viewing 鈥渙verpopulation鈥� as a problem to any number of violent 鈥渟olutions.鈥�

The Struggle of Parenting in the U.S.

One of the most painful ironies of these ambitions to control women鈥檚 reproduction is that they鈥檙e functionally unnecessary when the U.S. government offers so little support to women when they actually become mothers. In other words, what all of the emails in the barf box overlook is that the United States is already perfecting anti-natalist policies in all but name. As we explored in more detail in the last chapter, the United States is the least welcoming place out of all the wealthy countries for new parents. Asthma and other diseases are on the rise from deregulated air pollution, fracking chemicals, and other industry contaminants. Health care costs are staggering. An uncomplicated hospital birth costs $32,093 on average. Maternal mortality is higher in the States than it is among peer countries, criminally so for women of color. Food deserts abound in our cities; public schools are shuttering or starving for funds; daycare costs more than college in many places, never mind the costs of college itself.

Even bracketing the climate crisis, anyone considering a family in this place, at this point in time, is already assuming a burden of medical and financial risk. And each of these factors that weigh against people鈥檚 reproductive lives are doubly weighted against people of color.

As Sasser found when she interviewed American women aged 20 to 40 about their feelings toward climate and reproduction, her subjects鈥� emotional experiences were strongly conditioned by race. She spoke with women from across the racial spectrum, and she found a high concordance among all participants鈥� concerns. But for women of color, 鈥渢he concerns about climate change, the concerns about mental health issues were heavily compounded by experiences of racism and perceptions, and experiences of racial vulnerability. Meaning: The women of color interviewed strongly perceived that their children would already be saddled by issues of inequality just for existing as Black or Brown, or Indigenous. So that they would have to fight to ensure that they had quality education in school. That their children would at some point potentially have to face the criminal justice system or deal with police, police brutality, police violence, or just being treated differently by police. They knew that their children at some point would have to deal with some kind of racial discrimination that would be very hurtful to 迟丑别尘.鈥�

As we mentioned before, most of the population-control epistles in our barf box have come from older white men who usually have a child or two, maybe grandchildren of their own. They tend toward the egalitarian edge of a broader trend because they include white, middle-class American women in the population they intend to control. But the trend is this: They find it easier to imagine reshaping young people鈥檚 reproductive lives than to even imagine reshaping parts of the economy. They have had children, but they are here to tell us that we 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛, for our own good; they made no sacrifice themselves, but they are writing to demand it of their young, while blithely ignoring the toxicity, injustice, and lack of support that already inhibits American reproductive freedoms.

In other words, young people in the United States don鈥檛 need any more disincentives to have families鈥攚e already live in a country that is outright hostile to parents and children. And indeed, the U.S. birthrate hit a 32-year low in 2018, with Millennials reporting that they are having 1.5 fewer children than they鈥檇 like to have, on average. And the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated what was already there; birth rates plummeted in wealthy countries, including in the United States.

This shows us two things: First, many climate-minded people badly need to learn about the reproductive realities in this country. And second, that even people with a wrongheaded but sincere concern about climate change (the writers of these proposals, for instance) seem to think it鈥檚 easier to tell a whole generation what to do with our bodies than to put the fossil fuel industry on notice.

A Flawed Climate 鈥淔ix鈥�

Present-day population advocates are eager to put distance between the 鈥渄ark past鈥� and present day 鈥渆mpowerment鈥�-focused family planning programs. And indeed, voluntary access to birth control is a marked improvement from crimes of coercion and violence. But even in its most empowering form there are, to us, three major and connected flaws in the arguments for smaller populations as a 鈥渃limate fix.鈥�

The first is that these arguments provide cover for eugenicist dogma, whether we consciously espouse it or not. Women in India are having too many babies. New Hampshire trailer trash doesn鈥檛 know how to use birth control. These accusations鈥攔eal-life examples both鈥攁re both racist and classist; how many times have you heard a middle-class white woman accused of having 鈥渢oo many babies鈥�? In fact, in the early days of Conceivable Future organizing, we鈥攖wo white women鈥攚ere frequently told by white observers, 鈥渂ut you鈥檙e the people who should be having children.鈥� (This was a particular irony because Meghan was not always a middle-class person and is from a relatively large family herself. She moved from being told she 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 have babies to being told that she should, as she moved into the middle class.)

We encountered another manifestation of this bias when at several house parties we met white middle-class women, confident they never wanted to become pregnant, who couldn鈥檛 find a doctor that would perform a voluntary sterilization on them. The difficulties some women face in getting a sterilization procedure as a form of contraception are longstanding and well-documented. In this country鈥檚 context of involuntary sterilizations for BIPOC women and incarcerated people, the irony is ghoulish. It鈥檚 important to note that 鈥渙verpopulation鈥� is a term used overwhelmingly to describe the demographics of poor areas and/or nations. In punditry about rich countries, we鈥檙e much more likely to hear about 鈥渦nderpopulation鈥� and its purported negative effects on the capitalist economy.

The argument鈥檚 second flaw is that it offers convenient scapegoats for systemic overconsumption in the rich parts of the world. Population relates to climate harm only to the degree that populations exploit resources and emit carbon. No one has emitted more than Americans. It鈥檚 not the number of people alone; arguments about 鈥渙ptimum population鈥� (such as those that Ehrlich is still making) ignore or minimize the systemic nature of resource consumption. Waste is a feature, not a bug in our industrialized systems: look to planned obsolescence, low-gas-mileage vehicles, and the excesses of conventional agriculture. A recent study claimed that every other bite of food in the United States is waste. Nothing about being a human requires this, nor does it correlate with happiness or a high quality of life.

To bring this home we鈥檝e often said that if everyone on earth consumed the way the American upper and middle classes consume, we would need an additional 4.5 to 6 Earths鈥� worth of resources to sustain ourselves鈥攁 fact absent from much populationist rhetoric. But in early 2023 a study published in Ecological Economics broke the population argument down even more finely along consumption inequality lines. We asked the authors of this study to help us put it in plain terms, and Jared Starr obliged in an email:

鈥淭he Global Footprint Network estimates that if everyone consumed like the average American we would need 5.1 Earths (in 2018鈥攖he latest year I found data for). Carbon emissions alone account for 3.65 Earths. We find that average top 0.1% U.S. households have emissions 23x higher (954 tons) than the U.S. average. Multiplying how many Earths are needed for average Americans鈥� carbon emissions (3.65) times 23 I estimate that if everyone on the planet emitted carbon like an average top 0.1% U.S. household we would need 84 planet Earths.鈥�

The data gets richer. Starr pointed us to a study about carbon emissions from 20 billionaires, which found that average emissions of those people were 194 times higher than an average American household. Using these numbers, Starr told us, 鈥淚f everyone on the planet emitted carbon like a billionaire, we would need something like 700 planet Earths.鈥�

These numbers certainly put a fine point on where the culpability for carbon emissions lies. (Spoiler: It 颈蝉苍鈥檛 on the shoulders of women seeking affordable health care from international aid organizations.)

So let us be perfectly clear: We need policies that balance a global standard for quality of life with rapid decarbonization and with a progressive focus on dematerialization for the West. No valid policy involves repressing human rights or outsourcing responsibility.

The other big problem with the population climate 鈥渇ix鈥� is that it instrumentalizes women鈥檚 bodies and our health care, especially in the Global South. In other words, this perspective assumes that women should be able to access health care, contraception, and education because those things support the goals of decarbonization. And it鈥檚 worse than that: The real point is that if the goal of family planning services is to reduce population growth鈥攔ather than to support the freedom of people to determine the number and spacing of their own children鈥攚omen can expect inferior care. Earlier Sasser described how the narrow overfocus on contraception she witnessed as a Peace Corps volunteer in Madagascar was not serving the sexual and reproductive health of the people she intended to help.

When she returned to Madagascar years later on a research trip for her dissertation, she had conversations with friends working in USAID, who were overseeing the funding of clinics throughout the entire country, that illuminated the central conflict of interest. She asked her friends how USAID was serving reproductive health clinics that might be helpful to the community she served: 鈥溾�榃hat are you doing that I could maybe bring back to this town that I had lived in to better help girls avoid pregnancy?鈥� And I discovered that there was a strategic plan as to where these services would be prioritized, the reproductive health services that were funded by USAID. And it was all around national parks and conservation sites.鈥�

The implicit priority here was to keep population numbers low to preserve pristine landscapes and rare animals, and, presumably, the revenue that these places generate as tourist destinations. In this view, more pregnancies would lead to more demand for land, water, firewood, and so forth, and perhaps eventually more poachers. Sasser continues, 鈥淚 was like, What is going on here?!? There are not more girls getting pregnant near parks and conservation sites. Why would your environmental agenda be the agenda that organizes and determines the population reproductive health and family planning agenda? Honestly, if there is one moment that I can point to where a light switch flipped on for me, that was it.鈥�

And this was not an isolated situation of conservation policy determining the kind of care women received. In 2019, Sasser and a colleague co-published an article 鈥渁bout the services that are offered to people in health clinics [and] reproductive clinics in Madagascar, in areas that are near marine conservation sites.鈥� Her colleague who did the fieldwork discovered 鈥渙ver, and over again that even when women came into clinics for other concerns, with other needs, wanting other services, they were consistently steered toward contraceptives.鈥� That is: First, these clinics essentially defined 鈥渨omen鈥檚 health鈥� as their capacity to get pregnant, and second, they used birth control for their own conservation goals, rather than any health goals belonging to the women themselves.

Educating Boys and Detoxifying Masculinity

In the popular climate solutions handbook Drawdown, 鈥淓ducating Girls鈥� and 鈥淔amily Planning鈥� are ranked as #6 and #7, valued at a combined 51.48 gigaton reduction of CO2. The author clarifies that 鈥渨hen family planning focuses on health care provision and meeting women鈥檚 expressed needs, empowerment, equality, and well-being are the result; the benefits to the planet are side effects.鈥� Even so, those side effects are the whole point of the book. Access to education and family planning are human rights, and they are rights that women deserve because we are human beings. By treating access to those rights as a means to carbon reduction鈥攐r habitat protection鈥攔ather than an end unto itself, climate groups continue to behave toward women as though we are second-class citizens, or simply valves to be turned.

In fact, a recent study shows that conformity to masculine stereotypes correlates with environmentally harmful behaviors. 鈥淐aring about the environment鈥� is widely seen as a feminine set of behaviors, so a person concerned with appearing masculine is measurably less likely to recycle, value fuel efficiency when purchasing a car, and so on. And it鈥檚 not just men upholding a bizarrely fossil-fueled masculine ideal: Georgia Representative Marjorie Taylor-Green claimed that 鈥淒emocrats like Pete Buttigieg want to emasculate the way we drive and force all of you to rely on electric vehicles.鈥�

We are eager for the debut of the Drawdown program鈥檚 鈥淓ducating Boys and Detoxifying Masculinity鈥� targets.

This kind of discourse鈥攖he 鈥渓et鈥檚 support women鈥檚 health care only as a means to carbon-reduction鈥� discourse鈥攅xists in the context of a culture that鈥檚 generally only interested in women鈥檚 health insofar as it serves some other purpose. The medical establishment has a well-documented male bias and a tragically consistent history of ignoring women鈥檚 health care needs. Dr. Kate Young, a public health researcher at Monash University in Australia, has found that women are often viewed by their doctors as 鈥渞eproductive bodies with hysterical tendencies鈥濃�攁n orientation from which flow any number of distorted outcomes. Medical experts routinely dismiss women鈥檚 health care complaints as invented or psychological, making comments like 鈥淭here鈥檚 a lot of psychology, just as much as there is pathology [in gynecology].鈥� One doctor claimed that he鈥檇 never met a fibromyalgia patient who wasn鈥檛 鈥渂atshit crazy.鈥�

And these experiences鈥攚hile present for many women all over the world鈥攁re especially present for Black women in the United States. In a now well-known story, tennis superstar Serena Williams had to bring the full force of her stardom to bear before her postpartum blood clot was taken seriously by medical staff. 鈥淲hen you are a Black woman, having a body is already complicated for workplace politics,鈥� writes Tressie McMillan Cottom in Time magazine. 鈥淗aving a bleeding, distended body is especially egregious.鈥� The medical establishment filters Black women through assumptions of incompetence. 鈥淲hen the medical profession systematically denies the existence of Black women鈥檚 pain, underdiagnoses our pain, refuses to alleviate or treat our pain, health care marks us as incompetent bureaucratic subjects. Then it serves us accordingly,鈥� she concludes.

The point here is that alternately ignoring and instrumentalizing female bodies is a long tradition that is shaped and torqued by race, class, and geography. The current discourse of women鈥檚-health-qua-climate-solution fits neatly within a long-standing patriarchal tendency to view women as simply 鈥渞eproductive bodies with hysterical tendencies鈥� and to treat us accordingly. That is: Women, and our experience of our health, are routinely dismissed and ignored, except when someone gets the idea that managing our fertility in some way would be good鈥攁nd let鈥檚 be clear, cost effective鈥攆or some other social agenda. Other such agendas have included: populating the Fatherland, producing more people to enslave, and preventing the reproduction of those deemed less worthy.

At this moment in time, the desired outcome is cheap and 鈥渆asy鈥� carbon reduction.

Here is the bedrock belief from which we challenge these views: Women are human beings, and we deserve health care, which includes full-spectrum reproductive care, because we are human beings. Not because many of us have uteruses, or because those uteruses could be requisitioned to produce more鈥攐r fewer鈥攑eople.

This excerpt from听The Conceivable Future: Planning Families and Taking Action in the Age of Climate Change听by Meghan Elizabeth Kallman and Josephine Ferorelli (Rowman & Littlefield, 2024) appears by permission of the publisher.听

This story is the third in a three-part series produced in partnership with , an editorially independent magazine about nature and conservation powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Read parts 1 and 2 here.

The species is listed as endangered in the state of Washington and threatened under the federal Endangered Species Act. But lynx once existed in abundance in Washington state鈥攊ncluding on the Tribes鈥� ancestral territories鈥攂efore colonization, habitat destruction, trapping, and climate-change-worsened wildfires all took their toll. These compounding factors have had a lasting impact on the region鈥檚 lynx population.

While the cats are protected in the United States, they are still trapped without limit in British Columbia. Many of these lynx might otherwise migrate south across the border. But without that natural influx, human-aided immigration may be necessary for the survival of lynx, at least in Washington state. In 2013, an interagency task force was formed and affirmed the importance of the Kettle Range in conserving lynx in the U.S. because of its viable connection to existing habitats and populations north of the border. 

Climate change and the growing threat of catastrophic wildfires are key reasons for the lynx鈥檚 precarious conservation status. While lower-intensity fires historically created mosaics of lynx habitat, massive wildfires, which began in earnest throughout the region in 2002, have burned entire swaths of the Okanagan Mountain Range, which contains one of the state鈥檚 few core lynx habitats. By 2019, fires like these had substantially impacted 50% of the suitable lynx range in the Okanagan Mountains.

In this era of climate change, widespread drought, and wildfires of increasing frequency and intensity, the already small lynx population in Washington could soon be left without adequate habitat. Lynx disappearing from the state has become a real possibility.

Sanpoil District wildlife biologist Rose Piccinini, who is not a tribal member, grew up close to the land, due north of the reservation in an area known as the 鈥淣orth Half,鈥� where the Tribes maintain their traditional hunting, fishing, and gathering rights. 鈥淚 always am proud to say that I work for the Tribe, and I think part of it is that connection to the land and the connection to the animals, and the holistic way the Tribe looks at managing,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 work in a vacuum, only looking at lynx and lynx habitat, but recognizing that all of the animals are important, and part of the picture and part of that balance that we鈥檙e trying to restore.鈥�

Assessments conducted by Washington State University and the nonprofit Conservation Northwest between 2013 and 2019 determined the Kettle Mountains still contained a small number of likely transient lynx and adequate habitat and food for lynx to be reestablished there, despite the heavy impacts that megafires have had in the Okanogan Mountains. 

With this evidence in hand, Whitney, as the Tribes鈥� wildlife department director, gave his department the go-ahead to jump on board. The five-year plan was to translocate 10 lynx per year from British Columbia to the Colville Reservation. They hoped the lynx would make their homes there and begin to reproduce. In addition to restoring the community, a major goal was to provide an additional population in western North America, as well as increase the chances of connectivity with lynx in B.C. and an existing population in the Okanagan highlands. 

The first season, which ran from November 2021 to February 2022, saw three of the nine introduced lynx return to Canada. One of those later made her way back down to the Kettle Mountains, demonstrating that north-south connectivity was not only possible but happening. 

During the second season, in October 2022, the team trapped and released the animals earlier in the fall instead of through winter as they had in the first year. 鈥淭hey had an opportunity to get the lay of the land before the winter,鈥� Piccinini says. The team trapped and released 10 lynx the second year, two of which had been captured the first year and had returned to B.C. Earlier this year, the team was planning to set up a geofence and use newer, better GPS collars to determine more precisely where and how lynx are moving between habitats, which may inform future wildlife corridor projects.

Now, at the beginning of the project鈥檚 third year, all metrics point to success. Of the surviving 17 lynx trapped and released in both years, 10 appear to have established themselves in the Kettle Range, while four have returned to B.C. Three of the relocated lynx have since died. This sobering news, however, is at least partially offset by the likelihood of a new litter of kittens born on lands north of the reservation boundary, which, if confirmed, will help bolster the local population. Piccinini is anxiously awaiting confirmation from trail cameras she and tribal members have set up in the area. Seven additional lynx were recently captured and of those five remain on the reservation.

The return of lynx to the Colville Confederated Tribes鈥� lands represents an important geographical reciprocity. Some of Whitney鈥檚 human relatives, too, are reestablishing themselves in B.C., where they once lived with the lynx, the salmon, the elk, and myriad other relatives. 鈥淲e鈥檙e intermingling,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey鈥檝e taken care of the habitat up there for us and ensured our return, so we鈥檙e helping them return as well.鈥�

The territory of Whitney鈥檚 band, the Sinixt, extends from Kettle Falls, in Washington state, to the Big Bend area north of Revelstoke, B.C. in 1956 as they were negotiating the first Columbia River Treaty. 鈥淭hey declared us extinct so they didn鈥檛 have to do anything,鈥� Whitney told me in his office in Inchelium, Washington, approximately 24 miles as the crow flies from Kettle Falls, which now lies dormant beneath Franklin D. Roosevelt 鈥淟ake.鈥�

In order to have the Sinixts鈥� rights recognized in Canada, Whitney鈥檚 uncle, Richard Desautel (after whom Whitney is named), shot an elk in British Columbia on traditional Sinixt territory and turned himself in to the provincial wildlife law enforcement agency. After a series of court victories and appeals in 2021, Desautel and the Sinixt in Canada that forced the government to recognize their Aboriginal rights in British Columbia. The Tribe recently opened an office in Nelson, B.C., to further assert those rights.

Meanwhile, the Tribes haven鈥檛 slowed their efforts to restore their community. Next up are burrowing owls, Whitney says, and if possible, buffalo. But only if they鈥檙e allowed to run free, he says. Whitney cites historical evidence of the presence of buffalo in the Tribes鈥� territory. 鈥淎 lot of stories I鈥檝e been told were of folks back in the day who would jump on their horses, ride over to Montana, and round up a bunch of buffalo and bring them back. And then they would persist, however many years, until they either ate them all, they dispersed too far, or they died,鈥� he says. The Kalispel Tribe recently gifted the Colville Confederated Tribes 33 buffalo, which they released on the range at the beginning of October. 鈥淥ur goals are being developed and will be compiled into a bison management plan over the winter months,鈥� Whitney says.

Whitney loves the work of restoring his community. 鈥淲e talk about animals like people, like friends,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 grew up in the woods learning about different animals, and spent time with my father and uncle. A lot of them aren鈥檛 around anymore,鈥� he says.

Whitney thinks back to a separate ceremonial release of salmon he participated in at the inundated site of Kettle Falls, where he released salmon into waters that hadn鈥檛 known them since the dam blocked access to their ancestral spawning grounds. 鈥淚t was pretty emotional,鈥� he says. Not long after, some of those same salmon were caught by anglers in the Canadian reaches of the Columbia River. 鈥淲e have proven that they will go to Canada,鈥� he says.

Indeed the salmon are once again traveling north, in parallel with Whitney and his Sinixt relatives in Canada. And along their way, the spawning fish the Tribes have released will provide them information about the suitability of spawning habitat along their journey. In turn, this will likely put pressure on the U.S. government to ensure that salmon can pass through the dams on the Columbia River and spawn through the Colville Confederated Tribes鈥� lands on up into the Canadian headwaters of the Columbia River.

Essentially, voice by voice, individual by individual, the Tribes are working together to restore, protect, and sustain their community on lands under their jurisdiction by managing those lands in line with their cultural and traditional values鈥攚ith the aid of science. By strengthening the very fabric of the ecosystems their ancestors have been stewarding since time immemorial, they鈥檙e strengthening their vital role in those systems鈥攊n that community, in that chorus. In this way, the community itself evolves together toward a natural balance that is abundant, resilient, and mutually reciprocal. 

鈥淚t makes my heart happy,鈥� Whitney says. 鈥淚t heals me.鈥�

This story is the third in a 3-part series produced in partnership with , an editorially independent magazine about nature and conservation powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Read part 1 here and part 2 here.

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 9:34 a.m. PT on Dec. 16, 2023, to clarify that the Tribes are referred to as the Colville Confederated Tribes or the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, not the Colville Confederacy. Read our corrections policy here.

Bok choy, broccoli rabe, and turnip share the same brassica rapa wild relative. They, like almost all produce, have been adjusted by human selection and intervention to be more palatable, appealing, or accessible to consumers. Plants are also manipulated based on the values of the societies they are in. Over generations of growing and eating, the flavors, compounds, and genetics merge into us. 

Human manipulations, however, are not always beneficial to the plant, the future generations of people who rely on them, or the ecosystem of which they are a part. 

Intensive breeding can lead to a spare genetic base. The Gros Michel banana was the only banana distributed throughout the world in the 1800s. It was loved for its sweet, distinct taste, but the banana鈥檚 lack of genetic diversity meant it was quickly eradicated when a fungus called Panama disease wiped out every banana plantation by 1950. This varietal has since been lost to commercial production giving way to the Cavendish banana.

This pattern occurs again and again through history. When Irish farmers planted almost exclusively one variety of potatoes, vast swaths of the vegetables died during a potato blight from 1845 to 1852, which pushed many people to emigrate to survive. 

So while resilience has been bred out of countless domesticated crops, an abundance of weeds choke farms and take over unnoticed spaces, like a message. 

Crops鈥� Uncertain Future

The threats to plants today are many. , or plant diseases, are spreading via new means and into new areas due to globalization and shifting weather patterns. Climate change, too, is palpably impacting crops鈥� ability to survive in unpredictable weather, elevations of CO₂, and the introduction of pests and fungi as a result of rising temperatures. Approximately $27 billion of insurance reimbursement was distributed to farmers for failed crops between 1991 and 2017, according to at Stanford University and the National Bureau of Economic Research鈥攁 number that is projected to go up. 

The states that plants become slower at photosynthesizing and more vulnerable to disease when they absorb many of the substances we鈥檙e pumping into our atmosphere, including ground-level ozone and pollution caused by chemical solvents. Plants also suffer when they encounter emissions and exhaust, such as smog, that interfere with their ability to absorb sunlight. 

Farming practices are due for an update in the face of climate change. So researchers, food activists, scientists, and agronomists are to the wisdom of plants that have fallen to the wayside or are growing abundantly without support or intervention鈥攐ften right beside existing crops. 

Feral plants were once cultivated in farm or garden settings. Then, either by manually crossing or naturally mixing with a wild species, their genetics adapted to the region they were in, which made them more resilient than others. As these plants emerge from the furrows and ditches, with their deep wells of genetic diversity intact, their long-ignored presence may offer a solution to strengthen and prepare vulnerable crops for novel climate conditions.

Harnessing Feral Resilience

In the 1400s, colonization spelled genocide for many peoples in the Americas. These disruptions also affected nonhuman species. Plants were brought with settlers鈥攐n purpose or on accident鈥攁nd forced to adapt to new environments to survive. In many cases these plants have come to thrive in their new environments and, in some cases, are spreading like wildfire over the land, outcompeting native plants who have important roles in their ecosystems. One of them, brassica rapa, incorporated itself into the lives of the Indigenous Rar谩muri people. 

In the narrow hills and valleys of the Copper Canyon in Chihuahua, Mexico, a field technician of Rar谩muri ancestry, Alejandro Nevares, works with the National Commission for the Knowledge and Use of Biodiversity on a plant preservation project with brassica rapa, known in the Rar谩muri language as Mekwaseri. 

Thanks to hundreds of years of intentional foraging and cultivation by the Rar谩muri in the region, Mekwaseri has become more tender and takes a longer time to bolt, or bloom, at which point it becomes bitter and tough. While other crops like corn and mushroom have suffered unpredictable seasons because of climate change in the region, according to Nevares, Mekwaseri continues to grow reliably. 

Similarly, rice paddies in Arkansas, where more than 50% of U.S. rice is cultivated, hold a secret that has been more of a burden to farmers than a boon. An invasive form of weedy rice known as 鈥渞ed rice鈥� has crept through the crop, mimicking the early stages of cultivated rice, but then shattering its seed, which stays dormant, sometimes for years at a time. So while this 鈥渨eed in rice鈥檚 clothing鈥� was long viewed as a problem for rice farmers, in Arkansas are working to de-domesticate the crop. They are crossing weedy rice with cultivated seed as a way to diversify the crop genetics and create a more adaptive species. 

Crops As Stories

Shelby Ellison, assistant professor and researcher for University of Wisconsin鈥揗adison鈥檚 Department of Plant and Agroecosystem Sciences, spends her time tromping through Midwestern autumnal fields, hopping over fences, and trekking into ditches in search of a plant that has long been elusive among American crops: hemp. At one point, the Midwest was a hub for fiber hemp, used for making rope and canvas. After the criminalization of cannabis, though, these plants were effectively destroyed.

But Midwesterners still know of ditchweed鈥攖he common name for a feral form of hemp鈥攚hich has persisted throughout the Midwest. 

Ditchweed has successfully adapted to its environment and diversified its genome. The plant is now decidedly feral. With all the space, it has grown huge, developing many uniquely long arms and bolstering its seed. These plants are resilient against various pathogens. Having survived many generations on their own, they have adapted to the climates and seasons of the region without human intervention. 

鈥淭here鈥檚 this push right now to develop cultivars that are adapted to the places where we live,鈥� Elison says. She pre-breeds these samples in a range of diverse environments to observe how they adapt in various scenarios in pursuit of outcomes that prove the plant to be resilient, or exhibit features that a prospective grower might be interested in.  

With each of the plants characterized, Elison then passes the seeds to Zachary Stansell, who says his 鈥渞esponsibility is to be a hoarder鈥� of germplasm at the USDA Agricultural Research Service鈥檚 Plant Genetic Resources Unit. This massive seed bank in Geneva, New York, collects and maintains the plants to be a resource for breeding, education, and research, as well as for cultural preservation. 

After the 2018 Farm Bill passed, taking hemp off of the DEA鈥檚 schedule of controlled substances, states and tribes began to legalize the production of hemp. In 2021 the USDA mandated that the Agricultural Research Service鈥檚 Plant Genetic Resources Unit also start keeping what has become one of the largest hemp collections in the world, with 600 varieties.

鈥淐onserving the genetic diversity of crops is 鈥� an intrinsic good in terms of building climate change resilience,鈥� Stansell says. 鈥淭hese crops are our stories.鈥�&苍产蝉辫; 

鈥淚 like the real junky, weedy, weird things that wouldn鈥檛 make sense for a farmer to grow,鈥� Stansell says.鈥淚 think of them as a reservoir of unique alleles or variants.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The seeds from old or weedy species hold vast genetic pools and an inherent connection to the past. Scientists are finding that feral species have high resistance to mildews and diseases, which can be bred into the genetics of other species鈥� seeds to create resistant varieties of plants. 

While the research on incorporating feral genetics is still new, researchers and breeders are already ordering feral hemp seed samples through the U.S National Germplasm system for breeding trials. 

The Danger of Oversimplification

Some plants have been bred to need more help growing than others. So while working with feral plants can genetically diversify and make plants more resilient, cross-breeding is not an agricultural fix-all. 

The Green Revolution was a large-scale gene manipulation project, and an experiment on what it means to separate people entirely from their foodways. The crops pushed across the world starting in the 1960s consisted mostly of wheat and rice, and were intended to feed as many people as possible. However, not only did they require more human intervention and were vulnerable to disease, they were disconnected from the cultures they were meant to serve. 

When a plant is too inbred, it may lose important variants within its genome. That weakens it and makes it more vulnerable. Within a genetically diverse species, however, hidden variants may enable it to adapt to changing local conditions or to enhance nutrition. These adaptations could also prove beneficial to other members of the plant鈥檚 ecosystem as shared conditions change. 

Linda Black Elk is an ethnobotanist and food activist who serves as education director at N膧TIFS, an organization that promotes the Indigenous foodways of unceded Dakota lands in Mni Sota Makoce (Minnesota). She illustrates the consequences of breeding鈥攂oth good and bad鈥攚ith a picture of a variety of stinging nettle that has been bred not to sting. 

While the species saves humans from mild discomfort, it also eliminates the protection that aphids who shelter in its fibers require for their protection and survival. These aphids are an integral part of their ecosystem, and their disappearance may disrupt the delicate balance.  

That鈥檚 why, Black Elk says, Indigenous peoples cultivate plants 鈥渘ot just for their personal benefit but for the world around 迟丑别尘.鈥� When humans work with plants through genetic modification and selection, it is important to take into account the needs of the plant as well as the larger ecosystem鈥攏ot just themselves. 

The Challenges Ahead

Feral plants are not always easy to work with for growers. They are less predictable, more erratic, not uniform as they manifest in the environment, and may not have as high a yield. Ferality might not be considered agriculturally 鈥減roductive鈥� as it is currently defined. Yet we are already seeing the limits and risks of the status quo in agriculture today. 

Some organizations are using gene-editing methods such as to manipulate germplasms so that they are more predictable, perennial, and sustainable within the environment. There remain unanswered questions about how feral plants can operate for farmers on a larger scale. But there is no doubt that these crops are adaptable, nutritious, and genetically diverse. And such resilient crops may precipitate a shift in approaches to agriculture more broadly. 

Importantly, there are no hard and fast rules with plants. Not all plants are adapted to be feral. They are unique beings whose resilience should not be taken for granted. Nor should we dismiss them. 鈥淲hen a single plant is lost, we also lose a whole set of prayers, songs, and protocols for building relationship with that plant,鈥� Black Elk says. 

This highlights the intrinsic connection between food sovereignty and food resilience. As long as we eat food we are going to be selecting and morphing plants. And the conditions in which we feed and fuel ourselves will continue to change. 

Similarly, the Rar谩muri have corrals of sheep and goats, but the true purpose of these spaces is to fertilize the ground for Mekwaseri. In Chihuahua, Nevares teaches his community about storing and preparing the plants and seeds for generations to come. 

Rather than looking at a species as having a single, human-centered function, to understand the feral is to see individual plants with the complexity that seeds entire ecosystems. What would our world look like if we, as humans, learn to adapt to plants instead of making plants adapt to us?

CORRECTIONS: This article was updated at 2:49 p.m. PT on Jan. 23, 2024 to clarify that the Plant Genetic Resources Unit鈥檚 hemp collection is one of the largest in the world. This article was updated at 10:55 a.m. PT on Jan. 22, 2024, to correct that Brussels sprouts are not in the brassica rapa family, to specify that the Indigenous Rar谩muri people speak Rar谩muri language, and to clarify that the study on crop insurance was published by the Institute of Physics but was conducted by Stanford University and the National Bureau of Economic Research. Read our corrections policy here.

We have no passions left to love the spring
Who had suffered autumn as we did, alone
Walking through dominions of a browning laughter
Carrying our loneliness our loving and our grief.

When I read 鈥淪econd Spring鈥濃�攚ith the 2020 global uprising against police violence still relatively fresh and just weeks after the attack on the U.S. Capitol鈥攖he poem captured the spiritual exhaustion of the moment, how the Earth sometimes moves faster than our grief does. As a queer Latina writer who had spent years writing about nature, finding Lorde鈥檚 poetry felt like a relief. Finally, I had found a writer who wrote about nature in a way that was inextricable from every system of power we lived in. Before, when I had tried to read anything by someone labeled as a 鈥渘ature writer,鈥� the blatant omission of the forces that so deeply affected my outdoor experiences鈥攚hite supremacy, colonialism, patriarchy鈥攎ade me feel distant from their work.

When Lorde published her first book of poems, her publisher, Dudley Randall, was quick to clarify, 鈥淎udre Lorde is not a nature poet.鈥� I could relate to this impulse to separate her from the genre. Nature writing seemed to be unconcerned with the realities of oppression; it was writing that waxed poetic about the solace of the American landscape without any consideration of the historical context of that land, unbothered by the many communities displaced from it.

Now, however, what counts as nature writing鈥攁nd who identifies as a nature writer鈥攊s beginning to change. In recent years, as the environmental movement has started to grapple with its historical connections to racism and xenophobia, a new generation of poets, essayists, memoirists, and novelists of color is taking up space in a genre that historically has excluded our perspectives. They include Ross Gay, Natalie Diaz, Kim TallBear, Camille Dungy, and Aimee Nezhukumatathil, among many others. They have raised their voices in anthologies like听The Language of Trees, edited by Katie Holten, and听A Darker Wilderness, edited by Erin Sharkey. Books like Sabrina Imbler鈥檚听How Far the Light Reaches听embody a nature writing that centers the most marginalized and names the violent histories inherent in shaping our relationship to nature. More importantly, they remind us that oppressed people have always partnered with nature when seeking our liberation.

In his essay 鈥淎 Family Vacation鈥� in A Darker Wilderness, Glynn Pogue writes about the first seaside enclaves and mountain towns that allowed Black people to own land, and the first Black-owned bed-and-breakfasts that thrived there. In 鈥淐oncentric Memory,鈥� Naima Penniman writes about how forests, swamps, and brushlands gave sanctuary to maroon communities of escaped slaves in Haiti and Latin America. Carl Phillips鈥� piece in The Language of Trees describes how forests became his refuge for queer intimacy, a space that provided 鈥渁 sense of permission at least, to what can feel like鈥攚hat we鈥檝e been made to feel is transgression; if only temporarily, the trees erase the shame that drove us to seek hiddenness in the first place.鈥�

In these pages, nature is inherently political. It is an active ally in the fight against oppression, a place where marginalized people can experience brief moments of life outside systemic trauma. And it鈥檚 a place where we find the examples we need to give us hope for our survival. In How Far the Light Reaches, Imbler compares the 鈥渟upernaturally hardy鈥� resilience of feral goldfish that took over an entire river ecosystem in Southwest Australia鈥攁ll descendants of a handful of pets someone dumped two decades ago鈥攖o the resilience they and their queer community needed to survive and 鈥渉ow each of our becomings felt like an unthinkable triumph.鈥� Imbler writes, 鈥淎 dumped goldfish has no model for what a different and better life might look like, but it finds it anyway. I want to know what it feels like to be unthinkable too, to invent a future that no one expected of you.鈥�

In her book Trace: Memory, History, Race, and the American Landscape, Lauret Savoy writes about the Western Apache (Ndee) word ni, meaning both 鈥渓and鈥� and 鈥渕ind,鈥� which illustrates 鈥渢he inseparability of place and thought.鈥� 鈥淚n 鈥榥i,鈥� earth and thinking converge,鈥� she writes. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 crucial is to think and act with landscapes, as well as about and upon 迟丑别尘.鈥�

This insight revealed something I appreciate when reading nature writers of color: They write with landscapes, not only about and upon them. In so many of the environmentalist spaces I have worked in, I鈥檝e often heard about 鈥渟aving鈥� the Earth鈥攁 message that implies a human superiority we don鈥檛 actually possess. Nature writers of color instead emphasize relating with the Earth. They write with an assumption of partnership and solidarity between humans and nature, both working toward a mutual goal of liberation, rather than an uneven relationship in which it鈥檚 humanity鈥檚 task to save everything else.

When Audre Lorde鈥檚 publisher said that she was not a nature writer, he justified his argument by stating that 鈥渉er focus is not on nature, but on feelings and relationships鈥濃�攁s if those concepts were mutually exclusive. Today鈥檚 nature writers of color know differently, and Lorde knew it long ago: Writing about nature is writing about feelings and relationships, because our relationship with nature is constantly related to how we learn and think about ourselves.

Since reading Lorde鈥檚 poetry, I began teaching a workshop called 鈥淩eclaiming Nature Writing.鈥� When I ask participants what they received from the course, an answer I hear often is 鈥減ermission.鈥� Too many writers still believe their stories about race, sexuality, or ancestry don鈥檛 count as nature writing. Once they read writers of color who validate their own unique relationship to nature, they allow themselves to write their own stories.

So much of the recent conversation around diversifying both the publishing industry and the environmental movement has focused on giving people of color 鈥渁 seat at the table.鈥� These new nature writers of color tell stories that change the table entirely. They don鈥檛 simply add a new voice to the discourse; they transform what and who is centered, what core assumptions about nature we first must dispel. In doing so, they provoke a radically important question: Who should have the power to narrate what the Earth wants?

In an essay titled 鈥淏rutes: Meditations on the Myth of the Voiceless,鈥� best-selling author Amitav Ghosh argues against the idea of nature as a 鈥渧oiceless鈥� entity needing humans to stand up and defend it. He believes that nature has been telling us stories far before humans ever could. The task of human storytellers is to simply listen and to find ways to 鈥渋maginatively reassign agency and voice to nonhumans,鈥� Ghosh writes. 鈥淭his is a task at once aesthetic and political鈥攁nd because of the magnitude of the crisis that besets the planet, it is now freighted with the most pressing moral urgency.鈥�

The more I read nature writing from writers of color, the more it鈥檚 clear to me that perhaps instead of seeking out new and innovative ideas to address the ecological crisis, we should be returning to ancient stories, the stories Earth has been telling us for centuries. We can confront this crisis not by trying to save the planet but by listening to it. And in doing so, we may discover that Earth鈥檚 story鈥攐f severed connection and exploitation鈥攊s much the same as our own.

This article was originally published by . It has been published here with permission.

The boat belongs to Rose Piccinini, the Tribes鈥� Sanpoil district wildlife biologist. She is part of a team that manages the herd of bighorn sheep that the Tribes鈥� wildlife department reintroduced beginning in 2009. She also leads the Tribes鈥� efforts to restore lynx populations back into the ecosystem here. 

The animals who shared this landscape were once fully integrated into every aspect of tribal members鈥� lives. They harvested bighorn sheep and other game for food, tools, and clothing. Intricate myths, legends, and teachings about the animals were passed down by elders to descendants and bound them to who they were鈥攁nd who, as a result, their descendants came to be. 

But then American settlers brought domesticated European sheep and goats, and with them, diseases that bighorns weren鈥檛 able to recover from. The succession of disease exposures, against which bighorns had no defense, significantly reduced their numbers and made them more vulnerable to other impacts they might have otherwise withstood. Save for a few small pockets in secluded locations, the bighorns died off, and the herds disappeared from the landscape and the lives of the tribes. 

As we crane our necks and squint our eyes upward in the hot midday July sun, shadows reveal more than a dozen bighorn sheep on the north side of the canyon, less than 100 feet above the reservoir. Ewes and lambs weave paths through stalks of mullein, leaving their crescent-shaped tracks in the sand, all the while feeding on shrubs that dot the hillside and scree. Their sharp horns curl back from their heads as their amber eyes attend to their surroundings. Two of the animals walk onto a sandy section of the slope, licking at minerals. They kick up dust and cascades of sand, which form rivulets and accumulate into plumes, slowly fanning down the sandy slope to the shoreline below.

For the 12 tribes of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville, whose reservation is located in north-central Washington State, their ecosystem 颈蝉苍鈥檛 complete without the animals and plants who have long inhabited the land alongside them. Maintaining these relationships of reciprocity in modern times involves the protection and reintroduction of native species, as well as the restoration of their habitats, an ambitious effort that the Tribes鈥� wildlife department has been leading since its inception in the 1970s. 

As the Tribes work together to restore more native species like bighorn sheep and salmon to their lands and waters, they bring collective healing with them. This healing is felt by the people who have long endured cultural trauma from the forces of European and American colonization. It further strengthens their enduring resilience.

Bighorns were among the Tribes鈥� first relatives to be extirpated from the region, but the world-shattering impacts of colonization only intensified henceforth. 

Salmon have always been at the center of the Tribes鈥� culture and, until the mid-20th century, their diet and economy. The fish fed the people and the land with, among other things, the nutrients stored in their bodies. The fish consumed sea life and later carried this sustenance upstream in their migratory journey inland. Tribal representatives cite reports of 20,000 salmon per day, weighing on average 35 pounds each, swimming up the Columbia. With their death and decomposition, the nutrients brought by the salmon in their flesh and bones nourished the forests, prairies, and riparian areas, as well as the coyotes, deer, elk, bighorn sheep, lynx, pronghorn, buffalo, wolves, eagles, and innumerable other beings interconnected within these systems.

But in 1942, the U.S. government built the Grand Coulee Dam and 鈥渆nded a way of life,鈥� according to produced by the Tribes. The dam blocked 1,400 miles of salmon spawning habitat and flooded 56,000 acres of land, as well as the ecosystems that supported whole communities of animals and people. This included critical winter habitat for deer and elk, and areas the Tribes relied on for native food and medicinal plants, all of which were drowned by the government鈥檚 dam construction. 

No fish passage was built then, nor since.

鈥淥vernight, it was shut off,鈥� says Richard Whitney, a member of the Sinixt band of the Colville Confederated Tribes and the Tribes鈥� wildlife department manager, who assumed leadership of the department in 2014. All at once, salmon, who were the Tribes鈥� staple food and the foundation of their culture and economy, were gone.

To survive, the Tribes turned to other species native to the ecosystem, and started a decades-long effort to restore wildlife populations in the area. By 1975, the Tribes had established a wildlife management department with funding from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, in accordance with the Bureau鈥檚 trust responsibilities to the Indigenous peoples with whom it had signed treaties. Elk, Whitney says, have, 鈥渟tepped up to offer themselves so [the Tribes] could persist.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Today, thanks to the Tribes鈥� reintroduction efforts, their elk herds are strong, going from 481 total elk counted in 2002, to more than double that in 2022. Whitney says elk numbers on the reservation are at a 20-year high, which gives Tribal members additional opportunity for harvest.

With elk reintroduction efforts underway, the Tribes next turned their attention to sharp-tailed grouse in the late 1990s, bighorn sheep in 2005, pronghorns in 2014, followed by lynx, salmon, and buffalo.

Although they have not reintroduced wolves, the Tribes have allowed wolves to recolonize their lands, since evidence of the canines was first identified in 2008. Wolf packs are now managed here at a stable level. 

The Colville Confederated Tribes鈥� plan to re-establish bighorn sheep began with six translocations that ultimately brought 136 bighorns back to the reservation. Although the herds have continued to suffer from diseases carried by domesticated goats and sheep鈥攚hich are worsened by drought as it concentrates animals around smaller watering areas鈥擶hitney says the population has since grown to more than 250.  

As Whitney assumed leadership of the wildlife division and took over the restoration of bighorn sheep, it was suggested to him that the Tribes sell licenses for trophy bighorn hunts to non-tribal hunters to help pay for more staff. Some state fish and wildlife departments sell hunting licenses via auction or raffle for a number of species considered to be trophies to the highest bidder to generate revenue. For example, in Washington this year,, while .

Whitney was adamantly opposed to the idea, and his reasoning provides insight into the approach he takes to wildlife management: 鈥淭hat animal is worth more to me than a biologist position. That animal has value and it鈥檚 not in dollars,鈥� he says. With so much wildlife management reliant on hunters paying license fees, which in turn fund conservation and management, Whitney says the priorities are off. 鈥淚f it just comes down to money, then you guys are in the wrong business. You鈥檒l never get it right.鈥�

In addition to providing sustenance for tribal members, the restoration of native species serves to restore a community of species of which people are an integral part. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a harmony there, and anything that鈥檚 missing breaks that balance,鈥� Whitney says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 still a harmony, but it鈥檚 missing a note here and there.鈥� With each member of the ecological community Whitney鈥檚 wildlife department restores, the whole community sings fuller-voiced. 

This story is the first in a three-part series produced in partnership with , an editorially independent magazine about nature and conservation powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Read part 2 here and part part 3 here.

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 9:19 a.m. PT on Dec. 16, 2023, to clarify that the Tribes are referred to as the Colville Confederated Tribes or the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, not the Colville Confederacy; and to clarify that Rose Piccinini and Richard Whitney鈥檚 work is part of larger team efforts. Read our corrections policy here.

This story is the second in a three-part series produced in partnership with听, an editorially independent听magazine about nature and conservation powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Read part 1 here and part 3 here.

Soon after taking the position in 2014, Whitney began leading pronghorn restoration efforts for the Tribes. Using knowledge gained from habitat evaluation surveys he鈥檇 worked on previously, as well as feasibility reports from the 1990s and early 2000s, he determined the region offered plenty of suitable pronghorn habitat. In addition, he and his team looked at pronghorn reintroduction attempts by a number of other agencies to determine what had worked and what hadn鈥檛. The Yakama Nation, for example, had successfully restored pronghorn in the past, while the state of Washington had tried, but failed.

In January 2016, after determining there was adequate habitat and food on the reservation, Whitney and his team reintroduced 52 pronghorn. Some of those animals died, likely due to stress and overexertion during transport. In the project鈥檚 second year, the team introduced 98 pronghorn鈥攅arlier in the year (in October, rather than in midwinter) and in smaller groups, shortly after they had been captured. Survival of reintroduced animals greatly improved in year two, providing valuable information on reintroductions for the future. 

Now, on a sunny July day, Sam Rushing drives us in his pickup truck through the hills outside of Bridgeport on the reservation to see the results. He is the Tribes鈥� Omak-Nespelem district wildlife biologist and is looking for some of the pronghorn the Tribes reintroduced from Nevada seven years earlier. We scan the open, grassy hillsides in the valley, near a wildfire burn scar, until we spot a herd in the flats near a creek bottom, between two tall ponderosa pines. Spooked by our presence, the group of nearly two dozen animals鈥攄oes, fawns, and one large buck鈥攖rot uphill together. Rushing says the Tribes鈥� herd now numbers 225.

For Whitney and his relatives, animals are friends and often referred to as such. 鈥淲e don鈥檛 rule the kingdom, but are part of it by relating with friends,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e reuniting with old friends. We鈥檙e restoring a community, restoring the system.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Following previous ceremonial releases, in late July 2023, Tribal members gather at the Sanpoil River鈥檚 edge. As they wait, the sun illuminates the sky, which is blue save a few passing clouds, and shines down through the ponderosa pines and into the river, the rays of sunlight twirling through currents and dappling the round stones below.

Members of the Colville Tribes form a line between a fish-hauling truck and the river. They pass Chinook salmon鈥攐ne after the other, from one to another鈥攊n specially designed rubber bags toward the river, returning the generous offering of life to the salmon, and in turn, the animals and land. At the end of the line, in one continuous motion, Patrick Tonasket, Keller District representative for the Tribal council, gently pulls a large Chinook by the tail from a bag and orients the fish in the current鈥檚 flow. He holds his right hand on the salmon鈥檚 broad back until the fish feels the current鈥檚 rush, then flicks her tail and jets upstream.听

鈥淲e鈥檙e dedicated to bringing those salmon back,鈥� Tonasket quietly says.

By day鈥檚 end, the Tribes will release 70 summer Chinook salmon. Prior to the operation, biologists working for the Tribes had ensured that the fish were free of disease and had inserted tiny monitoring tags before trucking them upriver for the ceremonial release. These releases give tribal members the opportunity to hold ceremony with and for the salmon. With each salmon released, healing and hope surges through those gathered by the river. Later on, the proof that salmon can spawn in this river will most likely reinforce habitat and model assessments, aiding in future reintroduction efforts by proving they can succeed. 

鈥淭he salmon used to run strong here,鈥� says Darnell Sam, a descendant of the Sanpoil Band of the Colville Confederated Tribes. Sam is the Wenatchi Salmon Chief, and leads a ceremony for these fish, whom, he says, in the beginning offered themselves to the people so they could survive. Sam is also the great-nephew of Chief Jim James of the Sanpoil, who presided over the Ceremony of Tears, when his relatives鈥� millennia-old salmon fishery at Kettle Falls was inundated following the construction of Grand Coulee Dam. Now, Sam stands in the river, his shirt adorned with images of mountain lions and white-and-blue ribbons that pulse in the breeze, and he releases a salmon to the river, as birds sing and the sun shines down.

Sam says the salmon have always run parallel to his people, specifically regarding their resilience: 鈥淭hey鈥檝e endured a lot. Our people have endured a lot. 鈥� They鈥檝e been colonized; they鈥檝e been oppressed. So has the salmon, but yet, they still endure, and they still survive, and they鈥檙e still here.鈥� Recalling the Ceremony of Tears for Kettle Falls, where his ancestors mourned the loss of the salmon from Grand Coulee Dam, he says, 鈥淭his is an opportunity for us to wipe them tears.鈥�

This story is the second in a three-part series produced in partnership with听, an editorially independent听magazine about nature and conservation powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Read part 1 here and part 3 here.

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 9:28 a.m. PT on Dec. 16, 2023, to clarify that the Tribes are referred to as the Colville Confederated Tribes or the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, not the Colville Confederacy.听Read our corrections policy here.

The cognitive dissonance of these circumstances hit home when, in 2003, at age 10, Guzman first visited her grandparents and family still living in her parents鈥� hometown in Mexico. Here, in the small community of El Pedregal de San Juan, in the state of Hidalgo, Guzman says she was amazed by the rain-fed milpa system of growing corn, wheat, and squash that her uncles still maintained, using seeds that have been in her family for generations. 

鈥淚 was just so enamored,鈥� she says. But anger and sadness followed as she came to understand the forces that caused her parents to migrate in search of employment in the United States. 鈥淧eople like my parents, they were pushed off the land.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Guzman鈥檚 parents gave up caring for the soil and growing food that nourished them in pursuit of greater opportunities that involved growing crops for export and other people鈥檚 profit. It鈥檚 an ironic yet common occurrence: Although Western agriculture has begun embracing regenerative farming principles, the very people who have been using these practices since time immemorial have been socially, economically, and politically forced from the lands that sustain them.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 not the society we should be living in,鈥� says Guzman. Instead, she and a host of scientists, educators, farmers, organizers, and activists around the world are working to implement these regenerative principles and reciprocal practices, literally from the ground up.

Living History

鈥淲hen I think about soil, I think about the ecosystem and I think about history,鈥� says Briana Alfaro, administrative program manager at in upstate New York. 鈥淚 think about the geology that helped create the makeup of what minerals are in the soil.鈥�

But soil is not just bits of rock and dust. In addition to minerals, it is composed of gas, water, living organisms, and the organic remains of once-living creatures. And the process of turning these components into soil is incredibly slow and microscopic. In the prairie, it takes between . In . 

But destroying that formation, hundreds and thousands of years in the making, happens quickly. Humans can compact the soil in a matter of seconds with a bulldozer or a slab of concrete. During the Dust Bowl in the 1930s, due to massive disturbance of the soil through over-tilling, the center of the American continent . And today, even when the soil stays on the ground, we鈥檙e through the use of pesticides, herbicides, synthetic fertilizers, and more. 

Soil is alive. It is filled with life, and it supports the lives of so many living creatures鈥攊ncluding us. Recognizing and tending to this reciprocal relationship could help shift our understanding of sustenance and what it takes to achieve lasting prosperity for both people and the planet. 

Alfaro suggests using the term 鈥渟oil livestock,鈥� which she recently heard and feels best encapsulates the true work of caring for the soil. 鈥淚t鈥檚 another part of farming, right?鈥� Alfaro explains. 鈥淚t鈥檚 another set of beings that you鈥檙e responsible for.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

How we respond to that responsibility will have compounding effects for the Earth鈥攁nd all of us who live here. As the climate warms, and the human population grows, soil will be foundational to our thriving鈥攐r our downfall. At a core level, our collective survival will depend on how humans choose to interact with soil. 

鈥淭he soil to me is the source of life. That is, it nurtures many of the lives鈥攏ot just humans, but also the plants and animals and all those tiny things that we can鈥檛 even see,鈥� says Miwa Aoki Takeuchi, associate professor in the University of Calgary鈥檚 department of education. 鈥淲hen we say 鈥榬ich soil,鈥� we imagine the soil itself is populated with so many lives and diverse networks.鈥�

And that richness can translate into the systems we use to impart value to other things in our lives and our economy.

鈥淚 think a healthy soil is a form of community wealth,鈥� says Liz Carlisle, associate professor in the environmental studies program at University of California, Santa Barbara. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an intergenerational form of community wealth.鈥�

Carlisle studies the deep history of regenerative agriculture, going well beyond the buzzword it has become in environmental circles of late. She says it started with her grandmother, Helen, who had grown up on a farm in western Nebraska that the family eventually lost in the Dust Bowl. 鈥淎s a child, I remember my grandmother saying, 鈥榊ou know, we need to learn how to take better care of the soil,鈥欌�� recalls Carlisle. 鈥淚t felt like a responsibility鈥攈aving been born into this family that made some really big mistakes鈥攖o be part of a process of repair.鈥�

Carlisle now focuses her research on Indigenous food systems that existed for thousands of years on the North American continent, on the African continent, on the Asian continent鈥攁ll over the world. She contrasts these enduring practices with the hierarchical approach to industrial agriculture we see today: 鈥淓xtracting from soil for short-term financial gain only makes sense in a world where certain people and other living beings fall outside of our circle of care. Whereas if we really believe that everybody鈥檚 life matters, it makes all kinds of sense to steward this common resource of soil for everyone and for those beings yet to come.鈥�

Such a fundamental shift would upend how our society defines prosperity today. 

When it comes to soils and what they鈥檙e producing, 鈥渨e always seem to be using a cost-benefit analysis,鈥� says Michael Kotutwa Johnson, assistant specialist at the University of Arizona鈥檚 Indigenous Resilience Center as well as its School of Natural Resources and the Environment. 鈥淲hy can鈥檛 we look at a social-benefit analysis instead?鈥�

In October 2023, Kotutwa Johnson hosted a group of scientists and educators from the National Autonomous University of Mexico, and he said the number one problem they wanted to address was not pollution or agricultural runoff鈥攊t was diabetes. He believes the spread of this disease is a direct result of the U.S. exporting its ideas of food and food policy. 

鈥淲e need to rethink our policies, our agricultural policies, in the United States to focus more on quality, not quantity and efficiency,鈥� he says. 

Kotutwa Johnson is a Hopi farmer who evaluates the success of his farming not only on the corn he produces but also on other impacts it has in his community: Are our bodies becoming healthier? Are these communities doing well? 

For the Hopi, a matrilineal agricultural society, there is no distinction between their agricultural system, their belief system, and their social structures, Kotutwa Johnson explains. One cannot exist without the others, and they can only thrive together. 

鈥淭he act of planting alone for us is an act of faith,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e live in a climate that only gives 6 to 10 inches of annual precipitation a year, but yet we鈥檙e able to raise things like corn, beans, melons, and squash, which I was told, when I went to Cornell, needed 33 inches of rain.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

But creating a nurturing, respectful relationship with the soil and what grows from it has allowed these crops to thrive under Hopi stewardship.

鈥淭hose plants are like our people to us,鈥� says Kotutwa Johnson. 鈥淲e take care of those plants from when they鈥檙e little babies coming up out of the ground to when they get old and they pass on; and we lay them down at the end, and they provide us seeds for another generation.鈥�

Laying down the cornstalks at the end of the plants鈥� lives, to Kotutwa Johnson, is a means of thanking them and giving them well-deserved rest. In Western terms, keeping the ground covered is a means of holding the soil in place to prevent erosion. As the organic ground cover breaks down, it also adds nutrients to the soil. So whatever the worldview behind it, this practice unquestionably leads to better soil health. 

Reciprocity Over Extraction

Shifting from a relationship of extraction from soil to one of reciprocity with soil is central to Indigenous ways of knowing and growing鈥攂oth food and community prosperity. 

鈥淥ur ancestors revered soil and had such a relationship with it,鈥� says Alfaro. 鈥淎nd that鈥檚 such a huge part of what we do at Soul Fire Farm: help bridge that connection, catalyze that connection for people鈥攖o land and to that ancestral knowledge.鈥�

Central to this connection is an understanding that this type of relationship involves both give and take. For Alfaro, a multiracial Mexican American farmer and activist, this comes in many forms. 鈥淚 feel better when I go spend time in my garden for so many reasons, you know, but I know that one of them is that I process and leave something behind every time 滨鈥檓 there.鈥� She describes this process in natural terms, as the composting of sadness and grief. 鈥湵踱�檓 inevitably also growing myself food, growing my community food, growing my community flowers鈥攁ll the things that help lighten me up and provide nutrition.鈥� And the benefits of that relationship go both ways: 鈥淚f we鈥檙e healthier, then we can give back to the soil more.鈥�

Likewise, Aoki Takeuchi respects and finds inspiration in the way soil cooperates with others to decompose what humans consider garbage. 鈥淎s someone who has experienced the intersectional system of oppression, I sometimes didn鈥檛 have a way to metabolize or decompose all the traumas,鈥� she explains. But she uses soils as a literal and metaphorical lesson in her teaching. 鈥淗ow can [soils] metabolize that trauma, that historical trauma, and transform that into a source of nurturing and a source of growth?鈥� says Aoki Takeuchi. 

Her belief in the power of this work is part of what inspired Aoki Takeuchi to create , a program for refugee youth in Canada to rediscover and reconnect with land after they鈥檝e been forcibly removed from their own. The goal of the summer research program is to 鈥渓isten to the silenced voices of the soil, land, and displaced communities.鈥�

And that reciprocity goes beyond the simple exchange of materials. 

鈥淗ow do we give back to the land for everything that the land has given us, including scientific and mathematical knowledge?鈥� asks Kori Czuy, one of the instructors at Soil Camp and the manager of Indigenous science connections at the in Calgary. Western science always wants to name and categorize things definitively, but that鈥檚 not how Czuy teaches students. She de-emphasizes scientific hierarchies and rigid categorization.

鈥淚 always distinguish between the word[s] 鈥榢nowing鈥� and 鈥榢nowledge,鈥欌�� Czuy says. 鈥淜nowledge is set. It鈥檚 the written word. It can鈥檛 be changed. It鈥檚 static. Knowing is alive.鈥�

Land Matters 

But reconnecting with soil 颈蝉苍鈥檛 always possible, easy, or even desirable. Too many communities and people have been forced to work the soil on other people鈥檚 terms. 

Carlisle says race is implicated in current U.S. food production in profound ways: 鈥淚f you think about why we had a plantation system, and why we now have a system that still looks a lot like that, you could argue that it鈥檚 not because it鈥檚 the most productive way to produce food, but it is a very effective way to produce racial hierarchy.鈥�

Carlisle says the pattern is painfully consistent around the world: 鈥淵ou have a global majority of people who carry traditions of regenerative food systems who are being excluded from land ownership, and yet who are being asked to labor in industrial agriculture, [who] are so infrequently in decision-making positions about how that land is cared for.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淧eople have persisted and maintained these regenerative ways of relating to land in the face of hundreds of years of brutally oppressive structural violence,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an instructive pathway of what it means to continually articulate a vision of reciprocal care鈥攅ven in the face of the most tremendous obstacles.鈥�

Carlisle says we can鈥檛 make meaningful strides toward regenerative agriculture if we don鈥檛 simultaneously insist on a transformative shift toward racial justice. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 work for all of us,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd I think it is especially work for those of us who identify as white.鈥�

Guzman agrees that the transformation of our agricultural system needs to come from a place of inclusion and equity. 鈥淲hen we think of soil, and really trying to support soil and build up soil, we can鈥檛 forget 鈥� the human piece: that we need people who care about it to be able to have access.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

If that access were widely granted, Alfaro at Soul Fire Farms imagines a parallel shift in the way farmers relate to and invest in the soil. Without the limitations of one-year leases or the risk of displacement, she dreams of the beauty of transitioning away from annual crops that are planted and harvested every year, to perennial crops, which stay rooted in the ground more permanently, offering their benefits to the soil year-round and year after year. She says it was a profound moment when she learned 鈥渉ow beneficial it is to have perennials, to grow perennials, and what it means to be able to grow perennials, and what a privilege that is.鈥�

The Humanity of Soil

As people, our bodies are deeply shaped by our environment and teem with microbial life in various forms of symbiosis. Maybe we鈥檙e not so different from soil after all. 

鈥淲e鈥檙e all made of the same thing, you know, from rocks to microbes to everything,鈥� Czuy says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e all stardust. We鈥檙e all made of particles that are in motion constantly.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Indigenous growers prioritize those personal connections and relationships with soil. 

鈥淚t takes time to know your soil,鈥� says Alfaro. 鈥淎nd there鈥檚 a lot of different ways you can get to know your soil. Start where you are: What is this soil? What does it like? What likes to grow here?鈥�

In her soil camps, Aoki Takeuchi encourages students to connect with the soil in whatever way feels right for them.

鈥淲e really would like to foster a space for humbly listening, and listening in plural forms, so that we can listen to the very quiet voice of the soil.鈥� She says that voice is easy to miss if we don鈥檛 pay attention鈥攐r if we limit our listening to ableist notions of the idea鈥攂ut that there are many ways to listen to the story and honor the soil鈥檚 voice. 鈥淥ne could be seeing the color of the soil, another may be smelling different .鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

For Guzman, the connection to soil comes in the form of her passion for pottery, as well as her Ph.D. research with farmers much like her parents鈥攚ho care deeply about the land but have been forced by economic circumstances to become cogs in the industrial food system. She holds fast to a reminder a professor once gave her: 鈥溾�榃hen the revolution comes, we鈥檙e gonna need everyone鈥攚e鈥檙e also gonna need scientists.鈥欌��

Guzman says she considers herself a 鈥渃ynical optimist.鈥� 鈥湵踱�檓 kind of a shit-talker and hateful about where the system is 鈥� but really optimistic about the future.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

That optimism is important鈥攂ecause the stakes are only getting higher. 

鈥淚n the face of the climate crisis, growing food has only become more and more difficult,鈥� Carlisle says. 鈥淔armers face flooding, droughts, extreme heat, new pest and disease challenges; and all of these are things that healthier soils can help farmers to weather.鈥�

A soil with more organic matter is going to hold more water, which can prevent flooding in heavy rains and can help through long dry seasons and excessive heat. Healthier soils also make for healthier plants, which can better withstand pests and diseases. And those plants make for more dependable and nutritious food sources for people. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 never been more important to steward this common resource of a healthy soil, as a matter of climate justice and food justice for those populations that will be most heavily impacted by the ways that these extreme weather events impact people鈥檚 ability to produce food,鈥� Carlisle says.

Or, as Alfaro puts it: 鈥淭here鈥檚 life in the soil, and we also have to take care of that so that we can be resilient.鈥�

This story was funded by a grant from Kendeda Fund, as part of the 大象传媒 series 鈥�Redefining Prosperity.鈥� While reporting and production of the series was funded by this grant, 大象传媒 maintained full editorial control of the content published herein. View our editorial independence policies here.

Not bad for a wastewater treatment plant.

Fed by five million gallons of treated wastewater every day, Fernhill鈥檚 constructed waterfalls add oxygen back to the flow. One million reintroduced native plants representing about two dozen species (plus other species returning on their own) remove excess nitrogen, phosphorus, chemicals, and suspended solids, while providing the shade needed to cool the water before it reaches the nearby Tualatin River. During construction, workers installed 180 logs and snags, and even varied the topographies of wetland basins to mimic the region鈥檚 aquatic habitats and offer more diverse niches for marsh birds, shorebirds, and other wildlife.

WATCH: Nature Offers a Model for Filtering Wastewater

The natural water filtration system fashioned from old sewage lagoons has become an 鈥溾�� between treatment plants operated by the Clean Water Services utility in western Oregon and an increasingly vulnerable Tualatin River. 鈥淚 always say wetlands are the kidneys of the Earth,鈥� says Jared Kinnear, a biologist who helped design Fernhill and now manages it and the utility鈥檚 other reuse projects. 鈥淲e鈥檙e just harnessing the process that鈥檚 been going on for millions of years.鈥�

Constructed wetlands have been used for decades in Europe and as natural water-cleaning systems. Amid the growing threats of the climate crisis and habitat fragmentation, they鈥檙e gaining in popularity as a form of nature-inspired infrastructure that can not only prevent pollution but also create vital green spaces for wildlife and humans alike. 

In 2011, after reviewing its options for a needed expansion, Clean Water Services found that an $18 million wetland buffer made good financial sense as well: It cost roughly half as much as a concrete-and-steel treatment system. 鈥淣ot only did Fernhill cost less, but it certainly offered a whole lot more environmental and social benefits than other options,鈥� says Diane Taniguchi-Dennis, the utility鈥檚 CEO.

Constructed wetlands require active tending, such as periodic dredging, removal of invasive species, wildlife management, and even controlled burns. But these semi-wild spaces have proven so popular that the utilities operating them have had to regularly remind visitors of their primary function: cleaning wastewater. 

Wildlife Encounters

Along the Atlantic Flyway in central Florida, the Brevard County Wastewater Treatment Plant similarly back into water-filtering wetlands in 1998. Workers constructed four marshes鈥攅ach with its own small island and all separated by earthen berms鈥攁nd then reintroduced more than 200,000 native plants representing 19 species. Arrayed around a central lake, the , known locally as the Viera Wetlands, help purify wastewater that鈥檚 reclaimed for irrigation or discharged into the Four Mile Canal and upper St. Johns River during the rainy season.

Retired software engineer and photography enthusiast Steven Winker won a second-place award for a dramatic photo of a . He recalls the thrill of passing within feet of another bobcat nicknamed 鈥淢ama鈥濃�攕o named by her many admirers because she had raised multiple litters in the wetlands.

In November 2022, about a month after researchers outfitted her with a radio collar, ; researchers suspect she was struck by a car on a nearby road. Beyond an outpouring of grief, her death sparked a bitter controversy among residents who suspected that the radio collars were changing the behavior of the bobcats and making them more susceptible to harm. Tracking data suggested no ill effects on the animals, though the deaths of multiple collared bobcats pointed to another sad truth: Creating inviting semi-urban spaces for wildlife brings the animals closer not only to adoring fans but also to highways and hunters.

Restoring Nature

The popularity of Oregon鈥檚 Fernhill has required Clean Water Services to defuse its own share of potential public relations disasters, like the in 2020. The birds ate fungus-contaminated grain in nearby fields and then expired in the wetlands. 鈥淲e鈥檙e in a fishbowl,鈥� Kinnear says, keenly aware of how the deaths could have been wrongly attributed to something in the treated water if the incident had not been properly investigated and explained. 

At the same time, he has had to continually weed out invasive plants and animals threatening the site鈥檚 water filtration function. The utility鈥檚 proactive management, though, has created new opportunities to educate the public about the benefits and limits of nature-inspired systems, and to explore how human stewardship might nurture new ecosystems.

The , an international collaboration at a wastewater treatment plant south of Mexicali in Mexico鈥檚 Baja California state, has aimed even higher by seeking to improve the flow and quality of freshwater through the Colorado River Delta.

The river鈥檚 meager flow by this point in its course, drained by chronic drought and upstream water rights, has effectively concentrated its pollution and threatened its connectivity to the sea at the Gulf of California. 鈥淓verything comes back to the lack of fresh water,鈥� says Edgar Carrera, who grew up in Mexicali and now coordinates the Colorado River Delta project for The Nature Conservancy, a project partner.

An initial 250-acre wetland created in 2007 wasn鈥檛 enough to accommodate the region鈥檚 population growth and the resulting influx of wastewater that is now roughly double the existing plant鈥檚 treatment capacity. That wetland, Carrera says, has already become an oasis for migratory and resident birds like the endangered Yuma clapper rail, mammals like bobcats and foxes, and reptiles like chameleons. 鈥淪o it is now a wildlife refuge,鈥� he says.

In parallel with upgrades to the plant鈥檚 treatment process, tentatively slated for 2025, a new series of intermediate water-filtering wetland basins will significantly improve the quality of the 3.5 billion gallons of reclaimed water before it flows into the larger wetland and then into the Colorado River Delta. Improving that flow can lower the concentration of other contaminants鈥攅ssentially using treated wastewater to help dilute pollution鈥攚hile nourishing the downstream estuary鈥檚 wildlife.

Carrera has alleviated some community concerns that the natural water purification won鈥檛 be enough to clean the Colorado by emphasizing that the process will combine the filtering abilities of a more efficient treatment plant and the series of constructed wetlands to aid the ailing delta. 鈥淭hey are very conscious that the water, for them, means income,鈥� he says of local residents who depend upon the river for agriculture, fishing, boating, and tourism.

For many ecosystems, recycled water means life. In a lower stretch of Oregon鈥檚 Tualatin River, water released from an upstream reservoir and treated wastewater from the utility鈥檚 four treatment plants account for up to 86% of the late-summer flow.

Taniguchi-Dennis believes that creating 鈥渞iver-ready鈥� water and a wildlife sanctuary is just the start of what might be possible with treated wastewater. Providing a foothold for keystone species such as beneficial kinds of algae, for example, could feed a wide assortment of creatures while further purifying and oxygenating the water. 鈥淲hat if we could create the right biodiversity within the wetland that actually amplified what the river needs to restore its health and its waters?鈥� she asks. It鈥檚 a question made possible by reimagining how the problem of polluted wastewater can become the basis for a sustainable, nature-inspired solution.

The eight earthworks complexes in central and southern Ohio join nearly 1,200 sites worldwide that UNESCO has said have outstanding value to humanity. The earthworks are now peers of Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, Taj Mahal, and other magnificent places, according to Jen Aultman, chief historic sites officer of the Ohio History Connection (OHC), which shepherded the World Heritage application through an arduous multiyear process. Other sites added this year include temples in India and a 9th-century Tunisian settlement.

Indigenous people built the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks between 1,600 and 2,000 years ago. Their rounded, grass-covered walls rise 14 to 20 feet to define octagons, circles, squares, and other geometric shapes that each encompass many acres. One complex鈥攊n Newark, Ohio鈥攃overs a total of 4 1/2 square miles. Stonehenge would fit into a tiny corner. Walking through the earthworks鈥� curving green forms is both inspiring and disorienting.

The monumental figures align precisely with astronomical events as well as with each other, even when separated by hundreds of miles. The major alignments mark the moon鈥檚 18.6-year south-to-north rises and sets. At the gigantic Octagon Earthworks, in Newark, the moon rises through one of its gates, or openings, at the moment of the northern standstill鈥攖he northernmost point of the 18.6-year cycle.

In constructing the giant shapes, the earthworks鈥� builders repeatedly and spectacularly solved a primordial math problem that confounded other mathematicians as far back as ancient Greece. Brad Lepper, OHC鈥檚 curator of archaeology and an Ohio State University anthropology professor, has written that some of the earthworks鈥� huge circles and squares were constructed with equivalent surface areas. This is called 鈥渟quaring the circle,鈥� an expression that has come colloquially to mean doing the impossible. Other earthworks circles and squares have equal perimeters, called 鈥渞ectifying the circumference.鈥�

Some of the math is more esoteric than visible. In one case, the distance between two figures鈥� centers was used as a gigantic measuring stick for laying out the rest of the site. In other instances, connecting forms with imaginary lines creates related hypothetical forms overlaid precisely on the ones we can walk among.

The earthworks鈥� makers were virtuoso astronomers, architects, and ma颅颅颅颅thematicians, Wallace concluded, calling them 鈥渦ncommon geniuses.鈥� Their 鈥済enius lives on today in many descendant tribes,鈥� she said.

Unlike the pyramids of Egypt and cathedrals of Europe, no central authority directed the earthworks鈥� vast and meticulous construction. Instead, the evidence suggests members of dispersed Indigenous communities built the massive shapes one basket load of dirt at a time. Finely crafted statuary and other objects found in the earthworks were made of materials from both local and distant places. These include Ohio鈥檚 multicolored flint and its rivers鈥� freshwater pearls, along with obsidian from the Rocky Mountains, mica from the Southeast, copper from the Great Lakes region, and shells originating in the Gulf of Mexico.

The geographic range of the materials鈥� sources indicates how widely the earthworks were valued, according to UNESCO. A representative called them 鈥渢he center of a continent-wide sphere of influence and interaction.鈥�

The Importance of Homeland

The day following the World Heritage announcement, members of the United States delegation to Riyadh gathered. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an incredible accomplishment,鈥� said Alex Wesaw of the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi Indians, OHC鈥檚 director of American Indian relations. He called the UNESCO decision a win for all of Native America. He pointed out that we don鈥檛 know what the 鈥淗opewell鈥� people called themselves; archaeologists dubbed them that after identifying earthworks on a farm whose owner was named Hopewell.

Chief Wallace recalled a soft rain falling during a 2007 Eastern Shawnee visit to the earthworks. The tribe had been expelled from the state during the 19th century following the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Many of its citizens died on the approximately 800-mile walk from Ohio to Oklahoma, then called 鈥淚ndian Territory鈥� and set aside for tribes. As soon as they arrived, the chiefs begged for food for their starving people, Wallace said. 鈥淥ur pain was so very difficult and so very deep for so very long, it needed a gentle rain to wash it away,鈥� she said. 鈥淥ne woman in the group said our ancestors were weeping with joy because we had returned to the homeland.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淗omeland鈥� is vital as a place and as a concept because it鈥檚 鈥渨here our stories and our history originate,鈥� said Logan York of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma. The Miami civilization centers on the lands in Ohio and surrounding states from which the tribe was forcibly removed in 1846, York explained. 鈥淚t seems like a long time ago but is a blink of an eye for culture. A lot of our ways of doing traditional things are still centered in our traditional homelands.鈥�

Helping younger generations understand this is critical for removed tribes. Chief Billy Friend of the Wyandotte Nation, another Ohio tribe, has taken young tribal citizens on bus tours of the state. He said Ohio 鈥渋s where my ancestors stood, partook of ceremonies, and fought.鈥� Teaching youngsters this history, Friend said, 鈥減reserves the future of our past.鈥�

Joshua Garcia, media and communications specialist for the Wyandotte Nation Cultural Center and Museum, first joined Chief Friend鈥檚 tours when he was just 12 years old. The trips counteract the damage from the decades during which 鈥渋t was not good to be Native,鈥� according to Garcia. Growing up, his grandmother was not allowed to go to ceremonies because they were seen as 鈥渇ull of supposedly bad things,鈥� he recounted. His mother took it upon herself to help restore traditional knowledge and is now the Wyandotte cultural preservation officer, Garcia said.

