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Looking to create effective climate change policy? Ask the community.

In Seattle, community assemblies are gathering frontline community members to set their own policies around extreme weather.

For Peter Hasegawa, it all started with the heat dome. The labor organizer remembers the 2021 extreme heat event that killed more than 400 people in the state of Washington. That disaster woke up residents and union members to how deadly climate change can be. Although Seattle had passed climate action legislation in 2019, it became clear to Hasegawa and the union members he represented that even though the city was preparing to wean itself off fossil fuels, it was still ill-prepared to deal with the impacts of a warming planet. This led Hasegawa last fall to South Seattle College, the setting for MLK Labor’s community assembly on extreme weather and worker rights. One October evening, a lecture hall filled with union workers, including teachers, firefighters, home health care workers, postal workers, and more, ready to try out the Community Assembly model. Community Assemblies are participatory spaces where people come together to learn, deliberate, and make collective decisions on programs and policies that influence the actions of government and community action. Hasegawa watched closely as the assembly unfolded. After years of making policy for communities of color, workers, and other communities on the frontlines of climate change, lawmakers and city officials are now shifting towards making policies with constituents — particularly those who historically have been harmed by local policy. In Seattle, these Community Assemblies are part of a pilot program in partnership with the City of Seattle — one of the latest efforts in a larger trend of more inclusive governance around climate change. In that room, 50 union members came together for three assembly sessions over three weeks to test a new tool for co-governance. Members of the community assembly that was led by MLK Labor. MLK Labor Assemblies have been implemented across the U.S. and around the world, including in Hawai’i after the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic; in Jackson, Miss., to bring community-based perspectives into the city’s contracting process; and in the Bronx, N.Y., to advocate for stronger policies on housing, economic inequality, and health. While not government-funded or directly initiated with officials, these assemblies create opportunities for deeper collaboration between communities and policymakers.  “This is a model that has always existed — the assembly, a deep form of engagement — and it exists across the globe in different variations, demonstrating how structured public participation can inform policies and decisions that directly impact people’s lives,” said Faduma Fido, Lab Leader with Seattle partner organization People’s Economy Lab.  One thing that distinguishes Washington’s Community Assemblies is that they’re funded by government entities.MLK Labor’s assembly, along with an assembly led by the Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle, were funded by the City of Seattle Office of Sustainability and Environment in partnership with Seattle’s Green New Deal Oversight Board. The oversight board will use recommendations from community assemblies to inform Seattle’s Climate Action Plan update and future climate policies and priorities. With all of this in mind, it was important for the sustainability office and the oversight board to wisely choose the organizations that would lead these community assemblies. The Green New Deal legislation funded this program with $100,000 set aside to invest in participatory decision-making.  Members of the community assembly that was led by the Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle. Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle Choosing MLK Labor and the Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle came after lengthy research, according to Elise Rasmussen, Climate and Environmental Justice Associate at Seattle’s sustainability office. Most importantly, both organizations prioritized communities disproportionately affected by climate change. For MLK Labor’s Community Assembly, this included individual union members who had voiced past concerns about climate change and workers in roles that would put them in the path of extreme weather events. For the Urban League’s, which was focused on community resilience in the face of climate change, participants were chosen for their connection and lived experience to climate change and equity. This group included 25 members from Indigenous communities, as well as other communities of color, immigrants, unhoused people, elders, and youth who were engaged in efforts to fight climate change locally.  In the South Seattle College lecture hall, Hasegawa saw the type of camaraderie common in unions, but this time solidarity formed around facing climate change. “People found that they were not alone in having to deal with extreme weather,” he said, “and [workers were] not being given the tools or the protections from their managers to do what they needed to do.” Firefighters talked about having to work in extreme heat, home health care workers described elderly and vulnerable patients struggling without air conditioning, and teachers detailed sweaty days in classrooms, burst pipes, and mold.  Members of the MLK Labor community assembly in a working group on extreme weather and worker rights. MLK Labor The point, according to Fido, is to ensure that no one gets left behind in Seattle’s climate planning. Community Assemblies are a way for frontline community members to share their experiences and expertise, discuss issues and collaborate on solutions, and make their voices heard through policy recommendations. And community assemblies are gaining traction throughout the state. The Washington State Department of Social and Health Services is also funding a series of Community Assembly pilots.  Longtime organizer Rosalinda Guillen had advocated for the model locally, after working with numerous farmworker organizations and advocates from Washington State to South America. She was a community organizer with the Rainbow/PUSH Coalition, helping organize the first farmworker union in the state’s history. “Every state agency needs to replace their community engagement plan with the community assembly model,” Guillen said on a 2023 panel.  Another goal of Community Assemblies is to support Black, Brown, Indigenous, and low-income communities to participate more fully in the process of policymaking. “We’re working with frontline communities to be able to build and sustain a civic muscle where they are active participants in the conversation of better policies, better investments, and more targeted programming,” said Fido.  Members of the Urban League community assembly in a working group on community resilience to climate change. Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle For Camille Gipaya, the process has already had immediate, visible effects. Gipaya is a community outreach organizer at the Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle. While the issues their assembly addressed were broad — food and water, land use, pollution, and redlining — she says that bringing people together has very literally changed how they show up. “We [went] to Olympia [to] talk to legislators, and we had individuals that we met at the Community Assembly that were there who were not interested in talking to politicians beforehand, but [then] they felt empowered to be more engaged,” she said.  Using this model is important to Gipaya, because it prioritizes the communal lived experiences of people who will be most affected by climate change. Instead of trying other methods to determine the best way forward, this initiative simply asks people to determine the best path themselves. “When looking at policy, it has to be more than just data and numbers,” she said. “Oftentimes, having seen [how policy has worked] in the past, we really have to connect with community members. We cannot afford to be disconnected with frontline communities.” This story was produced in partnership with Communities of Opportunity, a growing partnership that believes every community can be a healthy, thriving community. Communities of Opportunity is a unique community-private foundation-government partnership that invests in the power of communities in King County, Washington. LEARN MORE This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Looking to create effective climate change policy? Ask the community. on Apr 15, 2025.