Heritage for the World

The idea of proposing the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks to the World Heritage list began percolating some 35 years ago, said Lepper. Early supporters included Newark Earthworks Center officials Richard Shiels, an Ohio State University emeritus professor, and Marti Chaatsmith, who is Comanche and Choctaw. About eight years ago, an application began to coalesce, and in January 2022 the Department of the Interior submitted it to UNESCO. According to Lepper, the tribes contributed mightily to the application and will continue to be involved in OHC earthworks-related decisions; for example in developing site-management plans and reviewing research proposals. 鈥淲orking closely with our Indigenous partners is what we do now, and we won鈥檛 do anything without them,鈥� he said.

Important cross-cultural research includes Lepper鈥檚 collaboration with Chief Ben Barnes of the Shawnee Tribe. In 2018, the two published a scientific paper comparing engraved spherical black stones used by the Hopewell peoples with those used by Shawnees of today when constructing ceremonial water drums. 鈥淚 am so thrilled to have been a co-author on a paper with a Shawnee chief, and Ben said he鈥檚 thrilled to have been a co-author on a paper with an archaeologist,鈥� Lepper reported.

Increased publicity for the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks means Ohio anticipates more earthworks-oriented tourism. State legislative representative Jessica Miranda (D-Forest Park) said the World Heritage listing will attract visitors 鈥渢o see the beauty of our lands and our very diverse state.鈥� Bill Seitz (R-Cincinnati) spoke of recognizing Native contributions and being 鈥渞espectful to their history.鈥�

The grand complexes named to the World Heritage list are closely monitored by OHC and the National Park Service, but additional earthworks dot the Ohio landscape, having survived centuries of plowing and development. In the rural countryside of south-central Ohio, a hawk surfed the thermals above one of these solitary earthworks. The raptor spiraled gracefully overhead as its avian forebears have likely done since Indigenous ancestors built the site all those years ago.

The heightened publicity won鈥檛 change the situation of these earthworks for better or worse, according to Lepper. 鈥淟ooters already know about the isolated earthworks, off in the woods and fields, with no monitoring,鈥� he said. 鈥淭hey are the ones that are really at risk and always have been.鈥� That鈥檚 largely because out-of-the-way earthworks are usually on private land, where the federal Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act does not necessarily apply, he said. A state graves-protection law would be an important next step.

For Aultman, the significance of safeguarding humanity鈥檚 special places was driven home in 2019, when fire ravaged another World Heritage site, Paris鈥檚 Notre Dame Cathedral. Continual news coverage and social media posts meant the event was witnessed repeatedly worldwide. 鈥淲e all felt we would be lesser as humans if it were gone,鈥� she said.

The Cultural Center

On October 14, Wallace was the keynote speaker at a celebratory event held in an earthworks complex in Chillicothe, a city in south-central Ohio. Other speakers included Mike DeWine, Ohio鈥檚 governor, and National Park Service Director Chuck Sams, an enrolled citizen of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation, in Oregon.

鈥淐hillicothe鈥� is a Shawnee word meaning 鈥渢he great place鈥� and 鈥渢he place of chiefs and leaders,鈥� Wallace said in her keynote speech. 鈥淭his place was the center of North America 鈥� the center for spirituality, the center for love, the center for peace.鈥� Disseminating this understanding is the task ahead, according to Wallace.

Addressing Native Americans in the crowd, Wallace said, 鈥淚t was our ancestors, our geniuses who built these places.鈥� And, she assured them, 鈥渢he world now knows.鈥�

In the case of the Tonawanda Seneca and the WNY STAMP (Western New York Science & Technology Advanced Manufacturing Park), you鈥檇 be wrong.听

WATCH: Robin Wall Kimmerer on why Indigenous communities oppose STAMP

I recently had the privilege of walking through the Big Woods with Tonawanda Seneca Nation citizens and fellow scientists, under a towering canopy of immense oaks, maples, and basswoods. On that lush summer day, thrushes, thrashers, and rare warblers sang above us as we traipsed through ferny glades, the earth soft with centuries of leaf fall and carpeted with wildflowers, more diverse than I鈥檝e seen in many years of botanizing. So rich is this territory that Chief Kevin Jonathan calls it 鈥渙ne of the most important hunting and gathering areas for the entire Haudenosaunee Confederacy.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Signs of wildlife were everywhere, and the deer eyed us warily as if to ask, 鈥淲hat kind of human are you?鈥� That鈥檚 a good question. At night, the air rings with peepers calling, toads trilling, and the soft, low hoot of endangered short-eared owls. Listen hard and you might hear the ceremonial songs from the longhouse, songs of gratitude for the land that has cared for the Seneca people since time immemorial. 

鈥淭his land is our way of life,鈥� said Chief Roger Hill as we waded into a clear, bright stream. 鈥淚t is everything to our people; it鈥檚 all we have left.鈥� Today, these precious lands are threatened, and both state and federal agencies are complicit in the destruction. When we walked through this old-growth forest to the edge of the reservation, the trees ended abruptly, and we were greeted by the looming presence of enormous reactor domes for the manufacture of hydrogen fuel. 

Bulldozers鈥攕ubsidized by your tax dollars鈥攁re revving their engines and spewing stink into the flower-fragrant air to construct a proposed industrial park that could destroy it all. New York state has thousands of acres of industrial wastelands and abandoned developments that would be highly suitable for such a project. But instead the WNY STAMP project in Genesee County is being sited right on the border of the Tonawanda鈥檚 pristine Big Woods. While there is just one fully confirmed tenant so far, others may include distribution warehouses and industrial manufacturers. 

STAMP has been referred to as 鈥渓and development,鈥� but the more accurate term is 鈥渉abitat destruction鈥濃�攊n one of the last unbroken landscapes in western New York. Yet STAMP is proposed in the heart of one of New York state鈥檚 most important conservation landscapes, surrounded by species-rich, federally and state-protected wildlife areas, including the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge, as well as the Big Woods. Biological surveys, in addition to Indigenous knowledge, have revealed that the Big Woods is home to threatened species as well as a threatened culture. 

What kind of human thinks building a mega-industrial site here is a good idea? Many citizens of the Tonawanda Seneca Nation rely on the Big Woods for subsistence hunting, fishing, and gathering of traditional medicines. It is a place where traditional lifeways are passed from generation to generation. The Seneca have been caring for this place in an unbroken line from before written history, in the face of uncountable threats from settler society. Today, families are fed from this beloved landscape, which keeps an ancient culture thriving. It is heart-wrenching to consider the irreparable cultural harm of building an industrial park on the Big Woods border. 

Chief Jonathan stated that if this project goes forward 鈥湻杀疴�檒濒 have irreversible damage to our way of life.鈥� Habitat destruction and environmental degradation related to industrial development at STAMP proceed step-by-step with the issuance of required government permits. This spring, United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) officials courageously admitted they had failed to consult with the Tonawanda, as required by law, before granting a permit for a pipeline through the Refuge for STAMP鈥檚 industrial wastewater. The agency ordered consultation with the Nation and an assessment of the environmental and cultural impacts of the STAMP pipeline project. 

This seeming victory for land and people was, however, short-lived. Days later, in a stunning reversal, USFWS overturned their own ruling, and in mid-July, heavy equipment rolled through ancestral Seneca territory to the edge of the Refuge and gouged into the earth as drilling for the wastewater pipeline began. 

Now, the Nation has learned that pipeline drilling caused a spill of hydraulic fracking fluid within the Refuge in mid-August, just days into construction. Incredibly, while this spill was reported to the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (NYSDEC), construction activities were allowed to continue. Another spill occurred in early September, at the same time that sinkholes began to appear along the pipeline route. The Nation was not notified of either spill until the local media reported on them. 

鈥淚f this construction continues, it would be an immense injustice to Mother Earth,鈥� says Subchief Scott Logan, one of many Nation leaders and citizens who have spoken out in opposition to STAMP as a violation of their sovereign rights and their cultural covenant to care for the land. Construction activities have been temporarily halted within the Refuge and Orleans County, due not only to the spills and sinkholes but also to a temporary restraining order issued by a state court in a lawsuit filed by Orleans County, where the STAMP developer hopes to discharge the wastewater. 

This temporary pause is not enough. The Tonawanda Seneca Nation has demanded that the USFWS withdraw the right-of-way permit and conduct consultation and a full environmental review. To date, the USFWS has refused to do so. State and federal programs trumpet their commitment to 鈥渆nvironmental justice鈥� but fail to protect these traditional Haudenosaunee people and the remnants of their precious homelands. Officials with the power to temper this assault on the Tonawanda鈥檚 territory, culture, and environment instead fall in line to promote the steady march of industrialization and environmental destruction. 

What kind of leaders are they, and what kind of citizens are we? Will we perpetuate the shameful practices of the colonialist past鈥攐r take a stand for justice at last? Interior Secretary Deb Haaland and NYSDEC Commissioner Basil Seggos: Will you use your courage to reshape this age-old narrative of unjust taking from Indigenous nations? If the state and federal governments truly stand behind their commitments to environmental justice, then we should 鈥攆or the Big Woods, and for Indigenous land justice.

鈥淭hose are visual clues that you are in an important place of learning,鈥� says , a University of Montana natural areas specialist. 鈥淭his is the standard way that American universities look.鈥�

The common design was an effort by white settlers to recreate the prestigious Ivy League campuses of Princeton, Harvard, and Yale, Marler says. These kinds of landscapes are 鈥渁ll based on European ideals of what is valuable and beautiful,鈥� she says. This has conditioned Americans to associate places of learning with European landscapes instead of local, Indigenous ones.

By dismantling Indigenous landscapes, settler-colonists reimagine them as their own. Environmental historian Traci Brynn Voyles describes the process by which non-white lands are recast as valueless and available for erasure as 鈥�.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The cultural roots of university campus landscapes surround whiteness and a European aesthetic, which can result in Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) feeling a and alienation on college campuses, even if there is no overt racial hostility.

Advocates are calling for places of learning to instead be aligned with Indigenous values and aesthetics. The demand for meaningful action has emerged and reverberated throughout institutions of higher education across the country. 

鈥淲hen I think of decolonizing, I think about exercising ways of Indigeneity,鈥� says , a Shoshone-Bannock and Chippewa-Cree Master of Science student at the University of Montana. 鈥淔or me, that means maybe less development, or focusing resources on native plants, maybe creating more areas where we can access foods or things like that when we鈥檙e in these college spaces.鈥�

Re-Indigenizing the Settler Colonial Aesthetic

Re-Indigenizing the colonial landscapes of college campuses can address both the historical erasure of Indigenous presence and the isolating impact campuses currently have on BIPOC students, faculty, and staff. Ethnobotanical gardens can create a welcoming and healing space for all鈥攅specially for Indigenous participants鈥攖hrough emphasizing human relationships with native plants.

Educational institutions such as ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; and others have recently established ethnobotanical gardens, native plant gardens, and as a means to restore Indigenous flora.

The ethnobotany garden outside of the at the University of Montana (UM) attracted Fellows, who says, 鈥淚 like to walk around and observe and see what鈥檚 growing and know that I can go harvest sweetgrass during a break. 鈥� It鈥檚 a special place 鈥� that I鈥檝e spent a lot of time at.鈥� She says it is a great space that students can visit between classes to unwind.

Fellows also served as an intern in UM鈥檚 Four Sisters Garden. Based on the agricultural practices of the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara tribes, the garden includes sunflowers, squash, corn, and beans, which support one another鈥檚 growth. Sunflowers attract pollinators, squash leaves protect the soil from drying out, corn stalks allow vines to climb, and the beans fix nitrogen in the soil. Fellows emphasized that as someone who is not a member of these tribes, 鈥渃aring [for] these seeds and caretaking for these plants,鈥� requires participants 鈥渢o be careful about how we鈥檙e doing these practices.鈥� In order for campuses to re-Indigenize their landscapes, there is a need to understand what the land and what people鈥檚 relationship with that land looked like precolonization.

It is similar at other universities. The modern-day campus of the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, for example, was covered in tall- and mixed-grass prairies until less than 200 years ago. These lands were host and ecological partner of the Bodw茅wadmi (Potawatomi), Peewaalia (Peoria), Kaahkaahkia (Kaskaskia), and Myaamia (Miami) since the slow retreat of the last glaciers about 12,000 years ago, according to .

Since the 1830s, the Illinois landscape, and especially that of its college campuses, has lost nearly all of its native plant species. Only 0.01% of Illinois鈥� original Indigenous prairieland remains today. Some of the last remnants were in March 2023 by the Greater Rockford Airport Authority just outside Chicago as part of a . As bulldozers leveled the most in the state, they were carrying out the task of and Indigenous removal in yet another settler-colonial process. 

Environmentalist Rob Nixon refers to this kind of centuries-long change in landscape as 鈥�.鈥� Often uncinematic, the damage is real鈥攂ut its perpetrators are difficult to pin down with specificity.

The erasure of the Indigenous landscape has taken, and continues to take, time. The final violent act of Indigenous removal is to prevent any possibility of Native peoples鈥� return. On college campuses, as in many places, this is done by imagining they were never here in the first place.

Re-Indigenizing University Campuses

But across the country, advocates are making change. In an effort to re-Indigenize college campuses, BIPOC students, allies, alumni, and faculty are introducing gardens and cultural houses based on Indigenous practices to campuses. While such projects aim to create safe places, they are often on the periphery of the university grounds and not in a central or visible location, adding to the isolation and othering of people of color on college campuses.

In contrast, Oregon State University (OSU) has created both an Indigenous center and a garden in the middle of campus. Director of Tribal Initiatives in Natural Resources , Latinx with Raramuri and Apache heritage, describes the importance of these places: 鈥淸It鈥檚] not just being ourselves, but stepping into our power. And having conversations that we might not have felt safe having here, you know, a decade ago on this campus.鈥�

Eisenberg has been part of the OSU community since 2006, first as a graduate student and then as a postdoctoral researcher. Eisenberg鈥檚 in restoration ecology, wildlife biology, and Traditional Ecological Knowledge frames her work in partnering with tribal nations to support sovereignty rights. 鈥淏ack in 2006 it was not a safe space to be Indigenous or different,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very, very different right now.鈥�

Thanks to the efforts of student advocates over the years, OSU now has and Indigenous plants on campus, and in the future there will be Indigenous cultural burning. Thinking back over her time at OSU, Eisenberg says, 鈥淚 would have never imagined that we would get to this point.鈥�

By restoring a place鈥檚 history, a college community can see the ways that Native plants sustained and continue to sustain Native people, which is why Eisenberg says re-Indigenizing the land is so important today.

The University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign is still in the process of creating an Indigenous plant garden, but students in the ecological restoration club utilize Indigenous knowledge to volunteer and care for native plants at the UI Arboretum.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a place that not that many students really know about unless they are already seeking it out, myself included,鈥� says Vijay Shah, an Indian-American chemical engineering Ph.D. student. 鈥淚 take it upon myself to understand the place I am, through learning Indigenous language and learning about Indigenous plants on the land.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Red Bison has advocated for installing pollinator habitats with native plants in relatively unused land at the center of campus, such as along the periphery of the main quad. Some in the campus community, Shah adds, 鈥渕ay not recognize that a prairie plant restoration, which appears unseemly or disorganized, can actually be healthy in its own right.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Marler, at the University of Montana, has also noted that when Indigenous plant gardens are attempted on college campuses, some may view them as 鈥渦gly鈥� or think they 鈥渓ook bad鈥� because the campus community is not used to this Native aesthetic.

Despite this wastelanding, however unconscious, there is much for everyone in a campus community to gain from restoring Indigenous land connections. Shah described the benefits of pollinator habitats beyond cultural and ecological restoration, recounting that 鈥渢he more students get to recognize 鈥� prairie flowers 鈥� it brings people closer to the place [where] they鈥檙e studying.鈥�

Another purpose of these kinds of native plant or pollinator gardens is educational. 鈥淢ost people have plant blindness and they just don鈥檛 think about 鈥� how plants are organized or what the plants are,鈥� Marler says. By drawing attention to Native plants, appreciation can be cultivated. 

Beyond Land Acknowledgements

In recent years colleges and universities have begun writing and presenting 鈥渓and acknowledgement鈥� statements on their websites and at campus events. But some argue these statements are performative and preclude more meaningful action. University land acknowledgements do not address the process of slow violence or the false colonial narrative perpetuated by these institutions, students say.

Fellows shares that while her university in Montana is creating new native plant gardens, it is also continuing to demolish campus green spaces to construct new buildings. 鈥淲e say those acknowledgements, however here we are 鈥� continuing to develop these spaces and 鈥� for what? For a ?鈥� she asks. 鈥淎nd what does football represent within our [Indigenous] communities? Who is represented in those communities? What does it mean when we鈥檙e putting all this infrastructure and capital into [campus] space?鈥�

More work is still needed, but many advocates are hopeful for the future of re-Indigenizing college campuses鈥攅specially in places where Indigenous ethnobotanical gardens have already been successfully established and integrated into campus life.

The most sensible way to stop slow violence and end waiting for settler-colonists to imbue 鈥渨astelands鈥� with value is to intervene. This is done by returning to the kinds of landscapes that Indigenous peoples stewarded for some 30,000 years. Centering that history鈥攃entering Indigenous presence鈥攃an meaningfully transform institutions of power into places of learning.

Pradhan couldn鈥檛 help but think of the lasting this dam would have on her local ecology. It was the moment when she resolved to preserve the floral world of her hills with her paintbrush. 

Bhutan, Nepal, and northeastern India鈥攊ncluding Kalimpong鈥攁re part of a transboundary complex in the Eastern Himalayas called the. It forms a part of what scientists call the 鈥楬imalayan Biodiversity鈥攐ne of the biologically richest landscapes in the region.

For the past two decades, Pradhan has dedicated her life to capturing the beauty of eastern Himalayan flora on canvas. Her exquisite paintings of orchids and rhododendrons have been showcased in exhibitions around the world. Her and other botanical illustrators鈥� work offer a potential solution for preserving the region鈥檚 flora in the face of climate change.

鈥淲ith climate change and fast infrastructural development, there is an ecological change in the hills of Darjeeling and Kalimpong, and as an botanical illustrator, I feel it is important that we sensitize our younger generation to the importance of conservation of the local flora and fauna,鈥� says the 49-year-old artist.

***

Around 600 kilometers west of  Kalimpong, Nepalese botanical illustrator Neera Joshi employs watercolors to bring to life the distinctive Himalayan flowers such as rhododendrons, orchids, and magnolias on canvas. She is recognized for her significant contributions to the study of the local flora, including her involvement in 鈥� III,鈥� which features numerous botanical line drawings for scientific articles.

鈥淰isual communication plays a crucial role in conservation,鈥� Joshi says. 鈥淸Botanical paintings] can be used in educational programs, botanical gardens, and museums to raise awareness about the diversity of plant life and the importance of conservation. These illustrations can engage the public and inspire a deeper appreciation for plants and their role in ecosystems.鈥�

For nearly two decades, Joshi, now 55, has been teaching botanical illustrations to artists and scientists, believing that her teaching is contributing to the preservation of the region鈥檚 floral kingdom through art.

鈥淎t first, I was unfamiliar with botanical illustration as a distinct art form,鈥� says Finnish botanical illustrator Jari Laukka, who has been studying under Joshi鈥檚 tutelage since 2020. 鈥淗owever, upon discovering Neera鈥檚 impressive portfolio, I was eager to have her as my teacher. During a visit to her studio, I had the opportunity to witness her artwork firsthand, and I was genuinely impressed by her expertise and meticulous attention to detail, qualities essential in botanical art.鈥� He is now preparing an exhibition of his botanical paintings. 

鈥淚n contrast to other art genres within fine arts, where artists often have the freedom to be more subjective and emphasize aesthetics,鈥� Joshi says, 鈥渂otanical illustration serves the purpose of providing a comprehensive representation of a plant, allowing for easy identification. It demands accuracy and patience, which can be a challenge for new artists.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

And the stakes are high, too.

Rhododendrons and orchids hold great cultural significance in the local communities, but they are under threat. Rhododendrons are undergoing due to climate change, while orchids are suffering from widespread, harvested for their medicinal properties. 

鈥淎rt can serve as a valuable conservation tool,鈥� says Rajendra Yonzone, assistant professor in the department of Botany at Kolkata鈥檚 Victoria Institution, 鈥渢rue conservation can occur naturally if we allow these elements to thrive in their natural habitat.鈥� Yonzone, a native of Kalimpong with an extensive background in the study of the flora of the eastern Himalayas, emphasizes that the main challenge arises from unregulated construction and infrastructure development. These activities often occur without adequate planning, environmental impact assessments, or management strategies in place. To facilitate the balance between conservation and development, she says it is crucial to integrate scientific expertise and careful planning into the process. 

Yonzone acknowledges the intricacy, discipline, and hard work involved in botanical art, but he also highlights its limitations. 鈥淚n today鈥檚 technology-driven world, digital display through photography can offer a quicker and more efficient means of preserving plants and their scientific details.鈥� Photographic documentation of plants is faster to capture, easier to store, and simpler to transfer, he explains.

However, Hemlata contends that botanical illustration excels in capturing and emphasizing details that might prove elusive in photos. 鈥淓lements like cluttered backgrounds or any plant deformations encountered when photographing a plant in its natural habitat can be completely omitted in a painting.鈥� Botanical illustration, she says, serves a unique purpose in identifying and depicting plants more intimately than photographs.

The group followed a path into the Botanical Garden鈥檚 remaining patch of , by the Lenape people. Mushrooms peeked from the leaf rot, latticed the downed logs, and were cradled in the nooks of trees. Fungi grew, too, from the wooden fence meant to keep people on the path, blurring the boundaries between the forest and its visitors. 

鈥淭oday, we鈥檙e going to move as a community,鈥� said Sneha Ganguly, an artist and mycophile (lover of fungi) in her early 30s. In her 鈥渁lter ego鈥� as Kali Mushrooms, Ganguly leads online courses, fungi workshops, and forays鈥攇roup outings wherein mycophiles observe, identify, and sometimes collect mushrooms. Ganguly also founded New York City鈥檚 first Fungus Fest in 2022, and continues to organize the festival on behalf of the New York Mycological Society (NYMS).

Many of the 15 or so people in attendance at the festival鈥攔anging from 5-year-olds to retirees鈥攚ere from the surrounding neighborhoods of the Bronx, and many were members of the NYMS. They are also part of a broader trend of increased public interest in all things mushroom. 

Fungi perform key functions for ecosystems and support collective thriving. Yet compared to their counterparts in the animal and plant kingdoms, they remain poorly understood within mainstream United States society. As a result of institutional disinterest, they enjoy . 

In recent years, however, a coalition of mycology enthusiasts, many from amateur mycological associations across the United States, is changing this. These mycophiles are engaging in community science to identify, document, and protect fungal species, many of which are rare or threatened. 

Mycophiles of color, specifically, are challenging the colonial legacies within the natural sciences. They鈥檙e using mycology to reclaim caring relationships with nonhuman life. In doing so, they are creating more collective ways for communities to learn about and steward local biodiversity.

Budding Interest

Western scientists have historically labeled fungi 鈥渓ower plants.鈥� In fact, they were only officially designated a in 1969, according to Gabriela D鈥橢lia, director of the Fungal Diversity Survey, or FUNDIS, entirely dedicated to fungi conservation. 

As a result of this historical neglect, scientists have cataloged only of the world鈥檚 fungal species. While scientists know that many fungi species are , the lack of basic research makes it difficult to estimate . According to D鈥橢lia, it鈥檚 likely that 鈥渁t this pace, especially in North America, we鈥檙e losing fungal species faster than we can document 迟丑别尘.鈥� Communities worldwide also have their own names and relationships with fungi鈥攌nowledge that scientific institutions often , or erase. 

Fungi are difficult to track and protect under conventional conservation frameworks. These frameworks most lend themselves to the study of individual organisms that can be more easily observed and counted, such as polar bears, explains Patricia Kaishian, curator of mycology at the New York State Museum. 

In contrast, much of the fungal organism is invisible to the human eye. Mushrooms, for example, are actually the reproductive parts of a larger organism, whose weblike mycelia burrow into their substrate鈥攁 tree, say, or the soil鈥攖o feed. It is often where an individual fungus鈥檚 mycelia ends and another鈥檚 begins. 

Similarly, fungi often form symbiotic relationships with other organisms鈥攊ncluding . Around 90% of vascular plants have a relationship with a . Fungal mycelia, intertwined with plant roots, form under the forest floor鈥斺�渢he nervous system of the earth,鈥� as Ganguly metaphorically describes it. 

Fungi are diverse, from the dermatophytes that grow on our feet to the portobellos on our dinner plates. They often feed on dead organisms, recycling the nutrients so other beings can use them. 鈥淭heir job is to destroy everything and bring it to simple molecules,鈥� says Maria Shumskaya, an associate professor of biology who studies fungi at New Jersey鈥檚 Kean University. 

Over the past few years, scientific institutions have begun to devote increased research to fungi鈥檚 many incredible applications: their ability to , , and remediate soil by . Yet there are still relatively few professional mycologists鈥攁ccording to FUNDIS there are 1,000 mycologists in the U.S. compared to 17,000 The funding to support the study of fungal biodiversity is similarly limited.

Local mycological associations help fill in that gap. Nonprofessionals are increasingly interested in mycology, as reflected in the growing membership of the New Jersey Mycological Association (NJMA), which reached 1,000 members by the end of 2022 (more than double pre-pandemic numbers). Many people joined mycological associations during the early part of the COVID-19 pandemic; others are motivated to take action by their increasing climate anxiety. 

At the Botanical Garden foray, several participants spoke of their desire to reclaim a connection with the land. Nigel Smith, a landscape gardener from the Bronx, became interested in mycology a few years ago. 鈥淏eing in the modern day, it鈥檚 a lot of worry and uncertainty,鈥� he says. 鈥淭his feels like a path of our ancestors.鈥�

Journei Bimwala, a clinical herbalist and artist in residence at the Bronx River Alliance, came equipped with a large foraging basket. 鈥淚 want for us to be able to gain our knowledge and access back,鈥� she says. She is the community outreach coordinator with the New York Mycological Society and educates about foraging at , the only legal public foraging space in New York City. 鈥湵踱�檓 all about being out, and introducing people, and having them reconnect,鈥� she says. 

Budding mycophiles join peer-to-peer networks whose participatory approach to science takes a cue from their fungal neighbors. 鈥淚t鈥檚 definitely a mycelial community network,鈥� says Katie Crawford, a New Jersey Mycological Association member who is helping to plan the New Jersey Fungus Fest. 

Community Science 

A week after Ganguly led the foray through the New York Botanical Garden, a group of about 35 people from the New Jersey Mycological Association gathered in the parking lot of a park in central New Jersey. Then they dispersed into the trees. 

Noticing mushrooms is an art. 鈥淵ou have to have an eye for it,鈥� says Igor Safonov, the association鈥檚 treasurer and membership coordinator. 

One moment, participants were walking along, chatting. The next, one of them shot off the path quick as a deer, squatting to inspect a saucer-sized brown mushroom with a floppy cap and gauzy, labial gills. 鈥淚t鈥檚 ,鈥� they announced. The platterful felt smooth and meaty to the touch, like sweat-cooled human skin, and smelled of the soil it came from. As the participants walked, they stopped frequently to cut and tuck mushrooms into the natural-fiber baskets hanging from their arms.

Participants emerged from the forest in small groups and gathered intently under a covered pavilion to begin identification. They deposited the mushrooms they鈥檇 picked into red-and-white-checkered food trays on the picnic tables. 

Mushrooms can be identified by a range of qualities: their location, size, color, odor, and taste. (According to Kaishian, mycologists consider it safe to taste and spit out, but not swallow, a small amount of any mushroom when attempting to distinguish between two closely related species. However, many mushrooms are seriously sickening and even deadly to swallow. When starting out, it is best to do this only with someone who is highly experienced. Don鈥檛 use this article alone as a guide.) Some mushroom-hunters huddled over field guides, bending their heads together to inspect the stems and gills illustrated across the pages. Others snapped pictures to upload onto , , or even Facebook, where the broader community can help with identification. 

The most valuable source of mycological knowledge in any region is mycophiles themselves. Some have been coming to the same spots for decades. This kind of specialized, local knowledge 颈蝉苍鈥檛 just useful鈥攊t鈥檚 necessary. Especially considering that some mushrooms are poisonous, Ganguly says, mycophiles must show reverence for the fungus and respect for collective wisdom. 

Participants record information on small slips about each mushroom they collect. Club officers keep the slips and toss most of the mushrooms back into the forest. A designated member then logs the data on a spreadsheet. Occasionally, they dry a particularly rare, new, or interesting mushroom to deposit it in the club鈥檚 .

Sometimes, club members send samples for genetic sequencing. PCR (polymerase chain reaction) DNA testing has recently become much cheaper and more accessible, leading to a surge in new mushroom identifications. The neighboring New York Mycological Society lends its members compound microscopes and PCR kits to sequence the DNA of the mushrooms they collect.

Data from mycological associations across the United States enables collaborations between community scientists and their counterparts in the academy. Shumskaya, the Kean University scientist, recently using data from the New Jersey Mycological Association. From 2007 to 2019, Shumskaya reported, association participants identified 1,248 distinct fungi species. The data included 691 species that hadn鈥檛 previously been included in the for New Jersey, and four unique to the facility鈥檚 global database.

These long-term efforts reveal shifts in local fungal biodiversity. Since 2009, New Jersey Mycological Association member Nina Burghardt has organized a monthly fungal foray to the .

鈥淎 lot of the fungi that [were] typically in Florida and Texas are making their way up here,鈥� says Burghardt. Mycologists argue that climate change may be causing a . 

Fungi are often neglected in environmental policy, but they are a source of valuable information. Fungal diversity data can help communities advocate for their local ecosystems, based on the premise that when fungi suffer, ecosystems suffer鈥攁nd when fungi thrive, ecosystems thrive. 鈥淭here is a symbiotic relationship, that reciprocity,鈥� Bimwala says.

Colonial Legacies鈥攁nd Collective Reclamations

Institutional neglect of fungi is part of the larger story of environmental degradation caused by the linked systems of capitalism and Euro-American colonialism. Collections from European colonial expeditions formed the core of many early . While the archives mostly name , Ganguly points out, unnamed local people did much of the based on their deep and ancestral knowledge of a given place. Yet colonial authorities frequently erased those contributions, and often from accessing scientific and educational institutions, Kaishian says.

This colonial legacy is evident in the continued from scientific fields, and the ongoing theft and .

Amateur mycological associations are often more democratic than formal scientific institutions. 鈥淏eing a citizen scientist, there鈥檚 really a ton of entry points,鈥� says Sydney Hilton, the New Jersey Mycological Association鈥檚 newsletter editor. Yet Hilton and others say that inequalities persist. 

鈥淲hen you do want to join, you have to face the fact that you will be the only person of color in a mostly white group,鈥� says Ganguly of many mycological societies. 鈥淭hat reverberates into institutional power, and economic resources, and funding.鈥� More mycophiles of color have joined mycological societies in recent years, contributing data to surveys as community scientists. Yet the professional academics who publish papers鈥攁nd who receive money and accolades鈥攁re . 

In addition to being a member of a couple local mycology associations, Ganguly co-founded the with Mario Ceballos and a handful of other mycophiles of color interested in social-justice-centered science.

鈥淲e organized in response to not seeing representation,鈥� says Ceballos, who also serves as co-chair of , and who is based in San Diego. 鈥淲e responded by creating our own organization, our own community鈥攐rganizing around science, mushrooms, our love for medicine, and community care.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Community mycologists can embrace the tools of science, while criticizing the colonial legacies within scientific institutions, Kaishian says. 

Indeed, there is a long history of radical groups conducting community science鈥攎ost famously, the and the .

The POC Fungi Community recently opened a community lab, where they鈥檙e researching fungi鈥檚 potential to clean polluted soil. Ceballos鈥� research focuses on the reclamation of huitlacoche, a corn fungus English speakers pejoratively dubbed 鈥�.鈥� Many Indigenous Mexican peoples, including Ceballos鈥� community, consider huitlacoche a sacred and delicious staple food. 

But colonial farmers considered it a scourge. The USDA has supported the development of genetically modified corn meant to , while many U.S. agricultural institutions still if they find it. Because of this policy of eradication, fresh, market-rate huitlacoche, typically imported from Mexico, can cost in the United States鈥攎any times more than what it would normally cost in Mexico. This prohibits access for many people who have an ancestral connection to the fungus. Ceballos and his collaborators want to support community members in growing and accessing huitlacoche.

Ceballos says he鈥檚 faced racist backlash from within the mycology community for his anti-racism activism. Kaishian, similarly, experienced backlash from mycophiles who consider her 鈥渋nappropriate.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Yet mycophiles in these spaces also see positive changes. More people of color are joining, leading, and creating their own mycological spaces. And more people are interested in connecting mycology, queerness, and social justice.

Mycelial Networks 

Mycology has proven transformative for many. Among the groups featured in this piece, it has inspired people to get involved in their communities; to take a chance on their passions; and to intertwine their well-being with that of their neighbors, both human and nonhuman. D鈥橢lia, from the Fungal Diversity Survey, describes leading a weekend-long mushroom walk that ended with some participants 鈥渟itting around the table questioning their jobs.鈥�

Several community mycologists shared similar experiences. One bright June morning I called Katie Crawford, a member of the New Jersey Mycological Association; she was about to start her last day at Google. 鈥淔ungi was sort of my gateway to figure out, 鈥楬ow can I get more involved in my community?鈥欌�� she says. Now she鈥檚 going to devote herself full-time to environmental-focused work. Similarly, Ceballos, who previously worked in health care, is now a full-time caretaker and community mycologist.

Many who grew up witnessing the effects of climate change consider ecological stewardship a matter of survival. 鈥淣ow it鈥檚 less of a hobby and more of an obligation鈥攎ore of a commitment, a responsibility,鈥� says NJMA member Hilton. These mycophiles envision a massive shift in our society鈥檚 relationship with the more-than-human world鈥攁 reknitting of ourselves into webs of life and death, reciprocity and mutual obligation. 

It鈥檚 a kind of reconnection that fungi are uniquely equipped to teach us. 鈥淛ust like a mushroom, everything is community,鈥� says Bimwala. She found these relationships with the plants and fungi she foraged, with other animals, and with fellow human beings. 鈥淪o when we鈥檙e in community, guess what?鈥� she says. 鈥淲e share. We look out for one another.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

This story was produced with the support of  and the .

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 9:01 a.m. PT on Sept. 13, 2023, to clarify that the Fungal Diversity Survey is not the only . The Fungi Foundation, too, is a U.S. and Chilean nonprofit. Read our corrections policy here.

鈥淲hen you have any kind of storm event, it disrupts life totally,鈥� says Michael Taylor, co-director of the Climate Studies Group in Jamaica鈥攁 consortium of researchers from universities in the West Indies that aims to better understand the workings of local, regional, and global climate. 鈥淐limate is linked so strongly to our ability to develop and achieve the goals we aim for as a region.鈥�

Many people and organizations are dedicated to developing and enacting solutions, including Jamaica鈥檚 budding blue-green economy鈥攖he informal network of sustainability entrepreneurs, regenerative ocean farms, and sanctuaries incubating on the island. Among them is the Portland Bight Protected Area (PBPA), that, since achieving its designated protected area status in 1999, has been an anchor for communities on the edge鈥攏ot just of the island but also of the looming climate crisis.

Down by the Bay

鈥淏ight鈥� is an old nautical term to describe a concave coastal landmass that has a shelf and a shallow bay. Back in the 16th century, these characteristics allowed the Portland Bight to receive the first shipment of African slaves to Jamaican shores. The area long served as a health retreat, and one of its beaches, Hellshire, became the country鈥檚 premier tourist spot (until its shores receded dramatically in recent years). The Portland Bight has a rich ecological history too, and an array of unique natural resources like Salt River (the island鈥檚 only saltwater river). The area鈥檚 value to the country鈥檚 ecosystems is irreplaceable.

Today, the Bight spans a massive 1,872 square kilometers (723 square miles), including nine islands and cays. It holds 80% of Jamaica鈥檚 mangroves. All this biodiversity is contained within just 2 of the island鈥檚 14 parishes鈥擲t. Catherine and Clarendon. So while it is the largest protected area in the country, what makes the Bight鈥檚 protected area special is its intimate connection and commitment to the local community.

The PBPA is run by its own dedicated foundation, the Caribbean Coastal Area Management Foundation (CCAMF), which operates three fish sanctuaries with the aim of developing job opportunities that don鈥檛 involve fishing or burning dry forests. The foundation has a policy whereby all hired work鈥攔esource protection, water quality testing, project management, etc.鈥攇oes to people living in the community.

鈥淭he founding members of CCAMF came up with the idea of selecting an area with an environmental uniqueness and a cultural uniqueness,鈥� says Troy Franklin, the tours and events coordinator for the foundation. 鈥淭hey wanted somewhere where they had both the environment and the people together to sustain it.鈥�

But then in 2004, hurricane Ivan and subsequently hurricane Dean did major damage to the mangrove forests along the Bight. This major blow to the coastline鈥檚 protective barrier allowed waves to come further inland during the storms, which destroyed homes as well as property along the coast. Community members who had their own small farms lost crops, and the land became difficult to farm because of the excess salt left behind.

Recovery in the aftermath of climate change-induced disasters is very difficult for small islands and developing states like Jamaica. A decade is often not enough time for full recovery.

Still, the CCAMF and the community continued to come together. On World Wetlands Day, February 2, 2011, the foundation, along with community members, launched a replanting project. Ten years later, the project is considered a success story by many who live along the Bight. This section of coastline now has the largest and densest mangrove forest in the country. 鈥淚 think the forest is offering more protection now,鈥� says Antonette Davis, a fish vendor in Old Harbor Bay. 鈥淲e might have less rainfall these days, but whenever it does, it doesn鈥檛 affect us as much.鈥�

Communities along the Bight have also found other ways to bounce back from the storm damage. 鈥淚t was a lot of people that lost their livelihoods. People are still recovering, slowly but surely. People are rebuilding, and some are moving away from the coast,鈥� Davis says

People who have decided to stay in the Bight have been able to benefit from more sustainable income streams such as harvesting wild shellfish, which has increased since the regrowth of the forest.

The water- and wave-absorbing power of wetlands and the salt-absorbing power of the mangrove forests have also provided a kind of economic security for communities. People know their homes and farm fields are less likely to get washed away with the next storm. This has empowered these communities to invest in dry-forest conservation in the Bight as well, which creates income opportunities from things like apiculture (beekeeping).

Alternative Livelihoods

The CCAMF鈥檚 alternative livelihoods project has partnered with the National Environment and Planning Agency (NEPA) to impact communities for the better. The partnership has led to an apiculture and honey production support initiative in the Bight, as well as an ecotourism program that will employ community members as guides and boat operators in the mangrove boardwalks and on the Salt River.

鈥淗ere in Salt River, we have a couple of people who are bee farmers. Selling honey not only serves as a way to make money outside of fishing, but the extra bees pollinating in the area increase the yield of certain crops,鈥� says Marine Campbell, longtime resident of the Salt River community. 鈥淭his year, the mango crop was more plentiful, and I believe it was because of the bees.鈥� Even residents in Portland Cottage, one of the more remote communities along the Bight, report a similar but more modest interest in apiculture as a sustainable income stream.

Through efforts like the mangrove replanting, Jamaican communities have proven that commitment and teamwork are critical climate resilience measures. The dry-forest cutting and coal burning that used to be a means of income for many is being discouraged and phased out, with bee farming presenting as a more sustainable option yielding more benefits.

These days cutting down mangroves in the Bight is absolutely illegal and a punishable offense. Still, it鈥檚 not only police enforcement that has kept the area protected; an increase in public education plays its own role. According to Campbell, 鈥淚 remember at one point they had a training by our church and we were invited. They taught us some of the importance of the mangroves and the different types. I would say people are more alert now when it comes to that.鈥�

Community members are vigilant in their protection of the mangroves because they know what they stand to lose without them. The bond between the environment and the community remains strong, and the addition of management entities and government agencies such as NEPA helps to provide additional legitimacy to ensure these efforts continue.

The Caribbean Coastal Area Management Foundation鈥檚 director, Ingrid Parchment, is optimistic about the Bight and the work the organization has in store for it. She expects that the collaboration with the community will continue to grow as they welcome the participation of more community members and donors, as well as government and the private sector. She hopes that more and more people will visit the Bight, not only to learn about Jamaica鈥檚 natural history and resources, but also to understand more about climate change adaptation actions鈥攁nd, critically, to meet the people who continue to call Portland Bight home.

This story was produced with the support of the Pulitzer Center.

The story of Wynn Bruce is not well known. But as it becomes clear that our political system is incapable of responding to the scale of the climate emergency unfolding before us, radical actions like Bruce鈥檚 will continue. In the coming years we are going to witness an overall escalation of activist tactics in response to the climate crisis.

In my new novel, , I explore this shift through real, historical actions as well as fictional, potential actions. My protagonist, a lifelong environmental activist named Rae Kelliher, is deeply formed by the nonviolent social change movements of the past four decades, including the efforts to stop construction of nuclear power plants, avoid a U.S. invasion of Nicaragua, and prevent construction of a fracked gas pipeline in her Boston neighborhood. In each case, she engages in unwavering tactics of nonviolent civil disobedience and witness, usually after exhausting all legal remedies to preventing harms. But facing down a diagnosis of terminal cancer as she approaches age 70, Rae engages in a shocking act, taking her own life and the life of a fossil fuel CEO whom she blames for delaying society鈥檚 response to climate change.

Rae鈥檚 husband, Reggie, who is virulently opposed to violent tactics, argues presciently that her action will lead to negative blowback, with the hammer of state repression coming down on social movements and criminalizing dissent. We can see this in our world today, with racketeering charges against Cop City protesters and harsh penalties dealt to water protectors. But as Reggie later observes, it is hard to suppress a 鈥渄ecentralized army of terminally ill patients鈥� who engage in militant acts at the end of life.

While the choice Rae makes in the novel is fictional, the situation she faces is all too real: It is the situation we are facing right now.

The latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report underscores that if we stay on our current course, in terms of carbon and methane emissions, we will blow past the 鈥渄efense line鈥� of a 1.5 C (2.7 F) temperature increase with disastrous impacts in the form of weird weather, droughts, floods, and challenges to our food system.

We now know from investigative reporting that the largest fossil fuel companies, Shell and ExxonMobil, about the dangerous repercussions of burning coal, gas, and oil. Yet for almost half a century, the industry deployed its considerable assets and power to deny climate change, fund disinformation and doubt about the science, lobby to block energy-efficient alternatives, and delay timely responses. And the industry鈥檚 reckless pursuits continue unabated in the face of surging global heat waves.

As you read this, the leaders of a couple dozen global energy corporations are making conscious decisions to build new infrastructure to extract and burn billions of tons of carbon and methane that is presently sequestered. A identified 195 carbon-bomb projects; each will burn a billion tons of carbon over its lifetime.

The largest banks and financial institutions in the world to enable this extraction. They are all betting against humanity, counting on the failure of governments and social movements to stop their activities. The U.S. government is gridlocked between one political party that is entirely subservient to the carbon barons鈥攁nd another party still mostly captured by energy interests.

Meanwhile, among those who are adamant that major changes are necessary, the debate about what to do reels between magical thinking and defeatism. Proposals range from untested and risky techno-fixes to hyperlocal civic engagement around carbon drawdown and regenerative agriculture. Others have already started grieving the losses they see coming or have withdrawn from civic engagement, believing our political system incapable of forming an adequate response.

However, there is still time to secure a livable future, or at least a 鈥�,鈥� as humorist Andrew Boyd describes it. We can still shift the trajectory away from the worst-case scenarios if we act decisively in the next seven years, dramatically reducing fossil fuel consumption and implementing a wide range of mitigation and adaption strategies. But the first step is to stop the pipeline, if you will, of new fossil fuel infrastructure for extraction and burning. 

The fossil fuel industry and its leaders will not voluntarily make these changes. The tobacco industry was the last to admit that smoking was bad for our health. Big Oil, Big Gas, and Big Coal will extract until they are stopped by external pressure. And if they are not stopped, they will destroy the world.

Who will stop them? State actors are unable to meaningfully respond at this point. Witness the Conference of the Parties process, with all the world鈥檚 leaders sitting around a table, increasingly cutting deals with polluters. At the same time, corporate defenders of the energy status quo have created a significant propaganda industry鈥攊ncluding think tanks, astroturf advocacy groups, and symbolic 鈥渘et zero鈥� campaigns鈥攖o distract us. As Rebecca Solnit observes, the to reinforce the 鈥渨e are all responsible for climate change鈥� deflection from its own culpability.

The divestment movement has inspired thousands of institutions to out of fossil fuel investments while 鈥渞evoking the social license鈥� of the industry. One coalition is calling for U.S. lawmakers to the role of the fossil fuel industry in fomenting denial and delay in responding to the climate crisis. But it is hard to imagine the current oil-soaked Congress acting on such an idea.

I am not surprised that a growing number of people have given up on our political system as a path for making change. Instead, they focus on private sector responses or social movement interventions in blocking new fossil fuel infrastructure鈥攕uch as Standing Rock and the Valve Turners. Other forms of disruptive direct action, such as efforts by and , are critical in drawing attention to the urgency of the fight. 

But ultimately, in the absence of radical, system-wide solutions, these efforts can only serve as delay tactics. What we need is a bold 鈥渏ust transition鈥� program that ends fossil fuels as soon as possible. This should include a declaration of a federal climate emergency; an immediate moratorium on all new fossil fuel infrastructure; an immediate elimination of all fossil fuel subsidies; and a public/government takeover and rapid phaseout of the fossil fuel sector while using its superprofits to fund the transition.

Without such actions, the collision course between ecological realities and our insufficient societal responses will only intensify. The coming decade will see more Wynn Bruce鈥搇ike acts of desperation as well as acts of eco-sabotage such as those depicted in the new dramatic film,, based on the nonfiction .

As the fictional Rae Kelliher says in anticipation of those who will object to her radical and violent act: If you don鈥檛 like what I鈥檝e done, what bold action will you undertake to protect mother earth, our one and only home?

鈥淪omething about being focused on climate makes you crazy in a unique way,鈥� Heller says. 鈥嬧�淲e are here to win, and we have to seize the power of the state because nothing else can address this global crisis at a scale that can match it.鈥�

Heller was reflecting on a major ecosocialist victory, a phrase that would have seemed oxymoronic five years ago. That victory was New York state鈥檚 Build Public Renewables Act (BPRA), a big step toward a Green New Deal. While other states have taken steps as well鈥擨llinois鈥� 2021 labor-led  comes to mind鈥擭ew York is the first state to do so in a way that explicitly rejects the neoliberal obligation to put corporate profits first. Instead, the BPRA puts the publicly owned New York Power Authority in charge of building renewable energy with a mandate to do so in the interest of working people.

Ecosocialists in New York won because their goal was unabashedly socialist, because they鈥檇 built a bench of elected leaders, and because they were willing to try everything鈥攅ven with great risk鈥攚hile rethinking strategies that weren鈥檛 working.

Where To Start

In 2017, as DSA membership skyrocketed in the wake of the Bernie Sanders presidential campaign, a handful of DSA members formed a national ecosocialist working group. It seemed clear that capitalist profiteering was fueling the climate crisis, confirmed by a  that found that just 100 corporations had produced more than 70% of total greenhouse gas emissions since 1988.

A socialist solution felt urgent. For decades, leaving the problem to the capitalist elites who caused it had yielded mostly empty greenwashed rhetoric.

But even within DSA, not everyone was convinced climate should be a focal point. The question (shared by centrist Democrats at the time) was whether climate, as a broad issue, could mobilize working-class Americans. 鈥嬧�淚t sounds crazy to say now,鈥� says Mike Paulson, one of the leading strategists on BPRA and an early member of the Ecosocialist Working Group, 鈥嬧�渂ut four years ago, a lot of socialists just didn鈥檛 care about climate. So we had to prove ourselves within DSA.鈥�

In 2018, these attitudes began to change quickly. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a democratic socialist bartender and a Standing Rock protester, won a congressional seat in Queens and championed the idea of a Green New Deal. It was the first time a United States elected official had proposed a plan to decarbonize the economy that matched the scale of the climate crisis. 

Meanwhile, more and more young people were painfully aware of the climate crisis. Paulson remembers this time well. 鈥嬧�淚 was becoming increasingly despondent,鈥� he says. 鈥嬧�淚t鈥檚 really dark to confront that without any framework for thinking about how there could be anything other than a totally disastrous future.鈥�

By the end of 2018, it was clear that DSA had a good model for , having won 46 electoral victories that year, from the local to the federal level. And socialists have had a model of how to organize workers for more than a century. 鈥嬧�淪o the question was,鈥� Paulson recalls, 鈥嬧�渉ow would socialists do climate work?鈥�

With Trump as president, demanding a Green New Deal felt too ambitious, potentially demobilizing in its impossibility. They needed an intermediate step. They considered some proposals on composting and on transportation, but to demand something too small could squander the sudden momentum of the socialist movement. Heller recalls the group wondering, 鈥嬧�淲hat is the biggest thing that we could conceivably win?鈥�

The most powerful idea to emerge from these discussions was a public power campaign. It would be modeled on a fight in Providence, Rhode Island, known as #NationalizeGrid, which was waged by Providence DSA (now Rhode Island DSA) and the George Wiley Center. (That project has stalled because of the chapter鈥檚 shift in focus toward Medicare for All and medical debt, but the project did succeed in reducing a proposed rate hike.)

Because utility profiteering affects everyone, and because it disproportionately affects working-class New Yorkers, the issue is a natural fit for a socialist organization. Plus, a public takeover would open the door to a green energy transition.

While Providence was the inspiration, the model for how to win legislation in Albany was closer to home: . Championed by democratic socialist Julia Salazar, the first of the recent wave of DSA-endorsed candidates to win state office in New York, the new reforms made New York鈥檚 tenants possibly the best-protected in the country. In a state where the real estate industry is easily the most powerful interest group, the fight was won through targeted canvassing of rent-stabilized tenants to build awareness and organize pressure on politicians.

The New York power campaign canvassed in neighborhoods suffering unreasonably high electric rates and the fallout of climate disasters. The devastating 2019 blackout in New York City left many stranded in elevators and subways, which revealed鈥攁ccording to Amber Ruther, then an NYC-DSA member who was part of the early organizing鈥攖hat Con Edison (ConEd), a for-profit company with a monopoly, 鈥嬧�渄idn鈥檛 have the incentive to invest in even basic grid maintenance.鈥� Public power advocates argued that the government, without the profit motive and with democratic oversight and obligation, could do a better job. (Ruther, now of Syracuse DSA, also works for Alliance for a Green Economy, part of the Public Power coalition that worked to pass BPRA.)

The campaign also held town halls in affected neighborhoods. It turned out that ConEd had kept the lights on in wealthy areas but had cut off power in working-class Black communities like Flatbush. Ruther recalls 鈥嬧�渁 lot of righteous anger from the community about those blackouts鈥� during town hall events. As one Flatbush resident interviewed for a DSA video put it, 鈥嬧�淲hy are we always in the dark?鈥�

Also in 2019, newly empowered progressives in Albany passed an ambitious-sounding climate law requiring New York to reduce its economy-wide greenhouse gasses . The Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act (CLCPA) wasn鈥檛 as groundbreaking as it sounds, accompanied by few enforcement or operational mechanisms. That is typical of many climate pledges in a neoliberal system, which depend largely on voluntary corporate action.

But the CLCPA did hand socialists an argument: At the time, wind and solar made up less than 6% of New York鈥檚 energy, and complying with the new law would take massive systemic change. If New York didn鈥檛 enact public power, socialists said, the state would be breaking its own law.

Outsiders in Albany

The 2020 elections expanded DSA鈥檚 Albany slate to six (and put Jamaal Bowman, who played an unusually vocal role in advocating for BPRA, in Congress). New York鈥檚 socialists were in a unique position, with more elected officials than anywhere else in the nation, though far from a governing majority. The evolving idea of the BPRA began to attract support from some other Democrats in Albany, especially as DSA demonstrated more political power.

So DSA began experimenting. During one town hall event, Mike Gianaris, a state senator from western Queens, was put on the spot and asked whether he would support BPRA. With the growing electoral muscle of DSA in Queens, Gianaris agreed.

But not every tactic worked. DSA had previously been successful in some campaigns by organizing constituents to call their representatives. On BPRA, this approach wasn鈥檛 effective, perhaps precisely because of those previous DSA successes: Politicians had started to get hardened against mass outreach from constituents.

Still, DSA鈥檚 newly elected slate was already learning how to challenge the culture of Albany. One of these new socialist officials, Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani, from Astoria, Queens, says colleagues were puzzled by his lobbying for BPRA, since he wasn鈥檛 the sponsor鈥攍egislators customarily spent political capital only on their own bills. When he called them, they鈥檇 say, 鈥嬧�淲hy are you calling me? It 颈蝉苍鈥檛 your bill.鈥�

Assemblymember Robert Carroll, a member of the relevant committee who had agreed to sponsor the bill, was a committed progressive and an 鈥嬧�渋ncessant champion鈥� of the bill, Mamdani says, but the socialist politicians saw themselves as a necessary part of the inside-outside pressure required.

Such matters of etiquette were not the only challenges for the neophyte lawmakers. BPRA鈥檚 sponsor in the state Senate, Kevin Parker, chair of the energy and telecommunications committee, wasn鈥檛 a socialist or a passionate supporter of public power, Heller says, but DSA activists didn鈥檛 realize how little good faith Parker brought with him. According to Heller, Parker committed to pushing BPRA if the group could get other legislators to support it. But when the DSA members approached other elected officials, Heller says, they were told no one supports a bill unless the lead sponsor asks them to. 

鈥淗e just lied to us,鈥� Heller says. 鈥嬧�淲e realized that, even though we鈥檙e socialists, we weren鈥檛 cynical enough. The Democrats in Albany didn鈥檛 want to pass a climate bill because there was too much money on the other side.鈥�

DSA activists analyzed data from the National Institute on Money in Politics and found that New York state鈥檚 Democratic campaign committees had taken more than $600,000 from the energy industry since 1997. Parker himself had received more than $110,000 since his first electoral campaign in 2002. (Parker did not respond to a request for comment on this story.)

The activists asked one sympathetic senator (outside of DSA) what they should do. Should they continue playing nicely, or would a negative campaign be more effective? The response: 鈥嬧�淕oing negative is always better.鈥�

DSA activists held a sizable demonstration in 2021 with protest signs that depicted some of the politicians standing in the way of BPRA鈥攖heir faces on Venmo graphics listing all of their fossil fuel donations. The rally won both media and political attention. 鈥嬧�淭hey were fun, they were funny,鈥� recalls Paulson, 鈥嬧�渁nd the people targeted were extremely upset.鈥� BPRA did not pass in 2021, but it did move from being a fringe campaign to a focus of media attention.

Throughout this time, the group often discussed and rethought their approach, with many strategy retreats. According to Gustavo Gordillo鈥攑art of DSA鈥檚 Green New Deal committee as well as its National Political Committee鈥攖he questions they asked were, 鈥嬧�淲hat are the major conditions we鈥檙e facing? How much power do we have? Can we win? What do we need to do to win?鈥� The openness, Gordillo says, 鈥嬧�渁llowed us to be very honest with ourselves and made the strategy a lot better.鈥�

Making Them Fear You

In January 2022, as the group decided to continue the negative, confrontational approach, DSA organized a big 鈥嬧�淏uild or Burn鈥� protest with signs putting new Gov. Kathy Hochul鈥檚 face on two fake City & State magazine covers: One, in which Hochul failed to pass BPRA, featured a burning background, while the other depicted a happier scenario in which Hochul did the right thing. The message was, Heller says, 鈥嬧�淚f you don鈥檛 pass this, you鈥檙e evil. You鈥檙e condemning our future.鈥�

These tactics made headlines, but the group realized they needed to do more. 鈥嬧�渊别蝉, you can upset people with the Venmo boards,鈥� says Paulson, 鈥嬧�渂ut how do you make them fear you?鈥�

To build their bench of socialist elected officials and to strike fear into the hearts of Albany lawmakers, DSA decided to primary Kevin Parker, the BPRA bill鈥檚 main sponsor鈥斺�渘ot a Sierra Club move,鈥� laughs Lee Ziesche, a DSA member and spokesperson for the Public Power Coalition, who has also worked with Sane Energy. This move was controversial within the organization; turning on people who were, on paper, allies of the cause defied conventional wisdom. But in a series of heated meetings, they hashed it out, and the idea carried the day. They chose to run David Alexis, a serious, charismatic rideshare driver and organizer whose daughters suffered from asthma.

The group ran other ecosocialists for office in 2022, an effort that took enormous organizing capacity. Many quit their jobs to work full-time on these electoral campaigns, all of which were extremely organizing-intensive, with door-to-door outreach throughout the city and upstate. Only two of seven candidates won their seats. The experience led many to wonder whether the diversion of BPRA organizing into electoral work had been a mistake: 鈥嬧�淲e did way too many campaigns, and most of them lost,鈥� says Heller, 鈥嬧�渨hich sucked.鈥�

But the electoral campaigns turned out to be crucial to BPRA鈥檚 eventual passage in ways no one anticipated. The political effects became especially apparent during the June 2022 Democratic primary.

Sarahana Shrestha, in her Hudson Valley campaign for state Assembly, made climate and BPRA her main platform planks, defying conventional wisdom that climate was not a kitchen table issue, especially outside of the city. Plus, her opponent was already known in Albany as a climate advocate鈥攏ot the sort of politician that conventional environmentalists would oppose. But Shrestha won the primary, and her victory became understood as a mandate for BPRA and a warning to politicians who didn鈥檛 get on board. Shrestha became the bill鈥檚 biggest champion in state government.

In Queens, Kristen Gonzalez, a DSA activist who鈥檇 been a leader in a successful campaign to block fossil-fuel giant NRG from building a new gas plant in Astoria, also won her primary, crushing Elizabeth Crowley, an unremarkable mainstream Democrat (and a cousin of Joe Crowley, the incumbent machine boss ousted by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in 2018). Gonzalez鈥檚 state Senate victory鈥攁nd the size of it鈥攚as a huge show of power for NYC-DSA. It scared mainstream Democrats and was a crucial reason why labor unions began taking BPRA more seriously.

Despite DSA鈥檚 efforts to bring unions on board as early as 2018, parts of labor had opposed BPRA, reticent because they did not believe DSA and its allies were powerful enough to ensure strong labor protections in the bill. Within DSA, the question of whether to keep campaigning for the bill without labor鈥檚 support was a fraught one.

The strong electoral challenges of 2020, and especially 2022, brought labor to the table. The labor provisions of the final BPRA bill were written by the AFL-CIO and include strong labor standards for the new public renewables sector, as well as an Office of Just Transition to train workers for the new jobs. Equally important, labor鈥檚 turn brought many Democrats in Albany on board. The New York State United Teachers鈥� full-throated endorsement of BPRA in April 2022 was an especially key turning point in winning over many legislators.

David Alexis lost his primary to Kevin Parker, but the campaign served its purpose of instilling fear. In the middle of the legislative session, a few weeks before the primary, Parker decided to bring the bill to a vote in the state Senate, removing what had appeared to be its biggest obstacle. In advocating for BPRA鈥檚 passage, Parker even used DSA talking points, insisting that BPRA would allow the state to meet its climate goals and that converting its grid to renewables was 鈥嬧�渋mperative.鈥�

The bill passed. DSA鈥檚 most maverick move鈥攖he primary challenge to BPRA鈥檚 lead sponsor鈥攈ad worked, to the astonishment of many within the organization.

Says Gustavo Gordillo, regarding the Albany establishment, 鈥嬧�淲e found out that the way to get them to do what we want is by open conflict that they can understand.鈥�

Although leadership in the Assembly, the lower house of the state legislature, still refused to introduce BPRA, DSA had built enough power that Sarahana Shrestha and other socialist legislators were able to press for a hearing. Shrestha says that hearing in itself was a sign of how far the Albany common sense had evolved, although, she emphasized, 鈥嬧�渢hat was before the Inflation Reduction Act passed and definitely before we knew what it meant.鈥�

The federal Inflation Reduction Act (IRA), passed in August 2022, provides direct funding for any public agency that builds renewable energy. The Public Power Coalition commissioned a report revealing that failing to pass BPRA would cost the state billions of dollars in federal funds, a convincing argument for many in state government. At that point, Shrestha emphasizes, 鈥嬧�渢he consensus was moving toward this bill.鈥�

The Assembly still refused to bring it to a vote. But the visibility of the issue continued. #BPRA became a top trending hashtag on Twitter in New York, even ahead of #NationalDonutDay.

In January, confirming the labor movement鈥檚 fears, Gov. Hochul tried to remove BPRA鈥檚 labor and environmental justice provisions. This watered-down version of the bill became known by activists as 鈥�.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;BPRA-lite took the coalition by surprise. It was clear that the governor was trying to divide the labor, socialist, and environmental forces backing the bill. They couldn鈥檛 allow that to happen.

The usual approach in Albany by progressive lobbying forces would have been to take BPRA-lite as a partial victory, but DSA and the Public Power Coalition took the opposite approach. They saw that Hochul was vulnerable and put up a billboard in Albany pointing out that 68% of New Yorkers supported BPRA, while only 52% voted for the governor.

In May, BPRA passed with nearly everything DSA wanted, including the closure of six power plants causing asthma in Black and Brown communities. BPRA creates thousands of well-paid, green, union jobs and imposes annual checks to ensure New York is on track to meet the decarbonization targets mandated in 2019 (70% renewable by 2030, 100% clean by 2040), which had previously seen little progress.

Shrestha emphasizes that BPRA鈥檚 passage is 鈥嬧�渘ot the end鈥� of the fight. 鈥嬧�淣ow,鈥� she says, 鈥嬧�渨e have to work to make sure that, every step of the way, this is implemented correctly, something that I find very exciting.鈥�

The Horizon of the Possible

BPRA poses a challenge to most people鈥檚 modest assumptions about what is possible to win in the United States鈥攈ow far the government will veer from serving the interests of the capitalist class. Many people want climate action, and many also want more socialist policy. 鈥嬧�淭hey just don鈥檛 think that鈥檚 possible,鈥� Heller says. As Gordillo emphasizes, 鈥嬧�淲e were able to challenge the ideological consensus.鈥�

Winning a huge victory like BPRA also helps counter 鈥嬧�渄oomism,鈥� the idea that it鈥檚 too late to fix the climate crisis, which, Heller believes, is 鈥嬧�渢he worst鈥� of many prevalent climate narratives because it convinces people that 鈥嬧�渨e don鈥檛 have to do anything.鈥�

BPRA 颈蝉苍鈥檛 precisely replicable in every state. Franklin D. Roosevelt created the New York Power Authority when he served as governor of New York鈥攚hich became a precursor to such New Deal projects as the Tennessee Valley Authority鈥攁nd most states don鈥檛 have an analogous body. But this barrier 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 be exaggerated. Gordillo says there are fights socialists can wage everywhere that are analogous to BPRA.

Because the Inflation Reduction Act offers direct funding to 鈥嬧�渁ny public agency鈥� that wants to create public power, Gordillo explains, 鈥嬧�渁ny DSA chapter in the country鈥� can campaign to get a school board to build solar panels, or even get a city to create large-scale renewable projects. Indeed, other DSA chapters, including in Milwaukee and Maine, are launching their own versions of the Public Power campaign now.

The BPRA fight shows that socialists can win big on climate, and its organizers hope everyone will take that possibility personally. 鈥嬧�淲e鈥檙e all total randos,鈥� says Heller. 鈥嬧�淲e didn鈥檛 know anything when we started out. If we can come together and do this, anyone can.鈥�

This article was originally published by . It has been published here with permission. Ivonne Ortiz provided fact-checking.

Mangca, a boat captain from Moloka鈥榠, an island 25 miles away, had been making daily boat trips to L膩hain膩 since footage of the wildfires began rolling in on social media on August 8th. After the intensity of the previous weeks, Mangca and a dozen others from the neighboring island returned for Labor Day weekend to relieve some of the resident volunteers who were cooking thousands of meals at a few of the community-led distribution hubs, and to help throw a local-style luau to bring people some normalcy and joy after what had happened.

The wildfires, which were started by downed power lines during high winds from Hurricane Dora, rapidly turned the historic town in West Maui to ash, destroying thousands of homes, businesses, and a beloved Native Hawaiian cultural center. According to officials, it also led to the deaths of nearly 100 loved ones, with several still missing more than a month later.听

Government aid has trickled in slowly, so the community from Maui and the surrounding islands have risen up to help one another. 

鈥淔or four days there was no food, no water, no supplies, no help,鈥� says Mangca about the lack of government support, which was made more problematic after the National Guard set up checkpoints and blocked delivery of mutual aid going into L膩hain膩鈥攕omething officials later said was to .

Mangca, who initially went in to rescue people while the island was still in flames, then found himself one of several in a fleet of boats, Jet Skis, and catamarans from all over the islands that came in daily to drop off food and other supplies to the Kahana Boat Ramp in Napili鈥攖o get around the checkpoints and meet the community鈥檚 needs.

West Maui Council Member Tamara Paltin, who had also been on the ground helping her constituents, spoke to the resilience and relationships of the community at a county council meeting, quoting a friend who said, 鈥淭he kupa驶腻颈苍补, the people of this place, are not the passive recipients of aid; they are the navigators.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Kahana Boat Ramp in Napili became one of the core supply centers, even as limited access opened up for those with a L膩hain膩 ID or pre-approved aid. Volunteers would pick up the supplies from the fleet鈥攕ometimes by wading through waist-deep water鈥攖hen deliver them to several shelters and other community-led distribution hubs all over the island. 

All were run by a vast ecosystem of volunteers, many who had lost everything, all of whom were navigating constantly changing needs.

鈥淪ince the beginning of the disaster, it鈥檚 been the community helping the community,鈥� said Blake Ramelb . He grew up in L膩hain膩 and has a lot of family living up the hill from the burn zone. Ramelb has been using social media as a platform to give words of encouragement and address the needs of the community so his followers can help amplify and crowdsource those needs.

He鈥檚 been able to secure hundreds of air purifiers and respirators, among other items, and is now looking for independent air specialists to test the air quality since state and federal agencies have yet to release their final results. 

鈥湵踱�檓 just a concerned citizen trying to do my best because I have people that I love who could potentially be put at risk,鈥� Ramelb says. 鈥淟et鈥檚 keep the people that are still here safe.鈥�

Providing Direct Assistance

Volunteers from the organization (HHH) were among those turned away at the National Guard checkpoints on the first day, when trying to supply meals to the West Side. Steven Calkins, one of the co-founders of the organization, whose kitchen is in Central Maui, made use of his contacts and was able to get into the area with someone who had a L膩hain膩 ID. After that, Councilwoman Paltin tapped into her connections and obtained continued access for the organization.

When other meal charities approached Calkins to see if HHH could help deliver thousands of their meals that had been turned away, Calkins reached out to West Side restaurants and instead asked whether, if HHH supplied the food, the restaurants would make the meals. Several signed on, alongside food trucks. 

Every day now, volunteers pick up and distribute 1,000 pounds of produce from , which works with local growers to supply those kitchens. Calkins says they also ride into communities ice-cream-truck-style for people to come get what they need. Volunteers then pick up more than 400 meals per day cooked by their West Side partners at to deliver to the neighborhoods that need it most, like those living on the edge of the burn zone in L膩hain膩luna. 

鈥淭hey are still without power and clean water,鈥� Calkins said at the end of August, adding that HHH had gotten the community a refrigerated truck to store food alongside big jugs of water to fill up at water tanks. 

鈥淗HH has always been a grassroots project, all directed at people helping people through the heart,鈥� he says. The goal, since the organization began during the COVID-19 pandemic, is to create a sharing economy, with partner organizations donating goods instead of money. Calkins says they never accepted a dime up until a few weeks ago, but with the abundance of donations now coming into the organization, he says they are now accepting and saving these funds to meet long-term goals like funneling money into local farms, restaurants, and businesses to pay their rent and keep them going. 

Several members of the community and other Hawai鈥榠-based organizations have also stepped up to help get financial aid directly to affected families.

Thus far, families have only received a one-time payment of $700 from the federal government, which some say is blown in one visit to the grocery store, given how high food prices are on the islands. The majority of food in Hawai鈥榠 is imported and prices are .

through direct Venmo donations. Early on, a group of community members worked tirelessly to put together an for donations to go directly to families in need, who have been vetted by the group.

There has also been a community-sourced shared on social media. It lists how much each family or business has received in donations thus far, to help donors spread wealth more evenly. So far more than $20 million has been raised among 250 fundraisers on the document. 

Other fundraisers, managed by local organizations like the Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement and the Hawai鈥榠 Community Foundation, have also funneled resources straight to the community. , for example, raised $3 million dollars and put $1 million of that toward the Hawai鈥榠 Community Foundation鈥檚 ; the organization delivered $500,000 directly to families and an additional $350,000 to nonprofits.

Staying Home

L膩hain膩, once the seat of the Hawaiian Kingdom, has long been home to a deeply rich and diverse population of multigenerational families. The population is not just K膩naka Maoli (Native Hawaiians), but, like much of Hawai鈥檌, also includes large Filipino, Chinese, Japanese, and Western populations that integrated there during the plantation era. In West Maui, there is also a large Latino population. This diverse culture of people, Mangca says, always comes together when they need to. 

Once a verdant wetland, K膩naka were upended and displaced by illegal occupation and the plantation era, which eventually destroyed the Indigenous ecology. Water diversions for sugarcane dried out the land, and the introduction of invasive plant species, paired with a changing climate, turned L膩hain膩 into a tinderbox, aiding the rapid spread of the blaze on August 8th. 

According to officials, more than 2,200 homes, apartment buildings, and other structures have since been destroyed. And the island had already been struggling with a housing shortage prior to the fires.

Mangca says many L膩hain膩 residents who have lived there for generations have refused to leave because they are afraid that when they do, they鈥檒l lose everything. They fear people will buy up their properties, leaving them with nowhere else to go. Some residents say they fear complete cultural erasure.

Many of those who did leave L膩hain膩 went to shelters. Some 6,000 people were reportedly housed temporarily in hotels or vacation rentals. Community members are hosting friends and family in their homes, often several together under one roof. Many people are concerned about what will happen next and are skeptical of FEMA, due to longtime government distrust, continuous displacement, and , which FEMA has since refuted. Some residents have already been hit up by realtors and developers trying to buy their properties, preying on them at their most vulnerable. 

Many also found themselves up against Governor Josh Green鈥檚 emergency affordable-housing proclamation, which streamlines development while suspending protections for cultural resources, iwi k奴puna (ancestral bones), and environmental resources鈥攁s well as suspending the Sunshine Law, which ensures transparent public participation in government processes. 

These actions have resulted brought by environmental law group , which represented Sierra Club of Hawai鈥榠, ACLU of Hawai鈥榠, and Kanaka Maoli鈥搇ed groups such as N膩 鈥極hana o Lele. Due to public pressure, on September 15th, Green decided to reverse those suspensions.

L膩hain膩 taro farmers have also found themselves in the midst of litigation by prominent land developers that build luxury real estate and have been notorious for trying to 鈥攁ncestral lands awarded in 1850 to K膩naka Maoli tenant farmers. 

In order to provide further support, the Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement just opened up a relief and aid services center in Kahului, called K膩ko驶o Maui. It is a culture-based hub providing wraparound services that involve financial support, legal support, and application assistance, with the goal of connecting the community to resources. The center is staffed by L膩hain膩 residents who lost their homes. 

In order to keep people in L膩hain膩, community members and organizations have again been working more quickly than the government by bringing in temporary housing. Local nonprofit Family Life Center flew in 60 quick-assembly modular homes manufactured in Hungary to be placed on a 10-acre lot owned by the King鈥檚 Cathedral church.

Farmer Eddie Garcia of Regenerative Education Centers is using his farm south of L膩hain膩 as a staging area to build 200 self-sufficient tiny homes that will be given, free of charge, to residents displaced by the fires. Garcia is also working with landowners to find locations for the homes. His goal is to keep the L膩hain膩 community in L膩hain膩.

鈥淎ll the things [that] were saved in the museums here to show what the history of what L膩hain膩 was, all of that is gone. So what do we have to tell the history of this place? It is the people who live here who survived it, they need to be able to rebuild and reintegrate,鈥� Garcia said on . 

Early in September, the governor called for tourism to reopen on the West Side of Maui on October 8th, but this has received pushback, partly because it will force some families out of the hotels, so Ramelb responded by asking for Lowe鈥檚 and Amazon gift cards to help purchase tools to build temporary housing. 

Jon Kinimaka, a L膩hain膩 resident who lost his home, has been helping run the distribution hub at Honok艒wai. He has also helped secure temporary tiny homes that will be able to house some families on Hawaiian Crown Lands property nearby, where residents will be able to stay for two years. Afterward, they鈥檒l be able to relocate that tiny home to their original properties.

Kinimaka also emphasizes the need for more land for immediate shelter, as some people have already been asked to leave the hotels and are turning up at the distribution center. 鈥淲e鈥檙e trying to be as helpful as possible and coordinate between private sector and government so that we can work together as a community,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to need immediate shelter, like tent villages, while we鈥檙e looking for land for temporary housing.鈥�

Many in the L膩hain膩 community, particularly K膩naka Maoli, are asking to be centered in the conversation moving forward in order to keep L膩hain膩 land in L膩hain膩 hands, and to design a future that is more sustainable for the land and its people鈥攏ot just for this generation, but future generations as well. 

Processing Grief

First, though, many people say they want the space to grieve. 鈥淗ow do we create space for healing [from] strife and conflict and devastation? It鈥檚 a difficult thing to do, but also super critical that we do it,鈥� says Kalamaoka`aina Niheu, a physician and medical director on O鈥榓hu and in California. 鈥淎nd we鈥檙e not just talking about physical injury, but emotional, spiritual, all of that community injury that happens from these types of violent acts.鈥� Niheu is the co-founder of , an organization that facilitates putting medical and traditional health practitioners on the ground, which mobilized the day after the fires.

鈥淭here was no FEMA, no Red Cross; 911 wasn鈥檛 functioning. When you tried to call, they鈥檇 say contact Maui Police, and you鈥檇 call them, and nobody would answer,鈥� Niheu says. And since they were stopped from bringing supplies to the community at the roadblocks, the group also organized people on Jet Skis and boats to bring those supplies to Kahana Boat Ramp. 

Wanting to be proactive in the prevention of illness, the group鈥檚 volunteers went door-to-door to warn about contaminated water and explain why it鈥檚 toxic, even before the Hawai鈥榠 Department of Health. The group also provided N95 masks, and explained to those downwind of the fires鈥� ash why the air was toxic.

Since then, the group has set up hubs with both allopathic and natural care, alongside traditional cultural modalities like lomi lomi massage and traditional mental health care like ho鈥榦ponopono to empower the patients to choose for themselves. The group doesn鈥檛 ask for IDs and doesn鈥檛 charge for its services.

鈥淎t the beginning, everything is 100% a gift we give freely, and we fund it ourselves,鈥� Niheu says. The volunteers cover the cost of supplies and their own flights if they are coming in from another island, which enables them to move in quickly. Then afterward they  and provide leaders in each area of expertise. 

Niheu says the organization currently has 150 people on the ground with another 700 who want to participate. They are prioritizing Maui practitioners first and K膩naka Maoli from other islands.

鈥淲hen you center the most marginalized, the most impacted, then you are able to take care of everyone else too,鈥� she says. 

Niheu developed this model of care in August 2016 while volunteering at Standing Rock in support of the Sioux Tribe鈥檚 protests of the Dakota Access Pipeline. She wanted to support and heal the protectors of land, water, and Native rights. 

Niheu then co-founded the Mauna Medic Healers Hui with colleague Noelani Ahia in 2017 to address police violence during protests against the telescopes at Haleakal膩 on Maui, and later during protests against the Thirty Meter Telescope on Mauna Kea. She says the model is inspired by a greater journey involving her mo鈥檕k奴鈥檃uhau, or genealogy. 

鈥淭he only way we鈥檙e able to come this far and do what we do is because our k奴puna, our elders, have laid down their own lives and blood and sweat and tears for a path so we can actually get through here. Because the path is so thorny and so difficult that we can鈥檛 do it alone,鈥� Niheu says. 鈥淭his work requires generations.鈥�

In order to be there for the long haul of the rebuilding process in L膩hain膩, Ahia, who lives on Maui and has lineage in L膩hain膩, started a sister organization called Maui Medic Healers Hui. Niheu says that it鈥檚 important to have people from the area lead, to build people up, and to connect them with like minds so they can walk into the future together. She likes to leave places better than when she arrives; Ahia told her it鈥檚 like 鈥減lanting seeds in the ash.鈥�

It鈥檚 hard to know how to act in the face of a global crisis, so I immediately knew the scope had to be narrowed way down. It鈥檚 much easier to understand how to advocate for specific, local solutions. That鈥檚 the level at which meaningful change originates anyway.

With the clock counting down to the start of COP26 on Oct. 31, I wanted to give listeners a way to support local climate organizers while also urging world leaders to protect our planet and the people on it.

So I created the podcast with as a way to reframe the climate conversation around Indigenous women and women of color who are on the front lines of preserving their homes and communities. Along the way, I expected to find organizations to support or ways to take action. What I didn鈥檛 expect to find was that my entire understanding of the climate crisis was wrong.

The Art of Expression

When I was pulling together the podcast, I knew I wanted to speak to people different from the average climate scientist or talking head on cable news鈥攃haracters who are typically very White and very male. Instead, I wanted to personalize the elusive magnitude of climate change by centering the voices of Native women and women of color.

We know that and women are disproportionately affected by climate change. Not only are women disproportionately displaced by climate change, women hold less decision-making power in global climate negotiating bodies: about 30%, according to the . That鈥檚 why .

Still, since so much of the climate crisis feels insurmountable, I turned to an artform to help express the inexplicable: poetry. I wanted to use poetry as a way to set the scene, to help a listener imagine an area they may have never experienced themselves鈥攖he Louisiana Bayou, the silent tundras of Alaska, or the receding coastlines of Puerto Rico.

The women in these communities are the ones doing the work of surviving, recovering, and building resilience. Shouldn鈥檛 theirs be the voices we listen to and follow?

Everyone Has a Role to Play

Apparently, that feeling of insignificance I was so afraid of? Well, turns out it鈥檚 kind of the point. One of my guests on As She Rises is Kimberly Blaeser, a Chippewa poet, scholar, and member of the White Earth Nation. Blaeser encouraged me to embrace the feeling of insignificance. For her, that feeling was crucial for reorienting and reapproaching one鈥檚 relationship to the Earth. Acknowledge how small you are, accept it, and now play your small part.

Blaeser also expressed, as did many of the Native poets I spoke to for the show, that humankind鈥檚 relationship to Earth has gotten wildly out of whack. In a time of extreme weather, a global pandemic, and racial inequality, that may sound obvious. But it鈥檚 more than what鈥檚 on the surface. As a society, we鈥檝e forgotten the role that human beings are meant to play in the larger ecosystem.

Just look at the scourge of wildfires that have devoured much of California. On another episode of As She Rises, I had the pleasure of speaking with Margo Robbins, the executive director of the Cultural Fire Management Council, which seeks to facilitate cultural burns on the Yurok Reservation and surrounding ancestral lands in California. Cultural burning is the Indigenous people鈥檚 practice of skillfully using low-intensity fires to manage the landscape. It removes the fine fuels on the forest floor, such as fallen leaves and twigs, kills pathogens, fertilizes soil, and stimulates biodiversity and healthy creeks. The Yurok practiced controlled burns for millennia before U.S. forest management policies forced them to stop. In the wake of these devastating fires鈥攕uch as the recent that is poised to be California鈥檚 biggest yet鈥擱obbins and her fellow Yurok are teaching California firefighters how to practice controlled burns.

For Robbins, the ability to control and thoughtfully deploy fire is the unique role humans are meant to play in our planet鈥檚 larger ecosystem. To her, the concept of 鈥渇ighting鈥� fires is entirely misguided to begin with.

It brought me back to Greek mythology, where Prometheus, the god of fire, defies Zeus鈥� orders and gives fire to humans. As a result, Prometheus is credited with creating modern civilization. For centuries, we have seen the ability to manipulate and use fire for our survival as the defining quality of our species. But we鈥檝e gotten away from that in the last several hundred years, and as a result, our forests are tinderboxes. We鈥檝e mistakenly only seen natural processes as something to prevent and not something to cooperate with. Our outsized sense of importance has distorted the world around us, to our own detriment.

Fortunately, ancestral practices like cultural burning are not entirely lost. A courageous group has kept them alive despite repeated attempts to . In August, by the Indigenous Environmental Network and Oil Change International found that Indigenous-led resistance efforts curbed the equivalent of 25% of U.S. and Canadian annual emissions.

When Native voices are at the forefront, tangible progress is made.

The Strength of Survival

Indigenous women and women of color have the capacity to lead us out of this climate crisis. At this time of unprecedented challenge, these are the survivors we must turn to. These are the leaders who are creating real results and who hold the necessary understanding of what it means to live in sustainable harmony with the land.

So in a climate movement that is with how to center BIPOC voices, one of the most important things we can do right now is amplify the work and stories of Indigenous women and women of color. In the first episode of As She Rises, released on Sept. 20, we travel to the Louisiana Bayou where I spoke to Colette Pichon Battle, executive director of the Gulf Coast Center for Law and Policy. After Hurricane Katrina, she returned to southern Louisiana to help her community rebuild. As we were concluding our interview she said to me:

鈥淚f we want to know how to survive, what is coming, we鈥檙e going to have to talk to the survivors. And 滨鈥檓 excited that those survivors are Native American, African American. There鈥檚 an acknowledgement that has to come in order for us to survive. And it is that the strongest, most knowledgeable people are the ones that our capitalist society values the least. But if we鈥檙e going to survive this climate crisis, we鈥檙e going to have to value them the most.鈥�

Fever: An Old-fashioned Tale About Modern Problems

In that town, the people know all kinds of spells. There are spells for protection, spells for assistance, spells for small wonders.

Those who tend the sick know the magic words which will keep you safe from fever. The traveling merchants know the incantation to shield you from the poxes that swirl in other towns. One spell lightens the load in your cart so your horse trots along as if he were pulling nothing at all. Here, a little cantrip that conjures a basket to carry home your bread. There, a charm to preserve the herbs you carry to market; when you arrive they鈥檙e as crisp and fresh as when you picked them that morning. And simply murmur the right words, and the water in your cup will flow to your lips, bubbling upward like a waterfall being reeled in. The children giggle as they drink, and others find relief in being able to drink so effortlessly. What a world it is: magic to salve, to ease your path through life, to dazzle and delight.

No one in the town remembers asking for such marvels, and none of them can explain quite how they came to have all this ordinary magic. It鈥檚 been around so long, handed down and shared around, that it鈥檚 woven into their lives now. They only know that the witch who lives on the hill, or some other witch, once gave them these spells and charms, drawing her power from wherever witches find it. (And no one could quite tell you where that is. Although some do say that the witches鈥� magic comes from deep in the earth, that it鈥檚 the breath of the first living things. That if you were to see the magic, it would be dark like peat. Black with uncountable years.)

Everyone knows, of course, that there鈥檚 a price to pay for these small wonders. The witches have always been clear about this. Nothing comes for free in this world. Just like life, magic is a balance, and the universe needs to settle its ledger. Meet a need today, savor a small luxury, and you might encounter some little misfortune tomorrow. It sounds unpleasant, but it鈥檚 not hard to understand how the people accept it. Oftentimes, the price comes due so long afterward that it doesn鈥檛 seem related at all. Or perhaps it pops up elsewhere, far away, causing some other person to stumble or trip instead. True, it鈥檚 a haphazard sort of accounting, but people will accept almost anything if it鈥檚 just the way things have always been.

In this way life proceeds unquestioned, until who knows what it is that finally cracks and starts the dam bursting. Because, lately, the discomforts have begun to trouble the people. The small misfortunes seem to mount; they feel bothersome and close by.

Take the stream, for instance: Once it flowed cleanly, but now it overflows its banks, and foul water floods the paths. Sometimes, the people find their own animals have been swept away by the currents and drowned. The people always knew the magic came with a price, but the small misfortunes don鈥檛 seem so small anymore. And what else are they to conclude but that it鈥檚 the fault of the witch and the silly magic she gave them?

When the people meet in the marketplace, they mutter about the spells of convenience: those devilishly crisp herbs, the bewitched bread baskets, the sorcery of that up-tumbling water. Why, they grumble, did the witch ever offer them such absurdities? They curse her wicked, sticky magic. It should have stayed where it belonged, they say, deep in the earth鈥檚 hot belly.

The witch knows what is brewing. When she passes the townspeople in the woods or in the market, she hears them muttering and seething. She鈥檚 seen their eyes flash with fiery resentment. And she knows it won鈥檛 be long before they confront her, fueled with righteousness, ready with their hot words.

They鈥檙e angry about the spells that seem so frivolous, so extravagant. They forget, for now, all the others that heal and ease. Even so, she knows that something has to change. The people could use fewer spells, but there鈥檚 more to it than that. Perhaps, after all, the old magic has run its course. Perhaps it鈥檚 time to craft new spells that don鈥檛 carry so steep a price.

She鈥檚 heard of one incantation that could protect 40 people from fever before any harms would be incurred. And she might be able to make a charm to shield not just one person but the whole town from poxes. The healing spells have always come with a cost, but it doesn鈥檛 have to be that way. She knows that bargains can sometimes be struck with the cosmic ledger, that nothing is set in stone.

From her window, she can see the people鈥檚 faces flickering in the torchlight as they climb the hill to her little house. Soon they will hammer on her door, feverish with indignation, demanding she account for herself. But who knows if they will want to hear what she has to say. In the white heat of rage, people don鈥檛 always want to sit and talk. It can seem like the only answer is to burn things down. 

Although, sometimes, it鈥檚 also right there in the heat of the crucible that the world might be reimagined. Where we can dismantle the old ways and forge something brand new. 

We know that when it comes to the wicked problems of climate change, biodiversity loss, and pollution we need to shift worldviews. 鈥�And the most advanced tool we have to change worldviews鈥攖o transform people鈥檚 attitudes, values, and structures of perception鈥攊s called the story,鈥� writes Marek Oziewicz, professor of children鈥檚 and young adult literature.

As Will Storr, author of The Science of Storytelling, reminds us, folktales have been used to communicate social codes and since humans first formed societies. Whoever tells the stories defines the agenda: the framing of our common issues and enemies.

鈥淔ever,鈥� the story that opens this piece, is about the magic of plastics, which we take for granted today. IV bags, tubes, and personal protective equipment (PPE) have revolutionized medical procedures and saved lives through reduced contamination risks. Plastic packaging has also transformed our ability to keep and thereby wasting the resources involved in planting, fertilizing, harvesting, and transporting those goods.

Yet we can no longer look away from the accumulated impacts of plastic pollution. And as a result, we often blame consumers for choosing plastic bags or plastic straws. Instead of individualizing responsibility, in 鈥淔ever鈥� we articulate a tale that gets us wondering about broader systemic changes required of manufacturers and petrochemical companies.

There is no singular, standardized account of plastic鈥檚 history. Some point to the seeking of alternatives to ivory and elephants鈥� tusks for billiard balls, others to a repurposing of military materials fueling a postwar boom. Either way, plastics were not initially designed for single use. Yet, as a result of their explosion onto the scene in the 1960s, plastics have become a and a market for expanded growth by fossil fuel companies.

One of the major issues with plastics is that there is inadequate research on their health impacts, and a lack of labeling on the more than used in plastic production. We know as well as waste pickers, sorters, and recyclers is cause for concern. And, thankfully, these chemicals鈥� toxic bearing on human health remains part of the currently being negotiated.

This sort of collective, upstream regulation is what is actually required to balance the cosmic ledger. Recent shows that even with a massive expansion of waste infrastructure, we cannot keep pace with the of plastic production. We have to look at how to stem the flow upstream. As such, another key systemic intervention we , is making the polluter pay through .

For example, in the U.K., . That鈥檚 U.K. residents paying so that businesses can save money by delivering their products in inexpensive, disposable containers. If businesses were paying the additional 90% through Extended Producer Responsibility, it鈥檚 not hard to imagine that companies would be motivated to innovate different products and services with less waste.

Because, as Max Liboiron, author of , eloquently argues, the concept of disposability鈥攊ncluding recycling鈥�is dependent on the idea that we can send unwanted materials away. Indeed, there is continued violent enactment of this colonialist approach when one considers landfills and dumps being sited in or near Indigenous communities and communities of color.

It鈥檚 time the polluters pay for the creation of systems that maximize the value of this magical family of materials. We don鈥檛 need to burn all plastics at the stake to make meaningful change; instead we need to look at the broader systems around how we manufacture, use, and dispose of plastics. In this way we can find ways to live with them (perhaps happily ever after).

Stories can help us create universal climate literacy and find united agendas. We need tales of collective action and of finding well-being in doing less. We need tales that inspire activism and mobilize visions of joyful, low-impact lifestyles. It鈥檚 time to rewrite some traditional tales in service of the people and the planet.

Note: The fairy tale, Fever, was written by Becky Tipper based on the academic research by Katherine Ellsworth-Krebs and her colleagues.

De Leon is one of 25 immigrant and Indigenous farmworkers gathered on a cold December morning in Sonoma County, California, for the first-in-the-country Spanish-language intentional-burn certification program. Like de Leon, each of these firefighters-(and firelighters!)-in-training has been haunted by fire. During a massive inferno in 2017, de Leon was one of many 鈥渆ssential workers鈥� escorted by vineyard managers through mandatory evacuation zones to harvest grapes while breathing in toxic fumes from nearby blazes. 

鈥淲hen we arrived at work, there were patrol cars because it was an evacuation zone, but they waved us through to harvest. The skies were red and heavy smoke was in the air. They didn鈥檛 give us any protective equipment. No masks,鈥� de Leon says. 鈥淭here was so much ash on the grapes that when you鈥檇 cut the grape, it would get on your face. Our faces were black.鈥�

While she didn鈥檛 get sick, she says her co-workers struggled with asthma. De Leon recalls harvesting like this for eight hours and getting paid just $20 per hour. 

鈥淭hey should have paid us more,鈥� de Leon says. 鈥淲e risked our lives for their profits.鈥�

Today, however, de Leon and her fellow farmworkers are here to learn about 鈥済ood fire鈥濃�攁 controlled burn land stewards use to reduce underbrush in overgrown forests to prevent the spread of more destructive wildfires. Thanks to , de Leon and her fellow farmworkers are (re-)learning skills many of their ancestors knew well. And they are putting that know-how to work healing a fire-ravaged landscape and people. 

While wine producers often depict their agricultural operations as small, idyllic, and picturesque, the reality is that most are anything but. The wine industry erodes local ecological balance and accelerates climate destabilization through planting monoculture crops, intensive water use, soil erosion, and application of toxic pesticides and herbicides. 

Calling themselves trabajadores de la tierra (land workers), farmworkers like de Leon say they鈥檙e tired of having their labor used by the vineyard bosses to deplete the land. So instead, they鈥檙e fighting for the training, resources, and job opportunities to restore ecological health and mitigate the worst impacts of climate chaos already set in motion. 

Tens of millions of public dollars have already come into Sonoma County for wildfire mitigation and vegetation management since 2020, and there are many millions more on the way from both state and federal governments. As climate chaos accelerates and unnatural disasters multiply, more county, state, federal, and private dollars for ecological restoration services will become available. What remains contested is what that work will be, who will get that work, how much it will pay, and how it will be governed.

Too often, cost-cutting measures among vegetation management companies鈥攚hich clear overgrown brush to minimize the risk of wildfires鈥攔esult in low wages, lack of training, and excessive clear-cutting. Instead, immigrant and Indigenous farmworkers are positioning themselves as the leaders who have the ancestral knowledge, practical skills, work ethic, and heart to do this work, and asserting they should be fairly compensated for it. 

Their fight began two years ago, when these workers on the front lines of climate-change-fueled wildfires started organizing for safety and respect. Through their , North Bay Jobs With Justice farmworker leaders have won improved job safety and training in indigenous languages, and a first-of-its-kind $3 million disaster-insurance fund for frontline workers who lose work during disasters. They鈥檝e also secured unprecedented commitments from growers both large and small to provide hazard pay for workers who harvest when the outdoor air quality is unhealthy. 

Despite these impressive victories, farmworkers say the California wine industry remains ecologically unsustainable. The vineyards鈥� contribution to local ecological degradation, combined with global climate change, results in heat, droughts, wildfires, and floods that cause for existing agricultural workers. In short, workers know the wine industry won鈥檛 last forever.

Instead of waiting for collapse, workers are getting ahead of the impending transitions, assuring they happen justly. 

鈥淚f we鈥檙e talking about funds for capacity building, we should train the people already working on the land. These workers are the backbone of the ag sector in Sonoma County. They should get a piece of the pie,鈥� says Hannah Wilton, program associate at , a nonprofit center in Sonoma County that develops strategies for biocultural diversity and community resilience at regional scale. 鈥淔olks who are working in these industries, how does their labor get reclaimed for restoration, toward something positive for the Earth? They鈥檙e helping to bring in the new world. They鈥檙e stewarding the transition. We should be following their lead.鈥�

Last winter, the Occidental Arts & Ecology Center hosted 10 Jobs With Justice farmworker leaders for a monthlong workforce-development pilot project with some of the North Bay鈥檚 top ecologists. Workers honed their skills in restoring wildlife habitat, identifying plants, mitigating erosion, increasing the land鈥檚 drought tolerance, and reducing wildfire risk through techniques, like thinning overgrown understory plants. Workers then used the downed branches, sticks, leaves, and needles to create habitat piles for wood rats, which are prey for owls, and strategically stacked the leftover biomass to help sink and slow water on hillsides to prevent erosion. 

Those same farmworkers spent last summer and fall on an immigrant- and Indigenous-led worker team doing vegetation management, fire mitigation, and restorative land work in Windsor, Cazadero, Healdsburg, Occidental, and Geyserville, California. The work was funded by the county, through a project with the , a nonprofit organization working to restore healthy habitats in the area. For their labor, workers earned $35 per hour, a significant increase from what they were paid by the vineyards. 

Workers cleared brush, thereby breaking up 鈥渇uel ladders鈥� that can cause wildfires to spread rapidly along recreational sites and other places in which fires often start. This fuels-reduction work is of critical importance to reducing wildfires and reining in climate change. California鈥檚 recent massive wildfires are devastating to state climate goals. A recent study found the California wildfire smoke in 2020 alone put double the greenhouse gas emissions into the atmosphere as the state鈥檚 entire emissions reductions between 2003 and 2019.

Whacking through dense, 10-foot-tall carrizo (an invasive bamboo-like plant, also called arundo) with a machete鈥攐r even a chainsaw鈥攊s hard, dirty, exhausting work. A crew of 10 workers incessantly hacks at the invasive carrizo growing on a slippery bank leading down to the river鈥攕weating, cursing, and joking as they go. While some workers chop, others haul armfuls of the downed weeds up the steep embankment to a waiting wood chipper.

Despite the physically grueling nature of this undertaking, worker after worker tells me: Whereas in the vineyards their labor is wielded against land, water, and soil, here it is used to heal such harm. Whereas the vineyard bosses treat farmworkers as disposable labor, here workers are well paid, safe, self-governed, and respected for the deep wisdom and relationships with the land they bring to the work. 

鈥淚 am an Indigenous woman from Mexico. I speak Chatino. We believe that the land is sacred, that water is life. We deserve respect because of the knowledge we carry,鈥� says farmworker Maria Salinas. 鈥淗ere, with Jobs With Justice, we encourage each other to drink water and take breaks. They respect our knowledge. At the end of the day, you can go home satisfied, knowing you did something important for the Earth.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Crisp铆n L贸pez, an immigrant farmworker from an indigenous community in Oaxaca, Mexico, remembers working in Sonoma County fields as the fires in 2019 sent toxic chemicals into his lungs. When L贸pez was young, his grandfather led a project in his community of San Miguel Chicahua to repair erosion to the local farmland caused by the introduction of a highway through their community. L贸pez thinks his late grandfather would be proud of his work here.

鈥淭he wineries that have destroyed the land never say, 鈥榃e鈥檝e earned so much money this year that 飞别鈥檒濒 put aside some of that money to care for the land.鈥� But they should be the ones to pay to heal the places that have burned,鈥� says L贸pez. 鈥淭hey should be hiring those of us who know how to do it, and paying us well.鈥�

The fuels-reduction work doesn鈥檛 just differ from the grape harvest in what farmworkers are doing, but how they鈥檙e doing it. Workers elect from among their ranks a responsable (person in charge for a given period of time) to coordinate the work. At the start of the day, workers stretch together. They take time to tell stories, share food and culture, and learn ecology. They strategize about how to grow an immigrant- and Indigenous-governed fire mitigation and ecological resilience workforce.

In addition to vegetation management, workers are also learning to do prescribed burns to prevent wildfires. Through a first-of-its-kind, weeklong, Spanish-language prescribed-fire training, workers learned about fire behavior, lighting and suppression, and weather patterns. They also gained relevant skills, like hand-tool maintenance and radio use. 

The training earned participants their Firefighter Type 2 certification, a federal qualification standard. But for many workers, the skills were already very familiar. 鈥淲e use this same strategy in Mexico鈥攂urning the ground鈥攂ut to plant corn. My father taught me how. If there are pests, the pests will die off,鈥� says Santos Jimenez. 鈥淗ere, we鈥檙e using it as a strategy so that if there is a drought, there will be less fuel and everything won鈥檛 catch on fire so easily.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Jos茅 Luis Duce 础谤补驳眉茅蝉, a prescribed-fire specialist with the , co-led the course. 鈥淢any times, people have knowledge of doing this in their own villages. They bring traditional and cultural knowledge of fire,鈥� Duce 础谤补驳眉茅蝉 says. 鈥淚t was really beautiful to learn from them鈥攚hat they used fire for, in what season, at what time of day, which species they鈥檇 burn and which they wouldn鈥檛.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Having traditional ecological knowledge doesn鈥檛 always translate into job opportunities for Indigenous workers.

鈥淲e鈥檙e excited to be building these skill sets in folks locally, and getting certification to people who already have this traditional ecological knowledge from their home[s],鈥� says Sasha Berleman, the director of at Audubon Canyon Ranch, which also partnered with Jobs With Justice on the training. 

鈥淭he farmworkers come from a difficult job鈥攏ot just physically hard, but one in which they have used the land,鈥� Duce 础谤补驳眉茅蝉 says. 鈥淭his is the opposite. Today is about restoring equilibrium in order to heal Pachamama.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淲e learned today that fire is very important for the forest. Some plants need this type of burn in order to grow better,鈥� says de Leon. 鈥淭his work we鈥檙e doing today is very different from what we do in the fields. The vineyard owners don鈥檛 teach us this. They just tell us to tend the grapes, because at the end of the year that鈥檚 profits for the owners. Here we don鈥檛 worka for profit. We work for the benefit of the land, the animals, for us humans too.鈥�

Twenty-five more workers are now deepening their skills through a wildfire-adapted landscaping course at Santa Rosa Junior College. The question, however, is how to do this work at scale: how to transition not just small groups of workers but entire industries and economies out of extractive, exploitative work and into cooperative, regenerative labor that tends to the land and to human needs?

Or, as one of the campaign鈥檚 strategists, North Bay Jobs With Justice Executive Director Max Alper, put it: 鈥淗ow do you go from 20 workers to 50 to 100 to 1,000 workers, all having steady, well-paid, dignified ecological restoration work?鈥� 

First, Alper says, workers must organize themselves. Current worker leaders organize house meetings, bring their friends and coworkers to their homes to hear about the campaign, and then invite those contacts to join them at community meetings, pickets, and actions. 

Second, you have to physically labor together in the new work. North Bay Jobs With Justice invites its staff, board, and funders to come cut carrizo with the workers. 鈥淧eople come to work alongside the workers, even if [only] for a few hours, and it immediately changes things. Once you see arundo, you can鈥檛 unsee arundo,鈥� says Alper. 鈥淭hey say, 鈥極MG this is really hard work. If we don鈥檛 do this work, my community will be in danger. Workers should absolutely get paid $35 per hour to do this.鈥欌�� 

Third, Alper says, 鈥淭he only way we鈥檙e going to reclaim our labor is through a fight. The bosses have shown time and time again that they would be more than happy to take massive amounts of public dollars and use them to double down on their current extractive practices, just with a greenwashed image. The corporations that have exploited workers and the land now need to give workers the resources and access to land to do this regenerative work.鈥�

Sonoma County farmworkers are not alone in advocating for resources to fund worker-led ecological restoration projects. At the national level, is developing business models by and for local workers of color to lead disaster-recovery and climate-resilience workforces.

Farmworkers, like de Leon, Salinas, Jimenez, and L贸pez, are the grassroots ecologists with the wisdom and respect to tend the land; they are the voices we need to heed and the workers we need to resource and respect. They are at once on the front lines of both ecological devastation and climate justice. They鈥檝e worked for industries whose exploitation of both land and labor has fueled the fires. 

Now they are not only restoring the land and mitigating future fire risk, they are also building the model for an immigrant- and Indigenous-worker-led climate resilience. 

Quotes from de Leon, Salinas, Jimenez, L贸pez, and Duce 础谤补驳眉茅蝉 have been translated from their original Spanish. 

This story was produced as part of a Just Transition reporting fellowship with .

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 9:48 a.m. PT on April 27, 2023, to correct Hannah Walton鈥檚 name. Read our corrections policy here.

鈥淥ur connection to the outside world is satellite internet鈥攕o no power, no internet,鈥� Alexandre says. He and others at Shelterwood Collective were without power for two weeks in early 2023 when massive storms hit California. 鈥淲e ran the generator two to three hours a day to check in with the outside world, let people know we were OK.鈥�

鈥淲e joked that this was the worst-best storm of our lives. The damages are only going to get worse, but our autonomy and ability to respond to it is only going to get better,鈥� Alexandre says. 鈥淥ur hope is that as we build up this microgrid we won鈥檛 be as dependent on Pacific Gas and Electric (PG&E)鈥攂oth in the summer when they cut off power because of wildfires and in the winter when the trees come down on the power lines. We鈥檒l shift from a community that is vulnerable to one that is more independent and sovereign in how our energy is produced and used.鈥�

is an Indigenous-, Black-, and queer-led collective of land protectors and cultural strategists stewarding 900 acres of forest in Northern California. They are among a growing number of organizations and localities trying to wrest control of their energy futures away from behemoth, dirty, and dangerous energy utilities like PG&E, and to put decisions about energy production, distribution, and use in the hands of the most impacted communities. For Shelterwood and others, one way to do that is to build community-governed solar microgrids. 

The nation鈥檚 largest utility, , is investor owned. It serves some 16 million people across 70,000 square miles in Central and Northern California. As a profit-seeking private entity whose shareholders are guaranteed a specific rate of return on investment, PG&E often forgoes spending on essential measures to protect human and ecosystem health. This has resulted in catastrophic wildfires, deadly explosions, power shutoffs for millions of people, escalating rates, expansion of dirty energy projects, and vehement opposition to the increasingly popular move toward community-controlled, renewable energy. The consequences have been particularly devastating for Indigenous, Black and Brown, disabled, elderly, poor, working class, and rural communities.

In 2010, PG&E malfeasance caused an explosion in San Bruno, California, blowing a hole in a major city and killing eight people. In 2018, PG&E鈥檚 crumbling electrical grid started a fire that ravaged Paradise, also in California, killing 85 people and burning 14,000 homes. Year after year, massive megafires鈥攖he Dixie, Tubbs, Zogg, and Mosquito fires, each in the top 10 fires in California history鈥攈ave either been caused by PG&E, or PG&E has been at the center of investigations and settlements surrounding the fires. The utility , some are ongoing, there have been without , and the clock is still ticking on some .

The company has recouped its losses from these fires by hiking up costs for ratepayers, who already pay among the highest rates in the country. Additionally, instead of completing long-overdue infrastructure repair to minimize wildfires, PG&E has sought to limit its liability for future fires by instituting rolling blackouts during wildfire season, leaving millions throughout the state without power, with little advance planning to protect communities dependent on power to live.

The ability to have uninterrupted service is particularly important for people with disabilities.

鈥淭his week in the Bay Area, disabled people and elders without power are having difficulty breathing, moving, eating, and staying alive,鈥� explained the late disability justice organizer Stacey Park Milbern at a rally outside PG&E鈥檚 headquarters during a power blackout in 2019. 鈥淎 friend is going without her nebulizer treatment. A neighbor didn鈥檛 have a way to store insulin. Another community member is homebound because she needs electricity to open the garage. People are being forced to throw out groceries without knowing where the money will come from to replace them. Blind people are crossing the street without there being traffic lights or audible signals telling them when to cross. Have you tried communicating in American Sign Language in the dark? It鈥檚 not easy.鈥� Milbern continued, 鈥淚 use life-sustaining medical equipment鈥攎y ventilator鈥�16 hours a day. My doctor completed extensive paperwork telling PG&E why I need power to live. When I called PG&E, I was on hold for two hours. I hadn鈥檛 received any notice from PG&E, but my house was on four different maps as losing power. To PG&E, my life is not important.鈥�

Despite being abandoned by PG&E during the wildfires and planned power outages, disabled activists to survive鈥攎aking do-it-yourself box-fan filters, distributing KN95 masks, sourcing generators and ice, and buying hotel rooms for those in need of power. 

While the consequences are especially stark for disabled people, who鈥檝e long been marginalized in conversations about energy policy, communities everywhere are recognizing that if we need power to live, that power cannot be controlled by a profit-driven monopoly utility. Rather, decisions about energy production, distribution, and use must be made by people with the most at stake in those decisions.

Energy democracy is the fight to shift energy from a resource that has been centralized and commodified by corporations into a shared resource that is decentralized and democratized, resilient and redundant, aligned with the health of local ecosystems, and which meets the needs of workers and communities. It is a key pillar of a larger .

鈥淓veryone waits in fear of a Wall Street corporation pressing a red button to turn their power on or off,鈥� says Pete Woiwode, co-director of the . 鈥淲hat if we flipped that and the folks who make the decisions about whose needs to prioritize鈥攚ho has access to life-giving energy鈥攁re the folks most vulnerable in these scenarios? Energy can be a process by which we upend generations of horrific injustice and put our lives, livelihoods, and ecosystems at the center.鈥�

Increasingly exasperated with powerful, polluting utility companies, fire survivors, environmental justice communities, and people with disabilities formed Reclaim Our Power to organize for renewable energy, public ownership, and community control. They have repeatedly called on California Governor Gavin Newsom to deny PG&E鈥檚 safety certificate, or what advocates have dubbed PG&E鈥檚 鈥渓icense to burn.鈥� Reclaim Our Power鈥檚 sister organization, , was essential in creating throughout the state, which put the decision about where to procure energy in the hands of local communities.

While Reclaim Our Power tries to pry loose PG&E鈥檚 stranglehold on California鈥檚 energy, the coalition is planting the seeds of an energy future beyond PG&E by supporting a cohort of local communities in designing and constructing their own solar microgrids. The idea is simple: To effectively control the energy system, people need to practice.

That cohort includes fire-affected migrants in Sonoma County, Black high school students in East Oakland, immigrant elders in Oakland Chinatown, and queer and trans people of color acting as land stewards at Shelterwood. Through the cohort, 10 organizations thus far have learned about the energy system, their own consumption needs, and the emerging technology.

For some in the cohort鈥攍ike Shelterwood鈥攃ontrolling their own energy is critical.

鈥淪helterwood centers queer and trans folks in ecology. It means a lot鈥攔eturning to home鈥攅specially in a community in which we鈥檙e ostracized into the margins or forced into the cities for protection,鈥� says Layel Camargo, co-founder and co-executive director of Shelterwood, and an Indigenous (Yaqui and Mayo of the Sonoran Desert), trans organizer and cultural worker. 鈥淲e鈥檙e returning our people back to the land.鈥�

But Shelterwood is in the heart of Northern California鈥檚 wildfire country, Camargo explains. When it鈥檚 hot and windy, PG&E turns off the power without warning. This is a problem for Shelterwood, which sits outside of cellular service and relies on electricity to power satellite phones. Shelterwood also depends on power for their housing, kitchen, retreat center, phones, lights, internet, electric vehicles, and electric tools.

鈥淩ural communities are really at the hands of these monopolized energy companies. In an emergency, without power, we couldn鈥檛 call 911. There鈥檇 be no way to get information about an evacuation,鈥� Camargo says. 鈥淭he best way for us to survive out here, and to stay ecologically aligned, is to have as much control of our utilities as we can.鈥�

For Shelterwood, building out their own microgrid 颈蝉苍鈥檛 just practical, it鈥檚 also political.

鈥淲hen I heard about the counts of manslaughter against PG&E after fires, I felt like it was my responsibility that if I was going to be in charge of electrical infrastructure for a 900-acre forest I would want to be less dependent on a company where our values are not aligned,鈥� Camargo says.

In addition to solar, Shelterwood is also installing a hydro microgrid. This will be used in winter when the sun is less plentiful but the water is flowing through the creeks, streams, and gullies on their land, sometimes up to 25 gallons per minute.

Energy Insurrection

California 颈蝉苍鈥檛 the only place building out microgrids as part of new energy futures. Puerto Rico has traditionally imported most of its energy, which means that it is both more fossil-fuel intensive and expensive. Importing energy also leaves the archipelago more vulnerable to energy shortages and outages in times of disaster.

When Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico in September 2017, it knocked out power to most of the island. The small town of Adjuntas was one of the last regions reached by FEMA, a full month after the hurricane hit. Prior to the storm, the 45 solar panels on , a community center in Adjuntas, had been something of an oddity. But suddenly without electricity on the island, Casa Pueblo became an instant 鈥渆nergy oasis.鈥� People came from all over the island to store refrigerated medicine, plug in their respiratory equipment, and charge their cell phones.

In the immediate aftermath of the storm, Casa Pueblo distributed 14,000 solar lanterns to residents, reducing the risk of fire by candlelight and the vulnerability of elders. They equipped 10 homes with extra energy for dialysis and small refrigerators for insulin and antibiotics to meet critical health needs. With their solar power, they set up a public satellite phone, which people came in long lines to use to contact their families. They also recorded one-minute messages from residents to play on-air from their solar-powered radio station.

Post-hurricane, Casa Pueblo built out the island鈥檚 first community-controlled microgrid. It outfitted an additional 150 homes with solar energy, installed 50 full-sized refrigerators in solar-powered homes, and powered a barbershop, two hardware stores, an agricultural center, two elder homes, the fire station, a restaurant, a pizzeria, five mini markets, a solar cinema, the transmission tower of the radio station, the elementary school, and a pharmacy, among others.

鈥淓veryone has a right to energy, not just those who can pay for or finance solar power,鈥� says Arturo Massol-Dey谩, executive director of Casa Pueblo.

For these homes and businesses, solar used to be the backup source of energy. Now Puerto Rico鈥檚 main private utility company, PREPA (Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority) is the backup. Energy bills for solar users in Adjuntas have gone down from $85 per month on PREPA (fossil fuels) to $5 per month on solar. Casa Pueblo is now working to bring 鈥渟econd life鈥� used-car batteries to Adjuntas to serve as solar storage.

鈥淓nergy is the capacity to do work. We don鈥檛 enjoy the wealth made from our work. One way to decolonize Puerto Rico is in practical terms: Create energy independence. We can be producers, not consumers. We don鈥檛 need coal and gas. We have sun and wind,鈥� Massol-Dey谩 says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e calling for an energy insurrection. We鈥檙e not going to wait for the government. We鈥檙e going to unplug ourselves.鈥�

Bringing Energy Independence to the Mainland

The 鈥渆nergy insurrection鈥� in Puerto Rico is an inspiration for many U.S. energy-democracy activists, but especially for Selena Feliciano, national campaign coordinator of the and herself Puerto Rican.

鈥淚 have Ta铆no [the Indigenous peoples of Puerto Rico] roots in my family. Indigeneity understands that energy is not wires, not technology. It鈥檚 the sun. It鈥檚 what connects us, keeps us going. It鈥檚 only in the last 150 years that we鈥檝e equated energy with infrastructure,鈥� says Feliciano. 鈥淭he people of Puerto Rico have held steadfast to honoring the tradition of energy beyond technology, and as a basis of resistance.鈥�

The Energy Democracy Project is a collaboration of 40 frontline organizations in the U.S. to advance energy democracy. Their members hail from Alaska to San Juan, Puerto Rico, and from Jackson, Mississippi, to the Gulf South.

It will take statewide policy change to dismantle private utilities like PG&E and to truly move an energy transition at scale. To get there, microgrids鈥攍ike at Shelterwood and at Casa Pueblo鈥攎ake concrete improvements in people鈥檚 lives, foster familiarity with the technology, bring the conversation into people鈥檚 homes, allow us to practice self-governance in place, and ignite political imaginations about an energy future beyond private utility companies.

鈥淓nergy Democracy rests on community decision-making, but if the community doesn鈥檛 know about the available technology or doesn鈥檛 know that an alternative is possible, it鈥檚 hard to organize around it,鈥� adds Feliciano. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 why these first steps are so important鈥攆or people to experience these possible configurations and solutions for themselves.鈥�

鈥淭he microgrids point to how else we can do it. It creates a real choice between PG&E and this other thing we鈥檝e built. It鈥檚 a world that people can fight for, and it is within reach,鈥� Woiwode says. 鈥淗owever, no one technology, microgrids included, is the answer to true energy democracy. If a Google campus, Chevron refinery, and a prison used microgrid technology, but did so in a way that didn鈥檛 actively disrupt the racist, extractive, anti-democratic structure of our current system, we would not be any closer to the energy future we all need.鈥�

A just transition in the energy sector 颈蝉苍鈥檛 merely a question of technology鈥攔eplacing coal, 鈥渘atural鈥� gas, or nuclear power with solar, wind, or hydro power鈥攂ut rather a political struggle over who governs decisions about the resources it takes to power our lives. Like the double meaning in Reclaim Our Power鈥檚 name, it鈥檚 not just electric power, but political power.

鈥淚t鈥檚 not just about the poles, wires, and technology. It鈥檚 about the decision points in people鈥檚 lives,鈥� Woiwode says.

It is the collective contending with those decision points, say energy democracy activists, that define energy democracy. Unplugging ourselves, as Massol-Dey谩 calls for, doesn鈥檛 mean we all act as individuals. Rather, it is the relationships between microgrids that make the system resilient and redundant. Decentralization without democratization would only exacerbate existing inequities.

鈥淥ur vision is not that everyone takes their ball and goes home to self-contained units of energy distribution. Energy sovereignty does not mean get out, disappear, with wealthy white people disappearing from the system. There needs to be connective tissue,鈥� Woiwode says. 鈥淲hat we want is a mosaic of interconnected community鈥攍ike the forest.鈥�

The energy justice movement doesn鈥檛 seek merely to reform the existing shareholder-owned governance structure of our energy system. It is not a call for a kinder, gentler, slightly less deadly PG&E or PREPA. Rather, it is a reckoning with how the privatization and enclosure of energy has estranged us from earth鈥檚 regenerative cycles. It is an invitation to restore our relationship to energy, and to each other. It is a reminder that there is enough energy for all when we are able to have a reflexive, responsive relationship to place and to earth鈥檚 living systems. It is a course correction that devolves governance down to the level of greatest impact so that decisions aren鈥檛 made by a few men with MBAs, tucked safely away in corporate offices, but by people in our communities whose lives are most impacted by the tough choices in precarious times. It is an opportunity to practice people-to-people, radical self-governance.

As , when climate disasters like wildfires and superstorms intensify it only further reveals the failures and fractures of our existing energy system that burns fossil fuels in one place and transmits that energy over large swaths of land, according to the whims of a profit-maximizing corporation. But grassroots activists on the ground are building models of the kind of renewable, affordable, interconnected, community-governed energy systems needed for energy democracy.

This story was produced as part of a Just Transition reporting fellowship with听.

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 1:07 p.m. PT on Sept. 13, 2023, to clarify that Shelterwood Collective鈥檚 generator was gas-powered, not diesel-powered.听Read our corrections policy here.

Now, as the city contends with heat, can New Yorkers once again turn to the rivers to stay cool?

The team behind , an initiative to bring a floating swimming pool to the East River, is betting on it. The organization鈥檚 proposed cross-shaped, Olympic-size pool would differ from its historic predecessors in one significant way: filtration. One million gallons of filtered East River water would flow through the pool daily鈥攐ffering a new, supervised space for New Yorkers to escape the heat. The project was first proposed in 2010, but increasingly frequent heat waves, a result of climate change, have given the project new urgency, its supporters say.

New York has the in the country. On average, its urban heat islands are hotter than surrounding areas. Low-income of color are impacted by extreme heat鈥攁 legacy of racist policies that have saddled neighborhoods with fewer green spaces and more heat-trapping asphalt and concrete. And many of these communities to safe swimming spaces.

鈥淭he increased instances of extreme heat are only making public [swimming] access more desirable,鈥� says Kara Meyer, managing director of + POOL. Cleanups, new filtration technologies, and sophisticated water-quality monitoring could make river swimming once again an appealing, and safe, option.

A Global Trend

It鈥檚 not just New Yorkers who are rethinking their relationship with their waterways. With heat waves increasing in frequency, intensity, and duration because of , a growing number of cities are opening rivers and lakes to swimming.

River swimming is a popular pastime in European cities like Copenhagen, Berlin, , , and . is spending $1.5 billion to clean up the Seine and open it to swimmers ahead of the 2024 Olympic Games. 

Cities like Boston, , ., and Portland, Oregon, have either opened their rivers to swimmers or announced plans to build swimming infrastructure.

鈥淎s a climate solution, being able to swim in your local waters just seems like a no-brainer,鈥� says Jake Madelone, senior waterfront education coordinator at , a group that advocates for making New York鈥檚 520-mile shoreline more accessible and resilient to climate change. 

Urban waters across the United States since the passage of the Clean Water Act a half-century ago. The East and Hudson rivers are significantly now than in the past, thanks in large part to investments in the city鈥檚 facilities. (The East River is actually a saltwater tidal estuary.) Competitive swimmers in the waters, although still do not meet Environmental Protection Agency for swimming.

鈥淭he cities that are really embracing urban river swimming have done massive cleanups,鈥� says Meyer. Copenhagen its sewer and wastewater treatment systems in the early 2000s and has since added and a to its harbor. Boston is some combined sewers, which carry sewage and stormwater, to limit overflow of untreated combined sewer overflows, or CSOs, into its harbor. 

But there are other ways to provide access to waterways while those cleanups are underway. officials have said they plan to use machine learning to forecast contamination in the Seine and deliver mobile alerts to swimmers. , a , mobile floating pool on a barge, already docks in the Bronx.

Building Safer Connections to the Water

Urban waterways are a crucial climate solution鈥攂ut they鈥檙e not equally accessible to all communities. Black Americans are to know how to swim and are more likely to than white Americans, that can be traced back to segregation. drained and shuttered public pools to avoid allowing in Black swimmers鈥攐r lacked resources to maintain public pools when white people fled to the suburbs. 

Urban public recreational spaces, including waterfronts and waterways, 鈥渉ave historically, in many ways, been exclusionary,鈥� says , a Portland State University professor who studies urban climate adaptation. Any plan to open up new swimming spaces needs to redress that, he says. 鈥淲elcoming people into these outdoor swimmable spaces is really important,鈥� Shandas says. 鈥淏eing explicit about [their] belonging has to go hand in hand with any physical change of the environment.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

For many Americans, are too expensive, inaccessible, or unwelcoming. Lifeguards often teach swimming, but the nationwide lifeguard shortage鈥攄ue to declining pay and a 鈥攎eans even are available. In New York, the city鈥檚 were operating at limited capacity due to lifeguard shortages. 

Volunteers with + POOL have been providing free swimming lessons at pools around the city since 2015, and the organization is creating a lifeguarding workforce development program with Henry Street Settlement, a local nonprofit. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not equitable access to the river if people don鈥檛 know how to swim or don鈥檛 have the opportunity to learn,鈥� Meyer says. 

Advocates like Meyer may have the political support they need to get more New Yorkers in the water. In 2021, the city鈥檚 planning department released a that aims to 鈥減romote opportunities to get onto and into the water.鈥� The plan proposes floating river pools in addition to longer-term investments in improving water quality and coastline infrastructure.

Mayor Eric Adams has in support of + POOL, and there are currently before the City Council that would increase access to free swimming lessons, build new swimming pools in , and address the lifeguard shortage. 

If + POOL has its way, some of the barriers between communities and their surrounding waterways could soon disappear. 鈥淲e should be able to enjoy our natural environment, particularly in New York, where we have this resource all around us,鈥� Meyer says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 so much opportunity for the taking. We just need to design specific, safe access points.鈥�

This article originally appeared in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow 

But repeated flooding has over the years radically remade the private beach. Slaughter has lived in the Windy City long enough to remember when it extended 300 feet. Now it barely reaches 50. Her neighborhood might not be the first place anyone would think of when it comes to climate-related flooding, but Slaughter and her neighbors have been witnesses to a rapid erosion of their beloved shoreline. 

鈥淥ut there where that pillar is,鈥� she says, pointing to a post about 500 feet away, 鈥渢hat was our sandy beach. The erosion has eaten it away and left us with this. We tried one year to re-sand it. We bought sand and flew it in. But by the end of the season, there was no sand left.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Recent years have seen high lake levels flood parking garages and apartments, wash out beaches, and even cause massive . It鈥檚 a growing hazard, one that Slaughter has been desperately fighting for years. 

鈥淎ll things considered, this is our home,鈥� she says. 

Lake Michigan has long tried to take back the land on its shores. But climate change has increased the amount of ground lost to increasingly . What was once a The problem became particularly acute in early 2020 when a storm wreaked havoc on the neighborhood, severely damaging homes, flooding streets, and spurring neighbors to to hold back the water. 

鈥淲e need to be prepared for higher lake levels,鈥� says Charles Shabica, a geologist and professor emeritus at Northeastern Illinois University. 

Though Shabica says the erosion in the Great Lakes region won鈥檛 be on par with what rising seas will bring to coastal regions, he still notes it鈥檚 an issue that Chicago must prepare for.

鈥淲e鈥檒l see climate impacts, but I think we can accommodate them,鈥� says Shabica.

Beyond flooding homes, that epic storm opened sinkholes and washed out certain beaches, leaving them eroded and largely unusable. But the people of South Shore refused to give in easily. In the wake of Lake Michigan鈥檚 encroaching water, residents have organized their neighbors and prompted solutions by creating a voice so loud that politicians, engineers, and bureaucrats took heed. In 2022, state Rep. Curtis Tarver II helped secure from the state of Illinois to help solve the issue. 

鈥淔or some odd reason, and I tend to believe it is the demographics of the individuals who live in that area, it has not been a priority, for the city, the state, or the [federal government],鈥� Tarver says.

After years of tireless work, folks in this community have convinced the city to study the problem of lakeside erosion to see how bad this damage from climate change will be鈥攁nd how fast they can fix it.

Slaughter founded the South Side Lakefront Erosion Task Force alongside Juliet Dervin and Sharon Louis in 2019 after a few particularly harsh fall storms caused heavy flooding in the area.

Chicagoans in the predominantly Black and middle-class South Shore had noticed the inequitable treatment of city . Beaches in the overwhelmingly white and affluent North Side neighborhoods received more media coverage of the problem, faster fixes, and better upkeep, according to the group. This disparity occurred despite the fact that South Side beaches have no natural barriers to the lake鈥檚 waves and tides, placing them at greater risk of erosion.

鈥淲e were watching the news coverage [of] what was happening up north as if we weren鈥檛 getting hit with water on the south end of the city,鈥� says Louis. 

The threat is undeniable to Leroy Newsom, who has lived in his South Side apartment for 12 years. Despite the fact that another building stands between his home and the lake, he and his neighbors often experience flooding. The white paint in the lobby is mottled with spackle from earlier repairs. During particularly intense deluges, the entryway can become unnavigable. A large storm hit the city on the first weekend in July, inundating several parts of the city . 

鈥淲hen we get a rainstorm like we did before, it floods,鈥� he says.

Newsom lives on an upper floor and has not had to deal with the particulars of cleaning up after flooding, but he has noticed it is a persistent issue in the neighborhood. 

Louis, Dervin, and Slaughter have spent countless hours tirelessly knocking on doors and even setting up shop near the local grocery store to teach their neighbors about lake-related flooding. They wanted to mobilize people so they could direct attention and money toward solving the issue. They also researched the slew of solutions available to stem the tide of the lake.

鈥淧eople were making disaster plans, like, 鈥榃hat if something happens, this is what we鈥檙e gonna do.鈥� And we were looking for mitigation plans, you know. Let鈥檚 get out in front of this,鈥� says Louis.

Solutions can look different depending upon the area, but most on the South Side mirror the tools engineers have used for years to keep the lake at bay elsewhere. What makes these approaches a challenge is how exposed the community is to Lake Michigan in contrast to other neighborhoods. 

鈥淪outh Shore is uniquely vulnerable,鈥� says Malcolm Mossman of the Delta Institute, a nonprofit focusing on environmental issues in the Midwest. 鈥淚t鈥檚 had a lot of impacts over the last century, plus, certain sections of it have even been washed out.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The shoreline throughout the city is dotted with concrete steps, or revetments, and piers that extend into the lake to prevent waves from slamming into beaches. It also has breakwaters, which run parallel to the shoreline and are considered one of the best defenses against an increasingly active Lake Michigan.

鈥淭he best solution that we鈥檝e learned are the shore-parallel breakwaters,鈥� says Shabica. 鈥淎nd we make them out of rocks large enough that the waves can鈥檛 throw them around. And the really cool part is it makes wonderful fish habitat and wildlife habitat. So we鈥檙e really improving the ecosystem, as well as making the shoreline inland a lot less vulnerable.鈥�

Shabica also mentions that this 颈蝉苍鈥檛 a new solution. The Museum Campus portion of the city, which extends into the lake and includes the Field Museum, the Shedd Aquarium, and the Adler Planetarium, used to be an island before .

The main component of the plan to help reduce repeated flooding in the neighborhood is to install a breakwater around 73rd Street using the funding Tarver helped earmark for the issue, according to South Side Lakefront Erosion Task Force co-founder Juliet Dervin. This solution would help prevent the types of waves and flooding that damage streets, most notably South Shore Drive, which is the extension of DuSable Lake Shore Drive. Past damage to the streets has rerouted city buses that run along South Shore Drive and interrupted the flow of traffic. 

One local resident installed a private breakwater at her own expense following the 2020 storm, just a few blocks from Slaughter鈥檚 house, and it has tempered some effects of intense storms and flooding. But since this breakwater is smaller, surrounding areas are still vulnerable. Breakwaters can range from a few hundred thousand dollars to millions of dollars, depending on size and other factors. 

Despite funding now being allocated to fix the issue and government attention squarely focused on lakefront-related flooding there are still hurdles to overcome. 

Both the and the Chicago Park District are in the middle of a three-year assessment of the shoreline to determine appropriate fixes for each area. The study will finish in 2025, decades after the last study of this kind was conducted in the early 1990s. This gives Slaughter pause. 

鈥淚f I tell you this continuous erosion has been going on for such a long time, then you would have to know, they have looked into it and studied it from A to Z,鈥� she says. 鈥淲hat do you mean, you don鈥檛 have enough statistics? We鈥檝e done flyovers and all kinds of things. People who鈥檝e been here filming it, when the water jumps up to the top of the building, they鈥檝e seen it slam into things.鈥�

For her, the damage has been clear but the prolonged period of inaction and lack of attention from outside groups means a shorter window to implement fixes. Slaughter sees this as a fundamental flaw in how we approach issues stemming from the climate crisis. 

鈥淭he philosophy,鈥� she says, 鈥渋s repair, not prevent.鈥�

This story was originally published by and is republished here with permission. Sign up for Grist鈥檚 weekly newsletter .

This story was supported by the .

This piece is part of a collaboration that includes the Institute for Nonprofit News, Borderless, Ensia, Planet Detroit, Sahan Journal, and Wisconsin Watch, as well as The Guardian and Inside Climate News. The project was supported by the Joyce Foundation. 

The park also encompasses the of , who engage in . These communities maintain no outside contact and live in very close relationship with the environment that sustains them. Yet, alongside Yasun铆鈥檚 natural wonders, the region also harbors one of Ecuador鈥檚 , creating a complex and contentious struggle between preservation and exploitation.

For the past decade, a fierce dispute has raged over the extraction of oil from Block 43, better known as ITT (Ishpingo-Tambococha-Tiputini). Approximately 100 of the block鈥檚 2,000 hectares fall within Yasun铆鈥檚 boundaries. Since 2013, the three most recent presidents of Ecuador have all campaigned to exploit the block. In response, a passionate group of young people known as Yasunidos emerged to protect it.

Yasunidos have fought for a referendum that would let Ecuadorian citizens decide whether oil extraction should proceed in the ITT block. After a decade-long battle marked by the unwavering determination of grassroots activists and environmental defenders, this August, the people of Ecuador will finally be able to vote whether to leave the oil from the ITT block in the ground indefinitely. The outcome of this historic referendum carries the potential to reshape the future of Yasun铆鈥檚 biodiversity, while offering an inspirational model for environmental movements far beyond Ecuador鈥檚 borders.

The Plan That Failed 

In , the creation of Yasun铆 National Park served as a beacon of hope for local and Indigenous communities as well as conservation organizations around the world. Its designation as a UNESCO biosphere reserve in 1989 further solidified its significance. Within its borders, a total of seven oil blocks, or leases, exist. Most of these blocks have long been subjected to extraction in order to generate resources to alleviate Ecuador鈥檚 poverty. Block 43, or ITT, however, remained tantalizingly untapped. 

In 2007, Ecuador鈥檚 then-president, Rafael Correa, unveiled a to maintain the sanctity of Block 43鈥檚 oil reserves while addressing the country鈥檚 deep poverty. Correa proposed that affluent nations compensate Ecuador with $350 million, representing half of the estimated value of the untouched oil, as a form of compensation to Ecuador for its dedication to conservation. By refraining from extracting 856 barrels of oil, the plan aimed to prevent the emission of a staggering 407 million metric tons of carbon dioxide, offering a substantial global environmental benefit.

But the plan . Only $13 million was raised, a mere 0.37% of the anticipated amount, and so the plan was canceled in 2013. Correa said, 鈥淭he world has failed us. We were not asking for charity; we were asking for shared responsibility in the fight against climate change.鈥� As a result, the Ecuadorian president for crude oil in Yasun铆. 

The Emergence of Yasunidos

In the wake of President Correa鈥檚 controversial in Block 43, a group of passionate youth, aged 16 to 30, decided to take action. Their multifaceted coalition comprised human rights advocates, environmentalists, feminists, and Indigenous people from diverse backgrounds across Ecuador. They converged with a shared mission: protecting nature and preserving human rights in Yasun铆 National Park. They called themselves , which combines Yasun铆 and unidos (united) in Spanish.

was 19 years old when he co-founded Yasunidos in 2013. Initially inspired by Correa鈥檚 plan, Bermeo鈥檚 hopefulness turned into deep disappointment when the president decided to exploit the Yasun铆 instead. Determined to make a difference, he connected with like-minded activists. 鈥淥ur common objective was to safeguard Yasun铆,鈥� Bermeo recalls. This shared purpose served as a unifying force, and the group was bound by its unwavering dedication to preserve one of the world鈥檚 most biodiverse places and defend the territory of voluntarily isolated communities.

Antonella Calle, another of the founding members, was only 16 years old at the time. She emphasizes that Ecuador, as a country of immense diversity, faced imminent threats鈥攁n alarming reality that served as her inspiration to take action. 鈥淲e are a kaleidoscope of faces united by the imperative need to prioritize life over the pursuit of wealth,鈥� she says.

Yasunidos aimed to raise awareness among Ecuadorians in order to propose a popular referendum to determine the fate of Yasun铆鈥檚 Block 43, the national sanctuary that belongs to all Ecuadorians. For the referendum to take place, they needed to collect 583,000 signatures. More than 1,400 volunteers joined the activists鈥� efforts, and the message resonated across the nation. As of April 2014, the team had collected 757,623 signatures, far exceeding the requirement.

However, the anticipated victory was marred by the National Electoral Council鈥檚 invalidation of approximately 400,000 of those signatures, claiming they were fraudulent. Through peaceful protests, press conferences, and campaigns, Yasunidos expressed their dissent in the following years, demanding justice, signature validation, and respect for public opinion.

Overcoming Adversity: Trials and Perseverance

Since the group鈥檚 inception, Yasunidos has been confronted with several challenges. In 2014, the members against alleged persecution by the Correa government. Regardless of the threats they faced, they embarked on the to COP 20 (the twentieth session of the Conference of the Parties) in Peru that year to spread the word about the imminent perils threatening the Yasun铆 National Park. However, their journey was beset by obstacles as they confronted numerous instances of harassment, and even found themselves detained at times. 

In response, the group with the Attorney General鈥檚 Office. The gravity of the situation was further revealed when a leaked intelligence report in May 2015 exposed the meticulous that Yasunidos had been subjected to by the Correa government since 2013.

In reflecting on the challenges they faced during their activism, Bermeo emphasizes its profound impact on their lives at such an early age. 鈥淚t was incredibly tough to witness intelligence reports, the surveillance, the threats and intimidation I personally faced鈥攁ll because we were demanding our rights and the rights of Mother Earth,鈥� he recounts. For David Fajardo, a member of Yasunidos who is now an attorney focusing on environmental law, the biggest challenge has been preserving their lives while pursuing a cause that appeared to offer no immediate tangible results. 

Amid these challenges, the indomitable spirit of the movement has not only persevered but also strengthened significantly. Over the past decade, a wave of new movements dedicated to environmental and human rights issues has surfaced throughout the country. Yasunidos has continued to oppose extractivist policies implemented by subsequent governments, irrespective of their political affiliations. Fajardo says, 鈥淥ur work has never ceased. We have persistently supported all environmental struggles in our country.鈥�

A Global Message of Resilience

In 2021, a journalistic exposed that the verification process led by the National Electoral Council (CNE) had been marred by fraud, and that it was designed to discredit and disqualify a significant number of signatures collected by Yasunidos. Former CNE councilors were accused of forgery and the use of counterfeit filed with the Attorney General鈥檚 Office. After recognizing the severity of the situation, the Constitutional Court issued a landmark ruling on May 9th, 2023, declaring that the signature verification process violated the rights of Yasunidos and the people who signed.

paved the way for an extraordinary development toward Yasunidos鈥� original goal. In September 2022, the National Electoral Council granted authorization for the convening of a historic referendum. The question asked to Ecuadorians will be: 鈥淎re you in favor of the Ecuadorian government keeping oil from the ITT, known as Block 43, indefinitely underground?鈥� The vote is scheduled for August 20th, 2023, and it holds immense weight, for its outcome will determine the future course of oil operations within the ITT block. 

According to Ecuadorian sociologist Gregorio P谩ez, 鈥淭his upcoming referendum carries profound consequences for Ecuador and serves as an inspiration for all Ecuadorians to have the agency to decide over our natural resources, and to empower people to see that grassroots activism really can have changes in policies.鈥� He emphasizes that the efforts of Yasunidos have played a vital role in shaping the trajectory of Ecuador鈥檚 history while 鈥渋nspiring social movements on a global scale.鈥�

For Antonella Calle, the referendum 鈥渉as the potential to lead the way in the global ecological transition.鈥� In the face of the current climate crisis, she believes that leaving fossil fuels in the ground is crucial. 鈥淲e are confident that this will inspire alternative approaches in other countries too, and together we can contribute to combating climate change.鈥�

Throughout these past 10 years, Yasunidos has been characterized by resilience, constant learning, and unwavering commitment. Now, the members eagerly await the decision of the population, hoping for a positive outcome. For them, saying 鈥測es鈥� in the referendum is not just a vote in support of Yasun铆; it is a resounding 鈥測es鈥� to life itself, encompassing their own lives and the well-being of humanity as a whole.

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鈥湵踱�檓 so speechless right now,鈥� Eva, a plaintiff who was 14 when the suit was filed, said in a statement. 鈥湵踱�檓 really just excited and elated and thrilled.鈥�

The challengers鈥� lawyers described the first-of-its-kind ruling as a 鈥済ame-changer鈥� and a 鈥渟weeping win鈥� that campaigners hope will give a boost to similar cases tackling the climate crisis.

In a case that made headlines around the U.S. and internationally, 16 plaintiffs, aged five to 22, had alleged the state government鈥檚 pro-fossil fuel policies contributed to climate change.

In trial hearings in June, they testified that that these policies therefore  provisions in the state constitution that guarantee a 鈥渃lean and healthful environment,鈥� among other constitutional protections.

On Monday, Judge Kathy Seeley said that by prohibiting government agencies from considering climate impacts when deciding whether or not to permit energy projects, Montana is contributing to the climate crisis and stopping the state from addressing that crisis. The 103-page  came several weeks after the closely watched trial came to a close on June 20th.

鈥淢y initial reaction is, we鈥檙e pretty over the moon,鈥� Melissa Hornbein, an attorney at the Western Environmental Law Center who represented the plaintiffs in the 2020 lawsuit said, reacting to the news. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a very good order.鈥�

Julia Olson, who founded Our Children鈥檚 Trust, the nonprofit law firm that brought the suit alongside Western Environmental Law Center and McGarvey Law, said the case marks the first time in U.S. history that the merits of a case led a court to rule that a government violated young people鈥檚 constitutional rights by promoting fossil fuels.

鈥淚n a sweeping win for our clients, the Honorable Judge Kathy Seeley declared Montana鈥檚 fossil fuel-promoting laws unconstitutional and enjoined their implementation,鈥� she said. 鈥淎s fires rage in the west, fueled by fossil fuel pollution, today鈥檚 ruling in  is a game-changer that marks a turning point in this generation鈥檚 efforts to save the planet from the devastating effects of human-caused climate chaos.鈥�

The challengers  that they 鈥渉ave been and will continue to be harmed by the dangerous impacts of fossil fuels and the climate crisis.鈥� Similar suits have been filed by young people across the U.S., but Held v. Montana was  to reach a trial.

Among the policies the challengers targeted: a provision in the Montana Environmental Policy Act (MEPA) barring the state from considering how its energy economy impacts climate change. This year, state lawmakers amended the provision to specifically ban the state from considering greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions in environmental reviews for new energy projects.

That provision is unconstitutional, Seeley ruled.

鈥淏y prohibiting consideration of climate change, [greenhouse gas] emissions, and how additional GHG emissions will contribute to climate change or be consistent with the Montana constitution, the MEPA limitation violates plaintiffs鈥� right to a clean and healthful environment,鈥� Seeley wrote.

The legislature had previously amended the law to prevent environmental reviews from considering 鈥渞egional, national, or global鈥� environmental impacts鈥攁 provision the original complaint called the 鈥渃limate change exception.鈥� When lawmakers changed the provision again in 2023, the state鈥檚 attorneys said that should have rendered the lawsuit moot, but Seeley rejected the argument in May.

In her Monday ruling, Seeley also enjoined another 2023 state policy that put stricter parameters around groups鈥� ability to sue government agencies over permitting decisions under the Montana Environmental Policy Act. That policy 鈥渆liminates MEPA litigants鈥� remedies that prevent irreversible degradation of the environment, and it fails to further a compelling state interest,鈥� rendering it unconstitutional, Seeley wrote.

At the trial in June, attorneys for the state  Montana鈥檚 contributions to the climate crisis are too small to make any meaningful contribution to the climate crisis. But in her ruling, Seeley found that the state鈥檚 greenhouse gas emissions are 鈥渘ationally and globally significant.鈥�

鈥淢ontana鈥檚 GHG emissions cause and contribute to climate change and plaintiffs鈥� injuries and reduce the opportunity to alleviate plaintiffs鈥� injuries,鈥� she wrote.

She also confirmed the lawsuit鈥檚 assertions that fossil fuels cause climate change, that every additional ton of greenhouse gas pollution warms the planet, and that harms to the plaintiffs 鈥渨ill grow increasingly severe and irreversible without science-based actions to address climate change.鈥�

鈥淛udge Seeley really understood not only the issues of law, but the very complex scientific issues surrounding the climate crisis as well as clearly the impacts on these particular plaintiffs,鈥� Hornbein said.

Michael Gerrard, the founder of Columbia鈥檚 Sabin Center for Climate Change Law, praised Seeley鈥檚 order.

鈥淚 think this is the strongest decision on climate change ever issued by any court,鈥� he said in an email.

Several other states and around 150 other countries have a right to a healthy environment explicitly stated in their constitutions. This ruling may inspire similar lawsuits around the world.

The plaintiffs鈥� lawyers very effectively put on the stand several young Montana residents who testified how they were personally affected negatively by climate change. Putting a human face on this global problem worked well in this courtroom, and may well be followed elsewhere.

Montana succeeded in narrowing the scope of the lawsuit during pretrial motions. The lawsuit originally challenged the state energy policy, which directs statewide energy production and use, for promoting fossil fuel development, but this year, lawmakers overturned that law and weeks later, Seeley dismissed that part of the case.

The state, which previously vowed to fight the decision if the plaintiffs won, now has 60 days to decide whether to appeal the decision to the Montana supreme court.

The verdict sets a positive tone for the future of youth-led climate lawsuits.

鈥淭his is a huge win for Montana, for youth, for democracy, and for our climate,鈥� said Olson. 鈥淢ore rulings like this will certainly come.鈥�

Youth-led constitutional climate lawsuits, brought by Our Children鈥檚 Trust, are also pending in four other states. One of those cases, brought by Hawai鈥榠 youth plaintiffs, is set to go to trial in June 2024, attorneys announced .

A similar federal lawsuit filed by Our Children鈥檚 Trust, 2015鈥檚 Juliana v. United States, is also pending. This past June, a U.S. district court ruled in favor of the youth plaintiffs, allowing that their claims can be decided at trial in open court, but a trial date has yet to be set.

鈥淭he case in Montana is a clear sign that seeking climate justice through the courts is a viable and powerful strategy,鈥� said Delta Merner, lead scientist at the Science Hub for Climate Litigation at the Union of Concerned Scientists.

This story originally appeared in and is part of , a global journalism collaboration strengthening coverage of the climate story.

Over the past six years, Puerto Rico has been hit hard by back-to-back natural disasters: the devastating hurricanes Irma and Maria in 2017, a series of destructive earthquakes in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic, and 2022鈥檚 Hurricane Fiona. Many residents are still rebuilding their homes. The disasters have exposed and exacerbated long-standing struggles for Puerto Rico鈥攃ultural identity, personal trauma, mental health crises, and challenges related to gentrification and developing tourism鈥攁ll further complicated by the island鈥檚 economic and political status as a United States territory and the ongoing legacy of American exploitation.

Beyond these plights, however, is another reality: People are thriving, and using artistic expression to rebel, create, and heal.

Walking outside that same crumbling seaside building, its sea-facing facade is filled with colorful murals of coquis, the island鈥檚 beloved frogs.

In these times of resilience and recovery, Puerto Rican artists are using their talents to express their identities and cultural heritage, and to contribute to their communities in countless ways: beautifying and refurbishing structures, helping islanders recover from the trauma of the disaster, fighting gentrification, and ensuring Puerto Ricans benefit from tourism.

In the aftermath of the hurricanes, the San Juan theater company Y No Hab铆a Luz鈥攚hich in English means 鈥淎nd There Was No Light鈥� or 鈥淣o Power鈥濃�攈as brought hope and healing through performance and interaction. The company provides art workshops for different communities, encouraging audiences to use paper pulps and recycled materials to make masks and puppets for their performances. The company also comforts and enlightens children and teens through plays like 鈥淓l Centinela de Mang贸鈥� (鈥淭he Mango Sentinel鈥�), a show inspired by a beloved tree that fell during Hurricane Maria in the town of Orocovis.

鈥淔or us, it鈥檚 very important that Puerto Ricans know that the possibility of making society better exists,鈥� says Yussef Soto Villarini, one of the troupe鈥檚 founding members. 

For many people on the island, their nightmare did not end when Maria was over鈥攖hey鈥檙e still experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder today, six years later. While the Category 4 hurricane was considered the worst disaster ever to hit the island, that year also saw a spike in suicides: died by suicide in 2017. Isolation and depression also rose. More than one in five islanders reported needing or receiving mental health services, while 13% said they started taking new or higher doses of prescription medication to treat emotional problems, according to conducted in 2018. 

Troupe members acknowledge they themselves need support, but they use their work to help children who are struggling move beyond the traumas they鈥檝e experienced. 鈥淲e never try to tell them what is right, what is wrong,鈥� says Yari Helfeld, executive director at Y No Hab铆a Luz. 鈥淲e always try to highlight the beauty and the possibilities, the desires and the dreams. We never try to make them remember the bad and feel the pain again.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Self-Expression and Representation

The devastating hurricanes did not sway Afro-Puerto Rican painter and sculptor Samuel Lind from continuing to embrace nature in his works. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not owners of nature, we鈥檙e part of it,鈥� Lind says. 鈥淲hen you receive that expression from nature鈥� I found beauty everywhere.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

After the back-to-back hurricanes, Lind鈥檚 two-story wooden home studio was without power for more than half a year, and some of his paintings were covered in mold. But Lind says that鈥檚 not a bad thing: 鈥淎ll this is open. The window inside, the unbroken wall, and the building structure support me to embrace nature. Nature gave me the opportunity to be prepared and to be my best.鈥�

Nature is a central theme in his work. Many of his screen prints are of Lo铆za, a tropical coastal town in Puerto Rico and his lifelong home, with motifs of palm trees, blue sea, and fishing boats. Lind depicts local residents, bomba dancing, and the annual weeklong Festival of Saint James in his paintings. He also makes clay and bronze sculptures of Afro-Puerto Rican women and gods. 

鈥淚n my art expression, I send a message of what I believe our nation is and how beautiful our culture is,鈥� Lind says. 鈥淥ur expression of identity as Puerto Ricans is important.鈥�

Lind鈥檚 efforts at cultural preservation matter. Lo铆za is the heart of Puerto Rico鈥檚 African heritage. Founded in the 17th century by formerly enslaved African people, today of its nearly 3,000 residents are Black. 鈥淭here is so much discrimination against this area,鈥� Lind says. 鈥淲hen I came out here to study art and to show my art [in the mainland United States], I realized that I needed to express our culture in my own way.鈥�

Connecting With Community

Artist Don Rimx also credits art for making him 鈥渇eel connected with the community鈥� and inspiring the locals to 鈥渇eel more united.鈥� Born in San Juan, Rimx has been painting murals for 25 years. 鈥淔or me, art is something everybody carries. It鈥檚 good to spread love and civility,鈥� Rimx says. 鈥湵踱�檓 interacting with the people. 滨鈥檓 sharing knowledge. I learn something from them, too.鈥�

Inspired by the communities he encounters, Rimx has painted large-scale murals around the world, including the Dominican Republic, Panama, Ecuador, and Japan. 鈥淚 like to paint in public spaces. Because everybody can have access and enjoy it,鈥� he says.

Despite leaving the island in 2009, Rimx says he still wants to 鈥渞epresent and work for the island.鈥� In Bayam贸n, a community that is deteriorating due to challenges like addiction, he has created murals featuring local boxers outside the Monterey Boxing Club. This is part of his effort to support gym owner Emilio Lozada鈥檚 vision to 鈥渃lean up the space鈥� through sports, by getting more people to train. In April, Rimx returned to Bayam贸n, interacting with the kids there while completing a basketball-court mural project. 

Though Rimx has always known that public art has a limited lifespan and can be 鈥渆asily damaged,鈥� he still hopes to leave uplifting, beautiful works for his hometown, the local community, and the public square in interactive and collaborative ways.

鈥淎rt should be related to the neighborhood,鈥� Rimx says.

With a similar mission to 鈥渃lean up and stop vandalism鈥� and 鈥渂eautify and revitalize spaces鈥� through public art, Santurce-based design company Robiaggi Design + Build has been doing mosaic projects for 20 years. Alvaro Racines, the company鈥檚 project manager, says they now have more than 140 public pieces around the island, in the mainland United States, and in other countries. 

While the colorful and durable tiles can withstand hurricanes, mosaics also help preserve the history and people on the island. Creating the projects can take as little as a week to complete or as long as six months. Racines, the company鈥檚 owner; local artist Roberto Biaggi; and other members of the company create portraits on street walls of 鈥渉eroes鈥� in the local community, including local government officials, activists, and others. These giant mosaics educate and uplift the community while also attracting tourists, as many visitors will stop to take pictures in front of them, Racines says.

After the hurricanes in 2017, the Puerto Rican government enacted tax incentives to attract investment across the island. Real estate agents poured in, and the Airbnb and short-term vacation rental industries surged. This flood of gentrification, and increasingly high rents in particular, plagues many Puerto Ricans. 

However, the island still gains something. In 2021, guest spending on bookings through Airbnb produced $872.4 million鈥攁lmost 1% of the island鈥檚 GDP that year鈥攁nd created 24,000 local jobs, according to .

Boosted by the booming tourism industry, Robiaggi Design + Build has gotten the opportunity to do mosaics for small businesses, hotels, and Airbnbs in Calle Lo铆za. 鈥淎ctivating a little bit about the neighborhood, and highlighting the different areas there is pretty exciting for us,鈥� Racines says.

Now, members are working with the Municipality of San Juan to reenergize the area of R铆o Piedras with murals and mosaics. 鈥淚n Puerto Rico, I see a lot of positive things going on through art intervention and commissions,鈥� Racines says. 鈥淭here are more and more movements of construction, refurbishing, and remodeling.鈥�

Polishing La Perla

Bordered on one side by the Atlantic Ocean and on the other by the historic walls of Old San Juan lies La Perla, a community with beautiful beaches and decaying buildings鈥攁nd one of the island鈥檚 most notoriously dangerous areas thanks to its and . 

After Hurricane Maria, about fled the island for a better life elsewhere. Despite the growing exodus to places outside Puerto Rico, some young people still want to stay on the island and claim a future there.

鈥淭here鈥檚 a lot of community effort to bring [La Perla] back to life and nourish it with art,鈥� says Dalila Pinci, an art student at the School of Plastic Arts and Design of Puerto Rico.

Pinci鈥檚 mural debut, a portrait of a woman surrounded by tropical flowers and green foliage, is one of dozens of murals in La Perla. Pinci鈥檚 mother is Puerto Rican and her father is European, so she grew up on the island but later moved to Switzerland. Pinci moved back to Puerto Rico in 2021 when she was 20 years old, saying that she wanted to be close to her culture and get back to her roots and family.

Pinci returned to the island with 鈥渁 passion for painting and drawing鈥� that she says she鈥檚 had since childhood. She heard complaints from her peers about the lack of support from the government and a sense that 鈥渢he art culture is dead.鈥� But this challenge, Pinci says, also stirs up the younger generation of creators to fight for themselves. 

Art can breathe new life into an island still recovering from natural disasters, Pinci says, and she hopes young people will continue to push boundaries and create new forms. 鈥淎t the end of the day, we are the ones who are learning, innovating,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat can help with the world in this darkness.鈥�

It is a love affair, for sure. But Lohrengel is no tree hugger, out to preserve a special, pristine place. He is a timber harvest administrator, overseeing logging in one of the most remarkable working forests in the United States鈥攏early a quarter-million acres of trees that occupy almost the entire Menominee Indian Reservation in northern Wisconsin.

鈥淭he forest looks pristine,鈥� he says, as a flurry of snow falls through the open canopy. 鈥淭hese big maples and basswoods are around 150 years old. But we have been logging here for over a century, and we still have more trees than when we started.鈥� In June, the tribe鈥檚 forestry officials began exploring the potential for selling the carbon accumulating in the forest on the U.S.鈥檚 growing market for carbon-offset credits.

There are probably more than a billion trees today in the Menominee forest, which is an hour鈥檚 drive west of Lake Michigan. We were there in late February, the day after the biggest snowstorm of the winter. We were standing near the Menominee鈥檚 sawmill in Neopit village, from where trucks move the lumber across America to make everything from basketball courts to domestic furniture and handcrafted toys. But even close to the mill, big healthy trees with the highest potential price tag get to grow old.

The trick, says Lohrengel, is husbandry for the long term. 鈥淲e come in every 15 years, take out the weak trees, the sick trees, and the ones that are dying, but leave the healthy stock to grow some more and reproduce,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e don鈥檛 plant anything. This is all natural regeneration, and the way we do it the forest just gets better and better.鈥�

Lohrengel is not a Menominee tribal member. He is the son of a pulp-mill worker who has been devoted to the tribe鈥檚 harvesting philosophy since first working on the reservation inventorying the trees in 1990. Most U.S. foresters, he says, are trained to cut the best trees and leave the sick ones behind. The result is a forest with deteriorating genetic stock. But the Menominee are 鈥渄oing the opposite, and making the forest healthier.鈥�

鈥淲e make our decisions based on what鈥檚 best for the forest,鈥� says Lohrengel鈥檚 boss, the Menominee鈥檚 veteran head forester Ron Waukau. 鈥淥ur logging schedules and management are purely for the forest. I am really humbled to be able to work like that. The sawmill knows what it will get and sells accordingly.鈥�

For the Menominee, says head silviculturist Tony Waupochick, it is not just a matter of maintaining the volume of timber. 鈥淲e are also managing the forest to maintain its diversity and integrity, and to keep it healthy for wildlife.鈥�

The Menominee adopted their enlightened approach soon after the creation of the reservation in 1854. It has worked spectacularly well, says Patrick McBride, sales director of the Pennsylvania-based lumber company MacDonald & Owen, which buys most of the output from the Menominee sawmill. In almost 170 years, the tribe has harvested nearly twice the forest鈥檚 former volume of timber, yet it still has  more standing wood than when they started. 鈥淎nd by leaving the best trees, the old and sick lumber they harvest is now better than the best from most everyone else,鈥� says McBride, who pays a premium price for it.

The 235,000-acre Menominee reservation is 93% forested, and visible from space as a dark green block of trees.

Professional U.S. foresters today like to say that America鈥檚 shift from blindly clear-cutting trees to managing them more sustainably began in the 1890s, with the founding of the Biltmore Forest School in North Carolina, followed in 1900 by the founding of the Yale Forest School. But the Menominee were decades ahead of them, argues Michael Dockry, who researches American Indian and Indigenous natural resource management at the University of Minnesota. In the mid-19th century, , they already practiced 鈥渁 new form of forest management that stood in stark contrast to the cut-and-run harvesting occurring through the rest of Wisconsin and the United States.鈥� It was 鈥渢he first sustained-yield forest management system in the country.鈥�

The 235,000-acre Menominee reservation is today 93% forested and famously visible from space as a dark-green block of maple and aspen, birch and hemlock, ash and basswood, red oak and white pine, surrounded by dairy pastures long since cleared of trees by immigrant farmers. Some trees are more than 200 years old and more than 200 feet high. Around a quarter are left unharvested, mostly in swamp areas, at sacred sites, and in important wildlife refuges, says Waukau. Foresters come from across the world to walk the reservation with him and see how the Menominee harvest the rest. 鈥淏asically, we are taking tribal knowledge and blending it with today鈥檚 ecological science.鈥�

The Menominee forest was among the first to be certified by the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), after its formation in 1993. That recognition of sustainability was a no-brainer, say FSC insiders. The Menominee鈥檚 crews currently cut only around a third as much timber as the forest grows each year鈥�8 or 9 million board-feet each year, compared to growth of around 24 million acre-feet.

A  by Nicholas Reo of Dartmouth College and Donald Waller of the University of Wisconsin, Madison in 2018 found that, after more than a century of logging, the Menominee forest was 鈥渕ore mature, with higher tree volume, higher rates of tree regeneration, more plant diversity and fewer invasive species than nearby nontribal forest lands.鈥� The FSC  the majority of the forest as of 鈥渉igh conservation value鈥� with large expanses where 鈥渘aturally occurring species exist in natural patterns.鈥�

The Menominee鈥檚 forestry approach was the brainchild of the tribe鈥檚 revered 19th-century chief, Oshkosh. After negotiating the 1854 treaty that secured the reservation for his people, he codified how they should harvest its forest. 鈥淪tart with the rising sun and work towards the setting sun, but take only the mature trees, the sick trees, and the trees that have fallen,鈥� . 鈥淲hen your reach the end of the reservation, turn and cut from the setting sun to the rising sun, and the trees will last forever.鈥� His words are inscribed on a plaque at the entrance to the tribe鈥檚 forestry offices.

Menominee forestry practices are underpinned by their cultural and spiritual traditions, conveyed by their ancient language.

Logging techniques have changed since Oshkosh鈥檚 day. Handsaws and horse-drawn skids have been replaced by chainsaws and heavy dragging equipment. In an hour, a drone can see what would have taken human eyes many weeks. But Oshkosh鈥檚 philosophy persists, says McKaylee Duquain, who runs today鈥檚 forest inventory.

Among the mostly older male Menominee foresters, Duquain stands out as young, female, and tech-savvy. After studying conservation sciences at the University of Minnesota, she returned to the reservation three years ago to take charge of the logging schedule. 鈥淚 decide what areas are going to be cut next, figure out how much is in there, whether the trees are mature enough, and so on,鈥� she says.

Each year, her team surveys thousands of acres of the forest, often delving deep into its history, comparing today鈥檚 aerial images with maps hand-drawn on acetate sheets by predecessors who paced out the land, compass in hand. But Duquain and her colleagues also put on their boots to identify and mark individual sick or old trees for harvesting, and to ensure that those with a diameter less than 10 inches are spared. Only then do Menominee and other local contractors bring in their chainsaws鈥攎ostly in winter when the ground is frozen hard, so removing the logs does not damage the ground.

Besides this continuous cycle of selective forest thinning, some small areas are clear-cut. This is to help the growth of species such as oak that require plenty of sunlight, says Duquain鈥檚 boss, Waukau. Fire is another important tool, he says, burning undergrowth and logging leftovers at the start of the summer to remove material that could fuel major fires later in the season.

The Menominee fire team spends as much time starting fires as stopping them, says Curtis Wayka, who runs the burning program. In quiet times, the team travels the U.S. sharing their expertise. That expertise has a long heritage, says Waukau. 鈥淥ur ancestors understood and used fire well. We are going back to that.鈥�

Many Menominee forestry practices are underpinned by their cultural and spiritual traditions, often conveyed by their ancient language, which is now being revived in the tribal school. The tribe鈥檚 creation story puts its roughly 9,000 members into five clans, each named after animals of the forest: bear, wolf, moose, crane, and eagle, all of which are revered and protected. Don Reiter, the reservation wildlife manager, identified around 25 wolves in the reservation last winter, in five packs. He estimates there could be as many as 250 black bears.

The reservation is estimated to be making a net capture of more than 30,000 tons of carbon dioxide from the air annually.

Many Menominee craft traditions use materials from their forest: black ash for basketry, basswood for wigwams and rope, and birch for canoes. 鈥淭he ironwood tree is too strong for our mill to utilize, but we have always carved it,鈥� says Joey Awonohopay, director of the Menominee Language and Culture Commission, who identifies as a member of the bear clan. Traditionally, it made warriors鈥� clubs. The tapping of maple trees for their syrup each spring remains hugely popular, and some people still gather medicinal plants such as bitterroot and ginseng.

But it is lumber sales that dominate the Menominee economy, accounting for around half the reservation鈥檚 economic activity. The business is run by Menominee Tribal Enterprises (MTE), a body elected by the tribe to operate commercially but sustainably. Its newly elected president, Michael Skenadore, says he faces some pressing issues to ensure its future viability. The sawmill, which was erected in 1908 and last refitted in the 1980s, needs heavy investment. And it is increasingly difficult to find young people willing to work as loggers in the forest during the long cold winters. Many prefer employment in the reservation鈥檚 other major concern: the casino.

But Skenadore has an eye to the future. He has begun investigating the potential to profit from selling carbon credits generated by the forest鈥檚 accumulating timber. 鈥淎long with a number of tribes from all over the country, we are exploring our options,鈥� he says. According to , the reservation could currently be making a net capture of more than 30,000 tons of carbon dioxide from the air each year.

Will the forest continue to thrive? However good the management, there are growing environmental threats. Changing climate is bringing more windstorms, says Lohrengel. The most recent blast, in June 2022, consigned 12 million board-feet鈥攎ore than a year鈥檚 typical harvest鈥攖o the forest floor in 20 minutes. The foresters were out the following day flying drones to identify the damaged areas, and for the next nine months abandoned their logging schedules to concentrate on salvaging the downed timber.

Invasive pests can be a menace, too. The emerald ash borer, an Asian insect that has spread to 36 states since its arrival in the U.S. in 2002, finally entered the reservation last fall. 鈥淲e were the last place in Wisconsin to get it,鈥� says Waukau. He fears the worst. 鈥淚t鈥檚 hard to imagine the ash not being in our forest, but it may be inevitable.鈥� Despite such threats, he believes the large, biodiverse, and sustainably managed forest he oversees is more resilient than most. 鈥淢aybe in 30 or 40 years we will have lost some species, but I fully expect the forest will be thriving.鈥�

Back in the forest, Lohrengel points to a clutch of tiny maple saplings reaching up to light streaming through the canopy after recent felling. 鈥淭hey look small now,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut future generations will be marveling at how big they become.鈥�

This story was originally published in and is reprinted here with permission. Fred Pearce traveled to the Menominee Indian Reservation with the support of the American Hardwood Export Council.

Cooper experienced what she describes as an , feeling terrified of what would happen in her lifetime and worried that it may already be too late to act.

鈥淚 needed to be able to talk,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd express myself about the emotional reaction I was having.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Climate change wasn鈥檛 something she felt she could discuss deeply with the people in her life, as is the case for most Americans. Though , and about about it, just 37% say they discuss the issue occasionally or often, according to a from Yale University.

But talking about climate change is important. Researchers have found it can cause of climate science and, among those who already accept the science, inspire action. That, in turn, has been shown to .

Like so many Americans, Cooper felt scared, stressed鈥攁nd largely alone. 鈥淚 was reading a lot of articles, listening to podcasts, but I had no real dialogue about it,鈥� she says. Then she heard about the , an initiative created by , who co-edited an anthology book of the same name. Launched when the book was published in 2020, the Circle is a decentralized, 10-course book club aimed at helping readers develop communities around climate solutions. 

Cooper realized she could create a space for the conversations she wanted to have. Using her , word of mouth, and social media, Cooper recruited a group of nine people鈥攕ome climate activists, others, like her, newer to the conversation鈥攖o meet virtually. Over the next six months, they discussed ways they were experiencing the climate crisis and created a shared , including ways they could take action in their own communities.

鈥淐oming together with people who had all kinds of emotions and to see them still [taking] climate action鈥攄aily, weekly, or monthly鈥攖hat was really inspiring,鈥� Cooper says. 

Cooper is part of a growing movement of Americans who are seeking out solace鈥攁nd power in numbers鈥攊n climate conversation groups. More than 3,000 people have formed All We Can Save Circles, according to the All We Can Save Project. The , a nonprofit peer support network on 12-step addiction programs, has more than 50 climate support groups nationwide. , founded by climate psychologist Margaret Klein Salamon, convenes small group conversations online that anyone for free.

These are all aimed at reversing what researchers describe as the 鈥溾�� around climate change.

鈥淲e know that humans avoid uncomfortable emotions,鈥� says Sarah Schwartz, associate professor of psychology at Suffolk University, who researches climate anxiety. She explains that climate change is stressful in ways direct (not being able to breathe the air in your city, for example) and indirect (like constant worry about an uncertain future). 

鈥淏ut when we talk about grief processing [or] trauma鈥攚e need to turn towards rather than away from these hard emotions,鈥� she adds.

Schwartz co-authored a 2022 that found that collective climate action may mitigate climate distress. But, she says, 鈥淚f you just jump into action and don鈥檛 make any space for conversations, support, and sitting with the uncomfortable emotions鈥攖hat鈥檚 a recipe for burnout.鈥�

Conversations, support, and collective action all require building community, which is key in addressing challenges that seem insurmountable, Schwartz says. 鈥淭he role of relationships and social support is huge in the difference between 鈥榳e can do something鈥� and 鈥榣et鈥檚 all just hunker down and isolate in our own anxiety and paralysis,鈥欌�� she says.

According to an internal 2023 survey conducted by the All We Can Save Project, 89% of Circle participants reported feeling an increased sense of community and 90% said they took climate action, such as switching to climate-focused careers, after joining a conversation group. 

For Inemesit Williams, former co-leader of the social justice working group at (CANIE), being part of a Circle inspired her to advocate for public transit funding and spread awareness about local bus routes. 鈥淚鈥檝e never owned a car鈥擨鈥檝e always taken public transit, ridden my bicycle, walked, carpooled,鈥� she says. 鈥淪o that鈥檚 something 滨鈥檓 really passionate about: transit equity.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Williams, who identifies as 鈥渁 queer, Black American descendant of chattel slavery,鈥� says she is the only participant in her Circle who identifies as Black. It鈥檚 a problem, she says, that is reflective of the broader among leadership at environmental organizations. 

Williams was familiar with most of the members in her Circle and felt comfortable talking about the ways the climate crisis disproportionately impacts communities of color. 鈥淚 already had a feeling of safety with this group,鈥� she says, but adds that her experience might be an exception. 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 really engage in that kind of space if you don鈥檛 feel like what you have to say is going to be welcome.鈥�

Creating that safe space is why psychotherapist Taryn Crosby, who is also Black, co-organized , a climate conversation specifically for Black women and nonbinary people.

鈥淲e want to create a space where our experiences are prioritized,鈥� she says, adding that generations of trauma in nature due to slavery and lynchings, segregated state and national parks, and economic oppression have pushed and from the outdoors.

She says she hopes We Outside helps attendees understand and value their own connections to nature, and prepares them to take part in broader conversations and influence greater climate action.

鈥淏ecause we haven鈥檛 felt necessarily welcomed or invited into other climate conversations, we kind of need this to build that muscle,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd that can equip us to have these conversations before mixed company.鈥�

Leaders from the All We Can Save Project and Good Grief Network, two of the largest climate conversation networks, acknowledge that the majority of participants are white and say they are currently taking steps鈥攊ncluding partnering with Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC)鈥搇ed organizations and aiming to train more BIPOC facilitators鈥攖o diversify their ranks.

鈥淎s we think about plans for addressing diversity and inclusion in Circles鈥攁cross the Project and climate movement broadly鈥攚e think partnerships, intentional outreach, and relationship-building are vital,鈥� says Amy Curtis, learning and community lead of the All We Can Save Project.

Crosby says she hopes initiatives like We Outside will be a starting point for more inclusive conversations about climate change. The goal, she says, is to hold space 鈥渨here people can be open and curious about the way that they are affected by their environment and nature, and [also] how they affect their environment and nature鈥攗ltimately encouraging them to move that into action.鈥�

This article was originally co-published by and . is an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

鈥淲e鈥檝e been crossing our fingers and toes that [wouldn鈥檛] dry our well up. Due to the fact that we live in an agricultural area and this is a little community, we would be devastated,鈥� he says. Prado worries that if the town鈥檚 remaining up-to-standard well dries up, even more residents will have to before using it or rely on bottled water. 鈥淲e are in dire need of a new well,鈥� he says.

Prado鈥檚 neighbors are far from alone. Millions of people in the to safe drinking water. Rural communities of color like Sultana, which is Hispanic, are disproportionately affected by this crisis. There, some families spend up to 10% of their monthly income on water. And yet the federal government underfunds communities of color when it comes to water infrastructure, according to a recent from the , a California advocacy group. 

鈥淭hese racialized disparities in access to safe drinking water and effective wastewater services are occurring because of decades of disinvestment,鈥� says Jenny Rempel, co-author of and a Ph.D. candidate at the University of California, Berkeley. In California alone, 300 towns do not supply safe drinking water to residents, the report found. 

Advocates say the Farm Bill, a massive piece of legislation that is voted on every five years and determines how the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) disburses billions in federal funding, is a chance to finally invest in these communities鈥� water systems.

鈥淭he Farm Bill has funding that can really help address a lot of these gaps,鈥� says Susana de Anda, executive director of the Community Water Center. She says the legislation should increase investments, particularly grants, in rural Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) communities; fund an annual audit of the USDA to determine which communities actually receive water infrastructure funding; and push the agency to deepen relationships with community-based organizations to ensure long-neglected populations have a voice in the planning process. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 clear that [low-income people of color] have been left out of water planning, and more importantly, they鈥檝e been left out of intentional funding designed for them to really meet their needs and solve the issue,鈥� de Anda adds.

When reached for comment, a USDA Rural Development spokesperson said that the administration is 鈥渃ommitted to addressing the infrastructure needs of America鈥檚 most historically underserved communities鈥� and added that the agency is 鈥渟trengthening its efforts to provide technical and financial support to BIPOC communities and historically underserved areas that need it most.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The racial and rural water gap has its roots in historic neglect. For decades, the Central Valley has attracted migrant farmworkers, many of whom were without basic resources like electricity or running water. Many of these settlements, like Sultana, became permanent, but never received municipal services.

Rural communities of color were historically excluded from being annexed into cities with utility services, a phenomenon known as 鈥�,鈥� says Camille Pannu, an associate clinical professor at Columbia Law School who has water access issues in California.

This led to communities like Sultana remaining unincorporated and lacking many public services鈥攍ike adequate wells and water treatment systems. 鈥淵ou end up having this upside-down water system where you have the lowest-income people paying the for terrible water,鈥� Pannu says. She says that weak water infrastructure often forces residents to turn to building their own private wells or purchasing bottled water.

In agricultural communities like Sultana, water 颈蝉苍鈥檛 just hard to access. When it comes from the ground, it鈥檚 often with nitrates, arsenic, and pesticides; these contaminants are linked to cancer and lung and heart disease, among other ailments. Treating that water to residents鈥� yearly water and sewer bills, according to a recent report from the Environmental Working Group. 

Federal funds can help ease the burden, but only if these communities are able to access them, says Rempel, the doctoral researcher. 鈥淐ommunities need a lot of capacity and resources to be able to apply for and access these federal funding programs,鈥� Rempel says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a huge opportunity for technical assistance to start to close this gap.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Even Prado, who has worked in community services for over 25 years, says he has struggled to navigate the system of applying for federal loans and grants. 鈥淣obody really knows about USDA funding,鈥� he says. 

Despite these obstacles, Prado has seen the benefits of federal assistance. In 2017, the USDA helped to fund a $2.1 million project to drill a new community well for Monson鈥攐ne of Sultana鈥檚 neighbors鈥攕upplying with safe water. That same year, Prado, with help from a local nonprofit, applied for $7 million in funding for a well in his town.

Now, more than six years later, Sultana is slated to get the new well it so desperately needs. Construction crews broke ground in May, and the well is slated for completion in May 2024. 

Prado says he鈥檚 excited about the new well鈥攂ut access to clean water 颈蝉苍鈥檛 something he and his neighbors should have had to fight for. 

鈥淚 keep telling the state what they need to do is get off their chair, come to the valley, and see all the rural communities,鈥� Prado says. 鈥淪ee what their needs are, hold outreach meetings, and start finding out what they need here. I don鈥檛 think there鈥檚 enough of that really going on.鈥�

This article was originally copublished in Nexus Media News with  as part of a series that looks at ways the 2023 Farm Bill can help address the climate crisis.  is an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

The Himalayan region is often called 鈥渢he water tower of Asia鈥� or 鈥渢he third pole.鈥� Glaciers, along with approximately 3 million springs and 10 major rivers that flow from these peaks, have historically been the main sources of water in India鈥檚 Himalayan states, including Uttarakhand and Sikkim. But many of these water sources have disappeared in the past decade.

More than half of the perennial springs in the Garhwal region of Uttarakhand have dried up or become seasonal, according to by the Indian government鈥檚 think tank, the . The potential reasons are many: road development, hydroelectric projects, earthquakes in the region, large-scale deforestation, and changes in rainfall patterns and other climate shifts.

The loss of springs affects the flow of rivers as well as the availability of water for community use. Baran Devi, 34, wakes up every day at 4 a.m. in her village in Nainital district, Uttarakhand, India, to make the daily 5-mile trip to a spring to get drinking water for her household. Though this trudge is laborious, her real worry is the summer months, when the spring dries up and she has to look for another source of water. In Uttarakhand, the Himalayan state where she lives, 90% of the drinking water supply is spring-based.

鈥淚n Uttarakhand more than 794 villages have become ghost villages thanks to nonavailability of water and migration to cities,鈥� says Badrish Singh Mehra, executive director of the , a development organization based in the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand.

Reviving an ancient water-management practice may be just what these communities need to move forward.

Water Temples

Dharas, or natural springs, can emerge from an aquifer through cracks in the Earth鈥檚 surface, or they can emerge from rocks and systems that have the porosity and permeability to retain water.

In the past, Himalayan communities held and passed on this local water knowledge. They also designed water-management systems around a deep reverence for water sources. All across the region, the temple-like naula structures were designed to collect water from underground springs.

Local rulers and elite families would dig a hole to access a spring, and then use local stone to construct walls to protect it. Usually, the naulas included a statue of a god like Vishnu and had designs carved on their facades. The tiny, covered structures were usually accessed through a narrow opening and a short flight of stairs, so that cattle could not enter and pollute the water. People were not allowed to wash clothes or dirty the water around these structures either.

In the past, naulas catered to the water needs of local communities, where worship of water was embedded in the local psyche. Many local brides visited the naulas after their weddings to offer their prayers and be blessed. Today these structures are ancient remnants of local architecture, as well as evidence of long-held ecological knowledge.

Mehra says there are an estimated 16,000 naulas in the Himalayan region of India today. But through the years, many of these once-revered water temples fell into disuse, thanks to the advent of piped water to villages and large-scale migration to cities where employment and piped water made life easier.

But climate change is revealing the limits of these modern alternatives. Frequent floods and earthquakes in the region have blocked pipelines and dried up historic water sources. The Chamoli earthquake in 1999, for example, killed more than 100 people, and the shifting ground caused changes in water flow. So, too, with the floods in 2013, which killed more than 5,700 people.

As a result of these growing uncertainties, there is a movement today to revive communities鈥� naulas.

Ancient Science

Bishan Singh Baneshi realized how acute the problem was while living in a remote village in the Ranikhet district of Uttarakhand in 2017: His mother died, and he did not have enough water to perform her last rites. Along with local women, he started restoring local naulas. They formed the community-based nonprofit in June 2018, and have since been involved in restoring more than 150 dhara-naula systems in the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand.

The Naula Foundation is in good company when it comes to organizations rediscovering the value of these structures and knowledge ways鈥攁nd a deep reverence for water. The Central Himalayan Rural Action Group, too, works to recharge dharas and restore naulas.

鈥淕lacial contribution to water supply is only 16%, and the rest is from springs in the Himalayan region,鈥� Mehra says. 鈥淭hanks to climate change and people migrating to cities, water bodies all over the region [have] been declining at an alarming rate.鈥� He says the Rural Action Group was the first to look at the problem from a springshed-management perspective, going beyond a single watershed to identify recharge areas through hydrogeology and community knowledge.

The group鈥檚 work to restore water sources starts by addressing potential sources of contamination from uphill grazing, open defecation, or sewage tanks being built in the recharge area. Then they turn to the water itself. 鈥淲e look at the catchment area of a particular spring, its depth and direction, the nature of the rock bed, and take steps to recharge that with community participation,鈥� Mehra says. 

Community participation is key, and the organization approaches this work with great sensitivity to make sure it meets the needs of the people and doesn鈥檛 spoil their sacred sites. 鈥淚n the past, rampant use of cement in these structures has led to water sources being blocked,鈥� Mehra says. 鈥淲e also identify the leakages in the system and attempt to plug 迟丑别尘.鈥�

So far the Rural Action Group has revived 494 springs and 189 pipelines to villages, as well as improved community water management. Their efforts involve local people in the revival process and provide them with work. Elders and naula makers in the community are consulted for their experience. The group also transfers necessary knowledge to local workers so that the community water sources can be self-sustaining.

While donations from corporations and individuals pay for much of the project costs, villagers contribute 20% to 40% of the funds to ensure that the local community is invested in the project. Thanks to the group鈥檚 intervention, one spring, for example, now generates an additional liter of water every minute, adding some 525,000 liters to the local water supply over the course of a spring.

Functional Ecosystems

The Central Himalayan Rural Action Group鈥檚 intervention is multifold, starting with an assessment of the health of the spring, its volume of water, and the number of people dependent on its water. Abhishek Likam, head of springshed management for the group, says that the terrain is also important (whether it is rocky, etc.), as intervention in certain areas could lead to landslides.

The next step is to dig either trenches or percolation pits to conserve the rainwater. Finally, Likam says, the group plants indigenous trees like oak and deodar around the springs, as 鈥渃ertain species of trees are good for recharge of groundwater.鈥�

Sheeba Sen of Alaap, a nonprofit organization that does reforestation work in Uttarakhand, says pine forests, which were brought in during colonial times, are the bane of their ecological development work. These introduced tree species led to a decline in the native species that allow for better water percolation and storage.

鈥淎s we work in regeneration of indigenous forests and mapping catchment areas, we also work indirectly with naulas and their regeneration,鈥� Sen says. 鈥淚n many cases, the forest departments own the lands where the naulas are located, and it becomes complex as more permissions are needed to access the naulas.鈥�

Many organizations that work in the region, like Alaap and People鈥檚 Science Institute, a nongovernmental organization based in Dehradun that works with sustainable development and natural-resource management, have been engaging with local communities, especially women, to revive these ancient water temples and improve lives. 鈥淎ny work on these springs has to include financial benefits for the local people鈥攐nly then it will work in the long run,鈥� Sen says.

Women, many of whom were spending several hours traveling many miles away to get water for their households, play a critical role. Maya Verma, a resident of Chamoli village in Uttarakhand鈥檚 Almora district, has revived the naulas in as many as 15 villages with other women from these villages. She organized community meetings and street plays, and formed water-user groups as part of her awareness-raising campaign.

Pooja Arya, 30, and her friend Kiran Joshi, 32, from Raushil village in Nainital district, have been working with the Rural Action Group in the regeneration of naulas in their village the last couple of years. The naulas now support as many as 50 families in their village, and in the summer, even families from other villages.

鈥淲e can see the area transformed thanks to working on the naulas,鈥� Joshi says. She and Arya have been involved in the whole process, from digging trenches to working in catchment areas. Excess water is stored in tanks, which can then be used for irrigation to grow various crops like wheat and garlic. 鈥淚n previous years we used to suffer water shortages in the summer,鈥� Joshi says, 鈥渂ut now we have water throughout the year.鈥�

鈥淲ell, the first year was like, 鈥極K, it鈥檚 my foot in the door. Just get my foot in the door, introduce people to new things, and see how the second year goes.鈥� The rice at the market is like $3.50, and people are thinking it鈥檚 too expensive. But a few customers buy it. And then they come back and they say, 鈥極h my gosh, I paid $3.50, and it鈥檚 worth more than that!鈥欌��

Seven years later, Lee鈥檚 sticky rice鈥攁nd other varieties she sells with her husband, Tou Lee鈥攈as become a hit at farmers markets in Asheville and nearby Black Mountain. It can even be found in several upscale restaurants in the Asheville area.

The Lees, Hmong immigrants born in Laos just before the end of the Vietnam War, own Lee鈥檚 One Fortune Farm. Officially headquartered in Marion, North Carolina, about 40 minutes east of Asheville, the farm operates under something like a cooperative system. The Lees grow their rice, and different varieties of fruits and vegetables native to Southeast Asia, on eight small plots, many of them not much larger than an acre. Some of the plots, scattered around McDowell County (where Marion is) and adjacent counties, are owned and leased by relatives, but the Lees harvest everything and sell it under the Lee鈥檚 One Fortune Farm name.

Many people are surprised to learn that you can grow rice in the mountains, the Lees say. The vast majority of rice grown in the U.S.鈥攜our basic white or brown variety鈥攃omes from just four regions: the Mississippi Delta, the Arkansas Grand Prairie, the Gulf Coast, and the Sacramento Valley. The crop has a rightful reputation for growing in hot, flat areas that can be easily flooded.

As it turns out, though, heirloom rice from the Laotian highlands grows very well in parts of the Southern Appalachians, with its similarly hot days and cool nights. An 鈥渦pland鈥� rice, it grows on drier ground and consumes less water than standard varieties, and it can be planted like corn.

According to the Lees, Laotian sticky rice first came to the U.S. in the late 鈥�80s or early 鈥�90s when a Laotian woman immigrating to California 鈥渟muggled鈥� a few ounces of seeds in her coin purse. They made their way to cities in California鈥檚 Central Valley, home to some of the largest Hmong communities in the U.S., but the results were disappointing: The rice stalks never grew higher than about a foot or yielded more than a few dozen grains.

鈥淔amilies gave up on [it] and said, 鈥榃ell, it鈥檚 no good. [This rice] will never grow in America.鈥� So they shipped it up here to some of the families that we know of,鈥� Tou Lee says. 鈥淎nd they give it a shot. The first year it came up, the rice was over 5 feet tall.鈥�

In 2017, the Hmong population of the U.S. was estimated to be around 300,000. North Carolina鈥檚 population is concentrated in Hickory, in the Piedmont. Hmong presence in the mountains is tiny鈥攜ou can count it 鈥渂y hand,鈥� Chue Lee says. By the Lees鈥� estimate, every Hmong person in their area is either a blood relative or related by marriage.

As a result, after the Lees first started farming, they focused on satisfying demand for Laotian rice among the greater Hmong diaspora in the U.S., sending freezer bags to Minnesota and California, which have the largest concentrations of Hmong immigrants in the country. At the time, Chue was working as an office manager and Tou as an engineer. Today she grows and manages the farm full time; Tou splits his time between farming and working as a product manager for a pharmaceutical company.

Eventually, however, they started looking for distribution outlets closer to home. This search brought them into contact with the Appalachian Sustainable Agriculture Project, a nonprofit based in Asheville that promotes family-owned farms in Western North Carolina and provides resources to farmers. That鈥檚 how the Lees wound up at the East Asheville farmers market.

The project’s director Molly Nicholie confirms that  in the region. 鈥淚t requires specific processing and equipment that most farmers don鈥檛 have, or certain know-how.鈥� Local growers, she says, can鈥檛 just decide to plant it on a whim, like they would, say, tomatoes. 鈥淭here鈥檚 so much more involved.鈥�

A grant from, the agricultural endowment created from North Carolina鈥檚 1999 Master Settlement Agreement with tobacco companies, helped the Lees buy a harvester last year, increasing their harvesting capacity twentyfold. Up until then, all of the Lees鈥� rice was cut by hand, though certain varieties鈥攕uch as their fragile green rice, picked before it matures鈥攚ill continue to be.

On the flip side, the lack of locally grown rice in Western North Carolina has contributed to its novelty and appeal, at least in the Asheville area, where, the Lees say, many residents and visitors are well-traveled and willing to try unfamiliar foods. They don鈥檛 go to farmers markets in the Marion area because there hasn鈥檛 been much demand for their offerings.

鈥淚 think that part of what makes their products so unique is that you can鈥檛 find it anywhere,鈥� says Nicholie. 鈥淢ost places don鈥檛 have a purple sticky rice or even some of the sweet sticky rice varieties that they brought over from Laos.鈥� As a result, people are 鈥渨illing to pay a premium for it.鈥�

While the Lees鈥� story of hard work, sacrifice, and success may feel familiar, their beginnings are anything but.

The Lees, like most Hmong immigrants in the United States, arrived in the country as refugees after the U.S. military withdrawal from Vietnam and the takeover of the Laotian government by the Pathet Lao communist group in 1975. During the twin conflicts, many Hmong villagers, who were concentrated in the highlands in the northern part of Laos, allied with the U.S. against both Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese forces; Chue鈥檚 father was in the anticommunist Royal Lao Army, and Tou鈥檚 father worked with the CIA. After Pathet Lao came to power, Tou and Chue (who did not meet until they were in the U.S.) were forced to run for their lives.

Tou Lee was born in Long Cheng, the military headquarters of the Royal Lao Army and the base for a secret CIA-run airline nicknamed 鈥淎ir America.鈥� Born just before the Pathet Lao took power, he spent the first five years of his life hiding in the jungle before escaping with his family to a refugee camp in Thailand, where he lived for a year and a half. In 1979, his family moved to North Cove, just outside Marion, to live with an uncle who sponsored them. 鈥淭he first time I ever wore shoes was on the bus to the airport and inside the airplane to the United States,鈥� he says.

Chue arrived in the U.S. in 1984, after two years in a refugee camp in Thailand and 鈥渞oaming the jungles of Laos鈥� before that. 鈥淢y dad said, 鈥榃e got to leave. Because once they find out who I am, we鈥檙e not going to make it here.鈥欌�� Her family moved to San Diego to be with an uncle who was sponsoring them.

After the deep instability of his early life, Tou had a regular American childhood in the Marion area, he says, and he never felt mistreated because of his identity. 鈥淚 was one of the hillbillies here. I felt at home.鈥� And, he says, there are actually lots of similarities between his area of Laos and Marion. 

鈥淚f you go anywhere in the villages of Laos and if you need something, chances are people will help you obtain it or provide it. And when I came here, that was the similar feeling that I had, culturally. As far as geographically, the hills [are] very reminiscent of Laos鈥攖he heavy, tall trees everywhere, all kinds of little creeks and springs everywhere.鈥�

In 1984, Tou鈥檚 family moved to the San Diego area temporarily; he met Chue the year after. They now have six children and a granddaughter.

According to Melissa Borja, a professor at the University of Michigan who researches Hmong refugee resettlement, the resettlement pattern of immigrants from Southeast Asia was very different than it was for previous immigrants to the U.S. from Asian countries. Instead of being concentrated in a specific area (like, say, a Chinatown), Hmong, Vietnamese, and Cambodian immigrants were 鈥渟pread out鈥� throughout the country 鈥渟o they wouldn鈥檛 locally burden particular communities鈥� and 鈥渨ould assimilate more quickly.鈥�

Eventually, many Hmong wanted to reconnect with others who shared their background and cultural and ritual practices, and distinct communities started to coalesce, especially in California and Minnesota. Nevertheless, Borja says, an interest in farming鈥攁 historical Hmong occupation鈥攁ttracted immigrants to smaller or more rural communities, such as those in North Carolina.

While Lee鈥檚 One Fortune Farm is now deeply embedded in the food scene of Western North Carolina, the Lees鈥� mission goes beyond simply growing and selling unique, hard-to-find food. At this point, they see education as just as much a part of their calling. 

鈥淭he best part of marketing is sharing information with my customers,鈥� says Chue. She and Tou say they never tire of explaining the ins and outs of Asian pears, Thai eggplant, sweet sticky rice, and their many other offerings. 鈥淚 can have 1,000 customers. And about 60% of them asking the same question during the whole market. And 滨鈥檓 willing to explain the same thing, even when the other person is no more than 5 feet behind them,鈥� Tou says.

In fact, their long-term goal is to buy a larger site that doubles as a learning center where groups can come to learn about all of their crops in a single place. Their other plan is to get into the wholesale market and supply rice and Asian vegetables to the mid-Atlantic鈥檚 growing Asian population. They may even try growing those more familiar brown and white rice varieties. 鈥淲e鈥檙e crazy enough we might [try],鈥� Tou says.

The Lees鈥� relationship to their homeland is bittersweet. Although they have dedicated much of their adult lives to carrying on Hmong traditions through farming, neither has returned to Laos since fleeing it as a child. 鈥淏ecause of my family service, I am not a really accepted or liked person over there,鈥� says Tou. 鈥淎t 3 months old, I was slated to be found and picked up鈥� by communist forces. 鈥淎t 3 months old.鈥�

鈥淭his is hope,鈥� he says, gesturing toward a modest field full of spent sticky rice stalks. 鈥淚 know that [Laos] is where I came from. I know that that was the original place that I was born, and that was my first home. . . But as far as, you know, how I feel about here versus there? This is more home than that over there is.鈥�

This article was originally published by . It has been published here with permission.

Perdue was one of nine comedians who took part in a nine-month fellowship where they learned about climate science and solutions and collaborated on . The Climate Comedy Cohort produced shorts, toured together, and pitched ideas to television networks. Their work is part of a broader effort to bring some levity to a topic that is increasingly present in everyday life. 

For Perdue, that meant bringing race into the conversation about sustainability and clean energy. 鈥淸Solar power] is free labor, and the most American thing to do is to use free labor,鈥� he says in one of his sets. 鈥淲e just have to tell people the sun is Black.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Climate change is increasingly featured in . But comedians like Perdue, as well as higher-profile acts, like Michelle Wolf and Joel Kim Booster, are also . (Wolf, in her HBO special, says 鈥渕other nature is trying to kill us in the most passive-aggressive way possible. She鈥檚 like, 鈥榃hat? I raised the temperature a little.鈥欌��)

By talking about climate, even irreverently, social scientists say, they may be helping to combat and boost civic engagement. 

Comedy鈥攅ven if it鈥檚 about heavy topics like climate change鈥攃an motivate feelings of hope and optimism, says Caty Borum, a professor at American University and author of . 鈥淭hose are routes to persuasion because we鈥檙e being entertained and because we鈥檙e feeling emotions of play鈥攁nd this is particularly important for climate change,鈥� she says. 

Just because climate change is heavy and important doesn鈥檛 mean comedy about it can鈥檛 be really silly.

The Climate Comedy Cohort, a joint project between American University鈥檚 Center for Media & Social Impact, which Borum runs, and Generation180, a clean-energy nonprofit, announced earlier this month. 

鈥淎s it just turns out, the very unique qualities of comedy that allow us to break through taboo, allow us to use social critique and translate topics, all of that really contributes鈥� to people feeling like they can take action, Borum says.

Actor and former Obama aide Kal Penn hosts a on Bloomberg called 鈥淕etting Warmer鈥� that focuses on climate technology and solutions 鈥渨ith a dose of humor and optimism,鈥� according to its tagline. And in April, a group of comedians is putting on a show called lol climate change: a show in Los Angeles. 

A say climate change is real and caused by humans, but only about half think there鈥檚 anything they can do about it, according to a . 

Borum says programs like hers can help combat and inaction. 鈥淭he goal of the program is not to have comedians tell more scary stories about climate change, but to really dig in on the solutions,鈥� she says. 

Just because climate change is heavy and important doesn鈥檛 mean comedy about it can鈥檛 be really silly, says , a comedian who helped create the Climate Comedy Cohort. 

He notes that comedy often draws from tragedy. Marc Maron鈥檚 new special, From Bleak to Dark, delves into the death of his partner, Lynn Shelton; in Nanette, Hannah Gadsby opens up about being sexually assaulted.  鈥淚t鈥檚 the comedian鈥檚 job to pull from that,鈥� Gast says. 

On stage, Katie Hannigan, part of the Climate Comedy Cohort, notes that . She says, 鈥淚 am doing my part for climate change. I have never even used my gas stove 鈥� since I started that fire.鈥�

Kat Evasco, one of the lol climate change comedians, has a joke connecting her mother鈥檚 skepticism about climate change to her denial about being gay鈥攅ven though she鈥檚 shared a bedroom with a woman for 25 years, Evasco quips. 鈥淚t鈥檚 about moments that might not center on climate change, but can tie back to it,鈥� she says.

鈥淲e aren鈥檛 big on sharing data and statistics,鈥� Evasco says. 鈥淲hat we are looking for is: How does this show up in human experience? How do you laugh about death?鈥� 

Max Boykoff, a professor in environmental studies at the University of Colorado Boulder, says he believes comedy can help drive the conversation forward on polarizing topics like climate change. (The majority of Americans with their neighbors or co-workers.)

鈥淭he comedic approach is not just simply a matter of making someone laugh. It鈥檚 actually a way to open people up,鈥� he says. In 2018, Boykoff and Beth Osnes, a professor of theatre, developed a creative climate communication course in which students developed their own comedy skits. At the end of the semester, 90% of students feeling more hopeful about climate change, and 83% said they believed their commitment to taking action on climate change was more likely to last.

Borum says that when comedy is done well, it can change minds on almost any topic鈥攕he has studied how comedy can create social change around poverty, inequality, and human rights. 鈥淭he best comedy that inserts something important about the world is not boring and lame,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd that鈥檚 true from a science perspective, but also a comedy perspective.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

This story was originally co-published by , , , and , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 12:31 p.m. PT on April 17, 2023, to correct the spelling of Esteban Gast鈥檚 name. Read our corrections policy here.

Sage Lenier attended her first environmental class as a high schooler in Corona, California, in 2015. It was an AP course that addressed some of the urgent problems facing the natural world, issues like biodiversity loss, climate change, and the ravages of industrial-scale farming. 

One lecture stood out to her in particular: The teacher told the class about the crisis of topsoil loss, or the layer of dirt where most plants鈥攊ncluding the crops we eat鈥攇row and flourish. According to the United Nations鈥� Food and Agriculture Organization, the world is expecting to lose 90% of its topsoil by 2050 if countries don鈥檛 take action.

She remembers her teacher talking about this fact almost casually, pointing out that once we鈥檝e depleted the topsoil, people will face extreme hunger. Lenier wanted to know what governments were doing about it, but her teacher鈥檚 answer was disappointing: World leaders would need to cooperate politically on an international scale that had never before been accomplished. In short, the planet was screwed. 

The whole class made her feel helpless. 

鈥淚 was really, really panicked, obviously,鈥� Lenier said over a Zoom call. 鈥淓nvironmental education as it stands is extremely alarmist, and I was freaking out.鈥�

Her best friend dropped the course because she found it too depressing. Lenier also felt scared by what she was learning about the future of the planet. Instead of ruminating in that fear, Lenier began to wonder what she could do to change things. Her parents and friends weren鈥檛 talking about these issues, and this was a few years before the climate youth strikes had raised the profile on the climate crisis. 

鈥淚 was really confused, really panicked, and wanted to do something,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hat I realized is that maybe our biggest problem is that no one knows any of this stuff.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

After she graduated high school, Lenier began to develop the kind of curriculum she wanted to be taught鈥攐ne focused on solutions. The University of California, Berkeley, where Lenier attended, offers a unique opportunity for students to teach their own university courses. The classes vary in subject matter from the whimsical鈥攖hink Harry Potter鈥攖o the technical, like computer coding and software engineering, but they all have to meet academic standards to be certified and sponsored by a faculty member. 

Lenier鈥檚 class, Solutions for a Sustainable and Just Future, was radically different from the environmental education norm, focused on both explaining the most pressing environmental issues of our time and then offering solutions. 

She taught it for the first time in 2018. It broke records for student enrollment, growing from 25 students to over 300 a semester at its peak. So far, over 1,800 people have taken the course, including 200 students who took the class virtually during the pandemic through Zero Waste USA. Though Lenier has graduated, it鈥檚 now being taught by student teachers she鈥檚 helped train. It also won a best practice award from the California Higher Education Sustainability Conference. 

According to data Lenier collected from her students, two-thirds of those who took the class came from non-environmental majors, and more than 70% said they had been inspired to become, or were becoming, involved in environmental work and activism. 

Now 24, Lenier is aiming to take her curriculum to universities and high schools across the country. She is at the forefront of a growing movement to integrate environmental curriculum into the education system, equipping students with the knowledge they need to help solve some of the largest environmental issues of our time. 

The state of environmental education in the United States can be described as either nonexistent or woefully inadequate. Radhika Iyengar, director of education for the Center for Sustainable Development at Columbia University, said most students are having to seek out information on their own through the internet and social media. There is no federal push to teach environmental education, and only a handful of states, like New Jersey and Connecticut, have made strides in incorporating the curriculum in K-12 schools. When climate change is taught, it is often through a side project or a single lesson. 

鈥淭his is just the tip of the iceberg that we鈥檙e touching,鈥� said Iyengar. 鈥淲e鈥檙e just now trying to integrate climate education when the climate is falling apart, and the Earth is falling apart.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The predominant model of engaging students in environmental work has also overwhelmingly focused on the existential problems at hand. Sarah Jaquette Ray, a professor and chair of environmental studies at Cal Poly Humboldt and author of A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety, describes the typical style of teaching about the environment鈥攖he kind Lenier encountered in high school鈥攁s the 鈥渟care to care model.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淭he vast majority of environmental, climate, and sustainability educators got Ph.D.s under the assumption that nobody cared or knew enough about the environment and needed to get more educated about it, in order for us to fix this problem,鈥� she said. 鈥淟ike, if we tell them how horrible it is, if we give them a litany of problems, they will know what to do to go out and fix 迟丑别尘.鈥�

But instead, it was having the opposite impact, Ray said. 鈥淭he barrage of problems, the doom and gloom, in general 鈥� is having the effect, increasingly, of leaving people more apathetic, more desiring to numb out, [and] more likely to be in denial.鈥�

It is contributing to a growing feeling of despair about the environment among young people. A 2021 survey of 10,000 youth from across the world found that many are suffering from what is known as eco-anxiety, or a sort of existential dread about the state of the planet. Nearly 60% of respondents said they were very or extremely worried about climate change. 

Students are going to school seeking answers. Lenier鈥檚 class provides them.

The course itself not only centers solutions, but justice too. What drives Lenier is the people being impacted by climate change and the sometimes faulty response to it. She draws a distinction between capitalism, green capitalism (think Elon Musk and Tesla), and radical environmentalism鈥攖he latter being the version she focuses on in class. One that not only upholds care for the planet, but care for the people living on it too. 鈥淚 care about human rights, first and foremost,鈥� she said. 

The course starts with the history of consumption and chronicles the country鈥檚 waste streams, pointing out that most of what Americans consume ends up in landfills. This 鈥渓inear economy鈥� means resources are extracted, consumed, and then disposed of, leading to a rapidly degrading planet and conflict over its finite resources. 

But Lenier doesn鈥檛 stop there. Her class offers an alternative to the status quo, by explaining the possibilities found within a 鈥渃ircular economy,鈥� one in which things don鈥檛 lose their value in a landfill, but instead are recirculated as new items, or are in continuous use, without being viewed as disposable. 

Repairing clothing instead of throwing it away, or resoling shoes, could be an aspect of the circular economy, versus the fast fashion Americans have become accustomed to replacing at the smallest tear or hole.

It鈥檚 just one example Lenier offers as a window into how an alternative, regenerative future could take shape, one that prioritizes caring for the Earth and helps students imagine how they might fit into making it a reality. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 really about getting people excited about what a better world can look like,鈥� Lenier said. 

The class offers practical ways students can take steps in their own lives to limit their consumption, by offering alternatives to daily disposables, like paper towels and plastic bags, or providing examples of how to engage in the circular economy in small ways, like composting. 

This method of focusing on individuals鈥� actions does face criticism from some environmental activists, who say it detracts from the focus on industry players, like oil producers, which are responsible for a majority of carbon emissions.

Lenier sees the argument as a cop-out. 鈥淎mericans, or people of privilege globally, are so willing and able to just absolve themselves of any accountability,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut if you can see your power as a person in the Global North, it would be transformative.鈥�

Lenier is advocating for systemic change too. Her class delves into the topics of decarbonization and degrowth鈥攁n argument for shrinking the economy鈥攖hough she thinks individuals, particularly in the U.S., should take responsibility for the harm they are causing to the rest of the world. 

Ray said a focus on providing people a blueprint of what they can do in their own lives to limit their impact on the planet has been shown to alter the way they behave. 

鈥淚t has a psychological effect of making people get more engaged,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t gives them a model of what they might be able to do in their own community. 鈥� So there鈥檚 sort of multiple psychological buttons that solutions push when [students are] in classes.鈥�

In some regards, American students are just now catching up to their peers in other countries in simply recognizing that climate change is real. This was something that struck Lovisa Lagercrantz, one of the co-facilitators of the Berkeley class, when she first moved to the states from Sweden when she was 15. 

鈥淚 felt like my discussions with my peers at school lunches were like, 鈥極h, do you believe in climate change?鈥� 鈥� like it is not something to be believed in,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he framework in Scandinavia was so far past that. Like it wasn鈥檛 a question to be taught, it was a fact. And that was something we were taught in school growing up.鈥�

Ray said there has been an ongoing shift among young people in their awareness of these issues. 鈥淚ncreasingly, the climate is an emotional thing,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t is intimate, it is a form of trauma, it is a form of fear. It is an emotional topic for many students.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The climate youth strikes, led by Greta Thunberg in 2018, helped bring the climate crisis to the forefront of students鈥� minds. But Iyengar also sees this activism as a reflection of societal failure to address the problem to begin with. 鈥淲e have pushed our students to a last resort,鈥� she said. 

Anu Thirunarayanan, another of the current co-facilitators, began teaching the class after they became drained by that kind of activism. 

鈥淚 think a lot of environmentalists burn out, in a sense, because they see so many of the negative aspects of what climate problems or environmental problems look like. And they are forced to deal with the underbelly,鈥� they said. 鈥淎nd it鈥檚 hard to find hope in that.鈥�

They found out about Lenier鈥檚 class through a student club called the Students of Color Environmental Collective, and decided they wanted to shift gears to education and organizing instead of being active in campus rallies. 

As a co-facilitator, Thirunarayanan has added to the course curriculum, creating a module focused on environmental justice. This collaboration and student-led approach is what drew them to teaching the class to begin with, and it differed from most faculty-led courses in an important way.

鈥淭he identity of our faculty, a large portion of them are white, and most of them are men. And I think the fact that this class has been entirely taught by women and nonbinary students, and at least around half of us have been people of color, I think, adds that additional intersectional identity to how the course is taught,鈥� they said. 

Now, Thirunarayanan and Lagercrantz are helping Lenier turn the class into an exportable curriculum that could be taught at other universities and high schools through her recently launched nonprofit, Sustainable & Just Future. Her tagline? 鈥淵outh-led environmental education for the revolution.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

For Lenier, the goal is simple: educate as many millions of people as possible to tackle the problem of climate change. 

While still in the early stages of getting funding and figuring out how to run the nonprofit full time, already she is fielding hundreds of inquiries from students at other universities who are seeking to bring the program to their schools. She has plans to develop a digital version of the course offerings, and eventually would like to see the course integrated into K-12 education across the country. 

It鈥檚 about more than providing solutions; in Lenier鈥檚 eyes, it鈥檚 about empowering students from across disciplines to 鈥渄ig into their community鈥� and find the ways in which their skill sets can contribute to solving one of the biggest challenges of our time. 

鈥淚f we start raising people who have the Earth as a priority and also a knowledge of how these systems impact them, and their role in it, and instead of churning out hundreds of thousands more people with business degrees 鈥� we churn out people who are empathetic and curious about the world and looking to make it a better place, genuinely,鈥� she said, 鈥淚 think that is revolutionary.鈥�

This story was originally published by . To read more of its stories answering the 鈥渉ow鈥� and 鈥渨hy鈥� of the intersection of environment and race news, .

Dead branches were still dangling a month later. But rows of mustard greens were unfurling nearby, and a thicket of green vines reached toward the sun, dotted with tangy orange bulbs.

鈥淭hese sungold tomatoes were toast,鈥� Gentry said, sounding almost astonished. 鈥淏ut now look at them. They鈥檙e coming back. It鈥檚 like spring again.鈥�

Over the past four years, Gentry has transformed 2 acres of trash-strewn dirt on Long Island鈥檚 southeast coast into a profitable organic farm by betting big on soil. Instead of pumping her crops with pesticides and petrochemical fertilizer, Gentry grows vetch, a hardy pealike plant, and rye to cover the exposed soil between the rows of greens intended for harvest. She layers the soil with specially mined rock dust that replenishes minerals and pulls carbon from the air. And in the spring and summer, she uses a system of crop rotation鈥攕hifting around where different crops are planted鈥攕o that one plant鈥檚 nutrient needs don鈥檛 drain the soil. These practices are collectively known as regenerative farming.

Tests of the soil show the organic content is now seven times higher than when she began. The result is produce so flavorful that she can鈥檛 keep up with the number of restaurants and home cooks looking to buy shares. 

Gentry鈥檚 farm is also resilient, one where healthy soil soaks up rainwater like a sponge and replenishes the crops. She barely missed a delivery after the storm. 

At a moment when fires and storms are wreaking havoc from coast to coast, mounting research suggests that practicing the soil techniques Gentry uses on a much wider scale could remove climate-changing gases from the atmosphere and provide a vital bulwark in the fight to maintain a habitable planet. They鈥檙e part of a mix of solutions experts say are needed to keep global temperatures from surpassing 1.5 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial averages, beyond which projections show catastrophic threats to our coasts, ecosystems, and food and water supplies. 

Regenerative practices range from growing trees and reverting croplands to wild prairies, to rotating crops and allowing remnants after harvest to decompose into the ground. The techniques, already popular with small-scale organic growers, are steadily gaining traction among big farms and ranches as the chaotic effects of climate change and financial pressure from agribusiness giants eat away at their businesses.

鈥淭his is about covering the soil, feeding the soil and not disrupting it,鈥� said Betsy Taylor, the president at Breakthrough Strategies & Solutions, a consultancy that focuses on regenerative agriculture. 鈥淭hose are the basic principles.鈥�

Countries such as France are promoting large-scale government programs to encourage farmers to increase the carbon stored in soil. Members of Congress have also proposed legislation to push regenerative farming in the U.S., and several states are designing their own policies. Progressive think tanks call for small shifts in existing U.S. Department of Agriculture programs and beefed-up research funding that could trigger the biggest changes to American farming in almost a century. Nearly every Democratic presidential candidate pitched paying farmers to trap carbon in soil as a key plank of their climate platform, including nominee Joe Biden.

鈥淲e should be making farmers the recipients of a climate change plan where they get paid to absorb carbon,鈥� the former vice president said during a CNN town hall this past week. 

While the benefits to soil and food nutrition are difficult to dispute, regenerative farming has its critics. They argue that its climate advantages are overhyped or unproven, the product of wishful thinking about a politically palatable solution, and that the focus on regenerative farming risks distracting policymakers from more effective, if less exciting, strategies. 

Industrial Agriculture鈥檚 Bill Is Coming Due

At the end of World War II, federal farming policy started to transform the breadbasket of the Midwest into vast plains of corn, soybeans, and grains. The same principles of mechanized bulk production that turned the United States into a military powerhouse capable of fending off the Japanese and Nazi empires were applied to farming. Surplus chemicals from weapons manufacturing found new uses eradicating crop-eating insects, and nitrogen plants that once made components for bombs started producing ammonia to feed fields. 

Geopolitics only hastened the trend, as widespread Soviet crop failures forced Russian officials to buy grain from overseas and the Nixon administration capitalized on the opportunity. Agriculture Secretary Earl 鈥淩usty鈥� Butz, who served under Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford, directed farmers to 鈥減lant fence row to fence row,鈥� and quantity trumped all else. Farmers took out loans to expand operations, turning 鈥済et big or get out鈥� into a mantra, as Butz promised that any surplus could be sold overseas. 

The damage to farm soil kicked into overdrive as farmers planted the same monoculture crops year after year and added more chemical fertilizers to make up for the sapped minerals and dead microbes. The cumulative effect has been twofold. The U.S. loses top soil at a rate than it鈥檚 replenished. And carbon and other gases seep from the plowed, exposed soil into the air, contributing to the emissions rapidly warming the planet and increasing the frequency and severity of destructive droughts and storms. 

Less than two weeks after Tropical Storm Isaias made landfall over Gentry鈥檚 farm, a powerful storm known as a derecho鈥攐r 鈥渋nland hurricane鈥濃�攆ormed in Iowa, some 1,100 miles west. The storm destroyed nearly half the state鈥檚 crop rows. 鈥淭his will ruin us,鈥� one farmer told a . Another called it a 鈥渃atastrophic scenario.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Losses from extreme weather are only expected to grow in the years ahead. Even if warming is kept within a 2 degrees Celsius warming scenario, the less ambitious goal spelled out in the Paris climate accords, U.S. corn production will likely suffer an 18% hit, according to a published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. 

For many farmers, the federal crop insurance program has been a lifeline in tumultuous times. But it also encourages them to plant in harm鈥檚 way by providing incentives to cultivate every inch of land, including marginal acres prone to flooding, and it  by making it difficult for farmers to insure a variety of crops at once. In 2014, the federal  found that, as a result of the insurance program鈥檚 policies, farmers 鈥渄o not bear the true cost of their risk of loss due to weather-related events, such as drought鈥攚hich could affect their farming decisions.鈥�

鈥淎s farmers, we鈥檙e trying to make rational economic decisions in an irrational system,鈥� said Matt Russell, a fifth-generation Iowa farmer who promotes regenerative soil practices. 鈥淲e have externalized the pollution so the public pays for those costs and nobody in the supply chain pays for it, while at the same time, when I do something good, I can鈥檛 externalize the cost at all.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥榊ou鈥檝e Got A Win鈥�

Plans to shift federal incentives to favor regenerative farming aim first to loosen big agribusiness鈥檚 grip on the industry. 

The think tank has proposed overhauling the federal crop insurance program to limit the total acreage eligible for coverage, phase out incentives for single-crop planting and create new tax credits designed specifically for family-owned farms, restricting how much corporate giants could benefit from the subsidized insurance. 

With that stick would come a carrot: Under Data for Progress鈥� plan, Congress would increase the budget for the USDA鈥檚 existing conservation programs. 

As farmers, we鈥檙e trying to make rational economic decisions in an irrational system. Matt Russell, a fifth-generation Iowa farmer

The Conservation Stewardship Program already provides farmers with cash payments of up to and technological assistance for steps such as assessing which plots of farming and grazing land should be allowed to go natural. With an expanded mandate to sequester carbon dioxide, the program might fund a national assessment to determine which areas are best suited for rewilding or carbon farming and compensate farmers directly to do that. 

The program paid out $1.4 billion last year alone. Data for Progress proposed that the USDA significantly increase funding for both the program and research, and provide employees in all its conservation programs with training to understand and help regulate regenerative farming practices. 

鈥淭here are so many wins in regenerative agriculture,鈥� said Maggie Thomas, a former climate policy adviser to the presidential campaigns of U.S. Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.) and Washington Gov. Jay Inslee (D), who serves as political director of the progressive climate group Evergreen Action. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e got a win for farmers. You鈥檝e got a win for soils and the environment. You鈥檝e got a win for better food. There鈥檚 no reason not to do it.鈥�

The hopes for such changes are dim under the Trump administration, which spent its first three years sidelining climate science and spurring an from the USDA as frustration over political appointees鈥� meddling with research grew. (A five-year proposal the agency released in February did seem to show a growing acceptance of the need to address climate change, offering what called 鈥渉opeful signs.鈥�)

Maryland already pays farmers  for fields maintained with cover crops. Montana state officials collaborated with a nonprofit consortium paying ranchers to adopt that increase carbon storage in the soil. 

In January, Vermont proposed a plan to incorporate by farmers into the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative, a cap-and-trade scheme that includes most of the Northeast states. In March, Minnesota officials gathered for a to combat climate change. In June, Colorado solicited input for a state-level aimed at 鈥渁dvancing climate resilience.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Investors see potential profit in the shift to regenerative agriculture. In January, the Seattle startup Nori was able to raise $1.3 million to fund its platform using blockchain technology to pay farmers to remove carbon from the atmosphere. And Boston-based Indigo Ag, a similar startup, announced in June that it had brought in another $300 million from investors, becoming the world鈥檚 highest-valued ag-tech firm at an estimated $3.5 billion.

But some fear these platforms offer dubious benefits, particularly because the credits generated by the farmers鈥� stored carbon could be bought by industrial giants that would rather offset their own pollution than eliminate it.

鈥淚t鈥檚 right to be skeptical of these companies,鈥� said Mackenzie Feldman, a fellow at Data for Progress and lead author on its regenerative farming proposal. 鈥淚t has to be the government doing this, and it can be through mechanisms that already exist, like the Conservation Stewardship Program.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Are The Benefits Being Oversold?

But not everyone is jumping on the regenerative farming bandwagon. In May, a group of researchers at the World Resources Institute , arguing 鈥渢hat the practices grouped as regenerative agriculture can improve soil health and yield some valuable environmental benefits, but are unlikely to achieve large-scale emissions reductions.鈥�

鈥淣o-till鈥� farming鈥攁 seeding practice that requires growers to inject seeds into fields without disturbing the soil, which became popular with environmentalists several years ago鈥攈as had only limited carbon benefits because farmers inevitably plow their fields after a few years, WRI argued, pointing to a in the journal Nature Climate Change. 

And cover crops can be costly to plant and difficult to propagate in the weeks between a fall harvest and the winter months, WRI said, highlighting the findings of an . The group also cast doubt over the methods used to account for carbon added to soil.

In June, seven of the world鈥檚 leading soil scientists  to WRI鈥檚 claims, which they said drew too narrow conclusions and failed to see the potential of combining multiple regenerative practices. 

WRI researcher Tim Searchinger renewed the debate this past month with his own response to the response, accusing the critics of his critique of relying on misleading information from a 2007 United Nations report to inflate the potential for capturing carbon in soil at large scale. 

鈥淭he realistic ability to sequester additional carbon in working agricultural soils is limited,鈥� he wrote. 鈥淏ecause what causes carbon to remain in soils is not well understood, further research is needed, and our views may change as new science emerges.鈥�

Rock You In A Hurricane

Some of the latest science sheds light on one aspect of regenerative farming that didn鈥檛 factor into the recent debate at all. In July, a published in the journal Nature found that spreading rock dust on soil at maximum scale in the world鈥檚 three largest carbon emitters鈥擟hina, the United States and India鈥攃ould collectively remove up to 2 billion metric tons of carbon dioxide from the air per year. 

The process, known as 鈥渆nhanced rock weathering,鈥� occurs when minerals in the rock dust react with carbon in rainwater and turn into bicarbonate ions. Those ions are eventually washed into the oceans, where they鈥檙e stored indefinitely as rock minerals. 

鈥淭he more we looked into it, the more it seemed like a no-brainer,鈥� said David Beerling, a soil researcher at the U.K.鈥檚 University of Sheffield and the lead author of the study. 

That鈥檚 a leap Thomas Vanacore took nearly four decades ago. The Vermont farmer and quarryman realized in the 1980s that mineral-rich dust from basalt and shale quarries could replenish nutrients in soil without using synthetic fertilizers, which would appeal to his state鈥檚 organic farmers. But as he studied climate change, he also concluded that his product could help pull carbon from the atmosphere. 

鈥淵ou can鈥檛 do what modern farming has done for years, where you kill everything and expect to grow life,鈥� Vanacore said, standing before a pile of black shale at a quarry in Shoreham, Vermont. For farmers looking to make the shift to regenerative practices, 鈥渞ock dust is the jumpstart,鈥� he said. 

This month, he delivered his largest shipment to date to an industrial farm supplier in the Canadian province of Saskatchewan. Vanacore said he expects to ship an added 245 rail cars full of rock dust over the northern border in the next 12 months. 

His customers swear by the stuff鈥攊ncluding Gentry, who started buying bags of his brix-blend basalt when she first started her farm. Without the rock dust, Gentry doubts that her soil would be as fertile as it is today. Her embrace of pioneering techniques is reflected in the name of her plot: Early Girl Farm. 

This story originally appeared in and is republished here as part of Covering Climate Now, a global journalism collaboration strengthening coverage of the climate story.

As the students, bundled up in hoodies and beanies, gathered in this classroom without walls, I wondered if they were seeing this beach day as time off, a brief vacation from their usual university programming, rather than a taste and a reminder of their birthright and their most important work as human beings in these times.

My childhood-friend-turned-illustrious-professor had invited me to give a guest lecture for his class at the University of California, Santa Cruz. We grew up in Caracas, playing in the branches of juicy mango trees and in the turquoise waves of the Caribbean. I said yes right away since it was Rasmus Winther asking鈥攁nd also because of the name of his course: Blue Humanities. The undergraduate class merges science with the more philosophical disciplines to explore how we might effect positive change on our troubled oceans. Such an outcome will, of course, require the efforts of many, so with my brief 90-minute visit, my intention was to add my little droplet to this great current.

My Droplet

The droplet I chose to offer鈥攁 guided practice on how we might deepen our relationship with nature鈥攊s what I see at the very core of the widespread restoration and regeneration we are longing for. All of our wildest dreams: reef restoration, biodiversity renewal, deplastification, dam removal, climate resilience, water cleanliness, overcoming our petroleum addiction, exercising kindness toward wildlife, rematriation鈥攁ll of this鈥攊s an ordinary, expected, natural outcome of our commitment to be in respectful, reciprocal relationship with the Earth.

Just like with human relationships, the more respectful we are with each other, the better things go for all of us. But collectively, we have become so critically estranged from the natural world that it鈥檚 common to struggle with the basics of what 鈥渋ntentional relationship with nature鈥� even means. 

For starters, our entire physiology is made to be outside, but people in the U.S. spend 95% of their lives indoors. Even students who are working toward Earth-centered careers or professionals in environmentally oriented jobs often spend most of their time in buildings and on computers away from, and out of direct relationship with, the very nature they are interested in protecting and restoring. In this sense, much of the personal and planetary dis-ease that we are experiencing stems from this normalized condition of humans living in captivity.

That鈥檚 why I wanted to help the circle of students on this stunning shore of the Pacific get a lived experience of the root of the matter. I wanted to facilitate a space for them to re-member, to start to reconnect with and repair their own personal vital relationship with nature鈥攁n intimate relationship that has endured for hundreds of thousands of years of human history before this brief and recent detour. I offered them an initial taste for how we might begin on this journey, so that we might come to unleash the vast potential for healing that is ours to bring forth.

The first signs of personal healing came quickly for the students. Their reflections ranged from simple to serious to soul-stirring. One noted that they felt lighter. Another said they need to be by the ocean more. 鈥淚 feel that who I am is affirmed by nature, and that I am held and accepted,鈥� wrote one student.

By the end of the session, the students reported the following:

• 96% felt significantly calmer
• 96% experienced significantly more clarity
• 96% were significantly able to wake up a sense of love for nature

These numbers, while anecdotal, are consistent with the results I have seen from doing similar practices with hundreds of people from around the world. And the more calm, clarity, and sense of connection with nature you experience, the more conscious, creative, and courageous you become in engaging with the otherwise seemingly overwhelming work at hand. 

That鈥檚 why these days I prioritize helping people develop their own personal, daily, nature-centered well-being practice, based on their lifestyle, interests, aspirations, heritage, and spiritual tradition. This way, they can then apply it to their own area of work, from child-raising to scientific exploration, farming, teaching, policymaking, art-making, and beyond, in a way that will be more meaningful and authentic for them. 

Accessible for All

The simple example of nature practice I shared with the students is something you can do on your own, with your beloved, or with a group of friends, colleagues, or little ones. You can do it in public without anyone even knowing it. You can deepen your relationship with nature on your terrace, in your backyard, on the neighborhood park bench. You can adapt it to be done from a hospital window or in a prison courtyard.

Doing it before school or work would be a beautifully irreverent and rebellious thing to do: to remind yourself that this is our most important work as human beings, rather than something that is done after our jobs or homework or housework are complete, and only then if we are not yet completely weighed down by exhaustion.

In many years of studying with the Dalai Lama, he taught me that when it comes to developing a personal well-being practice, consistency is key. It鈥檚 better to do 10 minutes a day than an hour on Friday. So, if you don鈥檛 have much of a regular practice at all, start with 10 minutes per day. Stop before you want to; give yourself the sensation of wanting more. That will make it more likely that you will come back the next day. After a week or so, reward yourself with a few more daily minutes until you are consistently practicing 25 minutes per day.

That 25 minutes, while a small fraction of the overall day, would increase the average outdoor time of an American by a meaningful 50%. And because it鈥檚 so physically pleasurable, emotionally comforting, mentally calming, and spiritually satisfying, chances are that it could inspire you to take further steps in restoring this vital relationship. 

As I write this, the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has just released on the emotional state of our young people. As a mother and future ancestor, I can鈥檛 think of anything more important or urgent to teach and model for our next generation of Earth guardians and water protectors than nature practice.

An Example of Nature Practice

Here are simple instructions you can follow. You can find .

1. To start, get clear on your intention. Why are you outside? Why are you taking the time to do this practice? Why are you interested in deepening your relationship with nature? It may be something to do with calming yourself down, getting unstuck with a thought pattern that is tormenting you, or healing your relationship with the ocean. 

Rather than making it an intellectual exercise, notice what is alive for you in this moment. Let yourself revel in that sense of purpose and commitment welling up in you.

I was aiding in my own captivity, and it鈥檚 nature and beauty that will set me free.

鈥�student reflection

2. Then, receive consent. One of the foundational gestures of respect you can offer to the land (and to the ocean) is to request permission to enter the space. Native Hawaiian Kumu Mikilani Young emphasized this for me one time when we were doing a prayerful walk across the Golden Gate. She says it鈥檚 like knocking on a friend鈥檚 door and waiting to be invited in, rather than barging in. Pay attention and wait until you feel welcome.

With the students, we waited in the parking lot, quietly attuning to a sense of being welcomed. Some felt it in a cool, gentle breeze, others heard it in the birdsong. I saw a couple of monarch butterflies fly over us. We attuned individually until we had a consensus of feeling welcome to proceed down to the beach.

I did not expect to feel like the beach had come alive after asking to be in its presence. 鈥� The concept of consent was what connected me to the whole experience.

鈥�student reflection

3. Now, awaken your senses. Your senses are the foundation of how you relate to nature. The problem is that indoors, we don鈥檛 really have much use for our senses, and so they become numbed. We don鈥檛 really need our eyesight other than to see our screen or the person in front of us. We don鈥檛 use our hearing other than for our earpods or for the person speaking to us. Indoors, we don鈥檛 want to feel too hot or too cold. We actually prefer not to feel anything at all. Or smell anything either. Tragically, the more your senses are numbed, the more you are estranging yourself from the natural world.

So, as we enter the core of the practice, I invite you to find a comfortable position and find stillness with a soft, open-eyed gaze. One by one, slowly ask yourself these questions: What do I feel on my skin? What do I hear? What do I smell? What do I taste? What do I see? Attune to the nature around you through your senses, as if you were stretching out your hand to a long-lost friend. Repeat for a few rounds and then release the questions to simply attune.

The smell of the trees and the sound of the gravel are often lost to the charge of a typical beach day.
鈥�student reflection

With Natasha, I was encouraged to sit with these microscopic details and become hyper aware of the ways in which the beach and I embraced each other.

鈥�student reflection

4. Next, follow the trail of beauty. Nature offers you myriad examples of how to 鈥渨alk in beauty,鈥� as my Din茅 (Navajo) teacher Wally Brown says. In this practice, we are developing greater familiarity with one of the most basic ways that nature relates to us: the language of beauty. 

Find stillness and notice what aspect of beauty is calling your attention. Is it the way the light is dancing on the sand? The way the baby seagulls are playing with the waves? The sensation of the sun below your bare feet? Engage (within reason, of course) by going toward the beauty, and as you approach it, let it be a mirror for you. Behold yourself in that mirror and notice what it is reflecting about you. Enjoy. Then, repeat for a few rounds.

We should and can physically feel the interconnectedness we hold with the oceans and all of nature.

鈥�student reflection

5. To end, dedicate the goodness. To close your practice, consider any benefits that you have received. Dedicate any calm, clarity, courage, etc. to the benefit of all beings for generations to come. Try to transition with grace, in order to extend the quality of your practice into the rest of your day.

We all perceive and experience the world through very specific lenses of our identities, but when you put that ego aside, you see we are all not so different from each other and nature.

鈥�student reflection

Ultimately, nature practice is about rediscovering what鈥檚 important to you, and then building a nature-centered system of rituals and routines, like this one, around those priorities, so that they can infuse every aspect of your life, from your relationship with yourself, to your relationship with others and your relationship with the Earth.

We know that transformational change comes from making courageous decisions.  In our wild pursuit of innovation, how poetically absurd is it that one of the most courageous decisions that we are being called to make is to prioritize quality time at the beach!

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 1:31 p.m. PT on March 7, 2023, to replace the headline, add a link to the audio version of the nature practice, and include concluding paragraphs to the article. Read our corrections policy here.

鈥淢any people here were disconnected from their fields. They would work in nearby towns as daily-wage labor and depended on the public distribution system for subsidized but nutrient-sparse white rice,鈥� says K. Saraswathi, executive secretary of SABALA, a nonprofit that aims to , describing the scene she encountered when her organization first began working in the district. 鈥淎 few farmers who were growing rice had lost their entire crop due to the absence of rain. People sorely felt the lack of food and livelihood security.鈥�

Similar narratives are common even today in other parts of the country, where farmers have either stopped farming completely or focus on cash crops such as cotton, sugarcane, and tobacco, leaving them with little nutrition or financial security. Rice and wheat cultivation were heavily promoted during the country鈥檚 Green Revolution in the 1960s, when farmers were given incentives for using hybrid seeds and chemical fertilizers and pesticides. As a result, the production and consumption of millets in India fell dramatically. But with , rice and wheat farmers are overly reliant on weather conditions that are becoming less conducive to farming with climate change.

Vizianagaram district is one of several places in India experiencing the revival of millet cultivation. When SABALA first approached villagers in the district about millet farming back in 2006, the women came forward because they and their children were suffering from anemia, stunted growth, and other disorders caused by the lack of proper nutrition. Today, SABALA works with nearly 2,000 female farmers in the district who are cultivating millets, mainly for their own consumption.

Janaki Bobbili, a 29-year-old married mother of two, is one of them. She belongs to the marginalized 鈥溾�� community in the Veerabhadrapuram village of the Vizianagaram district. In the past, she felt disadvantaged not only because of her gender but also because she belonged to the lowest tiers of caste and class.

Slowly, though, that feeling began to change after Bobbili attended a meeting organized by SABALA about five years ago, where she was introduced to the . Soon after, Bobbili began cultivating millets for her family鈥檚 sustenance on a 1-acre plot belonging to her father-in-law. Thanks to millet farming, she has become a leader in a local millet cooperative and says, 鈥淚 finally have recognition in society.鈥�

The Bounty of Millets

Millets are a family of hardy, nutrient-rich grains in the grass family that have been grown and consumed in the Indian subcontinent since ancient times. Common varieties include pearl, foxtail, finger, barnyard, kodo, and little millet. In the face of climate change, , as well as for the unprocessed grain鈥檚 ability to store well for 20 to 30 years. In India, where  and will be among the first to suffer the impacts of climatic changes here, millet farming helps them secure nutrition, health, and a more resilient future for themselves and their families.

Millets today, as in the distant past, are cultivated using sustainable agriculture practices such as multi-cropping, with cow or buffalo dung as fertilizer and natural pesticides called 鈥渋nsect-chasers鈥� made from neem and other local medicinal plants. These traditional farming techniques enable a farmer to cultivate 15 to 20 crops in a 1-acre plot. With SABALA’S support, women in Vizianagaram district began growing different kinds of millets, intercropped with vegetables, legumes, pulses, and oil seeds.

鈥淭he investment needed to start growing millets is low, but they provide every possible kind of security. Besides food, nutrition, and health security, they also ensure financial, fodder, seed, soil, environment, and cultural security,鈥� Saraswathi says. 鈥淪uch is the beauty of millets.鈥�

Investing in Community

Bolstered by their success with millet farming, nearly 300 women farmers affiliated with SABALA came together in 2017, contributed 1,000 Indian rupees (about US $15) each, and started a cooperative called Arogya. Arogya is a Sanskrit word meaning 鈥渁ll-around well-being.鈥� The organization now lists nearly 1,000 marginalized female farmers of Vizianagaram district as members, including Bobbili, who is the leader of the group鈥檚 production subcommittee.

Arogya buys surplus millets from the female farmers of the district, processes them using efficient machines, and sells the processed grain in the cooperative鈥檚 store. The store is located centrally in the district and caters to needs of the local community. Profitable since its first year of operation, Arogya reinvests its profits in training its members to make value-added millet products such as ready-to-eat fried snacks and baked goods as well as pre-made mixes for hot meals, which it also sells in its store. To ensure consistent business, Arogya secures long-term supply contracts from schools and hostels in the district.

During the current pandemic, the cooperative has been actively supporting local relief efforts. 鈥淲e sold 1 ton of our nutritious finger millet cookies to a nonprofit at a nominal price,鈥� Bobbili says. The local nonprofit then distributed the millet cookies to impoverished children for free, to improve their nutrition and boost their immunity.

Reclaiming Power

鈥淥wning their labor and having the freedom to make decisions are opportunities rarely afforded to these women,鈥� says , senior policy analyst at the Institute for Agriculture and Trade Policy in Minneapolis, who has visited several millet farming projects in India. 鈥淢illet farming is a way for them to grow food crops of their choice for themselves and their families. It enhances their livelihood options, instills confidence in them, and earns them the respect of their family and community.鈥�

Arogya is now an income source both for farmers who sell their surplus millet to the organization as well as those who are involved with making the value-added products. With the extra income, some women have gone on to buy a cow or a buffalo, which provides them with both milk and manure.

鈥淧reviously common spaces like temples and public offices were accessible only to men. Now, women come forward and are visible everywhere. They are raising their voices and fighting for their rights,鈥� Saraswathi of SABALA says. 鈥淚n most of our farmer households, the husband will first consult the wife on important matters.鈥�

Sandhya Rani Garu, a soil scientist at Vizianagaram鈥檚 Agricultural Research Station, echoes Saraswathi鈥檚 comments. She says, 鈥淲hen I first began working in the district in 2014, the women were so shy they wouldn鈥檛 even come out of their houses. Now they travel about 100 kilometers [62 miles] from their villages to participate in our training programs and farmer festivals. They are financially independent and able to support their children鈥檚 education.鈥�

Challenges Ahead

The revival of millet farming in Vizianagaram district has had its challenges. There was a lack of seed availability in the initial years, resolved in due course by developing a community seed bank. Likewise, the difficulty in grain-processing was addressed when Arogya procured specialized machines for the task.

Still, other obstacles remain. While millet crops don鈥檛 attract insects, thanks to the multilayered coating on the grain, birds are known to destroy millet fields. And unlike cash crops or rice and wheat, to date, no insurance is available to cover damage to millet crops. Furthermore, banks have only recently warmed up to providing loans to millet farmers.

鈥淲e need more support from the authorities at every step,鈥� Saraswathi says. 鈥淭he linkages between production, processing, and consumption need to be strengthened.鈥�

Millet farmers across India face similar challenges. Umbrella organizations such as the Millet Network of India , helping to navigate these challenges and to revive millet farming in their respective locations. MINI now works with 15 partners in eight Indian states. Several women-led non-profits such as Women鈥檚 Collective in the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu and NEN Nagaland in the northeastern corner of the country are to . Another platform, All India Millet Sisters has a membership of from all across the country.

The grassroots push for the inclusion of millets in the of 2013 led to it being , along with rice and wheat. Per the Act, these grains are to be provided to two-thirds of India鈥檚 households at highly subsidized rates via the public distribution system. Despite the inclusion of millets at the national level, its inclusion in state-level public distribution programs has varied across the country. Groups like MINI and AIMS continue to lobby for millets to be part of all public food schemes at the state and district level.

Some state authorities, such as those in and , are driving the millet programs in their respective states. The renewed focus on millet production and consumption aims to help India鈥檚 small farmers and their communities become climate-resilient while enhancing agricultural biodiversity.

Varghese, who served on the High Level Panel of Experts of the U.N. Committee on Food Security from 2017 to 2019 says, 鈥淪caling up agroecological efforts through climate resilient approaches like millet farming will go a long way in achieving local food and water security while ending hunger and malnutrition.鈥�

For Sicangu Lakota water protector Cheryl Angel, Standing Rock helped her define what she stands against: an economy rooted in extraction of resources and exploitation of people and planet. It wasn鈥檛 until she鈥檇 had some distance that the vision of what she stands for came into focus.

鈥淣ow I understand that sustainable sovereign economies are needed to replace the system we support with our purchasing power,鈥� she said. 鈥淥ur ancient teachings have all of those economies passed down in traditional families.鈥�

Together with other frontline leaders from Standing Rock, including Lakota historian LaDonna Brave Bull Allard and Din茅 artist and activist Lyla June (formerly Lyla June Johnston), Angel began acting on this vision in June at Borderland Ranch in Pe鈥橲la, the grasslands at the heart of the Black Hills in South Dakota. Nearly 100 Indigenous water protectors and non-Indigenous allies met there for one week to take steps to establish a sovereign economy.

The first annual Sovereign Sisters Gathering brought together women and their allies to talk about how to oppose the current industrialized economy and establish a new model, one in which Indigenous women reclaim and reassert their sovereignty over themselves, their food systems, and their economies.

鈥淲hen did we as a people lose our self-empowerment? When did we wait for a government to tell us whether or not we could have health care? When did we wait for them to feed us?鈥� Allard asked. 鈥淲hen did we wait for laws and policies to be created so that we could have a community? When did that happen?

鈥淲e鈥檝e given our power over to an entity that doesn鈥檛 deserve our power,鈥� she added, referencing the modern corporate industrial system. 鈥淲e must take back that empowerment of self. We must take back our own health care. We must take back our own food. We must take back our families. We must take back our environment. Because you see what鈥檚 happening. We gave the power to an entity, and the entity is destroying our world around us.鈥�

Allard, June, and Angel shared a bit about the work they鈥檝e been doing to establish sovereignty, each in her own way, since the Standing Rock encampments.

LaDonna Brave Bull Allard: Planting seeds

As the woman who established the first water protector encampment at Standing Rock鈥攃alled Sacred Stone Camp鈥攁nd issued a call for support that launched a movement, Allard learned a lot about sovereignty and empowerment during the battle against the Dakota Access pipeline.

As the camps began to dismantle in the last weeks of the uprising, she frequently fielded the question: 鈥淲hat do we do now?鈥�

Allard鈥檚 response was simple: 鈥淧lant seeds.鈥�

Planting seeds is what Allard has been doing since the Standing Rock encampment, as she鈥檚 worked with her neighbors and with those who stayed on at Sacred Stone Camp toward a vision of a sustainable community.

鈥淥ur first act is taking care of self. So no matter what we do, if we鈥檙e not taking care of self, we鈥檝e already failed.鈥�

鈥淚 tell people that our first act of sovereignty is planting food,鈥� Allard said. 鈥淥ur first act is taking care of self. So no matter what we do, if we鈥檙e not taking care of self, we鈥檝e already failed.鈥�

These days, self-care is more important than ever, she said, with the accelerating climate crisis, something that Native people are acutely aware of and have seen coming for a long time. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not worrying鈥攚e鈥檙e preparing,鈥� she said.

Sacred Stone Village has installed four microgrids of solar power and have two mobile solar trailers used to connect dwelling areas that can also be taken on the road for trainings, and the neighboring town of Cannon Ball They鈥檝e been planting fruit trees and growing gardens, fattening the chickens, stockpiling firewood. And in some ways, life on the reservation is already a preparation in itself.

鈥淥n the Standing Rock reservation, as you know, we are below poverty level, and many of the people live by trade and barter. A lot of people live in homes without electricity and running water. We burn wood to heat our homes,鈥� Allard said. 鈥淲hat I find in the large cities is people who don鈥檛 know how to live. And their environment鈥攊f you took away the electricity and the oil, what would they do? We already know how to live without those things.鈥�

Lyla June: The forest as farm

A Din茅/Cheyenne/European American musician, scholar, and activist, June has gravitated toward a focus on food sovereignty through her work to revitalize traditional food systems. Currently, she鈥檚 in a doctoral program in traditional food systems and language at the University of Alaska, where she works with Indigenous elders around the country to uncover the genius of the continent鈥檚 original cultivators.

鈥淚 think there鈥檚 a huge mythology that Native people here were simpletons, they were primitive, half-naked nomads running around the forest, eating hand to mouth whatever they could find,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 how Europe portrays us. And it鈥檚 portrayed us that way for so many centuries that even we start to believe that that鈥檚 who we were.

鈥淭he reality is, Indigenous nations on this Turtle Island were highly organized. They densely populated the land, and they managed the land extensively. And this has a lot to do with food because a large motivation to prune the land, to burn the land, to reseed the land, and to sculpt the land was about feeding our nations. Not only our nations, but other animal nations, as well.鈥�

June is intrigued by soil core samples that delve thousands of years into the past; analysis of fossilized pollen, charcoal traces, and soil composition reveals much about land use practices through the ages. For example, , a soil core sample that went back 10,000 years shows that about 3,000 years ago the forest was dominated by cedar and hemlock. But about 3,000 years ago, the whole forest composition changed to black walnut, hickory nut, chestnut, and acorn; edible species such as goosefoot and sumpweed began to flourish.

鈥淪o these people鈥攚hoever moved in around 3,000 years ago鈥攔adically changed the way the land looked and tasted,鈥� she said.

The costs to the food system as a result of colonization is becoming clear.

So did the colonizers, but in a much different way. The costs to the food system as a result of colonization, she said, is becoming clear, and the mounting pressure of the climate crisis is making a shift imperative.

鈥淲hen did we start waiting for others to feed us? That鈥檚 no longer going to be a luxury question,鈥� June said.

Besides the to extreme weather events, these industrial agricultural crops are also dependent on pesticides and herbicides. Additionally, pests are adapting, producing chemical resistant insects and superweeds.

鈥淲e鈥檙e running out of bullets in our food system, and it鈥檚 quite precarious right now,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he poor animals that we farm are also on the precipice 鈥� so we鈥檙e in a state where we should probably start asking ourselves that question now, before we鈥檙e forced to, and remember the joy of feeding ourselves.鈥�

That鈥檚 June鈥檚 intention: to take what she鈥檚 learned from a year of apprenticeships with Indigenous elders in different bioregions, then return home to Din茅 Bik茅yah鈥擭avajo territory鈥攖o apply it, regenerating traditional Navajo food systems in an interactive action research project aimed at both teaching and learning, refining techniques with each year.

鈥淚’m hoping at the end of three years, or four years, we will be fluent in our language and in our food system,鈥� June said. 鈥淎nd we will be operating as a team鈥攁nd we will have a success story that other tribes can look to and model and be inspired by.鈥�

The long-range goal, she said, is to create an autonomous school that teaches traditional culture, language, and food systems that can be a model for other Indigenous communities.

Cheryl Angel: Creating sovereign communities

To Angel, sovereignty is best expressed in creating community鈥攖he temporary communities created at gatherings, like at the Sovereign Sisters Gathering, but also more permanent communities, like at Sacred Stone Village.

Part of being sovereign lies in strengthening and rebuilding sharing economies, she said. And part of it lies in reducing waste, rejecting rampant consumerism and the harmful aspects of the modern industrial system, like single-use plastics and toxic chemicals.

鈥淚 saw it all happen at Standing Rock; everybody came with all of their skills, and they brought [their] economies鈥攁nd they were medicating people, they were healing people, they were feeding people, cooking for people, training people, making people laugh鈥攖hey were doing everything. Everything we needed, it came to Standing Rock.鈥�

Despite the money the pipeline company spent to repress the uprising, she said, water protectors around the world stepped up and pitched in to create an alternate economy at Standing Rock, and millions were raised to support the resistance.

Cheryl Angel in a late-night talking circle sharing reflections about her Lakota ancestors: 鈥淲e were never into entitlement; thats why we didn鈥檛 have kings. We were into revering, honoring, relating to everything around us. All of these living spirits around us鈥� That鈥檚 the system nobody is talking about that needs to be protected.鈥�

鈥淲e could do that again. We can gift our economies between each other. We鈥檙e doing it right here,鈥� Angel told the women assembled in the Black Hills鈥攚omen who were gardeners and builders, craftswomen and cooks, healers and lawyers, filmmakers and writers鈥攁nd, above all, water protectors. 鈥淭hese few days we鈥檝e been here prove to me and should prove to you that we have the skills to create communities without violence, without drugs, without alcohol, without patriarchy鈥攋ust with the intent to live in peace.鈥�

Bulus now picks up bottles and other recyclables from locations around her community and brings them to Ecobarter drop-off locations, where she exchanges the recyclables for cash. The cleanup exchange now adds 2,000 naira ($5 USD) to her monthly income of N25,000 ($64). 

鈥淚 use the money they pay me to buy ingredients to cook,鈥� Bulus says. 

Actions like Bulus鈥� aim to tackle the problem of waste in Nigeria, where solid waste management is arguably the most pressing environmental challenge faced by urban and rural areas alike. Nigeria generates an 32 million tons of solid waste annually, one of the highest rates in Africa. Nigeria is already Africa鈥檚 most populous country, with a current population of more than 鈥�200鈥� 鈥宮illion鈥� 鈥宲eople鈥�, 鈥屸�宎nd that 鈥宖igure is expected鈥� 鈥宼o鈥� 鈥宐y鈥� 鈥�2050. 

Most of the country鈥檚 waste is to be generated by households or local industries, artisans, and traders who litter the immediate surroundings. The country鈥檚 disposal, recycling, and waste-management system is and insufficient, with 70% of plastic and non-plastic waste ending up in sewers, beaches, water bodies, or landfills, where it is often burned.

Still, efforts like Bulus鈥� are a start. She is pleased not only to bring in some extra income, but also to reduce the waste she sees in the environment around her. 鈥淭he experience has been nice,鈥� she says. 

Connecting Homes to Reuse Services 

is a youth-led sustainable waste-management company that connects homes and local communities to recycling services, such as community exchange centers and doorstep collectors. 

The goal is to make responsible consumption and disposal easy. Schools and organizations can have Ecobarter install collection bins on site, where the waste is safely stored and regularly picked up. 

The company has an integrated website and mobile app to make it even more convenient for waste producers and collectors alike. Users get points for the weight of the waste they collect, either by delivering it to a drop-off location or by requesting a pickup in their community hub using the app. Plastic, for example, is 1 point per kilogram, whereas metal is 3 points per kilogram, depending on the location and the day. 

The points are converted to monetary value, which can be deposited into a bank account and then withdrawn as cash. The points can also be transferred to friends or family using the app, or users can shop at a physical Ecobarter marketplace to purchase eco-friendly household items or subscribe to basic health insurance services.

Rita Idehai is a young social entrepreneur and the founder of Ecobarter. She realized the lost value of resources like waste while researching as a geo-scientist, traveling to different rural communities to look for solid minerals like gold, zinc, and lead. In 2018, she started the social enterprise to help people transform waste into wealth. 

鈥淲ith my passion for making a positive impact,鈥� Idehai says she drew inspiration from the UN鈥檚 (specifically those pertaining to responsible consumption and sustainable waste management), which she says 鈥渨ill help people use their everyday waste and transform it into currency and value.鈥�

Blessing Ekwere, Ecobarter鈥檚 head of operations, says the company was created not only to build systems for waste transformation, but also to give hope to the people.

Some of the Nigerians who benefit most from this work are informal waste collectors, which includes individuals, associations, or waste traders who are involved in the sorting, sale, and purchase of recyclable materials. Ecobarter works with market cleaners, street cleaners, and waste pickers that gather their waste via doorsteps, vendors, or events, and bring it to community centers, where a hub manager pays for the waste.

鈥淚n Abuja and Lagos, our major operations for all the recyclables we collect from households and communities are taken to our main operations yard, where they鈥檙e properly sorted, bagged, and sent to companies that help us generate revenues.鈥�

Ekwere says recyclables, such as plastic bottles, cartons, and metals, are sold to off-takers who make them into fibers for furniture, egg crates, and new metal products, respectively. And the savings can be meaningful: If they didn鈥檛 have recycled waste to use, Ekwere says new paper and nylon cost N20 to N30 ($0.05 to $0.07), cardboard costs N35 to N40 ($0.08 to $0.09), and metal for cans costs upward of N150 ($0.35).

鈥淭he plastic bags we collect are transformed into functional lifestyle products using traditional weaving methods by internally displaced women in our communities,鈥� Ekwere says.

Other Waste-Management Efforts

Another enterprise working to tackle waste-management issues in Nigeria is . The company recently launched its Smart Mobile Bin, a waste collection cart it says keeps collectors and communities healthier. 

The cart has two wheels and is pushed by hand, which allows operators to reach communities with narrow, unpaved streets that conventional waste-collection vehicles can鈥檛 access. The cart is also airtight, which prevents the common problems of smells and leaks between waste pickup and drop-off. The bin operators themselves are trained and provided with personal protective equipment to keep themselves safer and healthier on the job. The company鈥檚 founder, climate activist Aliyu Umar Sadiq, is also working on an eco-friendly toilet project, which utilizes plastic waste to construct bathroom facilities in rural schools. The goal, he says, is to simultaneously address health, hygiene, and pollution challenges associated with open defecation. 

Another organization approaching waste management in Nigeria through its awareness-raising campaigns is SustyVibes. The group champions sustainability projects to make young people into responsible environmental stewards. Jennifer Uchendu, the CEO of and a sustainability professional with more than 10 years of experience, says the organization has been addressing issues like waste management since its founding in 2016. 

鈥淥ur street conferences usually include sanitization and advocacy sessions, where we educate community members on the importance of a clean environment and connect them to recycling hubs to ensure proper recycling of the waste generated,鈥� Uchendu says. 

SustyVibes鈥檚 team of volunteers organizes campaigns and street conferences to educate everyday people on the importance of waste management. Its Susty Marshalls project, for example, aims to empower informal waste pickers, enabling them to see the dignity in their work, and motivating them to do their work in a more organized manner.

Its 鈥淪tare Down on Pollution鈥� campaign involves visiting various communities across Nigeria to educate and enlighten local residents in their native languages about the dangers and impacts of negative waste habits, as well as the need to change the culture of littering.

From Trash to Cash 

Since Ecobarter launched in July, the company has signed on 200 users, who have collected 300,000 kilograms of waste, primarily plastic bottles and cartons. Based on the company鈥檚 modeling, that鈥檚 the equivalent of 800 metric tons of carbon. 

Abigail Andrew, 35, is a mother of two children, and she works with Laurmann and Company Limited, an indigenous professional environmental service organization in Garki, Abuja. Andrew, whose husband left years ago, earns N18,000 ($46) per month, well below Nigeria鈥檚 monthly minimum of N33,000 ($85). 

鈥淢y friend told me about Ecobarter,鈥� Andrew says. 鈥淧icking waste for them has been helping me, because I 鈥� get money to buy food for my children.鈥�

Now, when she picks bottles for Ecobarter, she earns an average of N4,000 ($10) over the course of a month to help cover the cost of feeding her children.

Juliana Garuba, 45, who works with a cleaning agency in Abuja, says seeing waste around makes her angry, which is why she signed on with Ecobarter. 鈥淭he experience is good for me,鈥� she says, and the extra income helps too. 鈥淪ometimes I don鈥檛 have money to go home after work, but now I can pay for my transport.鈥�

Ecobarter鈥檚 CEO says the social enterprise is now servicing more than 5,000 households on the platform to recycle their waste, especially within its community hubs in Abuja and Lagos. 

But there鈥檚 still room for improvement. 

Rebecca Bulus, waste picker, says, 鈥淚 want to appeal to the company to increase the money they pay us, because the place we dip our hands to get the waste from is filthy,鈥� she says.

Another challenge the social enterprise faces, according to founder Idehai, is behavioral change. It鈥檚 hard to convince people to sign on, because awareness of waste management as an issue in Nigeria is low, and because government policies backing waste disposal aren鈥檛 mandatory. Safe waste disposal, too, can be a challenge. 

Still, Ekwere, the head of operations, says the company wants to take the solution to all states in Nigeria and beyond. For Ecobarter, this vision includes instituting mini drop-off centers in semi-public areas, such as malls, markets, and estates. The company acknowledges the obstacles to this expansion, including funding, policy issues, and societal acceptance. But that鈥檚 not stopping it.

鈥淭he goal for us is to ensure recyclables do not get to the dumpsite,鈥� Ekwere says. 鈥淓very household should have access to a collection system.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Several areas across Zimbabwe have been ravaged by severe . A 2021 that Zimbabwe鈥檚 temperatures rose 1 degree Celsius between 1960 and 2000, while annual rainfall decreased 20% to 30%. Experts estimate that in sub-Saharan Africa by 10% to 20% by the year 2050.

But Lazarus Mwakateve, a smallholder farmer from Village M, has diversified his operation to offset crop losses from droughts. He ventured into beekeeping more than a decade ago, largely as a pastime, but the enterprise has since morphed into a lucrative alternative source of income for him.

鈥淏eekeeping does not need large pieces of land or large amounts of water like crop farming,鈥� Mwakateve says.

Many other farmers are following in Mwakateve鈥檚 footsteps. Experts say there are in Zimbabwe today.

Mwakateve has 53 beehives, and as of last September, he says 26 of them had bees and honey. Each beehive provides between 33 and 35 liters of honey each year. And each liter of honey earns Mwakateve US$3.20 when he sells them to middlemen.

鈥淒roughts reduce income from crops down to zero in some cases, but income from honey has remained stable even during the worst droughts,鈥� Mwakateve says.

Honey Harvesting on the Rise

Village M is an enclave tucked at the foot of Gombai mountain. Nearby, the Mushaamhuru River snakes sluggishly along the heavily silted riverbed as it heads toward its confluence with the Mpudzi River. Other villages鈥擝, C, D, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, N, and O鈥攄ot the expansive farming area, broken only by some rugged hills. Rain-fed crop farming has long been the mainstay of these communities, but changing climate is putting Zimbabweans鈥攕ome 70% of whom depend entirely on agriculture or rural economic activities鈥攊n jeopardy. 

However, local demand for honey is growing both on the formal and informal markets. The day before Christmas in 2022, I witnessed an informal honey seller roving around a local business center, Gutaurare, selling honey from a 25-liter plastic container. Such informal honey sellers are now a common sight in the streets of the city of Mutare.

A study done by researchers at Chinhoyi University of Technology and Women鈥檚 University in Africa reveals that there is demand for honey in Zimbabwe from manufacturers of confectioneries, cosmetics, and pharmaceuticals, as well as demand for beeswax to make polishes for floors, shoes, and furniture.

鈥淗oney in Zimbabwe has the potential to improve the income of small-scale honey producers and at the same time increase crop yield, conservation of trees, and health of the bee farmers,鈥�

Blessing Zimunya is a traditional leader in Chitora who farms and raises bees.

鈥湵踱�檓 encouraging other farmers affected by droughts to try beekeeping,鈥� Zimunya says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very profitable.鈥�

Techniques

To succeed in this new enterprise, Mwakateve says beekeepers must acquire knowledge on beekeeping and honey harvesting techniques.

鈥淥ur traditional ways of harvesting honey are not good for bees,鈥� he says. This involves using fire to smoke out the bees, which ends up killing large numbers of them. But new techniques, like bee smokers and bee suits, are gentler on the bees while still protecting the beekeepers.

Nicholas Mukundidza, a farmer from neighboring Village F, has transformed a small, forested hill outside his homestead into a successful apiary.

Mukundidza鈥檚 beehives are mostly traditional hives鈥攈ollowed-out dead logs. But he says he is planning to invest more in modern beehives, like the Kenyan Top Bar hives, to boost honey production. Kenyan Top Bar hives than traditional hives. These hives have widely been adopted in parts of Zimbabwe, like Mutasa, Lupane, Mudzi, and Nyanga districts.

Mukundidza says his apiary has helped to conserve vegetation around the hill, as other villagers do not cut the trees for fear of the bees.

He says the demand for honey is high, too, with some buyers paying up to US$65 for 20 liters, slightly higher than the US$60 that some buyers were paying the previous year.

鈥淐rop farming in our area is no longer sustainable due to severe droughts,鈥� Mukundidza says. 鈥淏eekeeping is now the only way to go.鈥�

Bees for Climate Resilience

Ishmael Sithole, a Zimbabwean bee expert and chairman of the , says in the face of our changing climate, beekeeping offers a number of advantages over crop farming.

鈥淒uring droughts, field crops are more vulnerable than wild plants, and a crop farmer is easily hammered, whereas a beekeeper will rely on the resilient wild plants to provide nectar and pollen for his bees,鈥� Sithole says.

He says beekeepers can use the same hives season after season, whereas crop farmers need seed, fertilizers, and agrochemicals every season.

鈥淭o practice crop farming, save perhaps when using hydroponics, you need fertile land, but with beekeeping, you can utilize infertile patches of land. Bees rely on nectar and pollen from your farm, neighboring farmlands, and forests without the beekeeper being accused of stealing.鈥�

鈥淚nstead, the beekeeper gets praise for increasing crop yields qualitatively and quantitatively through pollination services, which the bees offer during their foraging trips,鈥� says Sithole, who also runs a small honey production company, .

But beekeeping is not without its risks. Sithole says modern agriculture largely hinges on the use of massive quantities of agrochemicals, and some of them affect bees adversely.

He points to the Zimbabwean , which tries to address the issue of application of agrochemicals to crops within 5 kilometers of apiaries. 鈥淏ut most hives in use in Zimbabwe do not offer the beekeeper an opportunity to confine the bees in the hives during spraying regimes,鈥� Sithole says. 鈥淎s result, a number of bees are lost to agrochemicals every farming season.鈥�

To address this, Sithole鈥檚 company invented a hive鈥攖he MacJohnson hive鈥� which has entry and exit compartments with plastic or metal screens. The screens can be easily fixed in place to confine the bees in the hive but keep the hive well ventilated. This offers beekeepers an opportunity to safely confine their bees inside the hives when farmers spray their crops, saving bees from chemical poisoning and sparing the honey from contamination by pesticide residue.

The breakthrough earned MacJohnson Apiaries the Best Climate Smart Award for small and medium-sized enterprises in Zimbabwe in 2022. The company is now working on patenting the innovation.

A Sweeter Future

Sithole adds that most crops have a short shelf life compared with honey, which is the only food that does not carry an expiration date because it can last thousands of years without going bad.

鈥淚t therefore has low post-harvest losses compared to crops,鈥� he says. 鈥淗oney can reach distant markets, which offer lucrative returns if it鈥檚 traceable and marketed well.鈥�

As honey production gains traction, beekeepers in areas like Zimbabwe鈥檚 drought-prone Buhera District have received support from nongovernmental organizations their honey.

In spite of the continuing and worsening droughts in Zimbabwe, Mwakateve is bullish about the prospects of raising bees. 鈥淏eekeeping is the future,鈥� he says.

El parque tambi茅n es hogar de las comunidades , que viven en . Estas comunidades no mantienen contacto con el exterior y viven en una estrecha relaci贸n con el entorno que los sustenta. Sin embargo, junto con las maravillas naturales del Yasun铆, la regi贸n tambi茅n alberga una de las de Ecuador, creando una compleja lucha entre la preservaci贸n y la explotaci贸n.

Durante la 煤ltima d茅cada, la extracci贸n de petr贸leo del Bloque 43, m谩s conocido como ITT (Ishpingo-Tambococha-Tiputini), ha sido objeto de una acalorada disputa. Aproximadamente 100 de las 2,000 hect谩reas del bloque se encuentran dentro de los l铆mites del parque. Desde 2013, los tres presidentes m谩s recientes de Ecuador han impulsado la explotaci贸n del bloque. Como respuesta, un apasionado grupo de j贸venes conocidos como Yasunidos surgi贸 para protegerlo.

Los Yasunidos han luchado por un refer茅ndum que permita a los ecuatorianos decidir si debe continuar la extracci贸n de petr贸leo en el bloque ITT. Despu茅s de una d茅cada de batalla marcada por la inquebrantable determinaci贸n de activistas y defensores del medio ambiente, este agosto, el pueblo ecuatoriano finalmente podr谩 votar si dejar el petr贸leo del bloque ITT bajo tierra indefinidamente. El resultado de este hist贸rico refer茅ndum tiene el potencial de reconfigurar el futuro de la biodiversidad de Yasun铆, al mismo tiempo que ofrece un modelo inspirador para movimientos ambientalistas mucho m谩s all谩 de las fronteras de Ecuador.

El Plan que Fracas贸

En , la creaci贸n del Parque Nacional Yasun铆 se erigi贸 como un faro de esperanza para las comunidades locales e 颈苍诲铆驳别苍补蝉, as铆 como para organizaciones de conservaci贸n de todo el mundo. Su designaci贸n como reserva de la bi贸sfera de la UNESCO en 1989 afianz贸 a煤n m谩s su importancia. Dentro de sus fronteras, existen un total de siete bloques de petr贸leo, o concesiones. La mayor铆a de estos bloques han sido objeto de extracci贸n durante mucho tiempo para generar recursos y aliviar la pobreza de Ecuador. Sin embargo, el Bloque 43, o ITT, permanec铆a sin explotar.

En 2007, el entonces presidente de Ecuador, Rafael Correa, present贸 una para mantener la integridad de las reservas de petr贸leo del Bloque 43 al mismo tiempo que se abordaba la profunda pobreza del pa铆s. Correa propuso que las naciones m谩s pr贸speras compensaran a Ecuador con $350 millones, que representaban la mitad del valor estimado del petr贸leo intacto, como una forma de retribuci贸n a Ecuador por su dedicaci贸n a la conservaci贸n. Al abstenerse de extraer 856 millones de barriles de petr贸leo, el plan ten铆a como objetivo evitar la emisi贸n de asombrosos 407 millones de toneladas m茅tricas de di贸xido de carbono, lo que ofrec铆a un importante beneficio ambiental a nivel global.

Pero el plan . Solo se recaudaron $13 millones, una cifra 铆nfima del monto esperado, por lo que el plan fue cancelado en 2013. Correa declar贸: “El mundo nos ha fallado. No est谩bamos pidiendo caridad; est谩bamos pidiendo responsabilidad compartida en la lucha contra el cambio clim谩tico”. Como resultado, el presidente ecuatoriano para explotar petr贸leo crudo en Yasun铆.

El Nacimiento de Yasunidos

Tras la del presidente Correa de autorizar la extracci贸n de petr贸leo en el Bloque 43, un grupo de j贸venes apasionados, de entre 16 y 30 a帽os, decidi贸 tomar acci贸n. Su coalici贸n multifac茅tica estaba compuesta por defensores de los derechos humanos, ambientalistas, feministas e 颈苍诲铆驳别苍补蝉 de diversos or铆genes de Ecuador. Convergieron con una misi贸n compartida: proteger la naturaleza y preservar los derechos humanos en el Parque Nacional Yasun铆. Se autodenominaron Yasunidos, que combina Yasun铆 y unidos en espa帽ol.

ten铆a 19 a帽os cuando co-fund贸 los en 2013. Inicialmente inspirado por el plan de Correa, la esperanza de Bermeo se convirti贸 en una profunda decepci贸n cuando el presidente decidi贸 explotar Yasun铆 en su lugar. Determinado a marcar la diferencia, se conect贸 con activistas afines. “Nuestro objetivo com煤n era proteger al Yasun铆”, recuerda Bermeo v铆vidamente en una de las decenas de entrevistas que ha dado estos a帽os. Este prop贸sito compartido sirvi贸 como una fuerza unificadora y el grupo estaba unido por su dedicaci贸n inquebrantable para preservar uno de los lugares con mayor biodiversidad del mundo y defender el territorio de las comunidades que viven en aislamiento voluntario.

Antonella Calle, otra de las miembros fundadoras, ten铆a solo 16 a帽os en ese momento. Ella enfatiza que Ecuador, como un pa铆s de inmensa diversidad, enfrentaba amenazas inminentes, una realidad alarmante que la inspir贸 a tomar medidas. “Somos un caleidoscopio de rostros unidos por la necesidad imperiosa de priorizar la vida sobre la b煤squeda de riquezas”, dicen en la presentaci贸n de su p谩gina web.

Los Yasunidos ten铆an como objetivo crear conciencia entre los ecuatorianos para proponer un refer茅ndum popular que determinara el destino del Bloque 43 de Yasun铆, el santuario nacional que pertenece a todos los ecuatorianos. Para que el refer茅ndum se llevara a cabo, necesitaban recolectar 583,000 firmas. M谩s de 1,400 voluntarios se unieron a los esfuerzos de los activistas y el mensaje reson贸 en toda la naci贸n. Hasta abril de 2014, el equipo hab铆a recopilado 757,623 firmas, superando ampliamente el requisito.

Sin embargo, la esperada victoria se vio empa帽ada por la invalidaci贸n de aproximadamente 400,000 de esas firmas por parte del Consejo Nacional Electoral, alegando que eran fraudulentas. A trav茅s de protestas pac铆ficas, conferencias de prensa y campa帽as, los Yasunidos expresaron su disenso en los a帽os siguientes, exigiendo justicia, validaci贸n de firmas y respeto a la opini贸n p煤blica.

Superar la Adversidad conn Perseverancia

Desde el nacimiento del colectivo, Yasunidos ha enfrentado varios desaf铆os. En 2014, los miembros una presunta persecuci贸n por parte del gobierno de Correa. A pesar de las amenazas que enfrentaron, emprendieron la hacia la COP 20 en Per煤 ese a帽o para difundir informaci贸n sobre los inminentes peligros que amenazaban a Yasun铆. Sin embargo, su viaje estuvo plagado de obst谩culos, ya que se enfrentaron a numerosas instancias de acoso e incluso fueron detenidos en ocasiones.

En respuesta, el grupo present贸 una ante la Fiscal铆a General. La gravedad de la situaci贸n se revel贸 a煤n m谩s cuando un informe de inteligencia filtrado en mayo de 2015 expuso la meticulosa a la que hab铆a sido sometido Yasunidos por parte del gobierno de Correa desde 2013.

Al reflexionar sobre los desaf铆os que enfrentaron durante su activismo, Bermeo enfatiza el profundo impacto en sus vidas a una edad tan temprana. “Fue incre铆blemente duro presenciar informes de inteligencia, la vigilancia, las amenazas y la intimidaci贸n que enfrent茅 personalmente, todo porque est谩bamos exigiendo nuestros derechos y los derechos de la Madre Tierra”, relata. Para otros miembros, el mayor desaf铆o ha sido preservar sus vidas mientras persiguen una causa que parec铆a no ofrecer resultados tangibles inmediatos.

A pesar de estos desaf铆os, el esp铆ritu indomable del movimiento no solo ha perseverado sino que tambi茅n se ha fortalecido significativamente. En la 煤ltima d茅cada, ha surgido una ola de nuevos movimientos dedicados a temas ambientales y derechos humanos en todo el pa铆s. Yasunidos ha continuado oponi茅ndose a pol铆ticas extractivistas implementadas por gobiernos posteriores, sin importar sus afiliaciones pol铆ticas. “Nuestro trabajo nunca ha cesado. Hemos apoyado persistentemente todas las luchas ambientales en nuestro pa铆s”, dicen.

Un Mensaje Global de Resiliencia

En 2021, una expuso que el proceso de verificaci贸n liderado por el Consejo Nacional Electoral (CNE) hab铆a sido empa帽ado por fraude, y que fue dise帽ado para desacreditar y descalificar una cantidad significativa de firmas recolectadas por Yasunidos. Exconsejeros del CNE fueron acusados de falsificaci贸n y uso de documentos falsos en una denuncia presentada ante la Fiscal铆a General. Tras reconocer la gravedad de la situaci贸n, la Corte Constitucional el 9 de mayo de 2023, declarando que el proceso de verificaci贸n de firmas viol贸 los derechos de Yasunidos y de las personas que firmaron.

El veredicto de abri贸 el camino para un desarrollo extraordinario hacia el objetivo original de Yasunidos. En septiembre de 2022, el Consejo Nacional Electoral otorg贸 la autorizaci贸n para la convocatoria de un refer茅ndum hist贸rico. La pregunta que se har谩 a los ecuatorianos ser谩: “驴Est谩 de acuerdo con que el gobierno ecuatoriano mantenga el petr贸leo del ITT, conocido como Bloque 43, indefinidamente bajo tierra?” La votaci贸n est谩 programada para el 20 de agosto de 2023, y tiene un peso inmenso, ya que su resultado determinar谩 el curso futuro de las operaciones petroleras dentro del bloque ITT.

Seg煤n el soci贸logo ecuatoriano Gregorio Paez, “este pr贸ximo refer茅ndum tiene consecuencias profundas para Ecuador y sirve como inspiraci贸n para que todos los ecuatorianos tengamos la capacidad de decidir sobre nuestros recursos naturales y para empoderar a las personas a ver que el activismo de base realmente puede provocar cambios en las pol铆ticas”. 脡l enfatiza que los esfuerzos de Yasunidos han desempe帽ado un papel vital en la configuraci贸n de la trayectoria de la historia de Ecuador mientras “inspiran movimientos sociales a escala internacional”.

Para Antonella Calle, el refer茅ndum “tiene el potencial de liderar el camino en la transici贸n ecol贸gica global”. Frente a la actual crisis clim谩tica, ella cree que dejar los combustibles f贸siles en el subsuelo es crucial. “Confiamos en que esto tambi茅n inspirar谩 enfoques alternativos en otros pa铆ses y juntos podamos contribuir a combatir el cambio clim谩tico”.

A lo largo de estos 煤ltimos 10 a帽os, Yasunidos se ha caracterizado por la resiliencia, el aprendizaje constante y el compromiso inquebrantable. Ahora, los miembros esperan ansiosamente la decisi贸n de la poblaci贸n, con la esperanza de obtener un resultado positivo. Para ellos, decir “s铆” en el refer茅ndum no es solo un voto en apoyo a Yasun铆; es un rotundo “s铆” a la vida misma, abarcando sus propias vidas y el bienestar de la humanidad en su conjunto.

To read this article in English, click here.

There, this unit, called a OneWater System, will be installed in the basement, where its collection of pipes will take in much of the hotel鈥檚 graywater 鈥� from sinks, showers, and laundry. The system will clean the water with membrane filtration, ultraviolet light, and chlorine, and then send it back upstairs to be used again for nonpotable uses.

And again. And again.

鈥淭here is no reason to only use water once,鈥� said Peter Fiske, the executive director of the National Alliance for Water Innovation, a division of the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, in Berkeley. Just as natural systems use and reuse water repeatedly in a cycle driven by the sun, he said, 鈥渨e now have technologies to enable us to process and reuse water over and over, at the scale of a city, a campus, and even an individual home.鈥�

While centralized water reuse for nonpotable purposes has been around for decades, a trend called the 鈥渆xtreme decentralization of water and wastewater鈥� 鈥� also known as 鈥渄istributed water systems,鈥� or 鈥渙n-site鈥� or 鈥減remise鈥� recycling 鈥� is now emerging as a leading strategy in the effort to make water use more sustainable.

The concept is to equip new commercial and residential buildings as well as districts, such as neighborhoods and universities, with on-site recycling plants that will make water for nonpotable use cheaper than buying potable water from a centralized source. By driving down demand for potable water, which is costly to filter, treat, and distribute, the units will help manage water more efficiently. It is, many experts believe, the future of water. Eventually it鈥檚 hoped that buildings will be completely self-sufficient, or 鈥渨ater neutral,鈥� using the same water over and over, potable and nonpotable, in a closed loop.

It鈥檚 not just a pipe dream. Proof of concept is unfolding in San Francisco, which in 2015 required all new buildings of more than 100,000 square feet to have on-site recycling systems. So far, six blackwater and 25 graywater systems are using the technology, and  are in the works. (Blackwater comes from toilets, dishwashers, and kitchen sinks; graywater comes from washing machines, showers, and bathtubs.) The headquarters of the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission has a blackwater system, called the Living Machine, that treats its wastewater in engineered wetlands built into the sidewalks around the building, then uses it to flush low-flow toilets and urinals. The process reduces the building鈥檚 imported potable supply by 40 percent.

Recycling graywater alone can save substantial amounts of water. Using it to flush toilets and wash clothes reduces demand for new water by about 40 percent. Using recycled water for showers would eliminate another 20 percent of water demand, though the safety of that practice is being researched and is not yet permitted in San Francisco.

To demonstrate its technology, Epic Cleantec, a water recycling company, has even brewed a beer called Epic OneWater Brew with purified graywater from a 40-story San Francisco apartment building.

With the meagdrought and water crisis on the Colorado, the Rio Grande, and other Western rivers, 鈥渆xtreme decentralization鈥� is making its way to other places in the American West, including Colorado, Texas, and Washington State. And decentralized projects are ongoing in Japan, India, and Australia. There are serious pressures on fresh water supplies around the world, with climate change exacerbating shortages. A recent  found that more than half the world鈥檚 lakes have lost significant amounts of water over the last 30 years. By 2050, the UN estimates that 5 billion people could be subjected to water shortages.

鈥淭his is the future of water for everybody,鈥� Newsha Ajami, director of Urban Water Policy at Stanford鈥檚 Water in the West program, said of decentralized water systems and recycling. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a slow-moving process, but at the end of the day 鈥� considering all the scarcity 鈥� a lot of communities are going to pick this up as a way of having economic development while having water security.鈥�

San Francisco鈥檚 recycling systems are not water neutral. The largest building with an on-site system is the Salesforce Tower, a 61-story office, hotel, and residential tower that opened in 2018 and is the tallest building in San Francisco. Built by the Australian company Aquacell, the system cleans 30,000 gallons of sewage, sink, shower, and other wastewater each day and uses it for irrigation and toilet flushing, saving an estimated 7.8 million gallons of water a year. That鈥檚 the equivalent of the annual use of 16,000 San Franciscans, the company says. Outside water is still needed for potable uses. (In New York, the Domino Sugar Refinery , currently under construction on the Brooklyn waterfront, will recycle 400,000 gallons of blackwater a day.)

The San Francisco Public Utilities Commission, the water provider, estimates that there are a total of 48 reuse systems in operation and 29 more projects being planned in the city. By 2040, the agency says, its Onsite Water Reuse program will save 1.3 million gallons of potable water each day.

The technology for these buildings to capture and treat all their water to potable standards already exists. But the safety of direct reuse of recycled wastewater is still being studied, and U.S. regulations so far do not allow that. A fully circular system, in which water is reused on-site for both potable and nonpotable uses, is at least five to 10 years away in this country, experts say.

Centralized recycled water systems, by contrast, have been used for decades, though they too have rapidly grown as a solution to water shortages. Orange County, California, for example, is home to the world鈥檚 largest water recycling facility. It cleans 130 million gallons of blackwater a day in a process called indirect potable reuse. Highly treated wastewater, which would normally have been discharged into the ocean, is put through an advanced three-step purification process that includes micro-filtration, reverse osmosis, and disinfection with ultraviolet light and hydrogen peroxide. The output is injected into nearby groundwater, to be pumped up and treated to drinking-water standards by local utilities.

In water-short Singapore, the massive Changi Water Reclamation Plant cleans and purifies 237 million gallons of wastewater a day to potable standards.

But the new reuse paradigm fundamentally rethinks water systems, localizing them in much the same way that households and districts with rooftop and community solar have transformed energy systems away from centralized power plants.

New buildings and neighborhoods, said Fiske, of the National Alliance for Water Innovation, may someday no longer need to hook up to sewer lines and water supplies. People will be able to build without regard to connections to water infrastructure, simply by using the same water again and again in a virtually closed loop. 鈥淭he water that falls on the roof in most places in the world will be enough to sustain a home,鈥� predicts Fiske, citing a recent  that found that this approach could save at least 75 percent of water demand.

The technology to do this has been around for a long time. What has prevented [its] adoption has been regulatory hurdles.

Premise recycling not only saves water, it can also save the cost of pumping water over long distances and the costs associated with digging up streets for replacement and installation of pipelines. 鈥淲ater is heavy,鈥� said Fiske, 鈥淎nd we live on a planet with gravity. So use water where you live over and over again.鈥�

While in some situations decentralized systems are expected to save money by reducing the energy needed to pump water, in others situations they could require more electricity to pump water through a building.

The increased prevalence of water recycling will allow water to be cleaned to varying standards 鈥� or different 鈥渇lavors鈥� 鈥� according to its intended use, a concept called 鈥渇it for purpose.鈥� Water to flush toilets, for example, doesn鈥檛 need to be cleaned as thoroughly as drinking water.

The recycling systems being built in San Francisco are widely considered a success, and representatives from water-stressed cities around the world have come here to study the approach.

Epic Cleantec has designed a system that will provide 30,000 gallons a day for the Park Habitat office building, under construction in San Jose. Its blackwater system will be used to irrigate a living green wall on the tower鈥檚 20-story exterior. The system collects water from rain, cooling towers, showers, toilets, and sinks, then circulates it through a multistep treatment process in the basement. The solids are separated, sterilized, and turned into a soil amendment.

鈥淪an Francisco has written the playbook and de-risked the whole process鈥� by smoothing the regulations needed to build these systems, said Aaron Tartakovsky, who founded Epic Cleantec with his father, Igor, and is its CEO. 鈥淭he technology to do this has been around for a long time. What has prevented the adoption of the technology has been regulatory hurdles. Without any established framework there was no way to get this done. What cities and states are doing is coming up with a clear playbook for how these systems can be operated safely and efficiently.鈥�

Tartakovsky said the systems Epic Cleantec is building cost from a few hundred thousand to a few million dollars. The return on investment takes about seven years, he says. After that, there are considerable ongoing savings on water and sewer costs that vary from building to building.

Heather Cooley, director of research for the Pacific Institute in Oakland, an independent organization that studies water sustainability, and an author of a  on distributed systems and water resilience, believes premise systems are essential for California鈥檚 water future. 鈥淭hese on-site and distributed systems are an exciting addition to the range of tools to meet weather challenges,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hey will help build resilience.鈥� However, she added, 鈥渢here鈥檚 no silver bullet. They鈥檙e not going to be applied in every building everywhere.鈥�

What are the barriers to wider-scale residential changes [on water reuse]? The yuck factor, experts say.

It might seem counterintuitive that the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission requires new buildings to reduce their consumption of city water: After all, the commission is in charge of selling that resource. But San Francisco has a policy of densification in the urban core. As three- and four-story buildings are replaced with 10- and 12-story buildings, the cost of building new water infrastructure and finding new water sources is soaring.

Premise recycling is also taking place in what are known as districts. The University of California, Davis, has a blackwater system used for irrigation, and new neighborhoods are rising with their own closed-loop recycling systems. In San Diego, for example, developers are building a large district system to recycle blackwater at a shopping center that鈥檚 being converted into an office campus.

鈥淣eighborhood scale is the right scale for sustainability鈥� for recycled water, said Claire Maxfield, director of the San Francisco office of Atelier Ten, a London-based engineering and design firm.

Maxfield led the sustainability team that helped design an 11-acre mixed-use district system for Mission Rock, a neighborhood now under construction next to the San Francisco Giants ballpark. It will collect blackwater from a main sewer, filter it, then send it to all 17 of the neighborhood鈥檚 buildings to be used for irrigation and toilet flushing. 鈥淚t works really well, and it works really cost effectively鈥� at the neighborhood scale, said Maxfield. 鈥淚t shares the cost, it鈥檚 good for resilience and environmental justice. It鈥檚 better than telling everybody to solve this on their own.鈥�

A recent study found this approach to water recycling adds about 6 percent to the cost of a single home and 12 percent to the cost of a multifamily dwelling. But as the number of people using these systems increases, economies of scale come into play, making recycled water far less expensive than city water.

The Hydraloop, created in Holland, is one home-based technology on the market, a kind of 鈥渨ater washing鈥� machine. It recycles up to 95 percent of a household鈥檚 water, disinfecting shower and washing machine flows to irrigate lawns, flush toilets, and fill swimming pools. Overall water consumption declines by 25 to 45 percent. A company in Vancouver makes a product called RainStick, which recycles shower water over and over while you shower.

What are the barriers to even wider-scale residential changes? The yuck factor, experts say. 鈥淲hen we talk about reuse there鈥檚 a lot of fear鈥� among builders and architects, said Maxfield, though she believes they can be overcome.

That鈥檚 why, she said, decentralization of water and waste systems appears to be destined to play a major role in a water-stressed world. 鈥淣o one talked about carbon 20 years ago鈥� in the design of buildings, Maxfield said. 鈥淎nd now everyone does. Water is going to have that moment.鈥�

This article was originally published in . It has been published here with permission.

These bans 鈥渟tripped us of our culture, but [were] also an . , leaving the forests full of brush and kindling that, combined with climate-related drought and record-breaking heat, fueled the current wildfire crisis. In the 23 years since Reed was born, California has experienced 15 of its 20 on record. 

Reed is now dedicated to restoring humans鈥� relationship to fire. He鈥檚 a graduate student, Indigenous fire practitioner and wildland firefighter, and he鈥檚 teaming up with other young fire practitioners to change the way the U.S. responds to the wildfire crisis.

鈥淭here needs to be a continuous place for our generation in [responding to] a crisis that we鈥檙e most impacted by,鈥� said Kyle Trefny, a student at the University of Oregon and seasonal wildland firefighter.

In 2022, Reed, Trefny and two other students 鈥� Bradley Massey, a junior at Alabama A&M University, and Alyssa Worsham, who recently completed her master鈥檚 at Western Colorado University 鈥� formed the (FireGen, for short), a group that advocates for centering Indigenous knowledge and bringing more young people into the wildfire space. 

That includes diversifying the workforce that responds to wildfires, Trefny said. A recent U.S. Government Accountability Office found that the vast majority of wildland firefighters鈥攎ore than 80%鈥攊dentify as male and more than 70% of the workforce is white. Though Trefny is both male and white, he identifies as queer. He said he was struck by the lack of diversity in the ranks and described the culture as patriarchal and militaristic. 

A more inclusive and diverse workforce wouldn鈥檛 just lead to a better experience for new recruits, Trefny added, it could also help address the severe of wildland firefighters. Last year, the Forest Service told it was short more than 25% of the workforce it needed heading into fire season; the following months saw an number of wildfires, including the largest and most destructive fire on record in New Mexico.  

The FireGen cohort believes that getting more young and Indigenous people involved in developing wildfire policies can increase support for proactive tactics like prescribed burns. It鈥檚 a shift that Tim Ingalsbee, an instructor at the University of Oregon and a former wildland firefighter, said he鈥檚 noticed among his students in recent years.

鈥淵oung people want to get involved in putting good fire on the ground,鈥� said Ingalsbee. 鈥淭hirty years ago, no one asked me that. They all want to be firefighters.鈥�

In November, Ingalsbee traveled with Trefney, Reed, Massey and Worsham, to Washington, DC, at the invitation of U.S. Forest Service Chief Randy Moore. They met with Moore, Oregon Senators Jeff Merkley and Ron Wyden, and officials from the Department of the Interior鈥檚 Office of Wildland Fire to advocate for getting more young people involved in wildfire policy.  

鈥淭he collaborative is passionate about being a part of the climate change solutions of the future, including work in prescribed fire and as wildland firefighters,鈥� said Wade Muehlhof, a  spokesperson for the Forest Service. 鈥淭hey bring great insights from the best and brightest we are trying to recruit into that workforce.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The group arrived in Washington with a proposal to for young people to connect with the U.S. Forest Service and the Department of the Interior, the agencies that oversee federal wildland firefighting. Trefny said they looked to FEMA鈥檚 Youth Preparedness Council, which recruits young people to serve as and assist in other outreach efforts, as a model for bringing more young people into the field. (Muehlhof said his office was connecting the group with the Biden administration鈥檚 , which was created in 2021.)

In addition to its advocacy efforts, FireGen is working to fill a gap in knowledge about young peoples鈥� attitudes toward 鈥� and understanding of 鈥� fire. Reed, Trefny and Worsham are developing a research project that will gauge their peers鈥� interest in various fire-related activities, such as prescribed burning or fireproofing homes, to make a case to policymakers to fund workforce development programs that go beyond traditional firefighting. For Worsham, who became interested in wildfires through her graduate research in prescribed burns, it鈥檚 an opportunity to help others discover their own unique paths into this field.

鈥淲e need this base of young people who are rethinking how fire fits into bigger things, like land management and climate change,鈥� said Worsham. 鈥淲e鈥檙e aiming for fire happening at the right frequency, at the right severity, in the right vegetation and ecosystems. And that鈥檚 all going to take a lot more work on the front end than suppression, which is entirely [an] emergency or reactive response.鈥�

In a contribution to a recent Federation of American Scientists on wildfire responses, Reed and Trefny outlined ways that agencies could integrate Indigenous knowledge into their operations and invest in educating and onboarding young people. For example, they recommend shifting the hiring schedule for seasonal wildland firefighters from the fall to the spring to better accommodate students. 

Massey, who co-captains Alabama A&M University鈥檚 student-run forest firefighting team, wants to create more opportunities for students to access forest management and wildland firefighting training. The Forest Service currently partners with a of four historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) to establish student-run fire crews; Massey, who has led prescribed burns near his school鈥檚 Huntsville campus, hopes to establish a multi-school fire crew that could take on larger land management and firefighting responsibilities.

鈥淣ot too many people from my community are familiar with prescribed fire or wildland fire, so just being able to have that knowledge to give and open their eyes to see what else is out there [is my goal],鈥� Massey said. 

Massey and his FireGen teammates have seen, often up close, the devastation of increasingly frequent and severe wildfires. But they also understand that, much like becoming an electrician who installs heat pumps, understanding wildfires, and knowing how to anticipate and respond to them, is a skill set that will only grow in demand. 
鈥淚magine if in every fire-prone community, the local community college, university or even their local high school had programs where young people can get [prescribed] burn qualifications and get experience in making a house resilient,鈥� Trefney said. 鈥淥ur generation needs to be part of a cultural shift toward living with fire and not fearing it.鈥�

This article is originally appeared in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

Heaps of plastic waste cover the shores of Manila Bay in the Philippines. Myrna Dominguez remembers when an abundance of fish inhabited its waters鈥攍ocals would catch enough to feed their families and sell at the market. Today, she says, they are catching more plastic than fish.

鈥淲e鈥檙e very afraid that if this is not addressed, the bay, which 100,000 small fishers rely on, will no longer be viable for them,鈥� Dominguez says.

In May, Dominguez and Indian labor organizer Lakshmi Narayan visited communities in the U.S. that are affected by pollution from oil extraction and plastic production, to show the effects that these processes have on communities overseas. The 鈥淪topping Plastic Where It Starts Tour,鈥� organized by #Breakfreefromplastic and Earthworks, is part of a project that aims to reduce plastic consumption and production by raising awareness about the impacts of plastic production on the communities at either end of its supply chain.

Dominguez and Narayan, representing communities in Asia experiencing the effects of plastic pollution, visited places in the U.S. experiencing the impacts of hydraulic fracturing (fracking) oil and gas production鈥攁n industry that is producing the raw materials to build plastic.

Dominguez is the policy and advocacy adviser of the Asia Pacific Network on Food Sovereignty, which campaigns to protect the rights of small food producers such as fishers and farmers, and to preserve fishing grounds and cultural lands of indigenous communities.

Narayan is the co-founder of Solid Waste and Collection Handling, a cooperative of waste-pickers in Pune, India, who collect waste throughout the city and separate it into categories for proper disposal.

Both women represent groups from Asian countries that are dealing with the effects of plastic pollution鈥攑articularly plastic that is produced and distributed by U.S. companies.

鈥湵踱�檓 hoping this tour will change American people鈥檚 views of how they live every day, and how it impacts poor countries like us,鈥� Dominguez says. 鈥淚f America gets a cold, the Philippines gets the flu. We鈥檙e very dependent on the U.S., so whatever happens here affects us too.鈥�

The Philippines is the 鈥攊t also has the .听In 2017, the U.S. was the .

鈥淭here鈥檚 no easy, technological solution to the problem of ocean plastic waste.鈥�

Single-use plastic products, such as straws and other utensils鈥攁nd products packaged in plastic, including toiletries and food鈥攁re produced by transnational companies and marketed to people in places like the Philippines at low costs. The plastic waste from these products ends up in landfills or marine areas like Manila Bay.

Plastic manufacturers are not responsible for the disposal of their products, so the burden is placed on people in the Philippines, who do not have the resources to properly dispose of all the waste, Dominguez says.

鈥淧eople have realized there鈥檚 no easy, technological solution to the problem of ocean plastic waste, and the only way to stop ocean plastic is to stop plastic,鈥� says Jennifer Krill. Krill is the executive director of Earthworks, an environmental and social justice organization dedicated to protecting communities and the environment from the impacts of mining and energy extraction.

鈥淚f we were to somehow recover all that waste from the ocean, we would still have to put it in a landfill or in an incinerator, and there would be significant environmental impacts from those solutions. The better solution would be to not make so much of it to begin with.鈥�

That鈥檚 why Dominguez and Narayan traveled to the U.S., where the women visited communities affected by fracking. In the U.S., a fracking boom is helping fuel plastic production worldwide by providing a necessary building block of plastic: ethane. Dominguez and Narayan visited communities experiencing the impacts of fracking in Texas, Louisiana, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania. They also visited Washington D.C.

In 2017, the U.S. consumed around 1.2 million barrels of ethane per day.

In Texas, for example, a major fracking boom is underway. A new report by IHS Markit shows the Permian Basin in West Texas is expecting a surge in oil production鈥斺�攊n large part because of fracking, which has made trapped oil and gas accessible.

Fracking involves pumping water, sand, and chemicals underground to release gas and oil from rock. The shale formations used for extracting oil and gas in the U.S. are high in ethane, which is wasted in the extraction process unless the industry has a way to bring it to market.

鈥淐urrently what we鈥檙e seeing is a major build-out of new petrochemical manufacturing in order for the industry to recover that waste ethane and convert it into plastic, most of which is also going to become waste, but along the way they鈥檒l make a lot of money manufacturing it into plastic,鈥� Krill says.

Earthworks鈥攐ne of the organizations that organized the tour鈥攈as recently introduced a Community Empowerment Project to provide communities near oil and gas facilities with data on methane and ethane pollution from nearby oil and gas extraction sites by using an optical gas imaging camera that makes invisible ethane鈥攁nd methane鈥攑ollution from these sites visible.

Not only does methane and ethane pollution contribute to climate change, but it also causes health issues for people who live near oil and gas facilities鈥攊n the U.S., that鈥檚 more than people.

Residents who live near these facilities have respiratory problems such as asthma and coughing, eye, nose, and throat irritation, headaches, nausea, dizziness, trouble sleeping, and fatigue.

鈥淚f we are going to stop plastic we need to stop plastic where it starts.鈥�

The organization has been taking the camera to oil and gas wells, pipelines, and compressor stations to show government regulators and companies that the methane and ethane pollution problem is real. Gas imaging videos are available on Earthworks鈥� YouTube channel for citizens to use as evidence when urging regulators in their states to require operators clean up the gas waste.

鈥淚t hasn鈥檛 stopped pollution鈥攊t hasn鈥檛 been as effective as we鈥檇 like it to be yet,鈥� Krill says听about the project. But she hopes it will be. 鈥淭he industry likes to say 鈥楾here鈥檚 no pollution, we鈥檙e very clean,鈥� and with this video evidence it鈥檚 hard to deny that there鈥檚 a serious problem with oil and gas extraction.鈥�

On a global scale, the #Breakfreefromplastic movement, made up of 1,000 organizations worldwide, has been focused on creating 鈥渮ero-waste cities鈥� in Malaysia, India, and the Philippines鈥攖eaching communities about separating organic from inorganic waste, composting, and recycling.

Narayan, who represents the waste-pickers who collect and separate waste in Pune, India, says the process of recycling plastics into reusable materials is so expensive that the waste is often not recyclable at all.

#Breakfreefromplastic also focuses on making the public aware of their consumption habits in hopes of reducing the use of one-use plastic products, and pushing for 鈥渃orporate accountability,鈥� says Jed Alegado, the Asia Pacific communications officer for #Breakfreefromplastic.

鈥淐orporations that have the money to come up with these products should invest in more sustainable and ecological distribution systems for their products,鈥� Alegado says. 鈥淭hey 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 pass the burden to consumers and governments for the plastic waste they are creating.鈥�

Growing up in the Philippines, Dominguez recalls using coconut shells as plates, and eating food with her bare hands鈥攂efore large companies had convinced the world that plastic products are a necessity, she says.

Dominguez is optimistic that change can occur by educating and inspiring people to reduce their use of plastic products and become vocal about how the government handles waste.

鈥淚f we are going to stop plastic we need to stop plastic where it starts,鈥� Krill says. 鈥淲e can鈥檛 let greed get in the way of common sense and sustainability.鈥�

Los Angeles District Attorney George Gasc贸n 22 felony and two misdemeanor counts against Atlas Metals, alleging the plant illegally disposed of hazardous waste, some of which was deposited on the grounds of the high school. 

鈥淭he charging of Atlas Metal for their environmental crimes is a step toward justice for the children of Jordan High School and the community of Watts,鈥� Gasc贸n said in a public statement. 鈥淲e must hold companies accountable for their actions that put our children鈥檚 health at risk.鈥�

An arraignment in the case is set for Monday, June 26. The charges date back to 2020, but Gasc贸n says the school has likely been exposed to toxic waste for decades. The school has been around since 1923, and the plant since 1949.

Students and local leaders have been protesting against the plant for decades. The plant has been a nuisance at best and dangerous at worst, students say. 

鈥淭here were times we had this purple haze coming over the campus,鈥� says 18-year-old Heaven Watson, a recent graduate. 鈥淥ur baseball field was shut down, there were these really funky smells throughout campus, and huge booms.鈥�

Jordan High, a 500-hundred-pupil facility in Watts, sits next to Atlas Iron and Metal Company, a scrap metal recycling facility. The haze comes from lead dust particles emitted by the plant, according to school district officials. Last year, testing commissioned by the district found lead concentrations in dust samples collected from campus were than what the Environmental Protection Agency defines as a hazardous threshold. Exposure to lead is particularly dangerous for young people; it can seriously impact the brain and nervous system, slow growth and development, and lead to learning and behavior problems.

鈥淚 knew my community deserved better,鈥� says Genesis Cruz, a 17-year-old Jordan student, who, for the past four years, has helped organize protests against the plant. Cruz belongs to the , a local advocacy group.

Watts, a historically Black community in South Los Angeles, is today Hispanic. It鈥檚 one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city, with a long history of environmental racism, ranking in the 100th percentile of most pollution-burdened communities in California, according to . Pollution caused by diesel trucks, traffic, and other industries; poor drinking water quality; and lead contamination鈥攚hich are linked to respiratory ailments, cancer, and cognitive impairment, among other issues鈥攁re just some of the environmental burdens the community faces. The average life expectancy in Watts is than in more affluent areas of the city.

Cruz and Watson describe how students often crowd the narrow hallways and cramped classrooms of their school during lunchtime鈥攅ven on sunny days鈥攖o avoid going outdoors where the thick smoke and toxic fumes often cloud the playing fields.

To keep out the fumes and noise, teachers often close classroom windows, even in the stifling heat, Watson says. Students can often see mountains of metal from their classroom vantage points and have even found pieces of on the baseball fields. That鈥檚 just from routine operations. In 2002, a in the scrapyard, sending shards of metal onto the school鈥檚 campus.

In 2020, the Los Angeles Unified School District against the plant, which demanded the company stop allowing 鈥渄angerous, sharp metal projectiles, fine metallic dust and other objects to be launched or emitted from their property鈥� onto the school campus. In 2021, the city attorney鈥檚 office went so far as to against Atlas. 

鈥淚t took us 15 years to get to these charges,鈥� says Tim Watkins, CEO of Watts Labor Community Action Committee and the president of , a campaign against the plant. The Coalition for Healthy Families and the local chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People have a total shutdown of the facility. They have also urged California state officials, as well as the Biden administration, which has made environmental justice a , to support their efforts. 

鈥淗undreds of acres in Watts have been contaminated with the same elements that Atlas Metals is charged with producing,鈥� Watkins says. 鈥湵踱�檓 just frustrated that this is what it takes to get action.鈥�

Earlier this month, attorneys for both the Los Angeles Unified School District and the City of Los Angeles with Atlas about reaching a settlement this year, although it is still unclear whether the plant will close. Benjamin Gluck, legal counsel for Atlas, told Nexus Media News the company was 鈥渄isappointed鈥� with the charges and that it was 鈥渁ctively working with the many public agencies involved and is actually moving close to a global resolution.鈥� He added, 鈥淲e will defend this case vigorously.鈥�

Recycling plants like Atlas can prevent reusable metals from ending up in landfills. However, the process metal particulates, including lead, into the air at toxic levels. 

鈥淚t kind of sucks that we鈥檝e had to advocate for this,鈥� says Watson, who has organized protests against the plant in front of the facility, around Watts, and even outside the White House in Washington, D.C. 鈥淭his should already be set in place. There鈥檚 always an alternative way to do things,鈥� she says鈥攆or one, not siting polluting plants next to schools in the first place. 鈥淧eople just don鈥檛 want to because it鈥檚 pricey.鈥�

The battle to shut down the plant in Watts is one that is being replicated throughout the U.S. as frontline communities鈥攖ypically low-income communities of color鈥攆ight for cleaner air, water, and land. Polluting industries have historically been placed in these communities, in large part, due to racist redlining practices. 

And though the fate of the Atlas plant is unclear, its standoff with students has produced a generation of environmental activists. Cruz, who will be a senior in the fall, says the fight against Atlas has sparked a passion for advocacy鈥攁nd an interest in studying law. Watson, headed to college in the fall, plans to major in American Studies while staying active in her alma mater鈥檚 campaign for environmental justice. 

鈥淲hen you experience things firsthand and see the effects of it, you feel more motivated to speak out鈥� We have to stop it,鈥� she says.

This article originally appeared in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

We asked , a toxicologist at the University of Montana who studies the impact of wildfire smoke on human health, about the health risks people can face when smoke blows in from distant wildfires.

What鈥檚 In Wildfire Smoke That鈥檚 a Problem?

When we talk about air quality, we often talk about PM2.5. That鈥檚 particulate matter 2.5 microns or smaller鈥攕mall enough that it can travel deep into the lungs.

Exposure to PM2.5 from smoke or other air pollution, such as vehicle emissions, can exacerbate health conditions like asthma and reduce lung function in ways that can worsen existing respiratory problems and even heart disease.

But the term PM2.5 only tells you about size, not composition鈥攚hat is burning can make a significant difference in the chemistry.

In the northern Rockies, where I live, most fires are fueled by vegetation, but . If the fire is in the wildland-urban interface, manufactured fuels from homes and vehicles may also be burning, and that鈥檚 going to  as well. Chemists often talk about  (VOCs), carbon monoxide, and PAHs, or , produced when biomass and other matter burns, having the potential to harm human health.

How Does Inhaling Wildfire Smoke Harm Human Health?

If you have ever been around a campfire and gotten a blast of smoke in your face, you probably had some irritation. With exposure to wildfire smoke, you might get some irritation in the nose and throat and maybe . If you鈥檙e healthy, your body for the most part will be able to handle it.

As with a lot of things, the dose makes the poison鈥攁lmost anything can be harmful at a certain dose.

Generally, cells in the lungs called  will pick up the particulates and clear them out鈥攁t reasonable doses. It鈥檚 when the system gets overwhelmed that you can have a problem.

One concern is that smoke can , altering it enough that you become more susceptible to respiratory infection. A colleague who looked at lag time in the effect of wildfire smoke exposure found an . Studies in developing countries have also found increases in  with people who are  in homes.

The stress of an inflammatory response can also exacerbate existing health problems. Being exposed to woodsmoke won鈥檛 independently cause someone to have a heart attack, but if they have underlying risk factors, such as significant plaque buildup, the added stress can increase the risk.

Researchers are also studying potential  and  from .

When Smoke Blows Over Long Distances, Does Its Toxicity Change?

We know that the chemistry of wildfire smoke changes. The longer it鈥檚 in the atmosphere, the more the  by ultraviolet light. But we still have .

Researchers have found that there seems to be a higher level of oxidation, so oxidants and free radicals are being generated the longer smoke is in the air. The specific health effects aren鈥檛 yet clear, but there鈥檚 some indication that more exposure leads to .

The supposition is that more  the longer smoke is exposed to UV light, so there鈥檚 a greater potential for health harm. A lot of that, again, comes down to dose.

Chances are, if you鈥檙e a healthy individual, going for a bike ride or a hike in light haze won鈥檛 be a big deal, and your body will be able to recover.

If you鈥檙e doing that every day for a month in wildfire smoke, however, that raises more concerns. I鈥檝e worked on studies with residents at Seeley Lake in Montana who were exposed to hazardous levels of PM2.5 from wildfire smoke for 49 days in 2017. We found a . No one was on oxygen, but there was a significant drop.

This is a relatively new area of research, and there鈥檚 still a lot we鈥檙e learning, especially with the increase in wildfire activity as the planet warms.

What Precautions Can People Take to Reduce Their Risk From Wildfire Smoke?

If there is smoke in the air, you want to decrease your exposure.

Can you completely avoid the smoke? Not unless you鈥檙e in a hermetically sealed home. The PM levels aren鈥檛 much different indoors and out unless you have a really good HVAC system, such as those with ) . But going inside decreases your activity, so your breathing rate is slower and the amount of smoke you鈥檙e inhaling is likely lower.

We also tend to advise people that if you鈥檙e in a susceptible group, such as those with asthma, create a safe space at home and in the office with a high-level stand-alone air filtration system to create a space with cleaner air.

Some . It doesn鈥檛 hurt to have a high-quality N95 mask. Just wearing a cloth mask won鈥檛 do much, though.

Most  that can give you a sense of how bad the air quality is, so check those sites and act accordingly.

This article was originally published by . It has been published here with permission.

鈥淔antasy and despair are tempting,鈥� she writes, 鈥渂ut history can help us resist 迟丑别尘.鈥� When I talk to her on Zoom, from her home in the small town of White Salmon, on a bluff overlooking the Columbia River Gorge, on the border between Washington and Oregon, she points to the noble aspirations that founded the conservation movement and how they remain relevant even today. 鈥淭he mission of conservation biology, and conservation in general, can still be summarized as the protection of biological diversity, ecological complexity, and the evolutionary process鈥攊n short, the preservation of possibility,鈥� she says.

Possibility, not hope, is what Nijhuis says drives the work of making the world habitable into the future. The book鈥檚 subtitle鈥斺�渇ighting for life in an age of extinction鈥濃�攇ives a distinctively proactive, almost positive spin to a topic that is most often described in shades of doom and gloom. Saving species from extinction is not rosy, but Nijhuis says she was deliberate in her framing: 鈥淚 feel like journalists and writers do a pretty good job of explaining complex problems, but they鈥攚e鈥攄on’t do such a great job of talking about the equally complex solutions or possible solutions.鈥� That鈥檚 what she aimed to do with this book. 鈥淏y looking back at the history of the modern or global conservation movement,鈥� she tells me, 鈥淚 hope to find鈥ays in which conservation could move forward, could overcome some of its some of its previous mistakes, and build on what it鈥檚 learned over the last 100 years or so.鈥�

The conservation movement has gone from a simplistic effort to save single species to a global movement willing to embrace complexity.

Knowing full well that the book couldn鈥檛 be an exhaustive history of the movement, she organized it based on the stories of individuals at turning points or conceptual advances in this tradition that we call conservation. By digging into the questions they wrestled with and exploring the ways in which their thinking changed over time, she鈥檚 able to give a glimpse of how the movement as a whole has grown and evolved during the past century and a half.

Over time, she says, the conservation movement has gone from a simplistic effort to save single species to a global movement willing to embrace complexity, both in what it鈥檚 trying to preserve and how. And she says it鈥檚 the recognition and acceptance of that complexity that gives the movement鈥攁nd the planet鈥檚 ecosystems鈥攁 fighting chance.

A Rocky Start

Beloved Beasts starts off in the early days of the movement, when the words 鈥渃onservation鈥� and 鈥渆nvironment鈥� have no ecological basis, and extinctions were just starting to enter the public consciousness. 鈥淚n the middle of the nineteenth century, these complacent humans learned that they were both less exceptional and more powerful than they had believed,鈥� Nijhuis writes.

She does not shy away from the sticky question that has spurred endless debate in conservation circles: What is humanity鈥檚 proper place on Earth? Nijhuis explores the ways in which people have simultaneously played the role of conquerors of nature as well as its divinely anointed stewards. Humans are both victims of climate change and the perpetrators who have caused it. We are all these things at once and more. We are the only species that has a concept of humanity as a whole, and that makes us a force to be reckoned with, while also putting our place in the web of life at risk. Her skilled analysis of historic texts brings levity to the weight of the subject of the role of humans when she writes that 鈥淒arwin left his fellow Victorians in limbo, dangling inelegantly between mushrooms and minor gods鈥︹��

As Nijhuis digs through the historic works of major figures and classic examples in the movement鈥檚 history, from Darwin to DDT, she does not aim to sugarcoat the ugly realities and awful mistakes. 鈥淭here鈥檚 one word I use sparingly here: hope,鈥� she writes frankly in her introduction. 鈥淔ew if any of the most influential early conservationists were motivated by what might be called hope. They were motivated by many other things鈥攄elight, outrage, data鈥攂ut they had little confidence that the work they were moved to do would succeed in rescuing the species they loved. They did it anyway. As Leopold, in one of his grimmer moods, wrote to a friend, 鈥楾hat the situation is hopeless should not prevent us from doing our best.鈥� 鈥�

Conservationist Aldo Leopold, like so many of the heroes in the conversation space, was a White man. And that is consequently the case for many of the characters in Nihjuis鈥� book, though she is intentional about putting the spotlight on historic women who were not given the credit they deserved for their contributions to the field. She is realistic about the tangible progress each character made, honest about their flaws, and forthright about just how much work is left. 鈥淭he story of modern species conservation is full of people who did the wrong things for the right reasons, and the right things for the wrong reasons,鈥� Nijhuis writes.

I cringed reading some of the case studies Nijhuis uncovered in her reporting. In the chapter about the seminal role of bison, for example, she writes that 鈥淸Theodore Roosevelt鈥檚] commitment to saving the bison was both genuine and infused with racism, for he believed that bison were essential to the pursuit of the strenuous life鈥攚hich in turn, was essential to the survival of white masculinity.鈥� For the people who fought to save the remaining members of the species, 鈥渢he rescue of the bison had nothing to do with the people who had depended on the species鈥攁nd a great deal to do with their own illusions about themselves.鈥�

This level of ego was unfortunately frequent in the stories Nijhuis shares, but she does not deify scientists. Nijhuis makes clear that they are as capable as anyone of abusing their power, as was the case when biology was used to make a case for eugenics, or when efforts to discuss population control got twisted to exacerbate gender and racial inequities.

Critically, Nijhuis makes space for a vision for how different this important work could鈥攁nd should鈥攍ook going forward. And what kind of leaders we should hold up as conservation heroes in the future.

Who Pays and Who Benefits

When it comes to international conservation efforts, Nijhuis makes clear that this top-down enterprise was initially an extension of colonial power, with all its paternalistic complexities. She writes that 鈥渕any Africans came to believe, for good reason, that the conservation measures supported by colonial governments and international groups were intended to reserve the continent鈥檚 species for foreigners鈥攁nd prevent Africans from using the resources they regarded as their birthright.鈥�

That inequity arises time and time again in Nijhuis鈥檚 studied analysis of the movement. And she leans into the nuance: 鈥淭hough biologists routinely argue that biodiversity benefits everyone, social scientists know that the costs and benefits of conservation are unevenly distributed,鈥� she writes. 鈥淚n many cases鈥攁nd all parts of the world鈥攖he poor carry the burdens of conservation, while the wealthy enjoy most of the ecosystem services.鈥�

The time to save a species is when it is common, not on the brink of extinction.

To counter these heart-wrenching examples of shortcomings and failures, Nijhuis highlights narratives about positive change, too, upsetting this power dynamic and centering the efforts of marginalized communities, who are often the best at understanding and implementing truly sustainable conservation measures. For example, she suggests that can actually be (though certainly 颈蝉苍鈥檛 always) a net-positive for local communities, which can control the number of animals killed, and use the funds paid by hunters to further local conservation efforts. 鈥淚n the best cases, they are examples of sustainable utilization: colonial nostalgia, harnessed by the formerly colonized to further multispecies survival,鈥� Nijhuis writes.

She also explores the intersectionality of conservation efforts. In the case of bird conservation, for example, though contemporaries around the turn of the 20^th century blamed women for the avian deaths caused by the feather trade that was most often used in hats, Nijhuis points to the fact that many prominent early birders were women. And that the decidedly masculine 鈥減assion for possession鈥� that fueled collectors to kill the few remaining members of endangered species was in stark contrast to the approach of many women conservationists at the time, even if they didn鈥檛 identify as such. In fact, the women who fought to protect birds took their tactics from their experience fighting for suffrage. Throughout the book, Nijhuis uses wit in her writing to help to bring these complex characters to life: 鈥淓nthusiasm for watching live birds soon began to compete with the enthusiasm for wearing dead ones,鈥� she writes.

A Radical Reimagining of Society

The characters in the book consistently lead Nijhuis to the same conclusion: that the time to save a species is when it is common, not on the brink of extinction. To achieve this, she points to the conservationist Leopold鈥檚 grand reimagining of what conservation should entail. As someone who grew up in Wisconsin, in the cult of Leopold, I was particularly moved by the ways in which Nijhuis highlighted how Leopold鈥檚 perspectives were decidedly justice-oriented. This was not something I had fully grasped in my own reading of his works in my younger years.

For example, Leopold argued that the protection of rare species was a protest against biotic violence鈥攖hat is, violence against living things or their ecological relations. He pointed out that solutions to truly save species would require people to change their relationship with the land and the ecosystems it supports. And that the rightful role of people should be not gods or mushrooms but 鈥減lain members and citizens鈥� of the Earth鈥檚 ecological communities. Nijhuis鈥� reflections on these conceptions struck me: 鈥淭he role of plain member and citizen, it seems to me, allows all of us to acknowledge our interdependence with the rest of life鈥攁s well as our species鈥� unique ability, and responsibility, to guard its independence from ourselves,鈥� she says.

The reorganization of society, by definition, is a reorganization of power.

Leopold, as Nijhuis describes, was not advocating for the passing of a few fish and game laws. Such changes are woefully inadequate to address the scope and scale of the problems the Earth is facing. Instead, she says, he was calling for a complete reorganization of society.

When I ask her about what that really means, she does not shy away from a radical reimagining: 鈥淗e was right that conservation does require a societal reorganization,鈥� she tells me. 鈥淭hroughout human history, conservation has been a practice that communities have undertaken as part of their routine鈥攑art of their daily lives to ensure their own survival.鈥� But as our society has gotten bigger and more complex, and we’re less directly dependent on these resources, she says, it has gotten easier for us not to practice conservation in our daily lives. And that鈥檚 the crux of the problem. 鈥淐onservation should be something that鈥檚 practiced by everyone,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 think it does have to become more than a special interest.鈥�

Conservation has to be a critical component of how each of us lives in the world and interacts with the networks of beings around us, Nijhuis argues.

鈥淭he reorganization of society, by definition, is a reorganization of power,鈥� Nijhuis explains.

So for all the good intentions and brazen displays of White male dominance that have colored the conservation movement thus far, she argues, 鈥淧erhaps the most powerful thing they could do was share that power.鈥�

That鈥檚 why much of Nijhuis鈥� reporting looked at community-driven conservation work that centers the efforts of local people to define their own problems and solutions. She sees the way forward as one in which conservation is flipped from top-down directives to bottom-up structures of mutual support. Protection, empowerment, and self-determination should be extended to all people and all species, which is why the rights of nature movement is gaining so much traction today.

The last reporting trip that Nijhuis took for the book was to Leopold鈥檚 historic home in Wisconsin in December 2019. She didn鈥檛 know at the time that it would be her last trip for a long while. None of us did. But a year and a half into a pandemic lockdown, we have seen some glimmers of what a radical reimagining of what a society might look like. And while there are so many ways in which we have squandered opportunities and fallen short, I can鈥檛 help but think that Leopold would see this as an opportunity. 鈥淲e are clever cousins of the mushrooms, promoted beyond our experience,鈥� Nijhuis writes, and 鈥渙ur dependence on the rest of life can remind us of our vulnerability, and help us use our influence with humility.鈥�

Years later, a bison charged Bhosale during a rescue operation for a herd that had entered the city of Kolhapur and was being harassed by residents. 鈥淚 was left with three stitches, half-cut teeth, and a permanent scar on my face,鈥� Bhosale says, smiling. 鈥淪urviving all of it was no less than a miracle.鈥�

But rather than causing him to shy away from this dangerous work, close calls with wild animals motivated Bhosale to double down on his conservation efforts.

鈥淲ildlife education, unfortunately, is restricted only to elites,鈥� says Bhosale, 40, whose work and family commitments never allowed him to study the subject formally. He is a full-time security guard at a private university in the Kolhapur district of India鈥檚 Maharashtra state and works as a bouncer and wedding photographer on the side. So Bhosale sought informal avenues to learn more about the animals he loves and how to save them. 

When Bhosale went to a village to rescue an animal or a bird, he often met like-minded people whom he found to be much more knowledgeable than textbooks. He started taking their contact information to form a WhatsApp group so they could continue to learn from one another. In the past two decades, the informal group has grown to more than 150 people from more than seven districts across hundreds of villages in Maharashtra. They are farmers, agricultural laborers, masons, drivers, athletes, tattoo artists, mechanics, and more. What brings them together is their passion for wildlife despite limited economic resources.

Together they have created a movement and earned themselves a reputation. 鈥淕iven the vast forest cover and less staff, it鈥檚 not always possible for the wildlife officers to reach the location in time for any emergency like human-animal conflict or rescue operations,鈥� says range forest officer Ramesh Kamble, from Kolhapur鈥檚 Karvir Division, who has closely observed Bhosale鈥檚 work. 鈥淏hosale鈥檚 widespread team swiftly reports cases of poaching and conflicts, saving several animals and birds.鈥�

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Birds

Bhosale started taking photos of animals (mostly snakes he rescued from friends鈥� houses) using his lower-end smartphone. 鈥淚 always wanted to document forests, animals, and birds via photos before they become extinct,鈥� he says.

He eventually taught himself professional photography. Slogging through tropical forests and often-ignored ponds in remote villages on foot, Bhosale has managed to find several rare bird species that, according to the district forest department, are nearing extinction. He photographs the birds and shares them on Facebook and WhatsApp to find out more about their species and stories.

Now he and his team are studying migration patterns and how climate change is impacting different species. 

Take the changeable hawk-eagle and the white-bellied sea eagle, for example. Bhosale makes frequent visits to the same locations, especially when there are nestlings, to track how extreme heat waves are impacting the birds. He then crowdsources eagle sightings from team members in their respective regions. After documenting eagles for more than five years now, he has observed that fewer birds are returning to the places where he used to see them every year.

鈥淓ven at 7 a.m., I couldn鈥檛 find the changeable hawk-eagle on the outskirts of Kolhapur city because of the rising heat,鈥� he says. 鈥淓arlier, this never happened.鈥�

The primary reason behind this, he says, is the rapidly changing climate.

Countering Poaching With Awareness

When Pradip Jadhav was 13, he saw people killing an oriental ratsnake near his home in the village of Yellur, in Maharashtra鈥檚 Sangli district. 鈥淭hat moment I decided no snake will ever die in front of me,鈥� he recalls. Since then, Jadhav has worked extensively to protect and rescue snakes and鈥攁t Bhosale鈥檚 prompting鈥攐ther animals too.

A farmer who doubles as a bodyguard, Jadhav worries about owl poaching in particular. 鈥淥wls are considered both ill-omened and auspicious in different religions and communities,鈥� he says. 

In several parts of India, owl feathers, ears, kidneys, blood, meat, bones, and skulls are prescribed for ceremonial rituals by mystics. The result is mass poaching of the nocturnal birds, especially the barn owl, Jadhav says. So he consulted Bhosale, and together they devised a simple plan to inform residents about owls鈥� ecological roles.

Yellur, which was already seeing a declining owl population, was also affected by colossal crop losses caused by rodents. With the help of Bhosale鈥檚 team, Jadhav started photographing all the owls in and around his village. He collated more than a hundred photos and started hosting informal awareness-raising sessions to talk about the diversity of owl species and to connect the dots for farmers: how owls feed primarily on the same rodents that are such a menace in the fields. By keeping rodent populations in check, the owls help farmers. He then slowly started challenging the religious superstitions. With farm losses mounting, people began taking Jadhav seriously, asking him hundreds of questions about the nocturnal birds. 

鈥淚t took over two years to end owl poaching,鈥� Jadhav shares proudly. But with more people aware and appreciative of the birds, they started holding each other accountable. 鈥淥ver 10 people reached out to us in the past two years, admitting their mistake and releasing the owls safely.鈥�

Bhosale鈥檚 team also helped rescue several Indian star tortoises that had been captured to sell as pets. The species is listed as  in the International Union for Conservation of Nature鈥檚 Red List of Threatened Species. After intercepting the tortoises, the team released them back into their natural habitats. 

Bringing Back the Lost Birds

Pratik Rayat, 23, farms and works at a local finance institution in the village of Herle, in the Kolhapur district. He lamented to Bhosale about the loss of diversity near a local lake that was once home to several species of birds. Villagers were destroying the birds鈥� nests because they believed that the birds were eating grains from farmers鈥� fields.

鈥淟ecturing people will never help you conserve wildlife,鈥� Rayat says. 鈥淪o, we started placing bird feeders and water bowls in over 30 houses.鈥�

His efforts were ignored for almost a year, until farmers began reporting lower crop losses and villagers took note of the rising number of birds near the feeders.

鈥淎s these birds started coming, I began asking people, 鈥榃ould you ever dishonor your guests?鈥� They always replied with a 鈥榥o.鈥欌�� So residents began treating birds like human guests.

Meanwhile, Rayat followed Bhosale鈥檚 approach, practicing photography, documenting these birds, finding more information about them, and posting his findings on the village鈥檚 WhatsApp groups. Rayat鈥檚 team also planted more than 100 cherry trees near the lake to attract more birds. 鈥淏irds love cherry,鈥� Rayat adds. 

When migratory birds started visiting the village, people were awe-struck and started inquiring more in the WhatsApp groups. Seeing birds arrive from different countries inspired people to refill the feeders daily. Eventually, these efforts culminated in a community of birders that help Rayat scale his work.

鈥淚nstead of going to the forest, we see birds every day in front of our eyes,鈥� says Gajanand Ubare, 49, a Herle resident who has installed a bird feeder. 鈥淭his is a unique initiative, and now people understand the importance of birds.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Rayat says more than 40 species of birds, including Eurasian coot, grey heron, western yellow wagtail, woolly necked stork, common sandpiper, wood sandpiper, long-toed stint, brahminy kite, and white-throated kingfisher, visit the village often. 

Moving Past Misunderstanding

Two years ago, Sneha Jadhav, 23, saw an injured red-vented bulbul. 鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 find her parents,鈥� she says. Everyone in her neighborhood ignored the bird, because there鈥檚 a widespread belief that if a bird falls from the nest, one 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 touch it, or its family will abandon it. But Jadhav fed and cared for the bird daily for more than two weeks until the bird was ready to fly. If she hadn鈥檛 intervened, the bird would have died. 鈥淓ven today, I can see the bird in my locality,鈥� she shares proudly.

Sneha Jadhav is based in Kolhapur and focuses on rehabilitation. 鈥淲henever any birds are rescued, she looks after them and ensures proper treatment,鈥� Bhosale says. 鈥淗er task is vital, as not everyone is always available because of their job commitments.鈥� Sneha Jadhav鈥檚 dedication and commitment have helped Bhosale expand his work.

鈥淚 am now working on not just learning wildlife but also raising a team of girls who will do this job and bring a societal change,鈥� Sneha Jadhav says. 

Girls in her region and in several other villages are often discouraged from pursuing a career in wildlife. So in addition to preparing for forest-service exams, Sneha Jadhav mentors others. 鈥淚 am changing this mindset with my wildlife rescue operations,鈥� she says. 鈥淲henever I am in the field, many younger girls ask me about what they can do to learn these skills.鈥� A few of those girls now accompany her and help spread conservation awareness.

Continuing To Do the Work

Many of Bhosale鈥檚 team members come from marginalized communities, work multiple jobs, and earn less than $150 a month. Bird-watching is not a leisure activity for them. Still, none of them charge for their wildlife observation and rescue work. 鈥淚nstead, we end up spending a lot from our pocket,鈥� Bhosale says. 

Their duty remains a risky and thankless task, but still Bhosale鈥檚 team is growing. Having wildlife monitors on the ground across the region enables them to track changes over time and place. Having such an extensive network also allows them to make wildlife education accessible to people in remote villages who would otherwise lack the resources to learn about the vast biodiversity around them.

Bhosale says this work has also helped some members overcome personal challenges. Omkar Mali (whose name name has been changed upon his request for safety reasons) says he was an alcoholic when he met Bhosale and started spending time with him in the forests, rescuing animals and birds. 鈥淲ithin a few years, I was so fascinated by wildlife conservation and Bhosale鈥檚 guidance that I quit alcohol,鈥� says Mali, who currently works for Maharashtra鈥檚 wildlife department. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not alcohol but wildlife conservation that makes me happy.鈥�

Bhosale believes that wildlife conservation鈥攁nd wildlife conservationists鈥攁re an important part of every community.

鈥淲henever you see any animal, bird, insect, or flower, you should often think about how the next generation and those after can see this beauty,鈥� he says. 鈥淲hen you start thinking of this, it makes you a wildlife conservationist.鈥�

But those days came to an abrupt end in 2005 when Hurricane Rita tore through Dulac, Louisiana, destroying his family鈥檚 residence along with nearly in Terrebonne Parish. Pierre鈥檚 boat was split in two. 

Parfait and his family left Dulac, along with many members of the community, and Parfait, who was 8 years old at the time, spent the rest of his childhood shuttling between southern Louisiana and eastern Texas. He attended four different schools in the span of eight years. 

Now 25, Parfait is helping his community navigate a future made uncertain by climate change. Last year he became chief of the 1,100-member Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw tribe. 

鈥淚 always knew I wanted to work on behalf of my people,鈥� Parfait says. He was chosen to be chief when he was 12 years old, after showing what former chief Shirell Parfait-Dardar (a distant cousin) described as a persistent interest in preserving tribal customs and helping the community. 鈥淗aving the title of future chief has guided me throughout my life, helping me to make decisions so that I would be prepared to be a leader in our future community.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Parfait lives in Marrero, about an hour from Dulac. As chief, he represents his tribe in negotiations with local and state governments, works with elders to organize community events, and leads outreach to other tribes. When he鈥檚 not attending to those duties, he鈥檚 working as a coastal resilience at the Environmental Defense Fund (EDF). There, he researches technical solutions to land loss, like sediment diversions and shoreline protection, and organizes with other regional advocacy groups. It鈥檚 a combination he describes as a 鈥渄ream role.鈥�

鈥淵ou don鈥檛 get a salary as chief,鈥� he says. 鈥淸This way], I can do my as chief supporting my community while also making sure I can afford to live.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

In the 18 years since , coastal erosion hundreds of square miles of southern Louisiana. Today, only about 800 people live in Dulac, down from 2,500 in 2000, and the only remaining grocery store is a Dollar Tree. 

鈥淎ll the time I hear from people that they want to leave, because of Dulac鈥檚 economy and cost of living,鈥� Parfait says, adding that flood insurance is a major expense for most residents around Louisiana鈥檚 low-lying areas. 鈥淓ven with all my luck, I still struggle, so what about everyone else?鈥�

Losing Land

Indigenous groups across the country face existential threats due to climate change. In 2016, residents of Isle de Jean Charles, about 10 miles east of Dulac, became known as the nation鈥檚 first 鈥溾�� after they received a $48 million federal grant to relocate inland. Most residents there belong to another branch of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw tribe. 

The relocation efforts, also known as managed retreat, were marred by accusations that the Department of Housing and Urban Development, which oversaw the process, and failed to reunify the community.

鈥淏ureaucratic exclusion is just the latest challenge,鈥� Parfait says, noting that the government breaking deals with tribes is 鈥渘othing new. That鈥檚 why we need to keep organizing.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

In 2021, Congress approved $130 million to help more tribes relocate. But the Grand Caillou/Dulac Band, though of Louisiana, is by the federal government, despite the band鈥檚 repeated applications for recognition.

That means Parfait鈥檚 community cannot access federal relocation or recovery aid, funds for tribal climate mitigation projects, or even from the Deepwater Horizon and BP oil-spill settlements (the latter still the lion鈥檚 share of Louisiana鈥檚 environmental ). Instead, each household is left to apply for assistance on its own. 

Consequently, many families鈥攊ncluding Parfait鈥檚鈥� the funds they need to rebuild. 鈥淲e need direct interaction with FEMA, just like other tribal and community leaders, if we are going to coordinate repairs and crisis response effectively and at scale,鈥� Parfait says. 

Long-Standing Inequities

Indigenous groups in the United States have lost more than 99% of their historical land, according to published in Science in 2021. When those groups were dispossessed of their land, they were typically pushed to less desirable land that today is more vulnerable to the effects of climate change.

From witnessing Dulac鈥檚 decline and hearing stories from his grandfather and other fishermen, Parfait had always sensed that his community was losing land more quickly than its non-Indigenous neighbors. In 2022, when he was a senior at Williams College, he set out to prove it. 

By studying satellite imagery of southern Louisiana, he that majority-Indigenous communities around the Grand Caillou and Dulac area were losing land at more than twice the rate of the rest of the state. 

鈥淓rasure of tribal knowledge is a constant fight,鈥� Parfait says. 鈥淵ou need to frame issues in ways that force decision-makers to pay attention. To produce something communities can use to advocate around land loss was really powerful to me,鈥� Parfait says. 鈥淚f we don鈥檛, nobody will.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

As a coastal resilience analyst, Parfait advocates for to land erosion, like canal-filling, which he describes as a way to let the land heal naturally. He says these practices won’t be enough to stop coastal erosion in its tracks, but they 鈥渃an help to buy us incredibly valuable time.鈥�

Coordinating Community

For Parfait, one of the most painful aspects of his family鈥檚 displacement was feeling disconnected from his tribe. He never learned to speak the language (a of Indigenous and Creole-influenced ), and his grades faltered as he struggled with . 

As chief, he wants to help the next generation feel connected to their traditions鈥攅ven if many relocate away from the coast. 

When damage from Hurricane Ida in 2021 made it difficult for Dulac facilities to host the band鈥檚 annual powwow celebration, Parfait partnered with members of the nearby Houma tribe to organize a joint ceremony. Today he leads marsh field trips for younger members of the tribe to teach them the science behind coastal erosion and frequently offers tours of the bayou to potential advocates, hosting visitors in his family鈥檚 home over jambalaya.

He communicates regularly with other tribes across the country who also face displacement. 鈥淚n some ways things seem bleak, if you just look at the situation between us and the government,鈥� he says, referring to mistrust stemming from the Isle de Jean Charles relocation efforts and his tribe鈥檚 lack of federal recognition. 鈥淏ut there鈥檚 a lot we are doing to educate our own community members, with other tribes in Alaska and Hawaii, and find collaborative ways forward.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Parfait鈥檚 day job with EDF also gives him some hope and a sense of agency. He鈥檚 currently a methodology to make it easier to fill in canals across the state, something he said will be crucial to slowing coastal erosion. 

鈥淲hile I would like to put unlimited time and effort into saving these lands, I also know there鈥檚 a good possibility that they will be gone anyway,鈥� he says. 鈥淪o we need a plan to be able to relocate together in a way that preserves our culture, heritage, and families.鈥�

This story was originally published in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

Seluchi runs the operation and modeling sector of the Center for Monitoring and Early Warning of Natural Disasters (Cemaden), a federal agency based in S茫o Paulo, Brazil. The center is in charge of observing vulnerable areas in about one-fifth of the country鈥檚 5,568 municipalities in which landslides and floods have the most impact. live in these high-risk zones.

Over the past decades, urbanization in Brazil has been largely unplanned and taken place at a chaotic pace. now live in cities and urban areas, according to the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics. 鈥淣obody is going to live in a risky area because they want to or because they are stupid,鈥� says Raquel Rolnik, an urbanist from the University of S茫o Paulo. 鈥淭hey are workers whose income does not allow for the purchase or rent of housing in a suitable location.鈥�

Larger populations living in high-exposure areas, combined with more frequent extreme weather events, trigger disasters. that global warming has boosted evaporation, adding more water vapor to the air, which causes more intense precipitation and unpredictable storms. This makes landslides even more common in Brazil鈥檚 Atlantic Forest, including the Serra do Mar mountains, which extend for 930 miles along the country鈥檚 coastline and reach up to 7,700 feet in elevation.

The rocks that comprise these mountains are covered by a thin layer of soil and vegetation, with a natural tendency to slide, explains F谩bio Augusto Reis Gomes, a geologist at S茫o Paulo State University. 鈥淗eavy rains make water infiltrate this soil, turning solid into liquid.鈥� On these steep slopes, some greater than 25 degrees, this liquid debris flows quickly downhill.

That鈥檚 just what happened on Thursday, February 16, 2023, when record-setting rains hit the S茫o Paulo coast in southeast Brazil. That day, Cemaden predicted a heavy rainfall and reported the dangers twice to local authorities. On Saturday night, municipalities received more specific alerts to put their contingency plans in place, having reached the maximum level of risk by midnight, according to Cemaden.

But various local municipalities responded differently to the information, and the resulting range of outcomes shows what鈥檚 at stake for communities in future disasters. 

Effective Warning Systems

While Cemaden鈥檚 forecasts predicted 7.8 inches of rain, the cities of Bertioga and S茫o Sebasti茫o received more than triple that amount. In Bertioga, 26.8 inches of rain fell in just one day鈥攖he highest amount ever recorded by a rain gauge in Brazil (not counting unmonitored areas). Since the city of Bertioga, population 65,000, is relatively flat and doesn鈥檛 have residences built in the hills, it was not particularly vulnerable. 鈥淭he biggest rain in history occurred there, but with no problems in terms of causing victims,鈥� Seluchi says.

The story was different 20 miles east, in the city of S茫o Sebasti茫o, population 90,000. Here in the early hours of Sunday morning, rain gauges recorded 24.6 inches of rain. Storms followed by landslides swept through a working-class complex on the slopes of Serra do Mar called Vila do Sahy, killing 64 people. These homes were built in the 1980s by poor families looking for jobs in the nearby beachside hot spot of Barra do Sahy, where wealthy families from big cities come for the sea-view hotels and well-equipped houses costing millions of dollars.

Despite their differences, these two worlds鈥擝arra and Vila鈥攁re closely linked. The only physical barrier between them is a single road. However, precarious housing conditions in the high-risk area ended up concentrating all the victims on the road鈥檚 poorest side, while on the opposite side, some moneyed people went so far as to hire helicopters to escape the devastation.

The city of S茫o Sebasti茫o did not release a single statement informing the public about the storms, which came in the days leading up to Carnival鈥攐ne of the most important holidays for tourism in Brazil. Preparations for the festivities were already in full swing. Normally the city receives 500,000 visitors on Carnival weekend, so ordering an evacuation would have meant losing the income potential from these tourists. Instead, lives were lost.

Twenty miles west of Bertioga, the city of Guaruj谩, population 322,000, had only infrastructure damage and no injuries in the storms, despite having more than 7,000 families living on slopes and in stilt houses. The city recorded the highest volume of rain in the past 70 years: around 16 inches. The municipality managed to avoid fatalities by listening to the warnings and not underestimating the conditions鈥� destructive potential鈥攁 lesson learned after experiencing landslides and floods in 2020 that left 34 dead.

When the 2023 storm hit, people from high-risk areas left their homes before getting impacted by the rain. The population was notified via social media, SMS, and on-site visits by the Civil Defense. (This is comparable to the United States Federal Emergency Management Agency, , but in Brazil, municipalities and states have their own Civil Defense offices too.) 鈥淭eams went to areas of geological risk on Friday and Saturday informing [them of ] the measures to be adopted in case of heavy rain, and community leaders reinforced the alert,鈥� according to an email from the City Hall of Guaruj谩鈥檚 press office.

However, an effective disaster prevention plan has to go beyond warnings.

Convincing People to Act

Across Brazil, to inform residents about possible risky situations associated with heavy rains. Some communities only have sirens, which 颈蝉苍鈥檛 enough, according to Reis, who is also a director of the Brazilian Federation of Geologists. 鈥淪ound alerts are the last step in the line, because when [a major storm] hits, many people don鈥檛 know what to do,鈥� he says. 鈥淏efore that, it is necessary to do training and simulations, mapping escape routes and shelter points.鈥�

Without an escape plan, evacuation warnings don鈥檛 do much good. That鈥檚 why Guaruj谩 Civil Defense鈥檚 ongoing work includes daily inspections in high-risk areas, climate monitoring, a geotechnical data platform, and lectures given in schools alongside simulations. 鈥淐ities are dynamic, and risk areas change over the years, so the mapping must be updated and the population informed about these changes during the training,鈥� Reis says.

The Brazilian Federation of Geologists highlights the problematic ways in which high-risk areas are often a low priority for administrations. 鈥淒isasters do not occur due to lack of technical knowledge, but mostly by negligence of local, state, and federal administrations. [The] risk management field has well-known mechanisms and tools and, whenever applied in time, they result in success,鈥� reads a released on February 24 to authorities and civil society.

Many deaths could be avoided if, for example, safe long-term housing was available and affordable for everyone.

One of the most important aspects of any safety plan is to convince the population of the danger. Even when people have the necessary information, some still refuse to leave their homes for fear of their belongings being looted, or they simply distrust the warning. 鈥淪ome residents say, 鈥業鈥檝e lived here for 40, 50 years and [no] disaster has ever happened,鈥欌�� Seluchi says. 鈥淭his is a big mistake, because today things that have never happened are happening now鈥攔ain with a frequency of every 50 years now occurs every five to 10 years.鈥�

Solutions at the Source

In the face of an evermore-threatening climate future, some communities have found their own means of raising awareness and preventing fatalities. S铆tio Concei莽茫ozinha is a century-old neighborhood on the Guaruj谩 estuary where some of the community鈥檚 6,000 residents live in homes built on stilts. Flooding was a problem for decades until the local community center launched an environmental project in 2020.

Primarily aimed at cleaning up street pollution, the project found that it could also avoid floods by reducing the garbage backing up storm drains. The project offers educational programs for families as well as janitorial services. And the cleanup works as a credit market: For each collected kilogram of recyclable material, such as plastic bottles, a person earns tickets that can then be exchanged for donated food baskets. Every month, more than a ton of recycled material is collected by the community.

鈥淩ecently, heavy rains have filled Guaruj谩 up, but not here,鈥� says Cristiane Santos de Lima, one of the women heading the project. 鈥淭he streets don鈥檛 flood anymore because you can鈥檛 find bottles covering the drains, obstructing the water evasion.鈥�

鈥淣o one has power, you can鈥檛 get gas, it鈥檚 difficult to make food, so everyone came here to eat,鈥� says owner Gustavo Irizarry. 鈥淭he line,鈥� he gestures down the block along the town鈥檚 central plaza, 鈥渆ndless.鈥�

Using a diesel generator, Lucy鈥檚 was running at about 75% capacity. The generator was loud, smelly, and expensive to run鈥擨rizarry spent $15,000 on diesel in the six months the grid was down. He was often up in the middle of the night to restart the generator because of the risk of losing power to the refrigerators. He didn鈥檛 want ingredients to spoil.

Now, nearly six years later, Irizarry is poised to generate his own energy from the sun. He鈥檚 one of 14 merchants in downtown Adjuntas who have invested in the island鈥檚 first community-owned solar microgrids鈥攅xpected to go live before this summer. 

鈥淎fter Maria, we saw the vulnerability and the necessity to have an electric system that truly works,鈥� Irizarry says. 鈥淭o have better, alternative power, to be able to live.鈥�

The microgrid project is the latest effort in a to build energy security in Puerto Rico in the form of solar power. Across the island, groups like , which first opened in Adjuntas more than 40 years ago, have relied on deep roots in the community to create local buy-in and make it an equitable transition.

鈥淭he microgrid is a major step in taking Puerto Rico from the vulnerability of the centralized fossil fuel system to the aspiration that I think we share in Puerto Rico,鈥� says Arturo Massol-Dey谩, associate director of Casa Pueblo. 鈥淭o use [renewable] fuels and generate power at the point of consumption, where it鈥檚 needed.鈥�

power small networks of buildings with energy that鈥檚 generated close to where it鈥檚 used, often wind or solar. The systems are typically connected to a central grid, but in the case of an outage they can run on 鈥渋sland mode,鈥� relying solely on locally generated power and battery storage capacity. 

Hurricane Maria of Puerto Rico鈥檚 power grid, and the subsequent outages, which lasted for months, contributed to the storm鈥檚 . Six years and in federal commitments later, Puerto Rico鈥檚 central grid is still in disrepair. 

Puerto Ricans suffer while spending, on average, on electricity, according to the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis. (The average American spends 2.4% on electricity.)

鈥淚t鈥檚 not an opportunity to move away from the centralized system,鈥� says Massol-Dey谩. 鈥淚n Puerto Rico, it鈥檚 a necessity.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Puerto Rico鈥檚 energy problems predate Maria. The island鈥檚 utility, the Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority (PREPA), had filed for bankruptcy in March 2017, nearly six months before Maria. In 2020, officials signed a 15-year contract giving LUMA Energy, a consortium of Canadian and United States companies, control over the transmission and distribution of electricity. Since LUMA took over, rates increased and . (LUMA did not respond to requests for comment.)

Renewable energy advocates, including the movement (We Want Sun), say the solution is obvious. Rooftop solar alone could provide the island鈥檚 residential energy demand, Department of Energy studies have shown. In 2019, Puerto Rican lawmakers of transitioning to 40% renewable energy by 2025 and 100% by 2050. But despite those commitments, the island currently sources less than 4% from renewables. In recent years, PREPA has advanced and even proposed on energy generated by rooftop solar to help pay its $9 million debt. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 the worst thing that could happen to Puerto Rico,鈥� says Massol-Dey谩 of a potential solar tax. (PREPA did not respond to requests for comment.)

For Massol-Dey谩, the outages following Maria were a tragedy鈥攂ut also a chance to extol the benefits of solar power. In the wake of the disaster, 础诲箩耻苍迟别帽辞蝉 gathered at Casa Pueblo, which had installed its first solar panels in 1999 and had gone off the electric grid entirely just months before Maria. Locals were able to charge phones, run dialysis machines, and store medications in the center鈥檚 refrigerators. One neighbor came daily to administer her son鈥檚 asthma treatment. 

Members of Puerto Rico鈥檚 got in touch with Casa Pueblo to ask how they could help. 鈥淲e told everyone, don鈥檛 send us money鈥攕end us solar lamps,鈥� Massol-Dey谩 says.

Over the next six months, the organization distributed 14,000 lamps. And in the last six years, it has helped fund and install more than 350 solar energy systems on buildings across town, including in an assisted living facility, a grocery store, the local fire station, and many homes in the poorest neighborhoods of Adjuntas. Casa Pueblo even built a , where locals charge phones using outlets that source energy from solar arrays resembling trees. 

In 2018, Salt Lake City鈥揵ased , which supports solar projects around the world, took notice of what was happening in Adjuntas. Then-director Dory Trimble reached out. 鈥淪he told us to think bigger,鈥� says Massol-Dey谩. 鈥淸We thought] why not do downtown Adjuntas, around the main square, which is what gives communities in Puerto Rico a sense of identity?鈥� 

Lucy鈥檚 is in one of seven buildings around Adjuntas鈥� central plaza connected to two half-megawatt battery storage systems that link to the central grid; in the case of an outage, the systems can 鈥渋sland,鈥� relying on their own generation and storage.

By creating a microgrid with other local businesses on the grid, including a bakery, hardware store, and pharmacy, Adjuntas could gain energy security during emergencies, all while starving the fossil fuel industry by unplugging those with the highest energy demands.

But as the microgrid idea was taking shape, Casa Pueblo鈥檚 late co-founder Tinti Dey谩 Diaz (Massol-Dey谩鈥檚 mother) said she wanted to ensure that lower-income residents would continue to benefit from the solar transition鈥攁fter all, households with solar power were paying about $40 less per month on their energy bills, according to Casa Pueblo.

That concern led Irizarry and the 13 other investors in the microgrid to form the Community Solar Energy Association of Adjuntas (ACESA), a nonprofit independent utility that reinvests in community solar projects, prioritizing homes of the most vulnerable 础诲箩耻苍迟别帽辞蝉. 鈥淲e each have a commitment to the community,鈥� says Irizarry. 

Their dedication paid off. When Hurricane Fiona hit in 2022, it caused , but the town鈥檚 solar-powered buildings were spared. The local fire station became a regional response center, intercepting calls from a station in Ponce, 15 miles to the south, which had lost power.

鈥淲hen you see the entire landscape, you know that we are still at risk鈥攚e are going to be confronting the same climate change challenges, hurricanes, earthquakes,鈥� says Massol-Dey谩. 鈥淏ut we are in a better situation for normal days, and we鈥檙e better positioned to confront difficult times as a community.鈥�

Adjuntas鈥� transition has earned it nationwide recognition. In March, Secretary of Energy Jennifer Granholm visited Casa Pueblo to discuss plans to to improve Puerto Rico鈥檚 grid. (The , approved by Congress in December, will focus on the island鈥檚 鈥渕ost vulnerable and disadvantaged households and communities.鈥�) Following her visit, Granholm , 鈥淭hey鈥檙e leading by example, showing that 100% solar power is possible for Puerto Rico.鈥�

Other communities on the island are interested in replicating Adjuntas鈥� model. The is working to develop a solar microgrid in Maricao, 30 miles west of Adjuntas. Last March, director Andrew Hermann visited Adjuntas with Maricao residents.

鈥淪eeing [the microgrid] in person and talking to business owners that are super pro-microgrid鈥攊t鈥檚 really assuring the business owners here,鈥� Hermann says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the type of energy that helps build these projects from the ground up.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

This article appeared in听听and Next City as part of a that looks at how cities are tackling inequality and the climate crisis.听听is an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow听.

After a day or two spent adventuring outside, I come back to my day-to-day with an extra spring in my step. The outdoors is where I feel most affirmed in my queer and trans identities, and most at home in my body. In a society where the trans community is vilified and targeted, taking a few hours or days to move my body outside鈥攚hether hiking, biking, skiing, or simply taking in the beauty of my surroundings鈥攊s a welcome reprieve. 

Mother Nature doesn鈥檛 judge me or my body the way people or society often do. She treats me with respect and grace, just as she will the next person who comes down the trail. She will do this, however, only if we do the hard work of protecting her from the systems that are actively working to destroy her in the name of economic gain and the comfort of the status quo.

The forces and systems that harm nature in our extractive, exploitative political economy are the . We have a common enemy, but more importantly, a shared vision of what our future can be. 

Queer ecology, which stems from the overlap of queer theory and ecology, , rather than forcing it into the binaries and categories that our society craves. Environmentalist and community organizer Priya Subberwall advocates for rejecting the idea of a single narrative in favor of recognizing that people and nature contain multitudes. 

Queer ecology鈥檚 recognition of the nebulous, infinitely nuanced, and beautiful nature of nature provides critical insights into how we as a global society can justly move forward in the face of our climate crisis. 

Nature, of course, is full of contradictions, paradoxes, and ironies. Same-sex sexual behavior has been observed in 鈥攆rom penguins and dolphins to damselflies and nematode worms鈥攕howing us that queerness is indeed a natural phenomenon. Ecosystems celebrate diversity and , which explains why our society, arguably just a glorified human ecosystem run almost exclusively by a homogenous group of people, is not thriving. 

Queer ecology embraces the expanse of the possible and the liberation from categories. It centers the innumerable, dynamic relationships between all things, in ways that society鈥檚 binaries and categories can鈥檛 comprehend. We need queer ecology to inform environmental policy going forward, as it brings holistic ideas and decolonial frameworks that can work synergistically to ensure a just transition. 

Queer ecology鈥檚 recognition of the nebulous, infinitely nuanced, and beautiful nature of nature鈥攚hich is so often overlooked in the conference rooms where economic decisions and climate policies are made鈥攑rovides critical insights into how we as a global society, encompassing both humans and nature, can justly move forward in the face of our climate crisis. 

Against Oppression

Holding and expressing queer identities can socially, politically, and economically impact one鈥檚 ability to thrive in our society. Health care and housing (or the lack thereof) are two of many lenses through which to view how the climate crisis will disproportionately impact the queer community. Rates of HIV prevalence, as well as other chronic and mental illnesses, are much higher within the queer community, making many reliant on intensive, long-term medical care. In the event of ever-more-frequent climate disasters, medical care is often interrupted for long periods of time, putting people鈥檚 health in jeopardy. 

Emergency health clinics established in the aftermath of such events might not be safe spaces for queer people. For instance, they might require identification that doesn鈥檛 match with people鈥檚 names or gender identities, putting up bureaucratic obstacles to people getting the care they desperately need. Such emergency clinics and volunteer workers are often sourced from other communities, where homophobia and transphobia might be more prevalent, or from religious organizations that denounce homosexuality. Especially before gay marriage was legalized, and were discriminated against in the process. These barriers to accessing care are a distressingly common theme within the queer community and will only be worsened with the disproportionate impacts of climate change and unjust environmental policy.

Voices of those in the queer and other marginalized communities must be centered in discussions of environmental policy.

Housing is another area where queer people commonly face extra barriers. Nineteen states in the United States don鈥檛 have anti-discrimination housing policies. Paired with homophobic NIMBY mentalities, this failure to protect marginalized populations pushes queer people and community spaces into 鈥済ayborhoods鈥� and creates . While concentrations of queer people and families may offer social well-being, they are most levels. Such living conditions can worsen and complicate the already higher rates of HIV and other chronic illnesses seen in the queer community.

For these reasons and countless others, voices of those in the queer and other marginalized communities must be centered in discussions of environmental policy; ultimately, they will be the ones who weather the failure or successes of climate mitigation strategies.

Queer Wisdom

The U.S.鈥檚 approach to climate and environmental policy, so far, has been lackluster at best and discriminatory, shortsighted, unimaginative, and insufficient at worst. We need to reevaluate and rejuvenate the ways that we address such crises, and understand them as having myriad social consequences that most dramatically affect the communities who have already been the most marginalized by our society. 

Looking at climate change and other environmental crises through queer theory prioritizes solutions that encourage our societies to . Queer communities are rooted in unconditional love and caring, and the rejection of society鈥檚 imposed binaries and restrictive norms. In their work as queer and trans climate justice advocates, Aletta Brady, Anthony Torres, and Phillip Brown push for of resilience, interconnection, and compassion to be extended to our relationship with nature and the planet. 

One of the tenets of climate justice is that everyone needs and deserves a planet where they can be safe and thrive. Queer communities have been , albeit in different contexts. The existential threats the queer community faced during the AIDS crisis, as well as centuries of homophobia and transphobia, created intergenerational trauma, but it also created intergenerational activism. The queer community wants spaces where we can sustain and celebrate our authentic selves, be it with the return of lesbian bars or by stopping sea-level rise. 

Nature needs this queerness to thrive, and, like it or not, our human society does too.

I yearn for a world where governments and corporations are dedicated to remedying environmental injustices, where biodiversity is valued and protected, and where my access, as a trans person, to gender-affirming health care, sports, and public bathrooms doesn鈥檛 ruffle any feathers. This world is rooted in a simple truth: Climate justice is part of queer justice, and queer justice is part of climate justice.

Solutions to climate change and ecological degradation lie at the intersections of social justice and advocacy of all types鈥攓ueer justice and beyond. A just way forward requires shifting our understanding of our relationship with the planet. We need to embrace regenerative solutions and turn to compassionate communities. 

Joy within the queer and trans communities is an act of resistance. Embodying queerness authentically and unapologetically is a against oppressive, exploitative systems. As queer writer and educator Eve Ettinger writes, one of the queer community鈥檚 strongest cultural norms and defining features is the 鈥�.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The strategies we have in place to mitigate environmental crises are not working. Environmental policy is in dire need of a kick-start. Grassroots activism that centers frontline voices, paired with principles of queer ecology, might be exactly what we need to move forward in a just, equitable manner that ensures the health and safety of our planet and all people. Though the burden of action should not be on the shoulders of those who have been marginalized by our society, these communities have wisdom and experience that can help to rejuvenate the environmental movement as well as environmental policies. The queer community鈥檚 culture of optimism, creativity, and joy in the face of adversity is a powerful tool. 

I鈥檝e seen this time and time again. In the gritty yet impassioned outpouring of drag brunches and drag story hours around the country in response to the onslaught of bans on drag shows, 滨鈥檓 struck by the joy that the queer community kindles in the face of oppression. We are at these events to celebrate our community and honor these forms of connection as powerful tools of change. 

Nature is full of queerness. Nature needs this queerness to thrive, and, like it or not, our human society does too. And with this diversity, creativity, and queerness, in the words of environmentalist and drag queen Pattie Gonia, 鈥�.鈥�

As he writes in his 2022 book, , 鈥淲e have our ears to the ground and we are listening to our eight-spot butterfly, whose forest home is being razed for a machine-gun range. We are doing what we can to save her. We are protesting. We are working to save two rare plants whose leaves she lays her eggs on. We are suing U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service on her behalf. We are not naive. We know we might not win. But we also know we owe it to her to fight at least as hard as she does.鈥� He goes on to describe the species鈥� six larval instars between an egg hatching and becoming a butterfly. 鈥淚t stops my blood to think about that. She has to die six times in order to live.鈥�

Aguon鈥檚 work as a lawyer requires him to navigate what he calls 鈥渢he architecture of exclusion鈥� in existing Western legal systems, which make even establishing standing to bring forth a case difficult. He describes the process as the system holding the door shut, while he and others struggle to force it open incrementally in order to join the conversation. 

But Aguon鈥檚 work is far more than just making technical legal arguments; he鈥檚 trying to change the way the law sees the inherent dignity, worth, and rights of nonhuman entities.

鈥淲e have our own version of what it means to be human on this planet. We have our own version of what good relations look like,鈥� he says. 鈥淲hat I try to do is to identify those values that I would say are our constitutive values: They鈥檙e the values that make us who we are as a people, the values that encompass the beating heart of what it means to be a true moral person.鈥�

In Guam, that looks like stopping further militarization of the island. And connecting that opposition to related struggles across the Pacific and on the United States mainland鈥攖o support Vanuatu鈥檚 efforts to get climate change recognized by the International Court of Justice, to end the crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women in North America, to oppose construction of Line 3 through wild rice country. 

鈥淭hat matters. It really does. Because if we lose our ability to relate to each other, how are we ever going to mobilize our political energies in service of fighting for each other鈥檚 causes?鈥� Those relationships and alliances, Aguon says, must cross ideological, geographical, and political borders, and share a collective sense of urgency鈥攁s well as a shared celebration of each other鈥檚 victories, abundance, and joy. Because that, too, is a critical part of being able to continue doing the work. 

Aguon lives in a quiet village on the island of Guam, sandwiched between the jungle and the ocean. Here he is beset by a wide variety of his other-than-human relatives: giant monitor lizards and so many species of butterflies. He says he needs to be in close proximity to the sea in order to persist in this work; the sound of the waves settles him. And when he needs a boost, he listens to Janelle Mon谩e.

鈥淚 just do this [as] a small part of what so many other people do,鈥� he explains. 鈥湵踱�檓 part of this global climate justice movement and Indigenous rights movement, and I don鈥檛 think I would be as helpful as I am if I wasn鈥檛 also engaged in exceedingly concrete work, to fight injustice, or to repair the world.鈥�

Aguon does this work through the legal system and also through writing. 

鈥淐limate change has put us on this unforgiving timeline,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 mean, the crisis is here and it鈥檚 banging down the door. And writers have to do battle. We have to do more than use our words, we have to wield 迟丑别尘.鈥�

Aguon thinks deeply about words, both in English鈥攖he language of his people鈥檚 colonizers鈥攁nd in his native Chamorro, though he says he 颈蝉苍鈥檛 fluent. 

鈥淥ne part of our project as writers is to do this repair work, and that work starts with language itself,鈥� Aguon says. 鈥淧eople in power are relentless in their abuse of language, in their corruption of language.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He points to the example of a recent ribbon-cutting ceremony to celebrate the reopening of a Marine Corps base in Guam. He says the rhetoric deployed that day was all about 鈥渟ustainability鈥� and 鈥渟ustainable peace.鈥� Aguon laughed in the recounting, because the U.S. military, being the largest institutional producer and consumer of greenhouse gases in the world, is 鈥渢he definition of unsustainability.鈥� And how can an institution designed to engage in various war games talk about peace in any meaningful way?

鈥淚t鈥檚 the purposeful corruption and perverting of language,鈥� Aguon says. 鈥淭hese words mean nothing anymore, because we get to pretend they mean anything.鈥�

He elucidates another example in the book: 鈥淲e need not worry, our leaders tell us. We are a resilient people. We need only summon that strength now. Will someone please tell them that resilience is not a thing to be trotted out in trying times like a kind of prized pony?鈥�

Aguon has no patience for the ways in which people in power employ words like 鈥渞esilience鈥� in bad faith, hollowing them out and emptying them of their meaning. And he takes heart that reciprocity, so critical to Indigenous worldviews, has thus far avoided this commodification. 

鈥淲riters are engaged in exactly the opposite enterprise,鈥� Aguon says. 鈥淲e want to clarify our intent, not to cloud it. We want to distribute power as opposed to hoard it. We want to write for the people. 鈥� We鈥檙e using this thing called writing to try to wake people up.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The work of confronting empire is almost always loud, he explains in the book, so he wants to force the reader to lean in and listen. He says that now more than ever we need radical listening鈥攖o the voices of those more vulnerable than us, whose lives are more precarious than our own.

The words and voice are critical, as is the audience for which they are written. In describing the collection of short pieces that comprise No Country for Eight-Spot Butterflies, he says: 鈥淥ne could argue that 滨鈥檓 writing for an American audience because 滨鈥檓 trying to show people in this country what their government is doing in their name and with their dollars鈥攖his spreading U.S. war machine, and the widespread adverse impacts on frontline communities like my own. And on the other hand, I write鈥擨 have pieces in here that I won鈥檛 name, but they鈥檙e really clearly meant for my own people.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

He says he鈥檚 trying to take Toni Morrison鈥檚 approach to writing beyond the white gaze and extend that analogy to a colonial context鈥攖o write beyond the colonial gaze. 鈥淲e are more than our suffering. Yes, my people have suffered unspeakable violence at the hands of the U.S. military, over such a long period of time. The U.S. has engaged in massive land-grabbing after the Second World War, and has continued a project of dispossession in so many ways.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淏ut also there鈥檚 beauty here,鈥� he continues. 鈥淚 write of the beauty of this beach on the northern end of the island with sand shaped like stars.鈥� And so, he says, insisting on the imperative of beauty is an equally essential part of the collective work. 

鈥淪o 滨鈥檓 also writing for that audience, to soothe as well, because we are exhausted. When a people is endlessly confronted by the U.S. war machine, which finds evermore clever, or surreptitious ways to unfurl itself, and suck up all of the air, we have to find ways to love each other through this process. And so the book sort of does both in some ways; I have both audiences in mind. And I think that it鈥檚 becoming clear that we have to have both audiences in mind.鈥�

Aguon says the book is like a tasting: He鈥檚 gathered an array of different small bites of writing for readers to sample. Now, with two books and a Pulitzer finalist to his name, Aguon鈥檚 goal is to take his writing to the next level. 鈥淚 have seen men and women fully alive in the kitchen, preparing a meal with love. That鈥檚 what 滨鈥檓 trying to do. 滨鈥檓 just trying to prepare a meal with love,鈥� he says, 鈥渨hich is daunting, because 滨鈥檓 trying to write something that is both very clear-eyed in its critique, but also nourishing.鈥�

That recipe of nourishment and critique, he hopes, results in much-needed insight鈥攁nd inspiration toward care, attention, and ultimately action鈥攁s the climate crisis brings us all rapidly toward catastrophic changes. 鈥淲e have so much information,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e have too much information. But we don鈥檛 have enough insight.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

To address this, he鈥檚 currently working on a book-length version of he published in The Atlantic that made him a Pulitzer finalist, 鈥淭o Hell With Drowning.鈥� As he writes in that piece, 鈥淲e who are waist-deep in that [climate justice] movement need more than facts to win. We need stories. And not just stories about the stakes, which we know are high, but stories about the places we call home. Stories about our own small corners of the Earth as we know them. As we love 迟丑别尘.鈥�

So while Aguon鈥檚 ideas about uniting the entire global community to engage in climate justice may seem lofty, his methods are refreshingly down-to-earth. As he writes in the book, 鈥淎ny people who profess to love freedom permit others room. Room to grow, to change their minds, to mess up, to leave, to come back in. 鈥� But perhaps that is the whole unromantic utterly useful point: the part cannot save the whole. And I think this should not so much make us tentative, as it should anchor us in the reality of our collective vulnerability, in the immediacy of our connection. So anchored, another truth becomes plain: it is strength, not power, that must be the object of our affection.鈥�

She called Suzanne Washington, who runs the . 鈥淭hat overlap of their demographic and the demographic that faces great risk from heat is almost identical,鈥� Papaefthimiou says.

Over the next couple of days, Washington and a group of staff identified their most vulnerable clients, recruited volunteers, and started making calls. 鈥淲e were asking, 鈥楧o you have a fan? Do you know this heat is coming? Are you prepared? Could you get to a cooling center? Do you know where [the nearest one] is?鈥� Washington says. 

She and her team at Meals on Wheels collected donated fans and air conditioners, which the organization鈥檚 drivers brought with them on their food-delivery routes. The team conducted wellness checks by phone and helped clients find rides to cooling centers. 

Washington remembers calling a woman in her 80s who said she had just fainted, had a headache, and didn鈥檛 feel well. 鈥淲e sent out help,鈥� Washington says. 鈥淭hat person was in the heat-exhaustion phase and heading toward the next phase鈥濃�攈eatstroke, a life-threatening condition. The quick actions and persistent outreach of Portland鈥檚 local Meals on Wheels chapter most certainly saved lives.

Meals on Wheels, which originated in the United Kingdom during the Second World War, is not a climate organization鈥攐r even an emergency-response organization in the traditional sense. Rather, the program is best known for delivering hot meals to lower-income seniors. 

Researchers have found that nonprofit meal-delivery programs can reduce loneliness, risk of falls, and the need for institutional care.

But in recent years, as climate disasters increase in frequency and intensity, the broader mission鈥攖o 鈥溾�� of the seniors Meals on Wheels programs serve鈥攈as taken on new urgency.

Climate-related disasters, like extreme heat, hurricanes, and wildfires do not affect all populations equally. If you鈥檙e Black, or poor, you鈥檙e more likely to live in an that can get dangerously hot during a heatwave. You鈥檙e also to live in a low-lying area prone to hurricane damage and flooding.

People who are older, who have limited mobility, and who are isolated are among the during climate emergencies. In Multnomah County, which encompasses Portland, 56 of the 69 people whose deaths were were over 60 years old. Forty-eight of the dead had lived alone. 

There are more than 5,000 Meals on Wheels programs across the country serving more than 2.4 million people, according to , the leadership organization that supports local branches. These programs, which often have , have been shown to improve older Americans鈥� diets and nutritional intake, but their benefits go beyond food security.

Heat kills about 12,000 Americans each year, and around 80% of those deaths are in . When Hurricane Ian last year, most of those who died were over 60. When the Camp Fire engulfed the California town of Paradise, killing 85, the of the dead was 72 years, according to a Cal Matters analysis.

鈥淎nytime you鈥檙e dealing with a natural disaster or climate change-related event, you鈥檙e dealing with events that cause morbidity and mortality and ultimately lead to people succumbing to their chronic medical illnesses,鈥� says David Dosa, a geriatrician and researcher at Brown University. 

Older people are more likely to struggle with mobility, making it more difficult to evacuate an area that is flooding or in the path of a wildfire. They are also more likely to have health issues that require electrical devices, such as oxygen tanks or refrigerators for medicine, making power outages potentially deadly. And they are more likely to suffer from chronic conditions exacerbated by stress.

鈥淲hen 鈥楳rs. Smith鈥� dies in her apartment a week after a heat wave, she鈥檚 dying of COPD [chronic obstructive pulmonary disease] or heart failure. She鈥檚 not necessarily 鈥榙ying of the heatwave,鈥� even though chances are good that she was destabilized by the heat,鈥� Dosa says. 鈥淭he real body count ends up being much higher [than the official count],鈥� he adds.

Residents of assisted living facilities don鈥檛 necessarily fare better during emergencies. According to a released in February of this year, extreme weather events in 17 states have forced evacuations or led to injuries and deaths in long-term care facilities. In Florida, nine residents of a single nursing home after Hurricane Irma knocked out the facility鈥檚 air conditioning.

What does keep people safe is contact with others and contingency plans鈥攕uch as having a list of emergency contacts on the refrigerator and enough food, water, and medication on hand to last several days鈥攕ays Dosa.

As Hurricane Ian approached South Florida last year, Stefanie Ink Edwards, CEO of and head of Fort Myers鈥� Meals on Wheels, raced to distribute hundreds of hurricane kits with water, nonperishable food, flashlights, and batteries. Staff and volunteers offered rides to shelters and made sure clients had those emergency numbers on the fridge. 

The storm hit Fort Myers on Wednesday, September 28, 2022. That night Ink Edwards could barely sleep. 鈥淚 was so worried about all of our homebound seniors, some of whom lived in really low-lying areas,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the really scary part for us, not so much the preparation for the storm but鈥攚hat鈥檚 it going to look like during the storm and then after? Are we going to be able to get to them?鈥� 

The following morning, Ink Edwards inspected the organization鈥檚 kitchen and was relieved to discover it had sustained minimal damage. 鈥淏y Friday, we were delivering meals and supplies again,鈥� she says.

The roads were littered with debris, and clients had a litany of requests: bottled water, a generator for an oxygen tank, help to remove a branch that had crashed through a roof. 鈥淲e do whatever we can,鈥� says Ink Edwards. 鈥淲e鈥檒l end up finding a roofer, but in the interim, to put the Band-Aid on it, my volunteers and staff are the ones tarping roofs.鈥�

Researchers have found that nonprofit meal-delivery programs can , , and the . One economic analysis of the model found that a in the number of people using the service was associated with a $109 million reduction in Medicaid spending.

鈥淲hat sets these programs apart is the daily interaction鈥攖he informal wellness check-in and the socialization that recipients receive by nature of these meals showing up at lunchtime, every day [or] multiple days a week,鈥� says Kali Thomas, a researcher at Brown University who has authored several studies on meal-delivery programs. 

In New York, the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated one of the most dangerous hazards of old age: isolation. 鈥淭here are still so many who are afraid to go out, afraid to shop,鈥� says Beth Shapiro, the executive director of . 鈥淭he meal and the check-in coming to their door are really a lifeline.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Jackie, a 73-year-old Queens resident and Citymeals client who asked that her last name be withheld, says she looks forward to her six-days-a-week deliveries. Two volunteers鈥擯ablo and Veronica鈥攖ake turns dropping meals off at her home. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like having a niece and nephew visit every day,鈥� she says. 

Jackie, who struggles with shortness of breath, heart palpitations, and poor vision, has lived alone since her mother died several years ago. 鈥淚 hibernate when it鈥檚 hot out because of my breathing problems,鈥� she says. During the summer, she relies on a single air conditioner in her living room and deliveries from her local pharmacy and deli to stay out of the heat. 鈥湵踱�檓 fortunate to have people like that because when you鈥檙e alone鈥攏o family, no siblings鈥攜ou have to be independent,鈥� she says. 

Jackie says that Citymeals has the phone number of one of her friends, who lives down the street. 鈥淚f for some reason I don鈥檛 answer the phone, they鈥檒l call her to make sure that she [knows 滨鈥檓] OK. If they can鈥檛 get ahold [of me or] her, they鈥檒l call 911 to make sure that 滨鈥檓 not dead or unconscious on the floor.鈥� (Cities, including New York, have adopted similar to keep vulnerable residents safe during heatwaves.)

During the first two years of the pandemic, Citymeals on Wheels more than doubled its annual deliveries and started substituting in-person visits with wellness calls. Volunteers have largely gone back to making in-person visits, but Shapiro says her organization is investing in expanding its check-in call program. 

Citymeals is also training volunteers to identify signs of heat-related illness. 鈥淭he people we鈥檙e feeding are living on extremely fixed incomes,鈥� says Shapiro. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e making the decision to鈥攊f they have an air conditioner鈥攖o turn it on or not. So we have to be very aware of what鈥檚 going on and check in.鈥�

For Shapiro, the climate crisis hasn鈥檛 changed Citymeals鈥� mission so much as focused it. After Hurricane Sandy, the organization bought a 25,000-square-foot building in the Bronx to use as its operations hub. Shapiro never thought they鈥檇 use the entire building: 鈥淎nd then came COVID, and we were filled to the gills.鈥�

She adds, 鈥淪o much of our planning is now around emergencies.鈥�

This story originally appeared in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

Blackberries are perhaps the best known of all foraged wild fruits. Whether they grow modestly on the perimeters of a ramshackle farm or thrive ruthlessly along the banks of a forgotten creek, there are hundreds of hidden wild blackberry havens waiting for opportunistic berry fanatics.

Blackberries exist to lure the weak-willed away from the straight-and-narrow path. Their thorns will scratch, and the company they keep can hurt you. Everything flanking straight-and-narrow paths is bound to be interesting, so I say go for it, but I do have a cautionary tale.

Years ago I had just moved to California and was happily exploring the town of Sonoma, where I had recently set up in a little apartment. I discovered a bike path and trails branching off it into the hills, where my running route wound through madrone groves and next to vineyards. In those days I ran for hours and hours under the blare of the midday summer sun, and it made me a little loopy. When I noticed blackberry brambles not far off the bike path, I got right up in them and gobbled up berries to rehydrate. What I didn鈥檛 notice in my frenzy was poison oak鈥攂lackberries have an affinity for it, as tomatoes do with basil鈥攁nd the back of my hand must have grazed a cluster right before I used that same hand to wipe giant beads of perspiration off my face.

A week later I had a robust breakout of seeping poison oak blisters on my upper lip. The ooze of the blisters would dry into a crust the color of light amber. It took all of my willpower not to pick at it constantly. While so afflicted, I met Julia Child at a book signing. As she kindly inscribed my copy of Baking with Julia and offered earnest advice about a career in food writing, all I could think of was my marred face.

听

If I had not contracted that poison oak, perhaps I鈥檇 have been more receptive to Julia Child鈥檚 career insights and not floundered around for years working crummy retail jobs and scrounging for oddball freelance gigs. But I鈥檇 not be who I am today. And guess what鈥擨 still get rashes from overenthusiastically taking off after trailside fruit! I have learned nothing!

The blackberries in question were undoubtedly the invasive Himalayan blackberry brambles that overrun hillsides and choke out native species, but that does not mean the fruit of these dominating opportunists cannot be harvested and eaten with aplomb (just look out for poison oak or poison ivy). Himalayan blackberries (R. armeniacus) are not prized for their flavor鈥擨 find them sour and wan, though if you鈥檙e in the middle of running 12 miles (19 km) they hit the spot like nothing else. And if you come across a lot of them, there鈥檚 always our good friend sugar to make them more palatable.

Disappointingly, the Himalayan blackberry is not from the Himalayas. It originated in Armenia and was introduced to Europe in 1835 for people to cultivate as a crop on purpose, if you can believe that. Like a gremlin doused with water, it escaped its confinement and rampantly spread throughout the continent. America鈥檚 own beloved plant maestro Luther Burbank introduced it in America in 1885, likely with no suspicion of how aggressively it would take root all up and down the West Coast. Burbank鈥檚 aim was to develop fruit and vegetable plants that would withstand long periods of shipping鈥攖his was when our nation鈥檚 transcontinental transportation network was coming into its tween years鈥攕o residents of our increasingly urbanized cities could have access to fresh produce. It鈥檚 Burbank who named it the Himalaya Giant, for the size of the berries. He sold the seeds through his seed catalog.

Feral Himalayan blackberries are deeply intertwined with the cultural identity of modern residents of California and the Pacific Northwest. The thickets are everywhere, at once loved and loathed. Tom Robbins set his 1980 novel Still Life with Woodpecker in a Seattle suburb where an exiled king and his family live in a house surrounded with a natural barricade of blackberries. Homeowners and naturalists engage in a never-ending battle with its burly, snaggy tendrils. My brother, who does non-native plant removal, owes his livelihood in part to Himalayan blackberries.

And yet there are the berries themselves, a seasonal token of redemption for the Rubus armeniacus, a plant impossible to eradicate. Therefore, we must coexist. If the truce lasts only as long as the berries, so be it.

Of course, there are hundreds of varieties of blackberries, native and crossbred. Some have thorns; others don鈥檛. Blackberries and raspberries both belong to the genus Rubus. Think of them as the patriarch and matriarch of the bramble clan. The extended family of Rubus pedigrees (boysenberries, loganberries, tayberries) are considered blackberries regardless of their color, because once picked, they retain their firm white core (or receptacle); raspberries don鈥檛. This receptacle is why blackberries have a longer shelf life than raspberries鈥攖hey don鈥檛 crush as easily.

Late summer is the time for blackberries. Farmed crops start coming into season in the middle of June, but the best wild berries don鈥檛 start appearing until July, with holdouts ripening into September. An old English folktale warns against picking blackberries after the fall, when the devil makes a mark on their leaves and claims them as his own, although in reality it鈥檚 more likely birds would have claimed the berries by then anyway.

Gathering fresh blackberries is not without its perils鈥攊nsects, blazing sun, scratchy weeds鈥攂ut the rewards are many. Few activities tap so directly into the spirit of summer.

Native to Asia, Europe, and North and South America, blackberries can be found growing on all continents except Antarctica. In Europe and in North America, blackberries have been used for medicinal purposes for hundreds of years; various preparations of blackberry juice, leaves, and bark were said to soothe eye and mouth ailments, aid digestion, relieve toothaches, and remedy dysentery. Today the focus is more on blackberries鈥� nutritional value: They are rich in antioxidants and dietary fiber.

Harvesting and Storage

Ripe blackberries are deep, dark purple-black鈥攏ot purple, and certainly not red or green. Berries on a given plant ripen in stages, offering opportunities to revisit a patch to replenish supplies as the weeks pass. Blackberries ripen only on the branch and will not become sweeter during storage. When picked, a ripe blackberry should come free of the plant with nothing more than a gentle nudge. Watch out for thorns, too; not all blackberry bushes have them, but most wild ones do.

Once picked, blackberries don鈥檛 hold up very long. Blackberries kept at room temperature may mold quickly, so refrigerate them 3 to 4 days, tops; as the blackberries age, they lose their sheen and plumpness, taking on a slightly withered, matte look. Like most other berries, wash them directly prior to eating and no earlier; a premature rinse will lead to mushy berries.

Culinary Possibilities

Barring an all-out bonanza of fresh berry eating, there are two ways to make good on a prodigious blackberry harvest. One is to launch into a frenzy of canning; the other, which is less demanding and more versa- tile, is to freeze the berries. You don鈥檛 need pectin to make jam, but many like to add it. Soft or squishy berries that are still good flavorwise are a smart addition to shrubs, sangria, sorbet, compotes, or anything saucy.

Balsamic Blackberry Compote

Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)

Showcase the last berries of summer in a simple spiced compote set off with a drizzle of balsamic. Serve this on rice pudding, panna cotta, or plain yogurt.

3 cups (435 g) blackberries
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1鈦�4 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch ground nutmeg
1鈦�2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
1鈦�2 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

Combine all the ingredients from the berries through the zest in a medium skillet over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the berries release their liquid. Simmer 1 to 3 minutes to reduce a little, then crush with a potato masher, leaving half of berries intact. Add the vinegar, and remove from the heat. Serve warm, cold, or at room temperature. Refrigerated, the compote will keep for 1 week.

This excerpt is adapted from Sara Bir鈥檚 book The Fruit Forager鈥檚 Companion: Ferments, Desserts, Main Dishes, and More from Your Neighborhood and Beyond (Chelsea Green, 2018) and is printed with permission from the publisher.

The cedar watch house is the central gathering place for the campaign鈥檚 direct actions, which will continue throughout the week.

At Kwekwecnewtxw, or 鈥渁 place to watch from,鈥� in Burnaby, B.C., tribal elders are holding ceremonies and keeping watch over the construction of the Kinder Morgan Trans Mountain pipeline expansion. Volunteers began construction of Kwekwecnewtxw, a traditional cedar watch house, on Saturday, March 10. It is the gathering point of , a new campaign launched to stop the pipeline.

The Trans Mountain pipeline expansion would more than double the capacity of the existing pipeline that runs from the Alberta tar sands to the Vancouver coast. The construction unceded First Nations territory and would significantly increase tanker traffic in the Burrard Inlet, threatening salmon and orcas native to the Salish Sea. It was approved by Canada鈥檚 Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in November 2016.

Protect the Inlet is a part of growing indigenous-led efforts to stop construction of the Trans Mountain expansion. Efforts like the recent construction of the watch house build on ongoing work to place tiny houses in the path of the pipeline. These acts of resistance are rooted in traditional cultural values, and they鈥檙e also providing benefits for people who would be negatively impacted by the project.

Coast protectors build a traditional watch house while thousands march

While construction of the traditional Coast Salish watch house began on Saturday, thousands of indigenous leaders and concerned citizens marched in the Vancouver, B.C., metro area. Canadian police estimated that over five thousand people attended. March organizers put that number between 8 to 10 thousand.

At the protest, indigenous leaders representing nations throughout Canada and across North America stood in solidarity with communities along the pipeline鈥檚 route.

鈥淲hen it comes to the Kinder Morgan pipeline project, our nations are deeply, deeply concerned about the impact that this will have on our rights as a people today and the rights of people to come,鈥� said Dustin Rivers, elected councilor with the Squamish Nation. 鈥淥ur people have lived here for thousands of years, and we will continue to do so for thousands more. But we cannot sit by idly and let this project 鈥� threaten our livelihood, our lives, our territory, our waters, and our culture.鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 very important that we take it back to our old teachings.鈥�

The 鈥淐oast Protectors鈥� who marched on Saturday gathered for a rally near the construction site to hear speeches and songs from First Nations representatives across Canada and the U.S.

鈥淲e鈥檝e been in court with this matter eight years now, and within the last few years we came up with the idea [to build the watch house],鈥� said Will George, spokesman for Protect the Inlet and member of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation. Traditionally, Coast Salish people had watch houses 鈥渟et up at locations for centuries so that we could look out for any threat that comes towards our land or our waters.鈥�

George said his spiritual leaders and elders asked him to build the structure.

鈥淚t鈥檚 very important that we take it back to our old teachings,鈥� he said.

After the march, tribal elders were invited to enter the watch house and bless the structure, which was built directly over the existing Trans Mountain pipeline. Starting on Saturday, members of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation will occupy the structure.

鈥淗aving a watch house on this location is sending a strong message to Kinder Morgan that this pipeline won鈥檛 be built,鈥� George said.

Tiny houses provide homes鈥攁nd sites of resistance

Kwekwecnewtxw听颈蝉苍鈥檛 the first structure to be built in the path of the pipeline. Since the fall, Native women have been leading efforts to build and place tiny houses in the path of construction throughout the 322-mile pipeline route.

The project was founded by indigenous environmental and women鈥檚 rights activist Kanahus Manuel of the Secwepemc and Ktunaxa Nations.

鈥淩ight now we are working in collaboration with other indigenous communities to build 10 of them on the Kinder Morgan pipeline. There are three of them built so far, we鈥檙e going to be deploying them soon,鈥� Manuel said. 鈥淭hese tiny houses will be strategically placed in the path of any construction that鈥檚 threatening our food harvesting grounds, our medicine harvesting grounds, our sacred sites, or our ancient village sites.鈥�

Manuel, an indigenous artist and activist, said she was inspired after seeing a tiny house constructed at the Standing Rock demonstrations against the Dakota Access pipeline in North Dakota in 2016.

鈥淐anada is not abiding by the United Nations Declaration on Indigenous Rights.鈥�

鈥淎 big part of our campaign is to build a culture of resistance through art and tiny house building is a creative art project, it鈥檚 creating solutions, and it鈥檚 not being a part of the problem. It鈥檚 showing that we can downsize and have an impact on our footprint on the environment,鈥� she said.

In addition to serving as a powerful act of resistance, the houses are also helping solve housing challenges for Canada鈥檚 native families, many of whom struggle to pay off the mortgages on the reservation homes the government placed them in, Manuel said. And because the homes are on wheels, they are also reviving her communities鈥� nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle.

鈥淲e lived in traditional underground pit houses and cedar bark lodges, so we always have lived in tiny houses; it鈥檚 nothing new for us,鈥� she said.

The homes will be covered with vibrant indigenous murals and outfitted with wood-burning stoves, solar power, and composting toilets. And their inhabitants will serve as guardians and land protectors along the pipeline route.

鈥淐anada is not abiding by the United Nations Declaration on Indigenous Rights, they鈥檙e not abiding by our rights to prior and informed consent as indigenous people, and they鈥檙e not abiding by our inherent Secwepemc law, our inherent rights and titles to this land that have been passed down to us from grandmother to grandmother for 30,000 years,鈥� she said.

Earlier this year, the Tiny House Warriors brought the first completed tiny house directly in front of the Toronto-Dominion Bank in downtown Vancouver to encourage the bank to pull its investments from the Kinder Morgan pipeline. The Protect the Inlet campaign is planned to continue indefinitely, until the investors pull out from the project.

The events began with a rally, where hundreds of people heard speeches by Greenpeace Executive Director Annie Leonard, Seattle-based activist group Got Green?, and others.

The protestors marched down the pier to the Port of Seattle鈥檚 headquarters, which houses the government body directly responsible for the decision to moor the rig. Popular chants included 鈥淪hell shall not pass鈥� and 鈥淚f you ship it, we will block it.鈥�

The day鈥檚 events were part of a larger effort to stop the rig from reaching the Arctic. On April 6, six activists affiliated with the environmental group Greenpeace scaled the Polar Pioneer as it sailed through the Pacific Ocean. They camped out on the massive machine for six days before weather conditions became too harsh (waves were expected to reach 7 meters).

This month鈥檚 events are just the beginning. In mid-May, volunteers will attempt to block the rig鈥檚 passage out of Seattle鈥檚 Elliott Bay with a 鈥渒ayak flotilla.鈥�

Speakers at the rally gave many reasons for their opposition to Shell鈥檚 plans. Jill Mangaliman of Got Green? cited the negative effects Arctic oil drilling could have on climate change, such as an expected temperature rise of 2 degrees Celsius. They also urged port authorities to rescind the lease to Shell, arguing that they bypassed an environmental review mandated by the State Environmental Policy Act.

大象传媒 talked to demonstrators about why this issue warrants action and how they hope to stop it.

Here are some of their ideas. These interviews have been lightly edited.

Sarra Tekola

Age: 22

Occupation: Student and part-time legislative assistant

大象传媒: What brought you to the rally today?

Tekola: Now that Shell is coming to Seattle and giving us this opportunity for us to interrupt them鈥攊t鈥檚 a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to stand up for what we believe in. The fact that drilling in the Arctic can push us past 2 degrees of warming is another reason why we have to go stop them by any means necessary to make sure that doesn鈥檛 happen. It was a beautiful event鈥擨 was glad to see all this solidarity in Seattle. I don鈥檛 think Shell could have picked a better place to get stopped.

大象传媒: How do we stop Arctic oil drilling?

Tekola: At this point the secretary of the interior has approved this. We鈥檝e seen Obama, who has been working really hard on climate change and climate action, looking the other way, and we鈥檝e seen that the City Council does not approve, and yet there鈥檚 nothing they can do. Our elected officials at the Port of Seattle thought this was OK. So really the power is in the people. We鈥檝e got to blockade, we鈥檝e got to stop them through direct action and make sure this doesn鈥檛 happen. This is our lunch counter sit-in.

Ariahna Jones

Occupation: Science resource coordinator

大象传媒: What brought you to the rally today?

Jones: I just wanted to participate in something that I feel so strongly about鈥攖he protection of our Salish Sea. It鈥檚 so important culturally and environmentally for everyone. We need to stand together and protect it.

大象传媒: How do we stop Arctic oil drilling?

Jones: I think it will take a lot of support towards alternative resources. I think the technology is out there, but the support and money just needs to be put in that direction. It’s more environmentally sound and more economically sound; it holds more of a future than the dirty oil.

Lee Colleton

Age: 36

Occupation: Volunteer / Systems administrator

大象传媒: How do we stop Arctic oil drilling?

Colleton: The best way to stop drilling for the United States would be for the government to rescind the lease that they granted to Shell Oil. They鈥檝e seen multiple rejected spill response plans from Shell. They鈥檝e seen their history of abuse and criminality. It is insane, it is literally insane for us to grant them a lease to drill in an extremely sensitive region in the world.

大象传媒: What role do rallies like this one play on the issue of drilling in the Arctic?

Colleton: Nonviolent direct action is an essential part of opposition to business as usual. This shows companies like Shell that their rampant abuses will not go unchecked. Even if they manage to buy off people in government鈥攖hey’re going to meet resistance on the ground and it鈥檚 going to cost them.

Zarna Joshi

Age: 32

Occupation: Writer

大象传媒: What brought you to the rally today?

Joshi: 滨鈥檓 extremely concerned about life on this planet. 滨鈥檓 concerned the greedy, corrupt politicians have conspired with Big Oil to take for themselves and give the people ecological destruction. We鈥檙e witnessing this happen right before our eyes in Seattle, one of the most environmentally conscious cities in the country, and they think that the people are going to stand for it鈥攖hat is so absurd that I had to be here today.

大象传媒: How do we stop Arctic oil drilling?

Joshi: The best approach would be for the port commissioner to rescind the lease. If they are actually doing their jobs as elected officials of the people and doing the bidding of the people, that鈥檚 what they would do. The next best thing would be that if the judge in the court case going on would strike down the lease, that would also be great鈥攐r if the [Washington State] Department of Ecology, the federal government, if they strike down the lease that would be great. The truth is none of these things are going to happen because the politicians are bought. The politicians are all in the pocket of Big Oil. We have some wonderful people in our police force here in Seattle, but they are not here to protect us; they are here to protect Shell, Big Oil, corporate interests. The people are going to rise up; they鈥檙e going to have to resist. That鈥檚 the only way we鈥檙e going to beat this. Just like the WTO protest, just like Occupy, just like all of these movements that have gone before us, we will have to rise up and resist and we will do it and we’re determined.

(Left to Right)

Kade Yenchek

Age: 22

Occupation: Field organizer, Fund for the Public Interest

Rosy Gentle

Age: 20

Occupation: Student

Kevin Fenwick

Age: 25

Occupation: Field organizer, Fund for the Public Interest

大象传媒: What brought you to the rally today?

Kenchik: To say, 鈥淪hell No!鈥�

大象传媒: How do we stop Arctic oil drilling?

Fenwick: Generating public consciousness. The pros and cons are concrete, and more of the public needs to be educated and mobilized about Arctic drilling.

Gentle: I think we need to organize the movement against Shell and then put our resources into building more green-energy jobs.

大象传媒: What role do rallies like this one play on the issue of drilling in the Arctic?

Yenchek: I think they help us organize together around a single issue and get excited. We actually have power if we get together and focus our energy on what we care about.

Fenwick: I think they build public consciousness鈥攊t鈥檚 important to hold representatives in Congress accountable. These type of movements also create a symbol for people to get behind and essentially move those who are neutral and inactive to a point where they see a potential in people power.

Editor鈥檚 Note: A sentence has been cut from one of these interviews, due to the subject鈥檚 legal concerns.听

Since 2010, the number of community gardens has more than doubled to roughly 130.

Rodriguez, 50, grew up down the street. Near the chickens, he has planted neat raised beds of corn, tomatoes, cabbage, kale, asparagus, eggplant, onion, 20 varieties of hot peppers, and broccoli. Fruit trees (cherry, apple, peach, and pear) line the perimeter of the lot, as well as two beehives. He鈥檚 considering getting a goat.

To say that Camden has a bad reputation would be an understatement. Indeed, Camden, just across the Delaware River from Philadelphia, has about the worst of any city in America. It鈥檚 been ranked at various times as both the poorest and the most dangerous. In 2012, it ranked as the .

Not surprisingly, Camden also gets a ton of bad press. In 2010 The Nation called it a 鈥溾�� where 鈥渢hose discarded as human refuse are dumped.鈥� Last year, Rolling Stone ran a devastating article by Matt Taibbi under the headline 鈥�,鈥� calling it 鈥渁 city run by armed teenagers,鈥� 鈥渁n un-Fantasy Island of extreme poverty and violence.鈥�

It鈥檚 also one of the worst urban food deserts in the country. In September of 2013, the last centrally located grocery store closed its doors, leaving the city to feed itself on Crown Chicken and junk from the corner bodegas. One supermarket remains, at the very edge of Camden’s city limits鈥攂ut most residents would have to cross a river and travel along a major highway to get there鈥攁 difficulty in a city where many can’t afford a car. Like in many other low-income areas, obesity is an epidemic.

Most kids in Camden talk about leaving鈥攁nd many of them do. The population peaked in 1950 and has since declined by nearly 40 percent to about 77,000. Anywhere between , although no one knows for sure. For residents who want a better life, getting out is the most obvious thing to do.

As so many flee the violence and crime, it may seem strange that Rodriguez is literally putting down roots. In fact, it鈥檚 precisely because of the city鈥檚 problems that its urban farms have grown so much in recent years. A said in 2010 that Camden鈥檚 gardens may be the fastest growing in the country. Since then, the number of community gardens has more than doubled to roughly 130, according to a list kept by local gardeners.

The Penn study found that these gardens鈥攂elonging to churches, neighborhood organizations, and everyday backyard growers鈥攑roduced the equivalent of $2.3 million in food in 2013 and, because most growers share their surplus zucchini with their neighbors, those vegetables have helped feed roughly 15 percent of Camden鈥檚 population.

The city needs fresh food, and residents are doing what it takes to grow it. It鈥檚 part of the untold story of Camden: a story in which the residents of this blighted city are the protagonists, quietly working to make Camden a place where, one day, you might want to live.

Room to grow

The success of community gardens is thanks in large part to the Camden City Garden Club, which has been supporting the city鈥檚 gardens with organizing power, education, materials, and food distribution since 1985. As you might expect, these are not your typical tea-drinking, flower-growing gardeners. These people are here to grow food. In a place where kids are said to bite into oranges, peel and all, because they鈥檝e never eaten them before鈥攖his fills a void.

鈥淵ou think of things that children 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 really have to think about.鈥�

The club鈥檚 founder and executive director, Mike Devlin, ended up in Camden in the early 70s because of a paperwork mishap during his enrollment as a law student at Rutgers. Over time, however, he found that he was more passionate about lettuces than litigation. He began building an organization whose programs now include the Camden Children鈥檚 Garden on the waterfront; Camden Grows, a program that trains new gardeners; a Food Security Council, which was soon adopted by the city; the Fresh Mobile Market, a truck that sells fresh produce in the neighborhoods and provides a place for residents to barter their surplus vegetables; a youth employment and training program that has lasted nearly two decades; and Grow Labs, a school program to teach kids about healthy food鈥攊n addition to supporting the growing network of community gardens.

And, in a city of 12,000 abandoned lots, there鈥檚 plenty of room to grow. While Detroit has garnered considerable positive media attention for its urban farm movement, Camden鈥檚 has been expanding more quietly.

Devlin鈥檚 hands are deeply creased, and there鈥檚 dirt lingering under his fingernails. For him, gardening is not a hobby; it鈥檚 a way of confronting the myriad issues that Camdenites face鈥攑overty, food scarcity, and the increasingly frayed bonds of community. And the best way to get at those issues, he says, is by giving the city鈥檚 children a place of safety and support. More than 300 youth have gone through the Garden Club鈥檚 employment programs, and countless more have spent afternoons in its leafy sanctuaries.

A city in flux

It鈥檚 a sunny Tuesday in mid-May, and Devlin and Rodriguez are working at the Beckett Street Garden in south Camden. The garden straddles a single dilapidated rowhouse, now occupied only by squatters. In the heaped beds are lettuce, collards, spinach, leeks, and nice broccoli crowns big enough to harvest. A Tiger Swallowtail rests for a moment on a tomato plant nearby.

The two met in the early 80s, when Devlin helped the young Rodriguez build his first garden in an empty corner lot just a block or two from here.

Devlin walks over. 鈥淭here鈥檚 something going on up the street,鈥� he says, pointing. 鈥淔our cop cars up there by Pedro鈥檚 house.鈥� Rodriguez walks to the curb, takes a look at the flashing lights, shrugs, and goes back to work. Normal.

On a nearby block, someone has decorated the tree trunks with brightly colored butterflies.

In another corner of the garden, Nohemi Soria, 28, is gathering big armfuls of collards. Her hair is up in a loose bun and she wears sparkly daisy-shaped earrings and a bracelet with rhinestone hearts, despite the dirt. As the USDA Community Food Access Manager, she does work for the Garden Club that鈥檚 funded through federal grants, including coordination of the Mobile Market.

Both Rodriguez and Soria are among the hundreds of Camdenites who have come through the Garden Club鈥檚 programs, either as volunteers or employees, and for whom the gardening scene is a little like family. Both will testify that growing food has profoundly shaped their lives.

Born 23 years apart, the two grew up in different versions of Camden. Rodriguez, one of 12 children, played handball with neighborhood kids and gleefully swam in the 鈥渟wimming pools鈥� that formed when the streets filled with water after a storm. Many of the other Puerto Ricans he grew up with came to work in the Campbell鈥檚 Soup factory, which closed in 1990. By that time, the other major employers had also left town, including a number of large shipbuilding companies, as well as RCA Victor, which made phonographs and television tubes.

鈥淐amden was once beautiful,鈥� Rodriguez says, pointing to what is left of the houses facing the Beckett Street garden. Originally owned by immigrants from Italy, he says, the apartments had marble floors, painted tiles, and ornately carved wooden fireplaces. Rodriguez remembers the Italians growing grapes in their yards and making wine in their basements.

But houses in Camden don鈥檛 last long after they鈥檙e abandoned. Stripped of anything valuable鈥攎arble, tile, wood, and copper鈥攎any of them now sit, gutted, awaiting demolition. 鈥淚t breaks my heart to see these houses go down,鈥� Rodriguez says.

Then came a major riot in 1971, when Rodriguez was a boy. An article in the Philadelphia Inquirer reported that 鈥淏itter racial tensions exploded in the night, fueling fires that destroyed parts of Camden and hardened the lives of those who lived through it.鈥� In a story that played out in inner cities across the country, those who could afford to moved out and left a vacuum of empty houses, empty factories, and streets full of young people with nowhere to go. The 2013 Rolling Stone article observed that, 鈥渨ith the help of an alarmist press, the incidents solidified in the public’s mind the idea that Camden was a seething, busted city, out of control with black anger.鈥�

By the time Soria was born, in 1986, the city was in full decline. Her house on York Street was also home to drug dealers who treated her front steps as their own. She remembers two guys getting shot in a car right out front.

鈥淚 always felt scared to walk outside,鈥� she says. 鈥淵ou think of things that children 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 really have to think about, and you experience things that children 蝉丑辞耻濒诲苍鈥檛 have to experience.鈥�

She remembers a time, years ago, when her father tried to take her jogging in Pyne Poynt park. The two were stopped by a cop, who assumed they must be up to no good. 鈥淲e had to convince him that we were just jogging for exercise,鈥� Soria says. 鈥淗e didn鈥檛 believe us.鈥�

Although parks were mostly off limits, she and her younger sisters had fun doing normal kid things too鈥攚ell, normal for Camden. They made mud pies, constructed obstacle courses in the abandoned building next door, and baked imaginary pizzas in ovens built from scavenged bricks.

At 13, Soria crossed the Delaware River into Philadelphia and had her first taste of what it might be like to live somewhere else. Alone, she walked under the tall trees and stately buildings of Chestnut Street. It was the first time she鈥檇 been in a neighborhood this nice, she says, so close to North Camden but so different. 鈥淚 was like, oh my god,鈥� she laughs. 鈥淚 felt like an ant.鈥�

The Philadelphia skyline is always there, hovering across the water. It shimmers on a hot day. Soria sometimes wonders: 鈥淲hat would my life be like if I didn鈥檛 grow up here?鈥�

Unexpected beauty

Soria is from North Camden, the roughest part of town. Back at the Beckett Street Garden, in South Camden, we鈥檙e in Pedro鈥檚 neighborhood, and the feeling is less post-war Dresden and more the fly-swatting listlessness of a hot almost-summer afternoon.

Rodriguez鈥檚 place, a light-blue rowhouse, is across the street from his garden and his nine chickens. The building was abandoned when he moved in, so he slept on the third floor while he gutted it and made it livable again鈥斺�淚 brought it back to life,鈥� he says.

The sounds are of distant cars, the groan of a lawnmower, birds. One empty lot features, unexpectedly, a miniature Christmas village on an enclosed platform, with tiny snow-covered houses. On a nearby block, someone has decorated the tree trunks with brightly colored butterflies.

An older couple hangs out in chairs next door, and some guys are sitting on a stoop farther up the block. Occasionally, a man will coast by on a bicycle, in no particular hurry. Rodriguez seems to know everyone, and they all return his greetings. A neighbor stops by and asks in Spanish whether Pedro has any extra palitos, peach tree saplings. 鈥溾��Ta bien, 鈥�ta bien,鈥� they both say. OK.

Rodriguez takes me to his first garden, the one he and Devlin worked on during the Garden Club鈥檚 first season, when he was just a few years out of high school. Sunflowers, the really tall kind, are just coming up along the perimeter, but there鈥檚 nothing planted there yet. When the house next door was torn down last year, the demolition crews razed the garden and ruined the topsoil he鈥檇 spent 30 years improving. Now Rodriguez has to build it up again, starting from scratch.

Rodriguez grows his vegetables on borrowed land. He knows that if a landlord decided to build on the site he鈥檇 have to leave. 鈥淚 wouldn鈥檛 fight it,鈥� he says, because any development would be a sign of good things for Camden. Plus, he鈥檚 got a short list of other towns that might welcome an enterprising gardener. 鈥淵ou always got to have a Plan B.鈥�

“Two separate worlds”

For most kids in Camden, however, leaving town 颈蝉苍鈥檛 Plan B; it鈥檚 Plan A. But Nohemi Soria is different; she鈥檚 here to stay.

She鈥檚 had a couple of advantages: She went to a creative arts high school, and had some good teachers. She went to college, studied abroad. She had parents鈥攂oth migrant farmworkers鈥攚ho instilled ambition in their kids early on. And she had the garden.

When she first came to work at the Camden Children鈥檚 Garden at age 14, it was a revelation. It was a little like Chestnut Street in Philly, she says, an oasis of safety and peace鈥攂ut only blocks from her house.

鈥淚t was two separate worlds,鈥� she says. We were seven minutes away from each other, but the difference was so drastic.鈥�

The garden was part of Soria鈥檚 survival strategy. Being there, she says, has always been like hitting a pause button: so the bad stuff鈥攖he drugs, the crime, the violence鈥斺�渄oesn鈥檛 take control of your life.鈥�

鈥湵踱�檓 not sure you can save it anymore. But you can save people.鈥�

A lot of her classmates, she says, 鈥渄idn鈥檛 make it.鈥� If they were lucky, they found some positive influence鈥攁 teacher, an after-school program, a place where they could let their guard down and be kids. 鈥淏ut it was like living a double life.鈥� Back out on the sidewalk, their guard would come right back up.

Sometimes, she says, kids try to pretend they鈥檙e not from Camden. 鈥淭hey say, oh, 滨鈥檓 from Pennsauken鈥� or other nearby places. They don鈥檛 want the stigma of being from Camden, of being thought of as 鈥渦neducated, rude, lazy, violent.鈥�

Soria and her boyfriend used to work birthday parties, making balloon animals. When potential clients heard they were from Camden, Soria says, their attitudes changed. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e like 鈥極h, 飞别鈥檒濒 call you back鈥欌�攂ut you knew.鈥� They never called.

It鈥檚 a problem that鈥檚 reflected in the city鈥檚 media coverage. When the New Jersey Courier-Post a resident named Joe Bennett said he didn鈥檛 appreciate news that was only about drugs, crime and violence and that it neglected some of the positive things about Camden. 鈥淐rime is not just in Camden,鈥� Bennett commented on Facebook.

鈥淚t鈥檚 as though everybody from Camden are criminals,鈥� Felix Moulier commented. 鈥淭he image that is projected to readers outside of Camden instills a fear.鈥�

And then there was the comment from George Bailey, a sentiment that may often go unspoken: 鈥淢aybe if you ignore Camden it鈥檒l just go away.鈥�

One Saturday at the Children鈥檚 Garden, Soria and I ran into Sonia Mixter Guzman, another Camden native who helped create the , which highlights work that鈥檚 being done by the city鈥檚 nonprofits. It鈥檚 trendy now for places like universities, towns, and cities to make s that show people grooving to Pharell鈥檚 hit song. So the Goodness Project found a filmmaker to make a video for Camden, to show that 鈥渉appy鈥� exists here, too, just like anywhere else. Soria鈥檚 in it, wearing a crown of flowers.

Camden鈥檚 not a big place. But before she did the music video, she hadn鈥檛 met many other people, aside from gardeners, who were willing to invest in this city.

Seeing that she鈥檚 part of a bigger network of people who have all chosen to stay makes her bristle even more at the negative coverage. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not just me鈥攊t鈥檚 a lot of us,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd we鈥檙e trying to do 蝉辞尘别迟丑颈苍驳.鈥�

鈥淎 tenacious lot鈥�

The day after this conversation was Mother鈥檚 Day. While Soria and her sisters were at a barbecue with their mom, Mike Devlin鈥檚 greenhouse was burglarized for the second time in six months. It took him three days to clean up the mess.

The hardest part, she says, is not knowing whether her commitment to this place will matter in the end.

I asked him if food had ever been stolen from the Beckett Street garden, and he says it has: someone once came in the night and pulled up a bunch of premature potato plants. It鈥檚 not surprising, he says, resignedly. 鈥淐onditions are getting worse.鈥�

A few years ago, Soria鈥檚 mom moved out of the house with the drug dealers to a new place four blocks away where she thought it would be safer鈥攂ut her new building, it turned out, was the center of one of the biggest drug trafficking rings in the city.

Soria has three younger sisters. The youngest, Diana, can tell you what to do if there鈥檚 a shooting: drop down, or hide somewhere that鈥檚 away from a window. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 sad to me,鈥� Soria says. She wonders if Devlin is right, if maybe things are getting worse; she doesn鈥檛 remember knowing that much at age six.

Rodriguez imagines what an alternative city might look like: a monorail, maybe. A city of the future. Gardens on green rooftops, instead of in empty lots. 鈥淲ill I ever get to see that change in my neighborhood? Maybe 30 years from now.鈥� Politicians, he says, are to blame for not having the people鈥檚 interests at heart. 鈥淐amden has such a bad rep. Who wants to invest in Camden?鈥�

Instead, he talks about leaving, of traveling the world鈥擣inland, maybe, or Ireland鈥攁nd settling somewhere to build another garden. After 50 years, he says, 鈥淚t鈥檚 time to move on.鈥� His siblings all left Camden years ago. There鈥檚 always a Plan B.

Soria recently moved, too鈥攂ut to Fairview, a nicer section of Camden. 鈥淚 feel like I moved up in the world,鈥� she laughs. 鈥淚t鈥檚 so quiet.鈥� But back on York Street, her mother has built raised beds, and Diana already knows how to plant and weed. The Soria women decide together what to grow.

Staying put in Camden requires a certain grit鈥攕omething the city鈥檚 gardeners have in abundance.

Change, she knows, is a process. There is nothing in Camden鈥檚 recent history to suggest that things will get better anytime soon. But鈥攚hether out of youth, stubborn optimism, or necessity鈥攕he has hope. Perhaps it鈥檚 because she knows from experience that it鈥檚 possible to grow up in Camden and still be OK.

鈥淵ou don鈥檛 like going out and having a bullet in your car鈥攍ike, you know, you go through things like this that kind of leave you angry. Like鈥斺�楢h, 滨鈥檓 tired of it, I just want to leave.鈥� But then you realize, well, I can鈥檛 leave. Because if we left everything that was hard in life, then where would we end up?鈥�

Devlin, the oldest of the three, seems tired. After so many decades of investing in this place, his hopes for Camden have been tempered by experience. 鈥湵踱�檓 not sure you can save it anymore,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut you can save people.鈥�

He says that most of the kids who have come up through the garden鈥檚 programs, like Soria, have gone on to college. 鈥淚 used to try and convince kids to get through school, get through college, get a trade, and then stay in Camden,鈥� Devlin says. But he鈥檚 let go of that, little by little. 鈥淩ight now it鈥檚 more like, get them on to a safe life rope, and let them go to another place,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 try to talk them into staying.鈥�

The hardest part, Soria says, is not knowing鈥攏ot knowing whether her commitment to this place will matter in the end.

In the car, on her way back from the Beckett Street Garden, she gestures to the streets. 鈥湵踱�檓 not sugar-coating anything,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat is reality. But the part that鈥檚 beautiful is the resilience that children have, that families have, that people have. Growing up in this city, and still making some kind of life. That鈥檚 the part that鈥檚 beautiful.鈥�

***

Last winter was the worst in recent memory. The hardy greens, herbs, and roots, everything that usually survives the winter, died鈥攅ven Rodriguez鈥檚 bees froze to death. Spring planting was weeks behind. But by late May, when I talked to Soria over the phone, she was gushing: Beckett Street garden was going gangbusters. They had so much extra produce they hardly knew what to do with it, and Rodriguez鈥檚 two brand-new hives were humming industriously.

Sometimes resilience means surviving long enough to get out, to build something new somewhere else. But sometimes, it means staying put. In Camden, that requires a certain grit, something the city鈥檚 gardeners have in abundance. As Devlin says, 鈥済ardeners are a tenacious lot鈥濃�攖hey work through rain, heat, and drought, hunkering down to weather each year鈥檚 winter, trusting that seeds will grow.

Correction: This article originally stated that Camden was across the Schuylkill River from Philadelphia. The river separating the two cities is the Delaware.

The necessity for radical change is too pressing for the solution to come from traditional thinking.

That morning in Seattle, Jay O鈥橦ara was working the phones, calling the pipeline companies 15 minutes in advance to warn them of the shutdown. It was not his first experience of a bold climate action involving personal risk. In 2013, O鈥橦ara and his friend Ken Ward anchored their small boat, the 鈥淗enry David T,鈥� in the path of a 40,000-ton barge taking coal to a plant in Massachusetts in what has famously been called the 鈥渓obster-boat blockade.鈥� A district attorney subsequently dropped the most serious charges against the pair, recognizing that their civil disobedience was motivated by the necessity to halt global warming.

Necessity was also behind Tuesday鈥檚 pipeline shutdown by activist group Climate Direct Action, O鈥橦ara said, pointing to research that shows we cannot remain under the Paris agreement鈥檚 global warming limit of 2 degrees Celsius if we burn the fossil fuel reserves we already have.

The success of the lobster-boat blockade and his work on climate action, from lobbying in D.C. to working with transformational student groups and making a pipeline pilgrimage, has made O鈥橦ara stand out as one of the young leaders of the climate movement. However, he wouldn鈥檛 use that description himself; he expresses discomfort with ego-driven action or scenarios where he鈥檚 treated as a hero.

But as a co-founder of the Climate Disobedience Center, O鈥橦ara works in the highly visible area of direct action that dramatically confronts the corporate and governmental interests behind global warming. It鈥檚 an area of the movement that can ask a lot of participants, but one many see as crucial.

For guidance and sustenance in the work, O鈥橦ara draws on his deep Quaker faith. At a faith and climate action conference in Seattle the weekend before the pipeline action, he spoke of his faith as a way to proceed at 鈥渢his time of hopelessness and crisis.鈥� Climate change, he said, is simply too large a problem and the necessity for radical change is too pressing for the solution to come from traditional thinking. In an interview with 大象传媒 Magazine, O鈥橦ara expanded on what he means by faith鈥攁nd the value of what he calls 鈥渉oly trouble.鈥�

Valerie听Schloredt: 滨鈥檓 talking to you as an atheist, but one who feels affinity for the people of faith at this conference who are acting out of deep conviction, who are acting authentically.

Jay 翱鈥橦补谤补: Depending on whose god you鈥檙e talking about, 滨鈥檓 an atheist. I don鈥檛 know whether there is something out there. All I know is that I experience something.

What I love about Quakerism is that the words you use to describe it don鈥檛 matter.

From the beginning, Quakerism was universalistic. Early Quakers in the 1650s could meet people who were Muslim or who were Native American, and find the same motivating spirit underlying their actions, and be like, 鈥淥h that, we call it Jesus, but whatevs.鈥�

There is a thing, whether it comes in the form of a whisper, or a nudge, or a curiosity, or an inclination, that is internal rather than external, that is generative rather than consumptive.

Schloredt: How does acting on that internal voice for climate action work in our society, where there is so much denial?

翱鈥橦补谤补: Our first job is to stop talking and start acting. I think one of the things that has held the movement back is the big green NGOs saying that the world is ending, and not acting like it. People can smell the bullshit, and they think, 鈥淲ell, they鈥檙e not acting freaked out, they must be trying just to fundraise off of it. So why should we pay attention to that? A bunch of hypocrites!鈥�

Suffering. I think that is the crucial thing. Willingness to suffer generates empathy: 鈥淲ow, if this person is so convinced in their heart that they have to stand in front of that train, maybe even risk their life, it must be really serious.鈥�

I don鈥檛 think our problem with denial in the United States is a problem with Republicans and right-wing climate deniers. The problem with denial is White liberals and middle-of-the road Democrats who have not internalized the severity and magnitude of the problem. And that鈥檚 our biggest block. It鈥檚 eerily reminiscent of what Dr. King talks about in 鈥淟etter from Birmingham Jail鈥� when he says that the biggest hindrance to civil rights might not be the Ku Klux Klan or the White councilman, but the White moderate who says they agree with the goals, but says 鈥渟low down, calm down, you鈥檙e not being reasonable.鈥�

The denier population is only 25 percent of the population. We don鈥檛 need to convince 100 percent, we only need 50 percent to agree with us. Research says that a nonviolent revolution only requires 4 percent or so of the population, because once you move those people to the furthest level of commitment, people on the next layer move a little further out. Who cares about the deniers? They鈥檙e not the problem鈥攚e鈥檙e the problem.

I think what鈥檚 actually going on is that because we are White, because we are educated, we have been told that our voice matters. When we open our mouths, people will listen because we are important. We鈥檝e been told and acculturated to believe we are important鈥攚hich is not true, because in reality, the forces in power do not listen and do not care. As much as I love a lot of things that Quakers did in the first half of the 20th century, I think the phrase that was popularized then, 鈥渟peak truth to power,鈥� is fundamentally flawed. Power doesn鈥檛 give a shit. Like Frederick Douglass said, power concedes nothing without a fight.

Schloredt: Someone in the audience today asked what they could do to help the work of the Center for Climate Disobedience, and you answered, 鈥淕o out and get yourself in some holy trouble, and 飞别鈥檒濒 help you.鈥� What does that phrase 鈥渉oly trouble鈥� mean to you?

翱鈥橦补谤补: Living in accordance with the truth, as you know it in your heart. When you do that, it tends to invite opposition. My faith is that there is some unifying force that binds us all in unity together. And when we listen to that voice, it tends to lead in the direction of forgiveness and forbearance.

So the 鈥渉oly trouble鈥� part is that when we start living in that way, authentically, the empire gets really nervous because there is nothing more frightening to the powers that want control and domination than people who are liberated, because they can鈥檛 be controlled. Inevitably that will invite trouble, and it鈥檚 holy because it moves from that place of the liberating encounter with the god of freedom. That spirit moving out powerfully into the world is not a linear change strategy; it鈥檚 an exponential change strategy. It pushes and pushes and builds pressure. It鈥檚 like a fault line; it looks like nothing is happening, and then all of a sudden it goes.

I didn鈥檛 expect to sign up for a decade-long identity crisis when I chose to go to university in Scotland 15 years ago. I didn鈥檛 know I wouldn鈥檛 feel at home anywhere, always missing my family and my friends on different sides of the globe, feeling that I should be somewhere else. I often wonder if I would still choose to go to university 4,000 miles away from home if I鈥檇 truly understood the environmental impact as an 18-year-old.

That鈥檚 because flying is basically the fastest way you can consume carbon as an individual. The relatively short 2 hour and 20 minute flight from London to Rome the manufacture of a low-cost HP Chromebook鈥攕omething I would typically use for years, not two hours. It鈥檚 also equivalent to the carbon used in growing and transporting nearly 3,000 bananas to my home in the U.K. But it鈥檚 physically impossible for me to eat that many bananas in two hours; it would take me closer to two decades.

As an assistant professor of sustainable design, I have been ashamed to be researching and teaching on sustainable lifestyles while getting on airplanes every year, both for work and to see family in the U.S. Just one of my round-trip flights to Seattle uses 鈥�14 times the carbon of the example above. And while my lectures present research on ways to lower an individual鈥檚 carbon, , I don鈥檛 want pro-environmental actions to come from a place of shame.

Flying is not something everyone does.

My own feelings have changed as I鈥檝e grown older and have come to better understand the reasons we fly. A colleague tells me he could take the train, but he flies instead so his wife is not the sole carer for their two kids the whole week. A friend flies to be at a funeral and again to celebrate the life of their lost loved one who wanted their ashes spread in Spain. We fly for love and family. For connection and relaxation. Out of duty. In pursuit of personal development and career advances.

I am compassionate about how sticky the practice of flying is, while at the same time recognizing that this is a dilemma reserved for high-income individuals. I emphasize systemic solutions in my work, because acting as an individual and choosing to fly less does not address the social injustice that underlies flying in the first place.

Flying is not something everyone does. Only 11% of the world population flew in 2018, the last year this was calculated. Just 1% of the global population was responsible for more than half of aviation emissions in that year. This is why flying, like environmental impact broadly, is an equality issue.

Thanks to Oxfam鈥檚 now famous (at least in my world) report on , we know that the richest 10% of the population is responsible for 50% of global lifestyle carbon emissions. (To be included in that richest 10% means being鈥攐r $44,400 or 拢32,900鈥攁nnually.)

When it comes to flying, we see this inequality reproduced. Milena Buchs, a professor of sustainable welfare, and Giulio Mattioli, a transport researcher, analyzed U.K. data from 2022 and found that the top 10% of emitters were responsible for 61% of flight emissions overall, and for 83.7% of emissions from .

This is why Buchs and Mattioli propose frequent flyer levies, calling them 鈥�.鈥� Taxation on frequent flyers only impacts the small percentage of people who fly more than once per year, and gets these polluters paying for their higher impact. Then, ideally, these funds are diverted to public transportation that proportionately benefits the majority of the population that doesn鈥檛 fly. Unlike many carbon taxes that burden lower-income people most, frequent flyer levies are progressive.

Frequent flyer levies, in contrast, burden the rich more as a proportion of income, however applied.

Poorer people generally have lower emissions (read that Oxfam report; this is well understood), yet hit them hardest. If the price of gas goes up, for example, the hope is that people will choose to drive less. But a well-off family鈥檚 decision whether to take a planned family road trip is hardly impacted by the price of gas, while those with fewer financial resources are more likely to struggle to pay for the gas necessary to commute to work or heat their home. This unequal burden was behind the in France. Regressive carbon policies also show up in schemes to support buying electric cars or home insulation, which people on lower incomes or in rentals are less able to afford.

Frequent flyer levies, in contrast, burden the rich more as a proportion of income, however applied. Everyone would get an exemption on the first round-trip flight a year, and then subsequent flights would be taxed at an increasing rate or according to the distance traveled. Because they are progressive, these proposed levies have received widespread public approval. In 2021, a survey about the best way to meet government carbon targets found that .

We are a species that values equality. We want people to be treated fairly. And it鈥檚 not fair that a rich minority of the global population is contributing more to the processes increasing heat waves, droughts, fires, and floods. Nor is it fair that the resulting suffering, starvation, and destruction of homes, livelihoods, and families that this climate chaos causes mainly impacts people who contribute very little. Frequent flyer levies make sense because they target reduction at one of the highest-environmental-impact activities in a fair way. 

No government has yet created a frequent flyer levy, so there is no exemplar of how such a scheme would be managed. Still, some of the mechanics can be gleaned from the first model proposed by the New Economics Foundation in 2014. Taking the U.K. as its case study, it suggested charging an annual rate based on income. Those who do fly would for those in the richest 20%.

But individual action and government policy are not the only avenues for interventions to fly less. We can also reflect on how we can use our professional or community roles to bring about change.

Instead of waiting for governments to use taxes to invest in high-speed, reliable, and affordable public transportation, an internal accounting could be created within organizations to support slower travel. For example, if a team or individual flies more often, on top of the cost of the tickets. These funds could then be used to foot the bill for an employee taking a train or ferry that requires additional hotel or child care costs.

Another way to use your influence to drive system change could be requesting additional paid 鈥渏ourney days鈥� from your employer to support the time for getting to your destination without flying. , and, at the very least, it signals awareness of structural norms that affect individuals鈥� choices to live within planetary boundaries. Because it鈥檚 not all on an individual to 鈥渃hoose鈥� to take a train, bus, or bike when their public transit, local infrastructure, or limited vacation days constrain their ways of getting around.

At the community level, citizens and scientists from Christchurch to London to Oakland are blocking private airports to demand regulations that make the polluter pay. This 鈥溾�� campaign is another way to raise awareness for frequent flyer levies.

For many of us living in high-income countries, flying has become normal in the past few decades. But it鈥檚 time we started to imagine new ways to meet our desires for love, leisure, and career. For example, the pandemic has normalized the practice of giving presentations and participating in events remotely.

So, too, with my family connections. I now have virtual book clubs with my parents. I share compost conquests and delights of my garden harvest via vlogs. Yes, I love feeling close to my mom, but I can do that whether 滨鈥檓 physically present or not. And if we want to continue to have a world in which we can enjoy our time together, I鈥檝e decided it means flying less often. And it means supporting efforts to make the carbon cost of flying more equitable.

He also, according to his friends, had talked about wanting to be composted after he died. His parents, Eileen and Wes Weresch, wanted this for themselves, too. They just never imagined they鈥檇 be carrying out Fritz鈥檚 wishes before their own. 

Fritz, 18, was found unconscious on Nov. 30, 2022. He died six days later from unknown but natural causes, according to his family, 

His parents are still wading through the thick of mourning. 鈥淕rief brain鈥� is making it hard to remember certain details about the months since Fritz鈥檚 death, Eileen says. But one thing she and her husband feel good and confident about was their decision to have Fritz鈥檚 body undergo human composting, also known as 鈥渘atural organic reduction鈥� or 鈥渢erramation.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Human composting is the process of turning human remains into nutrient-rich soil. It鈥檚 an option that avoids the environmental pitfalls of more mainstream practices: Cremation releases carbon dioxide and , and casket burial typically involves hazardous embalming chemicals and nonbiodegradable materials. 

It鈥檚 a practice some say could shift the United States鈥� industry. More than 52% of Americans are interested in 鈥済reen burial,鈥� according to a from the National Funeral Directors Association (NFDA).

Six states have human composting in the past four years. Washington state, where the Wereschs live, was the first, the process in 2019. 

鈥淭here鈥檚 this romanticism to it,鈥� says Haley Morris, a spokesperson with , a human composting facility in Auburn, Washington. 鈥淪o many people want to turn into a tree.鈥� But at the root of this romantic idea is something that鈥檚 increasingly possible, Morris explains: 鈥淔or your final act to do good for the Earth.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

When Fritz died, Eileen and Wes approached Return Home, a Seattle-based company, to care for his remains and host a laying-in ceremony. His body was placed in a large, white, reusable vessel on a bed of organic materials鈥攕traw, alfalfa, and wood chips. Loved ones added flowers and notes to the mix. Fritz鈥檚 best friend cut off his long, curly black hair to lay with Fritz, prompting other attendees to leave locks of their hair as well.

鈥淲e got to be there and be part of the process,鈥� Eileen says. 鈥淥ur culture has made dead bodies icky or scary, and that鈥檚 not the case.鈥� She says something doesn鈥檛 feel right about seeing an embalmed body. 鈥淏ut [Fritz鈥檚] body felt so right. You could hold his hand, and it felt like holding his hand.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

With Eileen鈥檚 permission, Return Home captured and shared a video of the ceremony to , where it has more than 600,000 followers.

From a financial perspective, human composting typically costs less than casket burial and more than cremation.

鈥淭he first and most important thing we need to do is win over hearts and minds,鈥� says Micah Truman, the founder of Return Home. He says one way to do that has been to normalize and provide explanations on human composting via social media. 

Human composting, or, as Return Home calls it, 鈥渢erramation,鈥� is typically an 8-to-12-week process, depending on the provider. Once a body has arrived at a human composting facility, they鈥檙e placed in a reusable vessel. Some providers, like Return Home, offer funeral services or a 鈥渓aying-in鈥� ceremony, after which the vessel is sealed and naturally occurring microbes begin to decompose the body. Rotating the vessel along with careful control of temperature and moisture levels also help the process along. Details vary across providers, including how bones are handled. At Return Home, they鈥檙e removed after one month, reduced to tiny shards, and returned to the vessel to continue decomposing.

The resulting soil, about 1 cubic yard, can be used to plant trees, spread in gardens, or saved however the family sees fit. Some families opt to donate soil to a nature preserve or land restoration project, Morris says, adding that Earth Funeral owns 5 acres on the Olympic Peninsula where it sends donated soil. 

Until recently, most Americans in caskets. Casket burial typically involves embalming the body with chemicals, including formaldehyde, menthol, phenol, and glycerin. Every year in the U.S., go into the ground with embalmed bodies, according to the Green Burial Project. Formaldehyde is listed as a by the Environmental Protection Agency, and according to a study by the , morticians have a significantly higher rate of myeloid leukemia. 

In addition to toxic chemicals, casket burial uses an abundance of materials鈥攃oncrete, wood, steel鈥攆or a single purpose, and they are then left in the ground. Land usage is another concern. Cemeteries use up land that might otherwise offer natural habitat to wild animals or housing for humans, covering those acres with monoculture lawns treated with petrochemicals. The space to do this, especially near population-dense cities, is becoming scarce. A traditional funeral with a casket burial is also expensive. The median cost in , according to NFDA. 

Today, slightly more Americans opt for cremation, a cheaper and less land-intensive option than burial, but one with its own problems. The impact of burning corpses on air quality made headlines in 2020 when Los Angeles County was forced to on the number of cremations due to a backlog of bodies from the coronavirus pandemic. Those limits exist because cremation releases , including particulate matter. Most of these are filtered out by post-treatment systems, but cremation still emits about 573 pounds of carbon dioxide鈥攖he equivalent of a 500-mile car journey鈥攑er corpse. 

From a financial perspective, human composting typically costs less than casket burial and more than cremation. Return Home鈥檚 standard pricing is . 

Eileen Weresch first heard about human composting on an NPR segment back in 2019. She researched the process and, that night, brought it up over chicken fajitas with her family. 

鈥淚 was fascinated,鈥� says Eileen. 鈥淲e talked about how it鈥檚 instead of carbon emitting; how it鈥檚 going back to our roots.鈥� And so it was decided: Eileen and Wes wished to undergo human composting when they died. Eileen recalls that Fritz 鈥渨as super into it, too.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Fritz was an organ donor. While Wes and Eileen held vigil during their son鈥檚 final days on life support, they heard from several of Fritz鈥檚 friends. They wanted Fritz鈥檚 parents to know he had told them he wanted his body to be composted when he died. Those friends, along with hundreds of classmates and loved ones, lined the halls of the hospital for when Fritz was wheeled to the operating room where his organs were prepared for donation.

鈥淚 believe that in the future, medical science will prove that at least one aspect of what we call 鈥榣ove鈥� resides in our physical bodies and ourselves,鈥� Eileen told those who had gathered to say goodbye. After Fritz died, his body was transported to Return Home. 

Truman, the founder of , was an investor when he first heard about human composting. He鈥檇 been looking for a new focus in life. 鈥淚鈥檇 come to the conclusion that infinite growth in a finite world is madness,鈥� he says. He wanted to build a company where 鈥渢he bigger it gets, the better the world gets.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

After first hearing about human composting, he couldn鈥檛 stop thinking about it. At first, it struck him as odd. But the more he talked to people who loved the idea of becoming soil after death, the better he understood the appeal. 鈥淟ove it or hate it,鈥� he says, 鈥渢his idea will live in your head rent-free. I just had to do it.鈥� He opened Return Home in June of 2021.

Rob Goff, executive director of the Washington State Funeral Directors Association, says they receive calls from all over the world, from people who want to know more about human composting, which is estimated to become a . Traditional funeral homes in Washington are responding to this demand, many of which have added human composting as a line item, working with providers to transport bodies to their facilities. 

Human composting as practiced by startups like Return Home 颈蝉苍鈥檛 the only way to lessen the environmental burden of death care, says Carlton Basmajian, urban planner and author of . The terramation process is best understood as an alternative to cremation because the body is broken down in a facility and the family is given the remains at the end of the process. He says he sees more promise in so-called 鈥渘atural鈥� or 鈥済reen鈥� burials, which entails designating land for the burial of bodies without chemicals or coffins. (Many of these sites, including one Eileen approached, only allow for burials during warmer months when the soil is soft.)

鈥淸Natural burial] has the potential to allow us to preserve and rehabilitate larger areas of land,鈥� says Basmajian. 

Truman says he believes the process at Return Home gives families more time to grieve, compared with the long-standing traditions of the funeral industry. With human composting, families can visit their loved one鈥檚 vessel throughout decomposition. They can call and check in on how the process is going. The traditional funeral industry, Truman says, has turned grieving into a 48-hour process, but many find that insufficient. 鈥淲e hurt, and we do it for a long time.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

In February, more than two months after Fritz died, Eileen received a call notifying her that Fritz鈥檚 body had completed its transformation into soil. She and her husband are now making plans to distribute his remains to loved ones and build a memorial garden in his honor. 

This story was originally co-published by and , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

There are at least 150 such bridges in the state in various stages of use and decay, and the oldest is estimated to be about 700 years old, according to Morningstar Khongthaw, a Khasi youth. He founded the Living Bridge Initiative in 2016 to preserve the community鈥檚 living architecture traditions.听

In many cases, the elders who planted the rubber fig saplings on the banks of the river, or those who initiated the construction of a bridge, would not have lived to see or use the bridge they founded. However, thanks to their long-term vision, the generations that follow get to use the bridges to reach schools, markets, farms, and other places of daily importance. 

The rubber fig trees are not only the foundation of the bridges but also help keep the surroundings cool, purify the air, prevent soil erosion, and provide several other environmental benefits that generations of Khasis continue to enjoy. 

Now in his mid-20s, Khongthaw continues working toward being a good ancestor. He, along with community members in seven locations, have constructed bamboo frameworks on which new living root bridges will be built in due course. These bridges will be sculpted and maintained by future generations. 

Knowing that the natural world provides all we need to exist, it is our job as humans to take care of it for future generations.

Dave Kanietakeron Fadden

鈥淭hese bridges are an outstanding example of a complex, intergenerational, cultural-natural system,鈥� says Ferdinand Ludwig, professor of green technologies in landscape architecture at the Technical University of Munich, who has studied the Khasi bridges for several years. 鈥淭hey are a benchmark for regenerative design, which we urgently need in order to hand over our degraded environment to our children in a better condition than we found it.鈥�

Sadly, at the present time, most decision-making by governments and corporations around the world does not even look at the immediate impact, let alone a few years down the line. President Biden to drill oil in Alaska, even as UN Secretary-General Ant贸nio Guterres referred to the ongoing climate crisis as a 鈥渢icking time bomb,鈥� speaking soon after the release of in March. 

Alongside the looming climate change catastrophe, is affecting and . Microplastic particles have also been found in human and , as well as and in 鈥攅ndangering not just the current generation, but possibly the health and development of the next generation as well.

鈥淲hy are we not capable of looking beyond five years?鈥� says Maria Westerbos, founder of the , an Amsterdam-based nonprofit that works to reduce plastic pollution around the world. 

Long-term thinking is urgently needed as humankind grapples with climate change and other burning issues, like fossil fuel extraction and plastic use, that will have huge and irreversible impacts for generations to come. Luckily, communities around the world have long shown it is very much possible.

One oft-cited example is the Seventh Generation Principle from the Haudenosaunee Confederacy (known during colonial times as the Iroquois Confederacy), which spans present-day upstate New York in the U.S. and adjoining areas in Canada. 鈥淭he Haudenosaunee believe that what we do in our lives can have either positive or negative ramifications to the seventh generation yet to come,鈥� says Dave Kanietakeron Fadden, an artist and illustrator from the Mohawk nation, one of six nations that make up the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, along with the Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora nations.

If your rivers, oceans, mountains, forests, and your land is unwell, then you as a human are unwell.

Dan Hikuroa

Fadden shares how the Seventh Generation Principle translates to daily life for the Haudenosaunee. 鈥淥ur traditional council of chiefs among the Six Nations deliberate every proposal with this in mind. As individuals, we also keep it in mind as we live our lives,鈥� he says. 鈥淥ur decisions as leaders and as individuals are made with a great deal of thought of how an action, or lack of an action, will affect those that are not here yet. In contemporary terms, we are transitioning to utilizing as many new carbon-free technologies in our communities, from passive home construction to solar energy.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Fadden says, 鈥淜nowing that the natural world provides all we need to exist, it is our job as humans to take care of it for future generations.鈥�

Intergenerational thinking among the M膩oris of New Zealand (Aotearoa) is rooted in the concept of whakapapa. The M膩oris believe that all living beings鈥攑ast, present, and future鈥攁s well as all non-living entities鈥攍ike rivers, rocks, and mountains鈥攁re born from sky father Ranginui and earth mother Papat奴膩nuku, and hence are related. This kinship is called whakapapa, and from it stems the responsibility of protecting nature for present and future generations. Whakapapa manifests itself at several levels in M膩ori life, including in law-making and policymaking as well as in the community. 

In 2014, New Zealand became the first country in the world to grant , and . This recognition gave the Te Urewera Forest and Whanganui River the same legal rights as a citizen, and any offenses against them can be taken to court. 

鈥淭his was an effort by the New Zealand government to take ancestral ways of knowing and being and doing in the form of whakapapa, and embedding them into the law,鈥� says Dan Hikuroa, senior lecturer in M膩ori Studies at the University of Auckland (Waipapa Taumata Rau). 鈥淎t the highest level, there are laws that are being made and passed in the country that include whakapapa.鈥�

Day-to-day decision-making in businesses like 鈥攐wned by 4,000 families descended from the original M膩ori landowners in the Nelson region of South Island鈥攊s also guided by whakapapa.

The group, which owns several companies in real estate, horticulture, viticulture, and fisheries sectors, has a 500-year plan, . The goal is to achieve intergenerational prosperity while simultaneously conserving for future generations the natural and cultural resources that have been inherited from ancestors. Wakat奴鈥檚 short-term business plans are aligned with this long-term vision and the values of the original landowners. 

鈥淜nowing your whakapapa link to a place is important both as a motivator for the work you do, and for the sense of responsibility to the place and people,鈥� Hikuroa says. 

, a nature reserve established in 1999 near the country鈥檚 capital, Wellington (Te Whanganui-a-Tara), also has a 500-year vision to restore the valley鈥檚 forest and freshwater ecosystems to its pre-human state. 鈥淥ur first 20-year strategy was completely focused on the valley itself and was all about getting a head start on restoration,鈥� says Danielle Shanahan, a landscape ecologist and the sanctuary鈥檚 chief executive. 鈥淭his included planting thousands of trees that will take the longest to mature and bringing in species like k膩k膩 [a large parrot] that were absent from Wellington city.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

These visionary efforts have led to , with several other native species of birds, insects, amphibians, and reptiles also thriving. The sanctuary is now in its second-generation strategy, which builds on the first, and is all about living with nature and helping the local community reconnect with the native wildlife. 

鈥淭here is an inextricable link between people and the environment,鈥� Hikuroa explains. 鈥淚f your rivers, oceans, mountains, forests, and your land is unwell, then you as a human are unwell.鈥�

So it follows that when communities keep in mind future generations as they make decisions, nature and humans can thrive together. 

This horrific practice was as uniquely American in the 1940s as mass shootings are today. The consistency with which they occurred in natural spaces, especially in the South, maintains lasting effects on how African Americans engage with the outdoors. Systematic barriers, such as socioeconomic status, access to transportation, and Jim Crow laws, further compounded to exclude African Americans from natural spaces.

鈥淎t some point, we got kind of pushed out of these spaces,鈥� says National Park Service ranger Rebekah Smith, age 31, who is Black and grew up enjoying the outdoors in Georgia. She now works as a ranger at the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. Smith is driven to uncover untold stories to reinvigorate Black Americans鈥� love for the outdoors.

It鈥檚 part of a larger effort for current generations to reclaim their rightful place and sense of belonging in natural spaces.

鈥淚t鈥檚 time for us to go back and reconnect,鈥� Smith says.

That鈥檚 鈥淲hite People Stuff鈥�

My maternal grandmother, Delores (known in my family as 鈥淕ima鈥�), was born in Louisiana in 1944 and moved to Los Angeles, California, around the age of 3 as part of the Great Migration. She grew up in the Jim Crow era, and while Gima didn鈥檛 allow her relationship with the natural world to be broken, she knew where outdoor recreation was safest.

Gima was able to enjoy horseback riding, boating, and visiting Lincoln Park and beaches during summer vacation, in part because of how her elders protected her from the harshness of the social climate. 

鈥淚f you went around certain places, like in Marina del Rey, not all white people, but some of 鈥檈m 鈥� you can tell how they was snobby and prejudiced,鈥� Gima recounts. 鈥淚t didn鈥檛 phase us. It didn鈥檛 phase me none.鈥�

Still, she doesn鈥檛 venture out into 鈥渨ild spaces,鈥� claiming that Black people realize that these areas are far too dangerous, and implying a sort of naivete that white counterparts display when visiting them.

鈥淲e鈥檙e not fools,鈥� she says. 鈥淲e don鈥檛 go out there in the wilderness and lay on the ground in a tent.鈥�

Unlike Gima, many Black people opted to protect themselves from the vulnerability of wild places by settling for life indoors or close to home. Some culturally evolved to accept the norm that outdoor recreation is 鈥渨hite people stuff.鈥�

Today, though threats certainly persist, there is a thriving community of Black recreationists enjoying every aspect of the outdoors. Take, for example, the National Park System (an institution built on a foundation of dispossession and genocide of Indigenous peoples as well as Jim Crow segregation). African Americans make up only despite comprising 13% of the U.S. population. But many people are working to grow our presence in nature-based recreation through historical education.

In August of 2022, Smith led a program titled 鈥淏lack People Don鈥檛 Do That.鈥� In it, she explained the ways racism shaped so many of our outdoor spaces. The talk was part of an event hosted by Outdoor Afro, an organization that 鈥渃elebrates and inspires Black connections and leadership in nature.鈥�

Smith described how Doughton Park, a 6,000-acre recreation area along the Blue Ridge Parkway鈥攖he scenic road through Shenandoah National Park鈥攚as named in 1961 after Robert Lee Doughton, a U.S. House Representative, segregationist, and son of a Confederate soldier. The origins of the parkway can be partly traced to Josephus Daniels, who published racist cartoons in the Raleigh News & Observer and was one of the perpetrators of the 1898 Wilmington Massacre, a coup that burned down the offices of a local African American newspaper, banished democratic lawmakers, and murdered up to 60 people in order to pass Jim Crow laws. In later years, other white supremacists to Shenandoah National Park, according to the Equal Justice Initiative.

If Black people weren鈥檛 kept away from outdoor spaces by racial terror, they were shut out by socioeconomic status. According to records from the U.S. Department of Commerce, non-white men earned about 41% of the average white man鈥檚 salary in 1939, while non-white women brought in 36% of a typical white woman鈥檚 income.

Further challenging access, few Black people owned vehicles. Those who took public transportation endured a unique humiliation. They were relegated to 鈥淛im Crow cars鈥� and mistreatment, only to arrive at Negro-only facilities that were subpar to those reserved for whites, such as Shenandoah National Park鈥檚 Lewis Mountain.

White people and leaders chalked it up to disinterest. In a 1940 memo, then-director of the National Park Service Arno Berthold Cammerer wrote of the Lewis Mountain cabins, 鈥淚 myself have felt right along that there was not sufficient demand by negroes for this particular type of accommodations to make it pay.鈥�

Yet, despite it all, 10,217 African Americans visited Shenandoah National Park that year.

An Enduring Tradition of Outdoorsmanship

Outdoorsmanship is a longstanding tradition in the Black American community. York, an African man enslaved by Lewis and Clark alongside Sacagawea, ensured the duo鈥檚 survival with his frontier skills, especially hunting. He and others like him worked as 鈥済o-betweens鈥� for communication and trade with the Indigenous people of North America. George Bonga, born to an enslaved person in 1802 and later free, was a renowned fur trapper who worked for the American Fur Company and helped negotiate a treaty with the Ojibwe people in 1820. Before them, maroons, a name for escaped slaves, like the African inhabitants of Virginia and North Carolina鈥檚 Dismal Swamp in the late 1700s, saw the land as a key to freedom.

In the centuries since, Black people have continued to help mold the culture of American outdoorsmanship. The land has retained its significance as a place of resistance and reclamation, continuing the maroons鈥� tradition.

In addition to Outdoor Afro, organizations like Hunters of Color, Diversify Outdoors, and Black Girls Hike RVA lead the charge in inviting African diasporic people into outdoors-based recreation across the United States.

Black Girls Hike RVA鈥檚 co-founders, Narshara Tucker and Nicole Boyd, said in an email that in the past, they were often the only people of color (POC) on hiking trips. This repeated experience inspired them to create 鈥渟pace to offer a safe and supportive environment for women of color while on the trails.鈥� Since the organization鈥檚 founding in 2020, they鈥檝e organized monthly hikes near Richmond, Virginia, and the Blue Ridge Mountains, leading groups of around 20 people on excursions.

鈥淔rom slavery to lynchings, the outdoors have historically been a painful place for POC,鈥� they said. 鈥淪eeing, and more importantly, welcoming black people in the outdoor recreation is vital to changing that narrative.鈥�

When other hikers see Black Girls Hike RVA on the trail, they assume it鈥檚 a church group, 鈥渁s if a group of black women cannot be intentionally on the trail and in the outdoors like everyone else,鈥� Tucker and Boyd said. As if Black women鈥檚 love for natural spaces is abnormal or must be qualified by other, more stereotypical social structures.

On the contrary, the outdoors has long been a place of healing, where many Black people go to convene with the spiritual world.

Reclaiming Connections With the Land

鈥淭his is God鈥檚 country,鈥� says my paternal grandmother, Marilynn (known to me as 鈥淢a-Ma鈥�), 68, as she explained to me the significance of her time in the outdoors. 鈥淕od invented all of this 鈥� and we should be enjoying it.鈥�

Her reverence for the outdoors is palpable as she describes what she feels when spending time in nature: 鈥淎ny and everything that I had in my mind that was negative is gone. I don鈥檛 even think about it. My mind is just on what 滨鈥檓 seeing, enjoying the breeze, looking at the ducks, hearing the birds,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very relaxing.鈥�

Ma-Ma鈥檚 relationship with the outdoors has evolved with each generation and member of our family. As a child in Galveston, Texas, and then Los Angeles, California, she would garden, visit local parks, and even observe nature at the junkyard and airports with her dad. When she met my grandpa, she learned to fish. As a teacher, she鈥檚 now determined to share the wider world with her students.

鈥淚 want the kids to know 鈥� it鈥檚 other things out there,鈥� she says, explaining her motivations for taking her kindergarteners on school trips. 鈥淚f you鈥檝e never been shown or introduced to nothing, how are you supposed to know it? White folks, they鈥檙e forever traveling, taking their kids here and there and showing them things. 鈥� And Black folks, it鈥檚 like we鈥檙e scared to get out and know.鈥�

I鈥檝e inherited Ma-Ma鈥檚 love for the natural world, including her adoration of gardening, animals, and awesome landscapes. These passions have given me and my family outdoor opportunities beyond those afforded to my grandmother in her youth. I enjoy backpacking and scuba diving. My dad and I go off-roading, something we鈥檝e been able to introduce Ma-Ma to as well. Our relatives admire our adventurous dispositions鈥攁nd have even joined us on a few excursions鈥攂ut we鈥檝e also heard our fair share of accusations, such as, 鈥淵ou tryna act white.鈥�

Smith鈥檚 mom was similarly determined to instill in her a love of nature, and Smith then helped normalize wilderness-based recreation for her father. 鈥淗e didn鈥檛 really go to parks or do any outdoor things until I got older and I started bringing him with me to these places,鈥� Smith says, 鈥渢o introduce him and connect with him about my work and what 滨鈥檓 doing.鈥�

With such a rich history of outdoor experiences and skills, the idea that 鈥淏lack people don鈥檛 go outside鈥� is a relatively new concept鈥攐ne that contradicts our lived experiences and aspirations. It is the result of extreme systemic exclusion and decades of victim-blaming. We maintain our historical love for the natural world today, though for some, it may be buried under racial stereotypes imposed upon us.

By remembering these histories鈥攂oth painful and proud鈥攁nd consciously welcoming loved ones into natural spaces, we can reignite a sense of belonging on this land and overcome generational exclusion in the outdoors.

Smith is hopeful that by sharing stories of Black history in the outdoors, she can help Black people overcome statements like 鈥淭his stuff 颈蝉苍鈥檛 for us鈥� and 鈥淲e don鈥檛 do that.鈥� Black people did and continue to do these things, Smith says. 鈥淩eally, we鈥檙e just embracing our ancestry.鈥�

This is key to the future envisioned by Tucker and Boyd: 鈥淲e want black people to be outdoors and viewed as a constant and not an exception.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The communal experience of iftars鈥攖he after-sunset meal that brings people of the faith together during the holy month starting on March 22, 2023鈥攐ften necessitates the use of utensils designed for mass events, such as plastic knives and forks, along with bottles of water.

But to encourage Muslims to be more mindful of the impact of Ramadan on the environment, mosques are increasingly , with some  altogether.

As a , I see this 鈥済reening鈥� of Ramadan as entirely in keeping with the traditions of the faith and, in particular, the observance of Ramadan.

The month鈥攄uring which observant  from even a sip of water or food from sunup to sundown鈥攊s a time for members of the faith to focus on purifying themselves as individuals against excess and materialism.

But in recent years, Muslim communities around the world have used the period to . And this includes understanding the perils of wastefulness and embracing the link between Ramadan and environmental consciousness.

The ban on plastics鈥攁 move  as a way for Muslims 鈥渢o be mindful of [God鈥檚] creation and care for the environment鈥濃�攊s just one example.

Many other mosques and centers are discouraging large or extravagant evening meals altogether. The fear is that such communal events  and often rely on  for cutlery, plates, and serving platters.

Quranic Environmentalism

While the move toward environmental consciousness has gained traction in Muslim communities in recent years, the links between Islam and sustainability can be found in the faith鈥檚 foundational texts.

Scholars have long emphasized principles outlined in the Quran that highlight , reverence for , and the diversity of living things as . 

The Quran repeatedly emphasizes the idea of 鈥�,鈥� a kind of cosmic and natural balance, and the 鈥攖erms that also carry an environmental interpretation.

Recently, Islamic  the numerous hadith鈥攕ayings of the Prophet Muhammad that provide guidance to followers of the faith鈥攖hat emphasize that Muslims should avoid excess, respect resources and living things, and consume in moderation. 

Although present from the outset of the faith, Islam鈥檚 ties to environmentalism received major visibility with the works of Iranian philosopher Seyyed Hossein Nasr, and a series of lectures he delivered at the University of Chicago in 1966. The , Man and Nature: The Spiritual Crisis in Modern Man, warned that humans had broken their relationship with nature and thus placed themselves in grave ecological danger.

Nasr blamed modern and Western science for being , claiming it had destroyed traditional views of nature. Nasr  that Islamic philosophy, metaphysics, scientific tradition, arts, and literature emphasize the spiritual significance of nature. But he noted that numerous contemporary factors, such as mass rural-to-urban migration and poor and autocratic leadership, had prevented the Muslim world from realizing and implementing the Islamic view of the natural environment.

Scholars and activists expanded on Nasr鈥檚 work through the 1980s and 1990s, among them Fazlun Khalid, one of the world鈥檚 leading voices on Islam and environmentalism. In 1994, Khalid founded the , an organization dedicated to the maintenance of the planet as a healthy habitat for all living beings. Khalid and other Muslim environmentalists suggest that Islam鈥檚 nearly 2 billion adherents can participate in the tasks of environmental sustainability and equity not through Western models and ideologies but from .

Partnering with the United Nations Environment Program, Khalid and other leading scholars crafted , a worldwide project for Muslim leaders interested in Muslims鈥� religious commitments to nature. 鈥淭he ethos of Islam is that it integrates belief with a code of conduct which pays heed to the essence of the natural world,鈥� Khalid wrote in .

Going Beyond an Eco-Ramadan

Environmental crises , and academics have highlighted the particular  around the world, such as the victims of  in 2022.

By highlighting , , and , academics have shown how Islam .

This push for environmental consciousness extends beyond Ramadan. In recent years, Muslims have tried to introduce green practices into the shrine cities in Iraq during pilgrimage seasons in  and .

This has included  encouraging the 20 million pilgrims who visit Arbaeen annually to reduce the tons of trash they leave every year that clog up Iraq鈥檚 waterways. Quoting from  and drawing on  from community leaders, the Green Pilgrim movement suggests carrying cloth bags and reusable water bottles, turning down plastic cutlery, and hosting eco-friendly stalls along the walk.

Muslim-owned businesses and nonprofits are joining these wider efforts. Melanie Elturk, the founder of the successful hijab brand Haute Hijab, regularly ties together faith, fashion, commerce, and environmentalism by highlighting the brand鈥檚 . The Washington, D.C., nonprofit  pioneered 鈥攁 play on the word 鈥渋ftar鈥濃�攗sing leftovers and reusable containers.

These efforts are but a few of the diverse ways Muslim communities are addressing environmental impact. The greening of Ramadan fits into a broader conversation about how often communities can tackle climate change within their own frameworks.

But Islamic environmentalism is more than just the dispensing of plastic forks and water bottles鈥攊t taps into a worldview ingrained in the faith from the outset, and can continue to guide adherents as they navigate environmentalism, a space where they may otherwise be marginalized.

This article was originally published by . It has been published here under a Creative Commons license.

But the rooftop of a former orphanage points to new beginnings for the community. There, the sun shines onto the deep-blue surface of 166 solar panels that provide low-cost, clean energy to 20 neighboring families, placing San Giovanni at the helm of an equitable energy transition.

San Giovanni, which launched in 2021, is one of at least 35 renewable energy communities across Italy, according to Legambiente Campania, a leading environmental nonprofit that helped create the entity and install the panels. 

The project is part of a national effort to get households, businesses, and local authorities to jointly generate and distribute energy from renewable sources. Proponents say it鈥檚 a model not just for transitioning economies away from fossil fuels, but also for lifting people out of poverty.

鈥淭his community didn鈥檛 need empty words,鈥� said Anna Riccardi, president of Fondazione Famiglia di Maria, a grassroots youth educational organization housed in the former orphanage. Riccardi, who worked with Legambiente to bring panels to her community, said that what residents do need is an equitable energy transition. 

Naples has one of the country鈥檚 highest rates of poverty and unemployment, and yet its residents have some of its . 

In 2020, Fondazione Con Il Sud, a nonprofit that supports development projects in southern Italy, gave Legambiente and Fondazione Famiglia di Maria 鈧�100,000 (about $109,000) to install solar panels in San Giovanni. The solar array, which started powering the community in 2021, is capable of producing approximately 65,000 kilowatt-hours per year, enough to power 20 homes, according to Legambiente.

Families in San Giovanni paid no upfront costs and can expect to pay up to for domestic bills than average energy consumers, according to a study by Legambiente and Elemens. 

These so-called 鈥減rosumers鈥� (because they both produce and consume the shared energy) have the option to sell whatever excess energy they produce back to the local utility and will decide among themselves what to do with the revenue. 

Leaders of these renewable energy communities say the idea is to put people at the core of the energy transition and empower them in their energy choices and habits, while creating community cohesion and proposing new energy governance mechanisms at a local level.

Italy鈥檚 renewable energy communities are part of a broader push across the European Union to get more consumers to produce their own energy. The European Federation of Citizen Energy Cooperatives, REScoop.eu, estimates around 1,900 energy cooperatives, comprising more than 1.25 million citizens.

Combating Energy Poverty

In early 2022, 13% of Italian households鈥攁bout 3.5 million families鈥攆aced , meaning they were unable to afford basic services, like home heating, Fondazione Utilitatis. 

And energy prices have only gone up in the year since Russia invaded Ukraine and shut off its supply of natural gas to much of Europe. Record numbers of Europeans installed solar panels and heat pumps in their homes, in part to help cope with the energy crisis. 

But, of course, green energy upgrades can be expensive鈥攁nd out of reach for many in San Giovanni a Teduccio, Riccardi said. 

鈥淭he energy community is a model for the fight against inequalities,鈥� said Legambiente鈥檚 Mariateresa Imparato. 鈥淭hese low-income families will be able to share renewable energy and save money on bills.鈥� Another 20 households are expected to connect to San Giovanni鈥檚 solar array in the future. 

Similar efforts are also gaining traction in the United States. According to the , 41 states plus Washington, D.C., have at least one active , with 5.3 gigawatts鈥攅nough to power about 4 million homes鈥攊nstalled as of last year. That figure is expected to nearly double over the next five years.

The , which also extends provisions on tax credits for the installation of solar energy systems, is further pushing American investment in renewable energy.

A Ripple Effect

Fondazione Famiglia di Maria, which has operated in the neighborhood for over a century, said its long-standing relationships in the community were central to attracting families. 鈥淭he foundation was already integrated with grassroots activities and educational projects for children, serving about 120 families,鈥� Riccardi added.

Children were drivers of change among their families. They attended workshops on recycling, learned the differences between fossil and renewable sources, and mapped out plans for a more sustainable neighborhood.

Legambiente then worked with families to tackle energy habits impacting their expenses. They monitored energy consumption, taught them how to read bills, and encouraged the use of electric appliances during the day, when solar energy is more readily available.

鈥淚n a period of crisis, renewable energy communities not only allow people to behave virtuously, but also to receive an incentive for consuming locally produced renewable energy,鈥� said Duccio Baldi, co-founder of Enco, a startup that helps groups form renewable energy communities. 鈥淭he consumer education part is a crucial long-term aspect; we cannot continue to consume as much as we want and when[ever] we want.鈥�

鈥淭here are many families who knock on the door and who would like to participate,鈥� Riccardi said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like when you throw a stone into the water. From a small circle, we have reached a larger one. Even if people aren鈥檛 part of the renewable energy community, its effect is positive for the whole neighborhood and, at large, for the entire country.鈥�

In addition to the 35 renewable energy communities up and running across Italy, dozens more are in the planning stages, according to Legambiente.

Creating Green Jobs

Renewable energy communities can be an engine of job creation. 

鈥淐reating an energy community involves designers, installers, and businesses, greatly impacting the local economy,鈥� said Sergio Olivero, an electronic engineer at the Energy Center Lab of the Polytechnic University of Turin and president of Magliano Alpi鈥檚 scientific committee. The number of people hired for 鈥済reen jobs鈥� in Italy鈥攎ostly in technical design, planning, and development for the country鈥檚 transition to renewable energy鈥� 38% in 2021 from the previous year, according to a report from the Symbola Foundation, to a total of people.

鈥淚n San Giovanni a Teduccio, we set up workshops for kids with orientation towards these jobs,鈥� Imparato said. 鈥淪pecialized workers and energy engineers will be needed in the energy transition.鈥�

Small towns across Italy may soon get a boost. The 2021 European National Recovery and Resilience Plan allocated 鈧�2.2 billion to renewable energy communities in towns under 5,000 residents.

鈥淧otentially tens of thousands of people can become part of a renewable community,鈥� said Baldi, who described the communities as a way to 鈥渄emocratize鈥� energy access. 鈥淭his would be an extraordinary turning point.鈥�

This article originally appeared in and was co-published with听 as part of its 鈥溾�� series. is an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .

Sources:听International Society for Photogrammetry and Remote Sensing; U.S. Environmental Protection Agency; U.S. Department of Agriculture; U.S. Census of Agriculture; U.S. Natural Resources Conservation Service; Habitat Network; University of Florida; Texas Commission on Environmental Quality; The Land Institute; University of Minnesota Bee Lab; National Gardening Survey; Fleet Farming.

First, the butterflies disappeared. Then, the family dog died; and then the neighbors did, too.

But Marquita Bradshaw鈥檚 biggest loss of those adolescent days was probably her great-grandmother. Susie Hall died in 1995 after developing uterine and kidney cancers. 

鈥淲e lost our matriarch. 鈥� She was the kind of person that would cook enough Sunday dinner for the whole church and the neighborhood too,鈥� Bradshaw said.

She attributes her great-grandmother鈥檚 death, like many of those in their South Memphis neighborhood, to environmental injustice. Bradshaw grew up within walking distance of the Defense Distribution Depot Memphis Tennessee, an Army surplus site that was active between 1942 and 1989. At the site, the Department of Defense dumped hazardous waste, including German mustard gas bombs, blistering chemical agents, and medical waste. 

The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) deemed the depot a Superfund site in 1992, placing it on its , a designation recognizing it as a known site of contamination where the EPA will take corrective action. The agency鈥檚 profile of the site acknowledges that chemicals, including arsenic, lead, chromium, and nickel, have contaminated groundwater there. Of in Tennessee listed on the EPA鈥檚 website, over a third are in Shelby County, which encompasses Memphis.

is associated with increased risk of skin and bladder cancers, and has also been linked to cancers of the lung, digestive tract, liver, kidney, and lymphatic and hematopoietic systems. is regarded as likely cancer-causing by federal and international agencies. It targets the nervous system, resulting in decreased learning, memory and attention, and weakness in fingers, wrists, or ankles. It can also cause anemia, kidney damage, increased blood pressure, miscarriage, and damage to the reproductive system. can cause damage to the liver, kidney, circulatory, and nerve tissues, and skin irritation. Exposure to compounds can increase the risk of nasal and lung cancers. 

鈥淚t depended on which way the wind blew what happened to communities. I could go down the street and tell you the women and the men that have died of cancer,鈥� Bradshaw said.

In 1995, the same year Hall died, Bradshaw鈥檚 mother, Doris Bradshaw, organized the Defense Depot Memphis Tennessee Concerned Citizens鈥� Committee in an elementary school cafeteria. The grassroots group held protests, spoke out at community meetings, called on local elected officials and government agencies to help, and, in 2000, got an independent groundwater done by Howard University. 

It confirmed their suspicions. The study zeroed in on areas where residents were most concerned and tested for specific tracers that signified the presence of contaminants, such as chlorinated organic compounds, rather than generic tests for pesticides and metals. The researchers found high concentrations of organic compounds and heavy metals, including lead, arsenic, cadmium, and chromium.

Chromium levels were more than triple the EPA standard limits. 

The committee went head-to-head with government agencies that dismissed their claims. The prepared reports that implied there was no cause for alarm, though environmental activists nationwide questioned the legitimacy of its methods. Critics said the reports鈥� results were watered down, spanning broad census tracts that included areas less likely to be affected by pollution and only covering a limited time period. 

The Defense Depot in South Memphis is just one of a laundry list of sites spewing toxic waste into communities in the majority-Black city of Memphis. There鈥檚 the North Hollywood Dump and the old Firestone plant in North Memphis. There鈥檚 the Valero Oil Refinery and Sanitation Services facility actively releasing toxic chemicals in South Memphis, where hundreds of truckloads of coal ash are driven through the streets daily. Bradshaw said a newspaper page would not be enough to list all the environmental issues plaguing Memphis. 

All over the city, the remnants of industrialization plague Black communities. And all over the city, residents of those communities, led by women and mothers, have stood up for decades to fight back against multinational corporations. 

Today, Memphis is at the crux of the environmental justice movement, exacerbated by factors like climate change and the COVID-19 pandemic. After a series of victories, activists say the tide may finally be turning. 

When Bradshaw was a young mother in the late 1990s, she noticed kids in her neighborhood developing uterine, testicular, and prostate cancers. She said public health officials told her the children, as well as women developing uterine cancer, had too many sexual partners.

鈥淭hey called our whole neighborhood whores, basically,鈥� she said. 

After that, she joined the fight. She鈥檚 traveled internationally, connecting with the global environmental justice movement. And in the 2020 U.S. Senate race, she made history as the first Black woman to win a major political party nomination in any statewide race in Tennessee. She led a based on 鈥渓eadership for healthy and safe communities.鈥�

Situations like the Bradshaws鈥� in South Memphis are not unique. Across the country, communities of color bear the burden of environmental racism. And Black women, especially mothers, have faced that burden head on. 

鈥淲hen you look at the environmental justice struggle as a whole, it鈥檚 usually the mothers who care for the children that see the impact,鈥� Bradshaw said. 鈥淭he environmental justice movement is a movement of mothers, first.鈥�

Catherine Coleman Flowers, founder of the Center for Rural Enterprise and Environmental Justice, attributed women鈥檚 roles as nurturers as a factor shaping their activism and concerns for the future of the planet for generations to come. 

Bradshaw cites a mother of the national movement, Hazel Johnson. Johnson was recognized as the mother of the environmental justice movement after she called attention to the toxic doughnut of landfills, sewage treatment centers, plants, and pollutants enveloping her Chicago neighborhood. She founded People for Community Recovery after her husband died of cancer and she was left to raise seven children. Johnson鈥檚 work led to President Bill Clinton signing , which directed federal agencies to create strategies to address environmental injustices, explicitly mentioning race. However, say the order has not produced concrete change. 

Johnson鈥檚 daughter Cheryl Johnson now carries on her legacy and has taken over People for Community Recovery since her mother鈥檚 passing. 

Like Cheryl Johnson, Bradshaw carries on her mother鈥檚 work, absorbing her mother鈥檚 organization into her own, Sowing Justice. Doris Bradshaw, hospitalized with kidney disease that her daughter said is environmentally induced, hopes to retire soon. But she still advises her daughter and keeps a finger on the pulse of the environmental justice movement. 

The depot鈥檚 approximately 642-acre property still sits in South Memphis. The residents proposed a plan to the city council and county commission in 1997 to turn it into a renewable energy site. Instead, the city formed the Depot Redevelopment Corporation to acquire and plan the reuse of the facilities. It sold depot buildings to private investors and used the money from the sale to fund the city鈥檚 economic development and growth engine, which funds developmental projects around the city and includes its majority-white suburbs. Residents say that money should have been invested directly into the community surrounding the depot.

Environmental justice activists鈥� lived experience speaks to a factor that they, along with the U.S. government, already knew: Black people are more likely to live, and die, among contaminants, no matter their education level or income. 

Race is the strongest predictor of the location of hazardous waste sites, according to reports by the and the 鈥檚 Commission for Racial Justice. About 97% of the people living in the census tract surrounding the depot are Black, according to U.S. Census data. More than half of them are women.

Memphis鈥� racial makeup, and subsequently the pollution that plagues it, is largely due to its convenient location on the Mississippi River. 

The city is situated on one of four Chickasaw bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River that has proven it advantageous for trade, transportation, and military operations. Its Native American occupants, and then its colonizers, all found protection from flooding and convenient trade routes.

During the antebellum period, Memphis became the biggest inland market for enslaved people, heavily producing cash crops, like tobacco and cotton. And during the Civil War, the city became a Union stronghold, attracting thousands of formerly enslaved people who sought protection at contraband camps. 

In the 20th century, industries flocked to the city. Along with industries came chemicals that went largely unregulated until the Clean Air Act of 1970, their remnants still plaguing the city. Raymond C. Firestone, who operated Firestone Tire and Rubber鈥檚 largest facility in North Memphis, it chose the city because it 鈥渙ffered unsurpassed advantages in river and rail transportation, adequate supplies of workers, suitable climate and an excellent geographical location,鈥� according to the Memphis Public Library.

Given its demographic makeup, it鈥檚 only logical that Memphis is on the front lines of a climate crisis as well, said Amanda Garcia, director of the Southern Environmental Law Center in Tennessee. that Memphis will be part of an extreme heat belt within the next 30 years. In 2021, a record winter storm knocked out power for at least 132,000 people and threatened the drinking water for 260,000 households. 

鈥淚 don鈥檛 think any of it is independent from environmental injustice,鈥� Garcia said. 鈥淚 think that the legacy of environmental injustice is one of devaluing Black lives, and the conditions of pollution that our society has allowed to exist in South Memphis and the extra deaths that we have allowed to occur in South Memphis are also what has allowed these fossil fuel plants to operate for so long. Those are exacerbating the climate crisis.鈥�

Memphians in the environmental justice movement occupy a space where factors such as race, poverty, gender, and power collide, compounding the impacts on the most vulnerable people. 

鈥淭hose of us who are on the front lines fighting for this, we鈥檙e trying to hold it back from everybody,鈥� Flowers said. 鈥淏ut ultimately, if we don鈥檛 win, all of us are going to be impacted, no matter what color you are, no matter how much money you have.鈥�

The intersectionality of the moment has driven what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. referred to as the 鈥渇ierce urgency of now,鈥� according to activist and newly elected state Rep. Justin J. Pearson.

Pearson emerged into the national spotlight against a backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic, which has killed nearly 4,000 Memphians, and back-to-back moments of highly publicized racial injustices with the police killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor.

All of these factors together led Pearson to feel that urgency when he read about a proposed oil pipeline in an . Like Bradshaw, Pearson has lost loved ones to cancer. Both of his grandmothers, he said, had their lives cut short in their 60s. Both lived in neighborhoods in the southwestern area of Memphis. 

Pearson鈥檚 organizing attracted national attention in 2021 as he led a coalition of organizations and residents to defeat Valero鈥檚 proposed Byhalia oil pipeline that would threaten the city鈥檚 natural water source and run through predominantly Black neighborhoods.

Groups like Pearson鈥檚 (then called Memphis Community Against the Pipeline), including Protect Our Aquifer and the Southern Environmental Law Center, joined forces. Former and stood alongside Memphians. Community members petitioned, spoke at public meetings, canvassed door-to-door, and filed lawsuits. 

Ultimately, the pipeline was canceled. 

Pearson attributes the success to people power. He stands on the shoulders of organizers who have led the way, like Doris and Marquita Bradshaw, and fights on behalf of people like his grandmothers. 

鈥淲e have organized, persistent resistance. We have an emphasis on creating a movement that is led by Black folks, that is prioritizing poor folks, that is elevating the issues of our communities that have been marginalized and left out, for the first time in quite a long time,鈥� he said. 鈥淎nd we have lawyers, doctors, and community leaders who are all on one accord to fight for our lives in a unified fashion.鈥�

After stopping the Byhalia pipeline, one of activists鈥� latest opponents is the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), a federal utility that has leveraged its power as the region鈥檚 sole energy provider. 

The utility鈥檚 coal ash plant, which closed in 2018, . Since the plant has shut down, the utility devised another plan: To remove the tons of coal ash, it is driving hundreds of truckloads through South Memphis daily over a period of eight years. 

Memphis Light, Gas and Water, the city鈥檚 utility, voted against a proposed contract with TVA that activists said would have created a never-ending agreement because it would require 20 years notice for cancellation, while TVA plans to further invest in harmful natural gas plants. 

While the local activists can acknowledge the momentum the movement is gaining and that the tide is turning, they agreed there is still much work to be done. 

The Defense Depot is still being monitored by the EPA for groundwater contamination. Though companies have purchased land on the property, there are still regulations on activities, such as digging in the soil.

Bradshaw said true justice looks like eliminating that exposure to toxic waste, increasing access to health care facilities that can recognize ailments caused by that exposure, and providing economic reparations for business owners and people who have lived in these communities, so they can live in safe places where they don鈥檛 have to worry about whether the air, water, and soil are clean. 

Some damage, like the ravaging of a community, cannot be reversed. Some of the chemicals present remain in the body and could affect generations to come. 

Frank Johnson, a school board member and community organizer who grew up near the Defense Depot, rattled off another grim inventory. First, his mother developed brain cancer. Then, it was his older sister. Then, his aunt. 

And it wasn鈥檛 just cancer. He listed neighbors, family members, students, and friends with eczema, asthma, fibroids that grew to the size of a 6-month-old baby, birth defects, abnormal growths, and behavioral problems that he鈥檚 observed throughout his community in his 45 years. Johnson himself has an enlarged prostate. 

鈥淭he question started to come up of how was everybody in the same areas experiencing the same thing, but it鈥檚 just casually dismissed. What I found out was all of these symptoms were casual symptoms of lead exposure, arsenic, mustard gas, and all of these things that they had in these areas,鈥� Johnson said. 

He recently got the soil tested on his family鈥檚 property in South Memphis. The test showed arsenic, mercury, lead, and other toxins were present. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 going to take a whole hell of a lot. Because we鈥檙e talking about generations that have just been destroyed,鈥� Johnson said. 鈥湵踱�檓 not satisfied with just getting an apology. Dealing with this has almost completely destroyed my entire family.鈥�

This story was originally published by . To read more of its stories answering the 鈥渉ow鈥� and 鈥渨hy鈥� of the intersection of environment and race news, .

There are already , with new actions being confirmed almost daily. The day of action is the latest effort in a yearslong campaign to get Wall Street to stop funding fossil fuels. It also shows that more and more people are beginning to grasp something important: Our money is our carbon.

鈥淭he goal is to link cash and carbon in people鈥檚 minds,鈥� McKibben told me. 鈥淲hen you look at huge wildfires and devastating hurricanes, yes, you should blame ExxonMobil, but you should also blame Citi, Chase, and Bank of America.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

When you put your money in the bank, it 颈蝉苍鈥檛 just sitting idly waiting for you to use it. The bank can use up to 90% of the money in your account to provide loans to companies across the economy. If you bank with Citi, Chase, Wells Fargo, or Bank of America鈥晅he world鈥檚 four largest funders of fossil fuels鈥晅hey are using a of that money to finance new coal mines, oil pipelines, and the massive build-out of liquefied natural gas (LNG) that is currently in the Gulf South. 

We鈥檝e known all this for a long time. For more than a decade, Rainforest Action Network and others have put out an on banks鈥� financing of fossil fuels. What we didn鈥檛 know until recently, however, was the exact climate impact of our cash in the bank. That changed last year, when three nonprofit organizations鈥擝ankFWD, Climate Safe Lending Network, and The Outdoor Policy Outfit鈥攔eleased 鈥�,鈥� a report containing a first-of-its-kind methodology to quantify the greenhouse gas emissions caused by the money we hold in the bank. The findings are stark.

Owing to the fact that your bank is using a chunk of your money to pay for new coal mines and oil pipelines, if you have $50,000 with one of the big Wall Street banks, the annual carbon associated with your cash is equal to taking around 12 flights between New York and London. If you have $500,000 with one of the big banks, it鈥檚 the equivalent of taking 120 flights between the Big Apple and the Big Smoke. Turns out, if you care about the climate crisis, ditching the banks funding the fossil fuel industry is one of the most important things you can do. 

Defunding All Kinds of Fossil Fuels

Third Act 颈蝉苍鈥檛 the first organization to encourage people to dump banks that fund fossil fuels. In August 2016, Tara Houska was working in Washington, D.C., when she saw a Facebook video from Standing Rock Sioux historian LaDonna Brave Bull Allard urging people to travel to Standing Rock to resist the Dakota Access pipeline. The next day, Houska rented a car and drove to Standing Rock. She was there for the next six months. 

As the Standing Rock resistance grew, a researcher produced highlighting the banks that were funding the pipeline. 鈥淭here was a group of us at Standing Rock trying to figure out ways to get people around the world to help,鈥� Houska told me. 鈥淲hen we saw that graph, we knew that was it.鈥� A wave of divestment and mass protest targeting the banks financing the pipeline broke out across the country under the banner #DefundDAPL. In Seattle, groups like sprung up and helped organize protests at which dozens of Wells Fargo customers closed their accounts. In Los Angeles, Jane Fonda took a crowd of hundreds with her as she closed her accounts. Bowing to community pressure, Seattle, San Francisco, and other cities even promising that they, too, would break ties with the banks funding the pipeline. It was the first time so many had connected the dots between Wall Street and the climate crisis.

Since then, the movement to end fossil financing has continued to grow. In January 2020, 32 organizations鈥昳ncluding many that were involved with the #DefundDAPL campaign鈥昹aunched , a coalition of national NGOs, grassroots groups, and frontline environmental justice organizations dedicated to forcing the financial industry to stop financing the fossil fuel industry. Back in 2020, I helped launch the coalition and have spent the past three years helping coordinate it. The coalition has since grown to include more than 240 organizations, and, while there is still a long way to go, the movement has helped force real shifts in the industry. Six years ago, few banks would have admitted they were a part of the problem. Now, every one of them has committed to achieving net-zero emissions by 2050. Even if those commitments aren鈥檛 sufficient to give us a fighting chance of limiting global warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius, it鈥檚 a sign big banks can be moved by the type of public pressure activists hope to apply on March 21. 

Better Banking Options

Another thing that has changed in recent years is the number of good banking options available to the climate-conscious. 鈥淚n many cases, the best banking option鈥攍ike the best energy and food option鈥攊s to stay close to home,鈥� said McKibben when we spoke. 鈥淵our local credit union is often terrific, and very unlikely to be tied into the fossil fuel industry.鈥� (You can check the funding practices of your local credit union at or .)

Nowadays though, there are even better options than simply avoiding the bad stuff. , , and only provide loans that support the deployment of renewable energy. rejects fossil fuel companies and also funds renewable energy projects. One in every $3 that lends goes to renewable energy, and it has been a key player in founding that are nudging the entire banking sector toward climate action. If you bank with any of these institutions, your money is avoiding fossil fuels and helping to fund the transition to renewable energy. This is no small thing: One of the to curtailing the climate crisis is financing.

When I spoke about the upcoming day of action with Tara Houska, she said, 鈥淭he enormity of the climate crisis makes people feel that there鈥檚 nothing they can do that will make a difference, but moving your money is something that you can do that can make a real difference.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

So if you care about the climate crisis, and consider finding yourself a better bank. Just make sure you tell your old bank why you鈥檙e leaving: to fund a greener future.

Two decades later, on June 14, 2022, the weather turned unseasonably hot. After tedious cold and wet weeks, temperatures swelled throughout the morning until they hit the high 90 degrees Fahrenheit. 鈥淲e had this record-breaking heat, and the trees just fast-forwarded into blossom, and dandelions and so many other things also went into bloom,鈥� Birmingham said. 鈥淚 could see wild bees on our pears, and I thought, they just have tons of work to do, and a lot of choices鈥� of flowers to visit. She worried they鈥檇 skip her orchard鈥檚 16,000 trees, which, like many food plants, rely on pollinators to produce a crop. Honeybees, which are trucked in to perform this task on orchards around the nation, were nowhere to be found鈥攈er beekeeper neighbor鈥檚 shipment was late. To her surprise, though, local wild pollinators, like bumble, sweat, and mason , nesting in the restored prairie, did all the pollination work. The result: a bountiful apple crop. 鈥淭he wild will do it for you,鈥� Birmingham said.

There鈥檚 plenty of research that supports Birmingham鈥檚 experience of wild bees鈥� relevance in  like tree fruits, blueberries, and cranberries, and the role  play in giving bees a needed . That鈥檚 why the U.S. Department of Agriculture and conservation nonprofits, like The Xerces Society,  to plant buffers, like pollinator strips鈥攚ide swaths of flowering plants adjacent to crop fields. (Birmingham got help from both.) But there may be more going on between Birmingham鈥檚 plants and bees in this era of climate change. Her property, with its multifaceted landscape of forest and crop trees, hedgerows and prairie, has the hallmarks of a refugium.

Refugia, from the Latin for shelter and first used in biology in the , are viewed as 鈥溾�� from climate change and a haven for vulnerable species. A refugium might be found in a sheltered valley along a river, with plenty of cover from trees. As extreme heat and drought wither plants, obliterate pollen, dry up water sources, and make it harder for bees to function or find food鈥攏ot to mention, threaten the human food supply鈥攁 refugium鈥檚 cooler, damper microclimate could help all manner of species survive.

In fact,  have played a critical role in protecting species before. , the woodland ringlet butterfly, the common European viper, brown bears, , and  hunkered down in warmer microclimates to survive the cycle of extreme cold. When things warmed up, they reemerged and repopulated parts of the planet.

Researchers are now looking at ways this might work in our age of rising temperatures, and the role that farms might play in enhancing biodiversity. The  found that food and agriculture currently drive , through deforestation, grassland conversion, chemical use, and other changes to the landscape. But farms like Birmingham鈥檚 might help counter that trend at a time when climate change is accelerating the threat to species.

Data show that the best climate-mitigating effect comes from a mosaic of landscape types, with more greenery producing greater benefits.

For example, in a 鈥渃omplex landscape structure鈥� like Birmingham鈥檚, tree canopy provides cooling shade; densely planted trees and woody shrubs (i.e., hedgerows) block wind to prevent the land from drying out; soil covered with low-lying cover crops retains moisture; and flora move moisture into the air to lower the surrounding temperature. All of this helps bees, birds, and the plants themselves.

At Dru Rivers鈥�  in California鈥檚 northern Capay Valley鈥攁bout a 90-minute drive from the Bay Area鈥攕he and her partners planted hedgerows over 30 years ago, including some that yield crops, like pomegranates and olives. The farm鈥檚 400 acres also produce about 100 varieties of fruits, vegetables, and nuts, through which they rotate cover crops. All of those choices enhanced the soil. So when torrential rains from the state鈥檚 unprecedented atmospheric river hit this past January, the porous soil managed to absorb all the water rather than flooding the farm. And, said Rivers, 鈥渨e have the firm belief that our healthy soil helped in the drought鈥� that hammered California over the past three years. 鈥淲e still have really vibrant orchards.鈥�

As Full Belly鈥檚 plant life has survived extremes, so, too, has extensive wildlife. Studies found that Full Belly provides so much welcoming habitat that it virtually 鈥�,鈥� making honeybee pollination unnecessary. Full Belly also supports a , including wood ducks, western bluebirds, and red-shouldered hawks. Although researchers haven鈥檛 recorded temperatures in the farm鈥檚 microclimate, it bears the hallmarks of a refugium, and 鈥渢he greenness of it is comforting, even for people habitat,鈥� Rivers said.

Data show that the best climate-mitigating effect comes from a mosaic of landscape types, with more greenery producing greater benefits. These 鈥渄ampen the impact of extreme weather events, be it high temperature, extreme drought, extreme precipitation,鈥� wrote Jonas Lembrechts, an ecologist at the University of Antwerp, in an email. 鈥淪uch 鈥榞reen solutions鈥� can certainly be highlighted as one of the better climate adaption scenarios a person can do.鈥�

These habitats are plentiful in nature too. Scientists around the world have been  and tallying their various soil types, water availability, and slope direction, all of which play a role in creating nurturing microclimates. One meadow refugium in a Sierra Nevada, California, valley was found to be 18 degrees cooler than surrounding mountainsides; researchers identified 400 plant and 100 bird species on just 800 acres. 鈥淓specially at night, the cooling effect of nature reserves can reach to 2 kilometers (nearly one mile),鈥� Lembrechts wrote, expanding a refugium鈥檚 reach.

These protective reserves are critical for the future of species. Refugia in general 鈥渉arbor large amounts of genetic diversity, so I guess that gives some hope,鈥� said biologist Matthew Koski at Clemson University, because the species that survive in these microclimates can potentially evolve. 鈥淪o conserving these regions is extremely important.鈥� One challenge: 鈥淲hat if these refugia are kept to very small, protected areas and then developed around? That鈥檚 going to be totally problematic, because it鈥檚 likely that those population sizes will decline,鈥� he said, unless some connectivity between microhabitats can be established. Work is already underway in the U.S. to address those problems, with solutions like pollinator corridors in  and  areas.

 pointed out that even a farm that supports a monoculture like wheat is often scattered with less-productive tracts suitable for habitat. Ilona Naujokaitis-Lewis, a landscape ecologist with Environment and Climate Change Canada at Canada鈥檚 National Wildlife Research Centre, has been studying 30 agricultural landscapes in Ontario. She sees particular promise in hedgerows, under which she鈥檚 found summer temperatures to be 鈥渞emarkably鈥� cooler than on adjacent crop fields, sometimes by nearly 15 degrees. (Lembrechts found a similar scenario in Flemish gardens.) The more trees, the more cooling effects from direct shading and wind movement patterns. Tree hedgerows in particular 鈥渃an maximize biodiversity of beneficial insects and provide co-benefits for climate mitigation,鈥� concluded research co-conducted by Naujokaitis-Lewis.

That doesn鈥檛 mean refugia are immune to the stresses of extreme weather. 鈥淢icroclimates that are a few degrees cooler might be enough to weather a short period of extreme heat or drought, but eventually, pollinators need to leave their relative safety to forage for food,鈥� said Grant Duffy, an ecologist at the University of Otago in New Zealand. And plants will eventually succumb to persistent scorch and lack of water, even if your 鈥渟oil sponge,鈥� as Lembrechts calls it, helps out for a while.

Nevertheless, a range of plants that bloom across the span of a bee鈥檚 life might allow it to stay put in a protected oasis longer. 鈥淎nything that adds more habitat complexity is going to create more microclimate variability [to give] pollinators 鈥� a better range of options when temperatures are especially warm (or cold), so they can avoid the worst of those extremes,鈥� Duffy said.

In other words, refugia could buy species some time. First to adapt, then to wend their way toward more comfortable areas. 鈥淎ll animals can survive within certain critical thermal limits鈥攖he lower and higher temperatures at which they die鈥攚hich they achieve by something we call plasticity, or acclimation,鈥� said Hester Weaving, an entomologist at the University of Bristol. Insects can adapt to heat by producing heat-shock proteins, for example. 鈥淵ou can imagine that this process could be really useful for climate change, because, different from evolution, which is occurring over many generations and might be too slow, acclimation can happen within hours.鈥� How plastic are insects, including bees? Not very, a  of Weaving鈥檚 revealed. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 when you know these microclimates are going to be really important for [their] survival,鈥� she said.

Agricultural landscapes with a robust array of plants will likely become even more important as temperatures warm. 鈥淲hen we create pollinator-friendly habitat, we create larger populations of pollinators that are going to have a better capacity to adapt to future changes,鈥� said biologist Jessica Forrest of the University of Ottawa, who studies how climate change affects plant-pollinator interactions. The bigger those populations are, 鈥渢he more chance there is that one individual鈥檚 got a mutation that allows it to tolerate whatever new environmental condition is coming along.鈥�

Sadly, those benefits aren鈥檛 recognized often enough. Naujokaitis-Lewis, for example, has encountered farmers bent on removing hedgerows from their property to keep them from toppling onto fields in intensifying storms, fully unaware of the climatic advantages of keeping them intact. Birmingham, meanwhile, has experienced these advantages firsthand. Two years ago, her landscape proved its greater worth. 鈥淲e had a drought year that didn鈥檛 faze our prairie because these plants are so deep-rooted,鈥� she said. Not only did her fruit trees get pollinated; her wild bees survived and thrived in their habitat.

This article was originally published by Food & Environment Reporting Network and is republished here with permission.

When her work in the field is over for the day, Tracy returns to camp, where she administers multiple blogs and Facebook pages that promote the industry and facilitate information sharing between harvesters spread out across remote corners of the Great Plains.

Late that evening, she posted an article to one of her pages, HarvestHER, about the . By the next morning, she had received an email from Audra Zimmerman, the wife of a former harvester, who had joined the community the previous year.

鈥淚 was really touched by the FB post you shared today,鈥� Zimmerman wrote. 鈥淲hen I was on harvest the past two years, one of the reasons that I quite 鈥榣iterally鈥� survived was because of the HarvestHER group.鈥�

Since 2016, HarvestHER has existed as a forum to relieve the loneliness and stress that have plagued women of the male-dominated harvest industry since enterprising young cutters started following ripening wheat from north Texas and Oklahoma through Montana and North Dakota. Women make up only 31 percent of American farmers, and although no data exists for harvesters, a similarly small percentage has produced a culture in which they have been largely unnoticed. While women are essential to the industry, their role, like that of many women, in this already overlooked corner of traditional agricultural has never been fully recognized or appreciated. But HarvestHER seeks to empower these women by establishing a sense of community and providing a platform for them to have a voice and share their stories.

Tracy鈥檚 roots in custom harvesting date back to the 1950s, when her grandfather first started taking his combine on the road to cut for neighboring farmers. Her father continued the family business, and before Tracy was a teenager, she was driving the combine herself. She met Jim, who worked as a hired man for her father鈥檚 crew, and after some starts and stops, Zeorian Harvesting has been operating full time since 1991.

For the first few years,听Tracy stayed at camp with their young daughters, while Jim and a hired crew member spent the day in the fields cutting wheat and hauling the grain to elevators or storage bins. When her four daughters were old enough,听Tracy returned to the combine, but for the years she spent at camp, the most lasting memory was the loneliness. 鈥淚t鈥檚 being away from family and home,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 being on the road and not knowing anybody.鈥�

Tracy rarely identifies herself to local townspeople as a harvester. 鈥淯nless you鈥檙e really outgoing and making an effort to be a part of the community, you鈥檙e on your own for the time you are there.鈥�

While the men of the harvest could face similar issues, because they are out in the fields, meeting with farmers and staff at the grain elevators, and passing through towns, they often have opportunities to interact with other people that women back at camp do not. According to Nancy Eberts, who has been in the business with her husband, Myron, since 1982, because women are often back at camp, they can miss opportunities to socialize with peers. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e out in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes the harvesters can have coffee but women aren鈥檛 always around.鈥�

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 necessarily have people to talk to. Back in the day, the kids were mad, and my friends thought I was nuts for leaving and living in a camper,鈥� she says. 鈥淪o, it鈥檚 like who can you talk to that will say, 鈥楽tick with it鈥�?鈥�

The advent of cellphones and social media made it easier to keep in touch, but even today, many of the places harvesters work lack cell service, and because of the long hours and endless list of daily tasks, few could find the time to stay in touch during the season. And without the infrastructure to facilitate this kind of peer-to-peer sharing, women of the harvest remained isolated.

After three years serving as president and executive director of U.S. Custom Harvesters Inc., the industry鈥檚 advocacy group,听Tracy wanted to do more to support her colleagues and turned her attention to the women of the industry. 鈥淭hey have always been there, but they鈥檝e been invisible, and they are truly the backbone of the crew,鈥� she says.

With this in mind, she set up a blog for HarvestHER and recruited women such as Eberts to share their stories and struggles as well as recipes, advice for raising kids during the harvest, and anything else that might come up.

鈥淏ack in the 1800s, women got together and sat around a quilting bee鈥攁nd I鈥檝e done that,鈥澨� Tracy says. 鈥淎nd what you tend to do is you sew and talk about your life鈥檚 problems. We don鈥檛 do that anymore, but we鈥檙e still built that way.鈥�

So, for Tracy, HarvestHER has become a modern day, digital quilting bee, and over the past three years, she has seen her idea blossom. 鈥淚t鈥檚 rewarding for me to see them chitchatting in the group and feeding off each other鈥檚 ideas,鈥� Tracy says. 鈥淲hy do it on your own when there are people out here to help?鈥�

Over the past three years, Tracy has watched the group evolve as more and more women have started to feel comfortable sharing their experiences. 鈥淏ecause there are gals who trust each other and are willing to open up and talk about different things, it鈥檚 bringing in new people,鈥� she observes. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e starting to talk and be a part of it as well.鈥�

Tracy is very much aware of the national conversation seeking to elevate the voices of women at all levels of society, especially in politics and business, but in a traditionally conservative industry in a conservative part of the country, her focus is aimed less at a national audience and more inward at the harvest community. 鈥淏y giving so much of yourself all day long, you tend to lose who you are,鈥� Tracy says, referring to the loss of identity that comes with the endless nature of the work. 鈥淗arvestHER has the ability to say, 鈥極h, you don鈥檛 get your eyebrows plucked either? You鈥檙e not the only one who feels that way,鈥欌�� she says.

鈥淢ore so than trying to create a movement, it鈥檚 a community,鈥� Tracy says. 鈥淚t takes everything that you continue to forget about yourself, pulls it back, and makes you aware you aren鈥檛 the only one.鈥�

This message resonated with Audra Zimmerman. After years of running a drain and tile business with her husband, the romanticism of following the harvest inspired them to hit the road. Unfortunately, any quixotic notions quickly dissipated. 鈥淚 did not like anything about harvest,鈥� recalls Zimmerman, who, along with her husband, gave up the business last year. 鈥淚 went into severe depression when I was on harvest, and I thought it was just me.鈥�

鈥淚f I hadn鈥檛 had that support group, I don鈥檛 know what I would have done the past two years,鈥� Zimmerman continued. 鈥淚 would be like these women who are committing suicide.鈥�

Over the past few years, , suicide has become a growing problem in the agriculture community. The data on suicide among farmers is not certain, however. A widely reported showed the 鈥渇arming, forestry, and fishing workers鈥� occupational group suffered the highest rates of suicide of all occupational groups in the U.S., pointing to an epidemic in the industry. That study by the agency because of flawed data, and the CDC is now reanalyzing the data to issue a revised report.

This apparent surge has led to the founding of groups such as The Do More Agriculture Foundation, which seeks to support mental health in agriculture by acknowledging that some of its foundational elements鈥攊ndependence, resilience, and self-sufficiency鈥攃an be obstacles to seeking help.

This was not an issue Tracy had intended to address when she created HarvestHER, but groups such as Do More have identified community as an essential building block to support mental health, and for Zimmerman, the impact was real. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think it鈥檚 talked about in agriculture as a whole. I had been reading about the men in agriculture struggling with this,鈥� Zimmerman acknowledges. 鈥淏ut [the HarvestHER Facebook post] is the first time I had seen anything where it was a woman.鈥�

At the moment, Tracy does not have any long-term plans for the group. Last winter, in Omaha, Nebraska, she organized the first ever HarvestHER retreat. Eight women attended the two-day event that was mostly about relaxing, getting to know one another, and swapping stories from the field. Tracy is looking forward to their second gathering this winter, which she expects to be much bigger. She occasionally still has doubts about the group鈥檚 efficacy, but with support from Zimmerman and Eberts, who calls it 鈥渢he most positive, reaffirming, validating experience,鈥� Tracy is happy to let the group grow organically.

Her focus is still on building that sense of community among a traditionally independent and isolated group, but the larger picture is on her mind. 鈥淢y thought is for [the group] to show the world what [harvesters] have to do to get food to people鈥檚 tables.鈥�

If you鈥檙e having suicidal thoughts, or know someone who is, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK).

Reporting for this article was made possible by an award from the Institute for Journalism and Natural Resources.

There are times Mount Rainier seems so close, it鈥檚 almost like you can reach out and touch it.

Almost.

Yet some people spend their entire lives seeing these mountains from every possible angle without ever visiting them.

That is particularly true for people of color, and not just in the Pacific Northwest but across the United States, where studies and anecdotal evidence show they are among the most infrequent users of state and federal lands.

A 2015 report by Outdoor Foundation found that, in 2014, 73 percent of Americans who participated in outdoor activities were White.

In recent years, federal and state land-management agencies have been collaborating with private outdoor groups and organizations on ways to diversify wild and wide-open spaces鈥攚ith a particular emphasis on the next generation.

It鈥檚 simple math: Today鈥檚 young people, the most diverse generation in U.S. history, will determine the future of our public lands and waters. And if they never use these places, then they鈥檒l feel no connection to them.

Today鈥檚 young people, the most diverse generation in U.S. history, will determine the future of our public lands and waters.

鈥淭here are those of us who understand the grand, memorable connections we can have: experiencing the giant sequoias, fishing for salmon during the salmon run, or gazing at a thunderous waterfall,鈥� says Juan Martinez, the Los Angeles-based director of leadership development with the .

But there are so many who never get to make that connection.

This also was the theme of this week by U.S. Secretary of the Interior Sally Jewell in commemorating National Park Week in advance of Earth Day.

She warned that climate change and the sale of public land for private use are threatening these national treasures. Park visitors are baby boomers like herself, she said, older and White鈥攁 reality that doesn鈥檛 bode well for the future.

If the , in its centennial year, can inspire people from all backgrounds to love the great outdoors, she wrote in her remarks, 鈥渢he next generation of America鈥檚 elected officials, scientists, philanthropists, teachers, and Supreme Court justices will understand the value of conservation and public lands.鈥�

Only for White people?

The National Park Services has a complicated relationship with race, as many of its parks followed Jim Crow laws and remained segregated through World War II.

But that history, as well as Native American narratives about their connections to these open lands, is often missing from the stories told about our parks.

Jourdan Keith, who founded the Seattle-based 13 years ago, has been trying to address this in her writing, public speeches, and wilderness excursions taken each summer with a group of local young people.

Keith, who is African American, says she learned about the outdoors from a 鈥淓uropean perspective,鈥� but, as a wilderness trainer, is introducing new generations to untold stories of public lands.

Still, history is only one explanation for the lack of diversity in parks.

Studies show that despite documented psychological and health benefits, getting outdoors is less of a priority for many Americans busy with work and family obligations鈥攔egardless of race.

There are also negative associations with the wild: getting lost or being attacked. And some people of color believe there鈥檚 simply nothing out there for them.

For so long, images from these places鈥攊ncluding of the park rangers who staff them鈥攔einforced that belief because they seldom included people of color.

Romaine Deshawn Bush, a 29-year-old African American from Seattle, has heard a litany of excuses from friends. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the kinda stuff White people do,鈥� they tell him. His camping invitations to the guys at the barbershop would be met with fantastic tales about bears in the woods.

The Alaska transplant hikes two or three times a week鈥攎ostly for exercise and often alone鈥攁nd has already logged 130 miles this year.

鈥淲hen I hit the trails, there鈥檚 no drama,鈥� Bush said. 鈥淭here are no bills to pay. No politics. If you come with a little stress, you leave with none. It鈥檚 like having a reset on your day or life.鈥�

Change slow to come

Over the last decade, staff at the Washington Trails Association (WTA) discussed how to make the 12,000-mile tangle of public trails in Washington state more diverse. But lacking diversity within its own small staff, it struggled to find solutions.

On the other side of the country, another group had found one.

The 听(YOP) was born in 1968 of unrest spawned by the civil rights movement, when the Boston-based 听(AMC) asked local civil rights organizations about taking urban youth outdoors as a way to help them cope.

The organizations responded that AMC鈥檚 mostly white staff should instead train organization leaders to guide African-American youth on these outdoor excursions, giving rise to a train-the-trainer model. YOP later expanded the program across the rest of New England, New York, and New Jersey.

Those trained鈥攖eachers, community and youth leaders鈥攃an borrow boots, snowshoes, camping gear, and other supplies for free through the program and can contact program leaders when they need help.

In nearly five decades, the program has helped bring more than 200,000 young people outdoors and last year partnered with 200 youth agencies, says Laura Hurley, spokeswoman for AMC.

One of them is New York City-based , which provides support and leadership to 12- to 22-year-olds who have either gotten into trouble鈥攊n or out of school鈥攐r simply need guidance or a way to connect.

Jean Carlos Artiles, program director, says he鈥檚 taken youth on trips to the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area and on hikes and campouts right in their backyard in Brooklyn.

鈥淢any of them don鈥檛 know what it鈥檚 really like to be outside,鈥� Artiles said. 鈥淭hey can disconnect from all the distractions. Being in Central Park you can鈥檛 enjoy the sounds of nature.鈥�

In the 1990s, YOP became a model for the program in California. And last year, the WTA replicated it in Washington state.

have sprung up in Chicago, Austin, Los Angeles, and Boise, Idaho.

鈥淥ne of the goals of our plan is connecting the next generation with the outdoors and helping them become empowered stewards,鈥� says Kindra Ramos, spokeswoman for the WTA.

As they struggle to diversify their workforces, the National Park Service and other state and federal land-management agencies are also moving to bring diversity to public recreational areas by forging alliances with local outdoor groups.

, for example, which grew from a blog into a 28-state organization connecting African Americans to outdoor experiences, has partnered with the National Wildlife Federation to create wildlife corridors closer to where people live, says founder Rue Mapp.

And , a national Latino-led outdoor education organization with members in 10 states, received help from the U.S. Forest Service with transportation, as well as loans of snowshoes and hiking boots. And they鈥檝e used the WTA gear-lending library to borrow hiking supplies.

鈥淲e need each other,鈥� says Graciela Cabello, Latino Outdoors鈥� national director. 鈥淔rom the park ranger in D.C. to the kayak instructor in Colorado, how do we leverage this broader network to build the next generation of conservation stewards?鈥�

As the campers arrived, set up tents, and settled in for the weekend, Trumm directed them to nearby composting toilets, a first aid tent, and an outdoor kitchen. Trees shaded a fire pit circled by straw bales, where the group would share meals and discuss the weekend鈥檚 agenda. The farm was designed using principles of permaculture, a system of cultivation that creates permanent agriculture or horticulture by using renewable resources and a self-sustaining ecosystem. Among the campers were Camp Fire survivors from Paradise and Concow, volunteers from nearby Chico, and some who drove several hours to help with the recovery efforts. 鈥淭his is an experiment,鈥� Trumm said to the farmers, builders, and community organizers who showed up to help. 鈥淲elcome to the experiment!鈥� Trumm鈥檚 鈥渆xperiment鈥� is based on the work of ecologist and filmmaker John D. Liu, who documented the Loess Plateau Watershed Rehabilitation Project, a restoration endeavor that began in 1994 in a 250,000-square-mile region along the Yellow River basin in China. Liu went on to create Ecosystem Restoration Camps that have helped recover overly grazed and farmed land in arid environments.

So far, Liu has created camps in two countries. Since 2017 in Spain, a continual string of campers at Camp Altiplano have been working to rehabilitate degraded natural and agricultural ecosystems affected by long-term industrial farming. Camp Via Organica, near San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, focuses on providing campers with hands-on experience in ecosystem restoration and regenerative farming techniques. Through the camps, Liu aims to restore degraded habitats and improve the lives of farmers and local agricultural economies, while also providing hands-on training to those working on land recovery. Liu鈥檚 camps haven鈥檛 yet addressed disaster recovery, nor have any been introduced to the U.S. The camp in California is the first camp in the U.S. and the first to apply Liu鈥檚 principles to wildfire recovery. Trumm first began studying permaculture 12 years ago, after leaving behind his life as a DJ in the San Francisco Bay Area and heading to his family鈥檚 land in the hills southeast of Paradise. There, he began living off the grid and growing his own food, which eventually led him to complete a permaculture design course. Then, about five years ago, Trumm discovered Liu鈥檚 work and emailed him to discuss some projects. 鈥淗e immediately offered me to be part of the council for the ecosystem restoration camps,鈥� Trumm says about their first phone conversation. 鈥淭his is the first time I ever heard of the ecosystem restoration camps, and it was two weeks before the fire.鈥�

When the fires ignited, Trumm says, he thought back to a phrase that Liu used in many of his restoration videos: “Let鈥檚 gather around the campfire and restore paradise.鈥� The message clicked for Trumm; he needed to organize a camp to help rebuild the town of Paradise.

The Butte County communities of Paradise, Magalia, Pulga, and Concow have a long road of recovery ahead of them. In addition to the Camp Fire destroying more than 150,000 acres (240 square miles)听of neighborhoods and much of the central town and numerous schools鈥攏early听19,000 structures in total鈥攔esidents who have returned to unscathed homes among the ponderosa pines are dealing with toxic water. It is estimated that up to 173 miles of pipeline听in the town鈥檚 water system is contaminated with benzene and other volatile organic compounds. As of late June, just over 50% of fire debris听had been . Entering Paradise from the west is a heartbreaking reminder of how utterly devastating the Camp Fire was. Skyway Boulevard is lined with 85 memorial markers鈥攐ne for each life lost in the disaster. At Pine Ridge School, which is reached after driving through miles of the burn area that torched the surrounding forest and came within yards of the school鈥檚 perimeter, Trumm is determined to create a safe place for students, while demonstrating the importance of community collaboration.

鈥淏ecause you鈥檙e bringing the next generation [into] thinking about this stuff, you鈥檙e healing that next generation.鈥�

The small elementary school of about 450 students is one of the only schools that survived the path of the Camp Fire. About 5 miles down the road from the school is Paradise, where eight of the district鈥檚 nine schools were destroyed. Some of the displaced students have been transferred to Pine Ridge. In February, Pine Ridge was the meeting place of California Gov. Gavin Newsom and other officials to discuss recovery funds for the area. After the fires, Pine Ridge added seventh and eighth grade teachers to the kindergarten through sixth grade school to accommodate students from other schools, many of whom bus in from new or temporary housing in Chico.

At the school, flowering dogwood trees and pines still stand, scattered across the campus; most of the school was spared by the fire, aside from one small building at the edge of the campus. During the restoration event at the school, campers and other volunteers from town removed old railings along walkways and rebuilt classroom ramps. Others planted native trees and shrubs and a small school garden near the entryway to the campus, providing a contrast to the miles of scorched neighborhoods students travel through every day on their way to school. And others dug a drainage ditch for an area of the school where water pools during the rainy season. Throughout the day, the sense of community in the small hillside town remained strong as volunteers shared snacks and chatted hopefully about rebuilding their homes while working together on projects across the campus. Though roughly 150 people turned out for the work day, including campers, school staff, parents with children who attend Pine Ridge, and a group from Stanford University, the project is small compared to the amount of destruction just outside its gates. Trumm said they have to start small. And because it鈥檚 in the center of the burn zone and has been used as a meeting spot for the community since the fires, the school is a central place to begin the rebuilding process, Trumm said. 鈥淚n permaculture, we talk about zones,鈥� he said. 鈥淶one One is the place right outside your back door, right? The thing that needs the most attention. It鈥檚 where you keep your most valuable plant stock, valuable things, sensitive things. When I try to think about that on a large scale for a disaster area like this, that鈥檚 my thinking behind [starting at the school].鈥� 鈥淏ecause you鈥檙e bringing the next generation [into] thinking about this stuff, you鈥檙e healing that next generation,鈥� he added.

Some question the advisability of rebuilding towns in . These are regions that, according to the , have seen an increase from 30.8 to 43.4 million homes (a 41% rise) between 1990 and 2010. The area of Northern California where Paradise once stood is one such fire-prone region. As climate change continues bringing higher temperatures and lower precipitation throughout California, fire seasons are projected to get worse throughout the state, according to a . But听Paradise鈥攁nd Butte County in general鈥攊s a largely working class region. According to a 2016 Butte County Health Assessment Report, the county鈥檚 median income was roughly $43,000 and nearly 60% of children were eligible for free or reduced-fee school lunch programs before the fire. For many, moving into more expensive areas of California, where there continues to be an extreme shortage of affordable housing, is not a feasible option.

One person who wants to rebuild his home鈥攁nd who attended the restoration camp this weekend鈥攊s a man known as Pyramid Michael in the Paradise community. A 70-year old veteran and construction worker turned massage therapist, Michael spent 10 years designing and building an energy efficient, passive-solar-powered home in Paradise. He recently did a 鈥減ermablitz鈥濃�攁 comprehensive permaculture project鈥攐n his property that included planting a garden and small food forest, and installing a rain catchment system.

鈥淲e need to increase our understanding of how we are interconnected with each other and with ecosystems.鈥�

鈥淭hen the fire came through and wiped it all out,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut I鈥檝e been homeless many times in my life, I know what it鈥檚 like to be without nothing or starting over again. But 滨鈥檓 still healthy. I have strength, and I have intelligence. And I have a vision. And I know how to work with those.鈥� Michael hopes the volunteers鈥� efforts will help the school become more viable, continuing to act as a hub for community organizing while families rebuild their homes. He also hopes to create a safe space for the kids to recover from the emotional impact of the fires. Using permaculture for climate disaster recovery 颈蝉苍鈥檛 new. Activists听used mycelium to consume and break down environmental pollutants in post-Katrina New Orleans and again to address toxic runoff in burn zones after the 2017 fires in . Koreen Brennan, owner of Grow Permaculture in Brooksville, Florida, and a board member at Permaculture Institute of North America, saw permaculture applied to disaster relief after the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. Brennan traveled there with a small group to help build compostable toilets after the disaster as a way to address sanitation issues and also create fertilizer for gardens. 鈥淏ringing the community together to take these small steps helps 鈥� increase the capacity and fortitude needed to take the larger steps 鈥� to rebuild.鈥� 鈥淚 think an important component of permaculture disaster relief is the hope factor,鈥� she added. 鈥淲e were able to literally use garbage and the waste stream of the area, such as sawdust, to address multiple problems, while creating beautiful, valuable soil in the process that could help people eat better,鈥� Brennan says. 鈥淚t gave [people] a way to start putting their lives back together, where they didn鈥檛 need to wait for external help or resources.鈥� Pyramid Michael is hopeful for something similar in Paradise.

鈥淭he whole town of Paradise has an opportunity here. We have a real wide focus; it鈥檚 a complete level playing field. There鈥檚 been total destruction and we have an opportunity to actually do something different. Something that is more sustainable. Something that works with the Earth,鈥� he says. 鈥淭he thing that just stresses me is that we lost 85 people鈥檚 lives. One person I did know, but they were all part of our community. And I don鈥檛 want to see that happen again.鈥� The financial cost of the Camp Fire damage has been tallied at more than , and some estimate that it will take 听for cleanup to be complete and for rebuilding to begin because of a local labor shortage and massive insurance fees. And it may be at least and $300 million before water in the area will be safe to drink. 鈥淲e need to increase our understanding of how we are interconnected with each other and with ecosystems, in order to make better decisions about how and where we live. The result would be resilient communities that are more supportive, and have more abundant natural resources for the foreseeable future,鈥� Brennan says. Back at Pine Ridge School, Trumm says he believes that recovery is possible and that it can start with simple solutions like planting native trees and teaching skills for resilience. 鈥淭he important thing about this,鈥� Trumm says, 鈥渋s that 滨鈥檓 just an average person that was able to learn these skills over a short period of time, and everybody can do it.鈥�

And orcas aren鈥檛 the only species under threat. A 听released in May found that human activities have placed 1 million species in danger of extinction, many within decades.

As the Southern Resident orcas and other species struggle to survive in a rapidly warming, industrialized world, some activists and governments are turning to a radical, rights-based approach to protecting nature. Over the past decade, initiatives worldwide have begun to transform Western law to respect the inherent rights of the natural world to exist and flourish.

More than 20 countries now recognize the rights of nature through laws or judicial decisions. In the U.S., more than two dozen communities have passed resolutions and ordinances recognizing nature鈥檚 rights. Most recently, voters in Toledo, Ohio, , essentially saying that the lake has . Industry and the Ohio state government have since 鈥攁 common response to this community-level rights work spearheaded by the .

Tamaqua, a Pennsylvania borough, became the 听to pass a law recognizing the rights of nature in 2006. The practice has since spread to western states like and . And internationally, 听have formally recognized the rights of nature in a 2008 constitutional amendment and in legislation passed in 2014 and 2017, respectively.

Though the legal movement is just over a decade old, the rights of nature framework 颈蝉苍鈥檛. It reflects an understanding that Indigenous peoples have embraced since time immemorial. 鈥淲e have a reciprocal relationship or spirit to our lands and waters,鈥� said Reuben George of the Tsleil Waututh First Nation, speaking at a 听on the Coast Salish Nations鈥� 听of a Canadian shipping terminal. 鈥淥ur culture and our spirituality is essentially our law,鈥� he said. 鈥淲e abide by those things that we have a spiritual connection to, and that鈥檚 our law.鈥�

By contrast, in Western legal systems, nature is considered property. 鈥淥ur legal systems are designed to legitimize and facilitate exploitation,鈥� South African environmental attorney Cormac Cullinan explained during a held this past October at Vermont Law School.

The rights of nature framework is about shifting this legal paradigm. Essentially the idea is that nature and other beings that have survived the evolutionary process have an inalienable right to exist and flourish.

The effort is now extending to the Pacific Northwest.

Protecting Orcas: Rights for the Salish Sea

Pollution, noise and vessel traffic, and lack of sufficient food . Industrial pollution, increased shipping traffic, dammed rivers, and warming ocean and river temperatures threaten the Chinook the whales feed on. The population of Southern Resident Killer Whales is at a 35-year low and has been listed under the Endangered Species Act since 2005.

Washington Gov. Jay Inslee has 听for orca recovery. His initiatives include establishing a stakeholder process to study economic impacts of breaching four Lower Snake River dams, increasing distance required distance between vessels and orcas to 400 yards, and putting a three-year ban on whale watching in place, among other investments.

Some advocates say these efforts don鈥檛 go far enough.

鈥淎 rights-based approach would require that we get to the root cause of this problem, which we feel is still largely being ignored,鈥� said Michelle Bender, ocean rights manager at the , a nonprofit that advocates for establishing legal rights for ecosystems. Just as humans and corporations have legally recognized rights, so too should nature, Bender said.

鈥淥ur whole system, including what [Gov.] Inslee has to work from, really predicates itself on controlling nature. Even with attempts to do good, it鈥檚 still about control of the natural world,鈥� said Kai Huschke, Northwest community organizer with Community Environmental Legal Defense Fund. 鈥淥ur systems have to shift.鈥�

In January, a coalition including Indigenous peoples, community groups, scientists, and lawyers the Declaration on the Rights of the Southern Resident orcas. The recognizes that 鈥渘ature and all living beings have inherent rights to exist, flourish, evolve, and regenerate.鈥� It lists specific rights inherent to the Southern Resident orcas, such as rights to life and an adequate food supply.

鈥淲e鈥檙e looking at creating an initiative that will go on the ballot in 2020 that recognizes the rights of the Salish Sea to exist.鈥�

The decline of the resident orca population 鈥渟hows us how our current laws are not remedying the severe decline of entire ecosystems鈥� attorney Elizabeth M. Dunne . 鈥淲e must adopt a framework recognizing that ecosystems have the rights鈥攕uch as to exist, flourish, evolve, to sustain life, and to be restored to a healthy state鈥攊f we truly want to save the Orca, and ultimately ourselves, from extinction.鈥�

The declaration specifically calls for the creation of a stewardship board, which would provide guardian representation for the orcas. According to Bender, these representatives could include scientists studying the orca population and Indigenous peoples like the Lummi Nation who refer to the orca as their 鈥渞elations under water.鈥�

The 2,800 signatories of the online petition are demanding that all levels of government鈥攆rom local to national鈥斺�渇ollow the Tribal and First Nations in recognizing the inherent rights of the Southern Resident Orcas and the ecosystems upon which they depend.鈥�

In the San Juan Islands, a group called Community Rights San Juan Islands, supported by the defense fund, is working on advancing a countywide . The group is aiming to get the initiative on the ballot in 2020.

鈥淲e鈥檙e looking at creating an initiative that will go on the ballot in 2020 that recognizes the rights of the Salish Sea to exist, thrive, and regenerate its natural cycles,鈥� said Kai Sanburn, a resident of Lopez Island who helped form the group almost two years ago.

The group is small, maybe a dozen or so people who meet regularly on Lopez Island, but they are reaching out to others on the other islands.

鈥淭he orcas almost have a mystical hold on people here.鈥�

Huschke has held several workshops on the islands introducing the idea of legal rights for the Salish Sea, and said 鈥渢here鈥檚 an acceptance鈥� by the island communities to the concept of rights for nature. Still, crafting a law that all residents can get behind, regardless of political affiliations, will be challenging, he said.

Sanburn agreed that the task would not be easy or quick. 鈥淲e recognize we need to do some deeper work around how we can create a law that unites people,鈥� she said, 鈥渂ecause clearly nothing will happen to protect the Salish Sea if it doesn鈥檛 become a regional response.鈥�

鈥淲hat unifies people who may have very different political views is a deep appreciation for this place,鈥� she added. 鈥淭he orcas almost have a mystical hold on people here.鈥�

Elisabeth Robson, who is working closely with Sanburn on the ballot initiative, said they expect pushback from vested interests such as commercial fishing and oil exportation.

Commercial farmers in Ohio immediately sued when the Lake Erie Bill of Rights passed, and the state government recently 听enforcement through a provision in the state budget bill. The state of 听has also quashed local efforts to fight pollution鈥攊n 2016, state courts blocked a citizen ballot initiative in Tacoma opposing a fossil fuel methanol plant.

Robson said she is aware of this kind of retaliation and noted that the Salish Sea initiative may face similar challenges. But that is not deterring the group from its effort to change the law鈥攐r at the very least, change the conversation. 鈥淭his is something we need to do to help change hearts and minds,鈥� Robson said. 鈥淛ust getting the conversation started is huge.鈥�

Recognizing nature鈥檚 rights around the world

Efforts from around the world, including Ecuador and New Zealand, represent different approaches to applying the rights of nature framework to a country鈥檚 legal scaffolding.

Since 2008, 听has recognized nature鈥檚 right to exist, regenerate, and be restored. This constitutional law has been tested in the courts. According to Ecuadorian attorney Hugo Echeverria, Ecuador has had 25 such cases in Ecuador, 17 of which have resulted in decisions .

One case found that 鈥攊ncluding some endemic species鈥攊n the 听violate nature鈥檚 rights. The marine reserve is home to more than 34 species of sharks, many found nowhere else in the world. They are largely protected in the marine reserve but are not immune to commercial activities and illegal capture. Earth Law Center for taking it a step further to recognize the marine reserve as a legal entity, which would require the government to and ensure that activities within the reserve respect the rights of nature.

Advocates hope the rights of nature approach will stave off extinction for the Southern resident killer whales.

New Zealand has taken a different approach by recognizing the personhood of specific natural entities, rather than the general rights of nature. In 2017, for example, the country passed a law granting legal 鈥減ersonhood鈥� rights to the Whanganui River. And in 听received legal personhood recognition and corresponding rights.

These New Zealand laws focus on the responsibilities of people as stewards and on cultural redresses. Specifically, they recognize the beliefs and rights of the Indigenous Maori to act as stewards.

There are multiple avenues to apply legal rights to natural ecosystems and the communities they support, but the philosophical underpinnings are the same. However it鈥檚 applied, either to nature in general or to a specific nonhuman entity, in a constitution or a set of laws鈥攖he framework is about transforming the legal system and rethinking humans鈥� relationship with nature.

Indigenous people鈥檚 beliefs鈥攖hat humans must have a reciprocal relationship with the land and waters鈥攂est exemplifies this thinking. 鈥淲hat we do to the web of life, we do to ourselves. If any strand of the web is broken, the whole web is affected,鈥� said the , an indigenous tribe in the Salish Sea region, in an emailed statement.

Advocates hope the rights of nature approach will stave off extinction for the Southern Resident Killer Whales. 鈥淚f we were to get rights of the Southern Residents or rights of the Salish Sea recognized, that would do a lot more towards recovery efforts and actually require us to take these necessary actions to ensure their survival,鈥澨� Bender said.

鈥淥ur belief is that not only the salmon and qwe 鈥榣hol mechen [orca], but all the air, the land, the water, the creatures, they all have inherent rights,鈥� the Lummi explained in an emailed statement. 鈥淭he orca and the salmon never needed saving before contact.鈥�

These 鈥渃remains鈥� are now mixed in the ashes and debris of burned homes. The Federal Emergency Management Agency responds to natural disasters such as wildfires by removing debris and toxic substances. And for many families, the thought that these ashes could end up in a toxic waste dump adds to an already tragic situation.

A volunteer team of archaeologists is using dogs trained in forensics to help before the debris removal activities commence.

After the Santa Rosa Tubbs Fire in 2017, archaeologist Alex DeGeorgey teamed up with dog handlers and dogs from the Institute for Canine Forensics. So far, 243 sets of cremains from 181 homes in Paradise have been found, all by volunteers.

鈥淭he scale of this problem is beyond the scope of a volunteer effort. Our hope is that FEMA adopts a policy change to support cremains recovery as part of the standard response to wildfire disasters,鈥� DeGeorgey says.

Cynthia Rowe, middle, is a resident of Paradise whose home was destroyed in the wildfire. In her house was an urn containing ashes of her husband, Derek. Rowe describes for dog handler Lynne Engelbert, right, and archeologist Joanne Goodsell, in white, where in the house the ashes were kept. They locate remnants of furniture and other objects that were in the same room. Derek Rowe died two years ago. The Rowes had been married for 28 years.

Piper, a border collie, is led through the debris of the Rowe home. Piper is one of several dogs trained to detect human ashes. These types of operations are new, and archaeologists are working to acquire data to improve the process in the field.

Archaeologists, from left, Robert Baun, Kia Campbell, and Goodsell wait with Rowe as the dog searches. All the people involved in the search volunteer their time and skills and service of the dogs.

After searching the area where the cremains were located, Piper sits, which alerts Engelbert that she detects the ashes.

Piper plays with Engelbert, while the team of archaeologists moves onto the site to begin recovering and confirming the cremains. Piper鈥檚 reward is playing with a rolled-up towel. The dog was a rescued stray that, in 11 months, was trained and certified as an 鈥渉istoric human remains detection鈥� dog through the Institute for Canine Forensics.

Recovery is a painstaking operation. Cremains normally have a distinct color and consistency, but it鈥檚 difficult to locate them among the other ashes. Archaeologist Kia Campbell clears the space surrounding the cremains.

The team of archaeologists identifies a small fragment of bone.

Every urn contains a metal tag with a unique number identifying the name of the crematorium and individual. It鈥檚 confirmation.

Rowe is told that her husband鈥檚 ashes have been located. The return of cremains of loved ones can bring some solace and closure to people whose lives have been devastated by the fires.

The cremains are carefully separated from the debris, then readied for return to Rowe. The entire operation took less than two hours.

鈥淚 will never forget this moment,鈥� Rowe says.

Within the span of two lifetimes, my parents鈥� and grandparents鈥� generations have seen drastic changes both in our ways of life and our homelands. My Inuit grandparents went from freely traveling the land as our ancestors had always done to living in a permanent community. The RCMP [the Canadian national police] forced Inuit into settlements in the 1950s to bring us under government control. They slaughtered our sled dogs so we were immobile and also split entire family groups apart, scattering us across different communities.

My father was born in a sod house in 1949 and was raised to travel the land and provide for his family from a young age. He can navigate using constellations and landmarks, make traditional tools, build shelter in any season, attend to injuries, and his intimate knowledge of our world makes him a very skilled hunter on both the land and the sea. At the age of 8, he was able to go out for the day alone and come back with a seal to feed the family. Also at 8, he was taken from his parents and sent to residential school thousands of kilometers away, which he was lucky to have survived.

He was one of tens of thousands of children stolen from every Indigenous nation across the country by the Canadian government and forced into assimilation schools. They knew our entire societies stem from the land, which meant we would never give it up and that we would always protect it. So for 150 years, Canada stole all of our children鈥攐ur heart, indeed our future鈥攁nd sought to break them of our ways and collapse our societies in the process. Many of these children suffered unthinkable atrocities during their time at these schools, and thousands never made it home to our families. It is a devastating and recent history, with the last schools finally closing in 1996, and Indigenous peoples throughout the country are still working through the debilitating repercussions that persist in our lives.

It is no exaggeration to say that Canada is built on racism, genocide, violence, and theft.

The desire to dominate and exploit peoples and lands to create wealth鈥攖his is the driving force of colonialism and also the lifeblood of this country. If there is any hope of recuperating a sense of humanity, or of surviving the climate crisis that is rapidly intensifying throughout the world, we need to engage the reality of everything we are up against. The stakes are too high.

It is no exaggeration to say that Canada is built on racism, genocide, violence, and theft. The founding and daily maintenance of this colony depends expressly on the domination of Indigenous peoples through the illegal seizure and occupation of our territories, colonial laws and policies, police brutality, excessive incarceration, economic marginalization, gender violence, child apprehension, and the suppression of our governance systems, spiritual practices, and ancestral ways of life鈥攁ll of which remain deeply rooted in our lands.

Canada is sustained by a resource-based economy鈥攊f there is any doubt as to the racism and brutality this necessitates every day, just consider: Where do the resources come from and how are they obtained鈥攁re they not violently torn from the earth? And are those sites of extraction not integral parts of Indigenous homelands or crucial to animal and plant life? Why is it that most Indigenous peoples are living in extremely impoverished conditions on reserves, in remote communities, and in urban centers, whereas the resources stripped from our lands generate massive amounts of wealth for governments and corporations? Is this country not home to one of the biggest and most destructive industrial operations on the planet? (See Environmental Defence鈥檚 report, 鈥淐anada鈥檚 Toxic Tar Sands: The Most Destructive Project on Earth,鈥� February 2008.)

How many of our territories and water systems have been contaminated by hydroelectric dams, oil, gas, and toxic waste, and how many lives are being lost to new cancers as a result every year? How many community members have been harmed or arrested for protecting their homelands from pipelines and mining operations? What recourse do we have to the distinct rise in gender violence and narcotics abuse that come with intensified mining in our communities?

Treaties 8 and 11 grant permission for settlers to coexist on our lands and were contingent upon certain terms, including mutual autonomy, self-governance, and the provision of health care鈥攂ut how many of our men, women, elders, and youth continually suffer violence at the hands of police officers or are denied adequate care by health providers?

These treaties were also meant to ensure that Indigenous ways of life would continue despite the presence of settlers鈥攎eaning that all of the elements that sustain life on the land would remain protected鈥攕o that our people could continue to live according to our ancestral ways forever.

Because of ongoing colonial policies, industrial exploitation, and now climate change, places where we used to be able to harvest food or medicines, drink the water, and inhabit alongside other forms of life are being turned into wastelands.

My hometown of Yellowknife was built for gold mining in 1934 and became home to one of the richest gold mines in Canadian history. Giant Mine sits on the shore of Great Slave Lake, one of the largest freshwater sources on the planet. Though the mine closed in 2004, its toxic repercussions will last forever. The deteriorating site rests upon 237,000 metric tons of arsenic trioxide, a lethal byproduct of gold mining that is impossible to remediate or prevent from leaking into the surrounding lakes and atmosphere, which it is doing at a disturbing rate. (See Clark Ferguson鈥檚 , Shadow of a Giant.)鈥� A study released in April 2016 showed mercury and arsenic levels to be dangerously high in lakes within a 25-kilometer radius of Giant Mine; in some cases, over 13 times the limit for drinking water and 27 times the level deemed adequate for aquatic life (Ivan Semeniuk, 鈥淟akes Near Yellowknife Contaminated with Arsenic, Mercury after Mine Closing,鈥� Globe and Mail, April 6, 2016).

Canadians tend to romanticize the Northern town for its remnants of a frontier history forged by sweat and gold as well as for its supposed 鈥渦ntouched, pristine wilderness鈥濃�攂ut the truth is we can no longer drink the water or eat the fish in that area and now have to travel long distances to harvest foods and medicines. They say Giant Mine rests upon enough arsenic to kill the entire planet twice over鈥攁nd although there have been several attempts over the years to contain the toxic waste, there has never been an adequate plan to protect the environment from contamination. For me, this is the clearest indication of Western society鈥檚 single-minded focus on obtaining wealth at any expense. There is no contingency plan or thought of the future or respect for any form of life. The only drive is money鈥攁nd this is true of any mining operation in the country, whether diamonds or oil and gas or gold.

Today, the beautiful, vast, wild landscape of Denendeh is riddled with large-scale mining operations that have destroyed numerous lakes and river ecosystems, as well as the migration and calving grounds of caribou鈥攁n essential source of sustenance for both Inuit and Dene alike since time immemorial. We are caribou people, and the widespread decline of this ancestral relation is a source of deepening loss across the North.

Dene and Inuit peoples would not exist without the caribou.

There are many stories of the generosity and benevolence of caribou, how they offer themselves in times of need. Dene and Inuit peoples would not exist without the caribou: its hide has given us warmth and protection from the cold, its meat our main source of nourishment, its bones and antlers our tools, its skin stretched on drums that carry our songs and spiritual connection. It was the caribou who taught us how to honor our kinship and practice ways that sustain us both. A growing anxiety throughout our communities is, What happens when there are no more caribou? Are we still caribou people? If we can no longer practice our culture in all of the ways that depend on the caribou, are we still Dene or Inuit?

Protecting the caribou was once a major rallying point for Northerners. It鈥檚 what galvanized us to stand strong against the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline and assimilative government policies in the 1970s and also work toward self-determination. Since then both the caribou population and our anticolonial nerve have been in steep decline. We have veered quite far from the unified vision we once fought hard for to ensure that our homelands would remain grounded in Indigenous principles, values, and ways of life well into the future.

Last spring I spent some time with a very knowledgeable and beloved elder, Ethel Lamothe. We were at Dechinta Bush University鈥攁 Northern organization based outside of Yellowknife that delivers Indigenous education on the land and one of the saving graces in my own educational journey. I was helping her scrape a moose hide in preparation for tanning, and as our hands worked we talked about womanhood, spirituality, and bush medicines. She told me about the work she and others did in previous decades to advance decolonization, social transformation, and healing in Denendeh and also shared insight about the challenges. I had been troubled lately about the gap between elders and young people, the cultural inheritance being lost, the growing alienation I see in current generations, and the complexity of overcoming all these challenges when we are starting from such fragmentation. At one point Ethel stopped and said: 鈥淥ur society is full of holes now, like the ones in this hide. So we have to sew them up. Where there鈥檚 a hole there instead of a mother or a father, an aunty or grandparent steps in to raise the kids. We have holes in our spirituality and culture, how we relate to each other and deal with things, so we have to find ways to relearn that. You know, we lost some of our own ceremonies and ways of praying, but we can learn from other cultures who still have it. You don鈥檛 have any grandmothers to teach what you need to know as a woman, so you adopt a new grandmother who can teach you. So we do it like that. We sew it up.鈥�

This excerpt is from 鈥淐aribou People鈥� by Siku Allooloo, an essay in听听(2019), edited by Elissa Washuta and Theresa Warburton. It appears by permission of University of Washington Press.

The basic point is quite simple: From January 1 to August 2, the world鈥檚 7.5 billion people will have used as much of Earth鈥檚 biological resources鈥攐r biocapacity鈥攁s the planet can regenerate in a year. During the remaining five months of 2017, our human consumption will be drawing down Earth鈥檚 reserves of fresh water, fertile soils, forests, and fisheries, and depleting its ability to regenerate these resources as well as sequester excess carbon released into the atmosphere.

Stated slightly differently, humans are depleting living Earth鈥檚 capacity to support life.

The GFN methodology can also generate an ecological footprint for individual cities, states, and nations, based on the burden each generates relative to its local biocapacity. It can also compare a personal footprint generated by a distinctive lifestyle to both national and global averages.

The U.S. has a relatively abundant per capita biocapacity compared to most other nations. We are also one of the world鈥檚 highest per capita consumers. Consequently, the net outcome is a second only to that of China鈥攁 country with a population roughly four times ours.

Knowing that, collectively, the world is consuming far more than the planet can sustain, how do we bring ourselves into balance with Earth鈥檚 capacities? GFN outlines four critical global priorities:

1.

Humanity鈥檚 carbon energy use accounts for 60 percent of the global ecological footprint. By GFN鈥檚 estimate, 鈥淩educing the carbon component of the global Ecological Footprint by 50 percent would get us from consuming the resources of 1.7 Earths down to 1.2 Earths, or move the date of Overshoot Day forward by 89 days, or about three months.鈥� That would place Overshoot Day on October 30.

2.

鈥淲e cannot ignore population growth if we are truly committed to people having secure lives in a world of finite resources,鈥� noted Susan Burns, GFN co-founder. She urges empowering women and assuring that every child is wanted. By GFN鈥檚 analysis, reducing the current global average family size by half a child would push back Overshoot Day by 31 days.

3. and

By GFN鈥檚 calculation, sourcing food locally, avoiding highly processed foods, reducing meat consumption, and cutting food waste by half could move Overshoot Day forward by 11 days.

4.

GFN estimates that increasing the energy efficiency of the urban built environment through measures such as efficient mass transit could advance Overshoot Day by 2 days. 

If we achieved all four of these priorities, we would bring Overshoot Day to December 13 and almost be in balance with Earth鈥檚 capacity to sustain us.

There is considerable truth to the adage that we can manage only what we measure. Measure the wrong thing, and the consequences can be catastrophic.

Unfortunately, our governments currently invest heavily in reporting financial indicators, such as gross domestic product, that tell us little either about actual human well-being or our long-term viability on Earth. In measuring the right things, GFN shatters the illusions of such measures and analyses. Still, we need a clearer and more complete, and coherent reporting and analysis of the global footprint measurements than the GFN offers.

The responsibility for such statistical gathering and reporting should fall, not to a small non-profit, but rather to the United Nations and the statistical services of the world鈥檚 national governments. Producing detailed global footprint measurements, reporting, and analysis should be among the top priorities of such official agencies. That will be a far greater contribution to national and global well-being than the grossly misleading economic indicators to which they now devote the bulk of their resources.

These are not conversations at another high-profile global summit, but rather scenarios envisioned by the board game , which hits shelves this spring. Four players鈥攖he United States, China, Europe, and the 鈥淢ajority World,鈥� encompassing the Global South鈥攃ooperate to reach zero emissions before hitting 2 degrees of warming or putting too many communities in crisis. 

鈥淸We] realized the game should represent the human suffering and loss caused by the climate crisis and that the challenge was not merely a war on carbon,鈥� co-creator Matt Leacock said. 

In the world of board games, most titles involve total victories over adversaries in zero-sum competitions. In the new genre of climate-themed games, creators like Leacock make collaboration the key to success.

Leacock, who designed the hit game , said he and fellow designer Matteo Menapace initially based Daybreak on a textbook model of the atmospheric emissions cycle; conversations with relief groups prompted them to take a more human-centered approach. The makers of Daybreak, who developed a following on the crowdfunding site BackerKit, have pledged to donate a portion of the profits to climate justice organizations. (They also said they would not use plastic materials in the game.)

Board games and puzzles are an 鈥攐ne that between 2019 and 2021, a boom fueled partly by pandemic-related boredom and digital fatigue, according to market research group Euromonitor International. 

Role-play and empire-building adventures, like Settlers of Catan, have steadily transformed board games from a children鈥檚 pastime dominated by brands like Hasbro and Mattel to a sprawling, diverse market in which smaller designers make games for adults. In recent years, those designers have released climate and biodiversity-themed titles, like , , and . 

鈥淭here is an increased public desire to engage with climate change in a tangible way,鈥� said designer , who has also taught on game development. 鈥淥ften, people don鈥檛 want to confront climate change or feel powerless in the face of its complexity. But a lot of the joy of board games is in engaging complex systems with other people.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

In 2020, Wingspan, in which players develop biodiverse bird habitats, was named the best strategy game by the . The game was reviewed by the science journal , in addition to more traditional gaming publications, and in its first year. 

Last year, Cascadia, where players compete to create 鈥渢he most harmonious ecosystem鈥� in the Pacific Northwest, won the prestigious award as well as 鈥� best strategy competition. 

Other recent include Kyoto, where players put themselves in the shoes of climate negotiators; Renature, where the objective is to restore a polluted valley; and Tipping Point, where participants build cities that must adapt to a warming climate.

These games do more than simply entertain, research shows. Simulation games can measurably facilitate learning about international climate politics, according to a published in Climatic Change. The authors found that playing a single round of the climate game increased participants鈥� sense of responsibility toward the environment and confidence in climate cooperation.

A separate published in the journal Simulation & Gaming reached similar conclusions. Researchers found that games presented a 鈥渟implified alternative to overcomplicated science communication鈥� and that 鈥減ortraying reality in a highly concentrated and simplified manner鈥� helped players conceptualize climate change in tangible ways.

Though many of these games, like Daybreak, imagine future climate scenarios, some look back in time and explore past injustices.

, released by Central Michigan University Press in October, depicts the , which killed hundreds and some 700,000 people.

The flood was one of the in American history. It disproportionately affected Black communities along the Delta lowlands, communities who were from government relief programs. Players cooperate to save their families from floods as well as white vigilante violence.

Elizabeth 鈥淪cout鈥� Blum, a professor of environmental history at Troy University in Alabama, created Rising Waters alongside a team of historical, gaming, and artistic collaborators and consultants. 

鈥淵ou are confronted with sobering questions. To the point that in designing situations, we think about how to not be insensitive or trigger people, while still including these really important themes,鈥� Blum said, noting the game touched on difficult topics, such as food insecurity and lynching, that often people would prefer not to think about鈥攏ot unlike climate change. 鈥淭he hope is playing can teach empathy and understanding or spark outrage and questions, as appropriate.鈥�

Games can provide both students and the general public space to explore challenging questions, according to Blum. They鈥檙e also key decision-making tools used at the highest echelons of power.

, a chemical engineer by training, has for a range of government entities, including the White House. An adjunct senior fellow at the Center for a New American Security, McGrady said gaming can help players anticipate future conflicts and emergencies and plan accordingly.

鈥淭hat competitive interaction with a live human being鈥攊t gets you to care and think creatively about the issue at hand more than any sort of report or learning device or briefing mechanism ever could,鈥� said. 

During the 2015 United Nations Climate Change Conference in Paris, he organized a game to examine climate impacts on global security. Players found that warming temperatures would trigger migration flows into Europe and the United States, leading to popular discontent and an uptick in authoritarian governance. At the time, McGrady said he and other experts were surprised by the game鈥檚 far-reaching outcomes. But following the rise of far-right leaders over the next few years, the game proved prescient. 

Game creation also is a form of storytelling. It鈥檚 one that has been traditionally dominated by white, male designers鈥攁ccording to , more than 92% of designers of top-ranked board games were white men. Bringing more diversity to the game-design field can tell a richer story about climate change and biodiversity. 

Rising Waters illustrator Makiyah Alexander said that growing up, she yearned to see stories that centered people of color. While Rising Waters shows the suffering of Black Americans in the wake of the 1927 flood, it also identifies pockets of agency and resistance; Alexander designed the deck of Community Cards that players must draw from to survive the game, labeled with sources of power, including blues music, farm animals, church, garden, family, and education.

鈥淪o many [games] are about conquering or dividing; I thought it was important to share something from us, about our values of unity and being equal with others,鈥� said Inuk designer . 鈥淓ven our dog sled teams are seen as partners, not pets.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Mangiok, a school administrator, created a game called 鈥斺�渙n the land鈥� in Inuktitut鈥攁s a way to share the traditions of his village , the northernmost settlement in Canada. Players collaborate to achieve a balance between the Arctic tundra鈥檚 natural and human elements before their characters starve.

鈥淭he message 滨鈥檓 trying to send through my game is to work with others, to make a better environment for everybody,鈥� he said. 鈥淲e remember how to work together, and through play, can show that.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

This story first appeared in , an editorially independent, nonprofit news service covering climate change. Follow .