Why is it so expensive to build affordable homes in California? It takes too long

Guest Commentary written by Jason Ward Jason Ward is co-director of the RAND Center on Housing and Homelessness. He is also an economist at RAND and a professor of policy analysis at Pardee RAND Graduate School. The spiraling cost of housing in California has affected virtually every facet of life. California has the nation’s largest […]

Guest Commentary written by Jason Ward Jason Ward is co-director of the RAND Center on Housing and Homelessness. He is also an economist at RAND and a professor of policy analysis at Pardee RAND Graduate School. The spiraling cost of housing in California has affected virtually every facet of life. California has the nation’s largest unsheltered homeless population and among the highest rates of cost-burdened renters and overcrowded homes. One reason for the seemingly endless upward trajectory of rents is how expensive it is to build new apartments in California. Those costs are a major contributor to “break-even rents,” or what must be charged for a project to be financially feasible.  I recently led a study that compared total apartment development costs in California to those in Colorado and Texas. The average apartment in Texas costs roughly $150,000 to produce; in California, building the same apartment costs around $430,000, or 2.8 times more. Colorado occupies a middle ground, with an average cost of around $240,000 per unit. For publicly subsidized, affordable apartments — a sector that California has spent billions on in recent years — the gap is even worse. These cost over four times as much as affordable apartment units do in Colorado and Texas. There’s no single factor driving these huge differences. Land costs in California are over three times the Texas average. “Hard costs,” or those related to improving the land and constructing buildings, are 2.2 times those in Texas. California’s “soft costs,” which include financing, architectural and engineering fees, and development fees charged by local governments, are 3.8 times the Texas average.  There are some unavoidable California-specific costs, like ensuring buildings are resilient to shaking from earthquakes. But the truly lifesaving seismic requirements explain only around 6% of hard-cost differences, the study estimated. The state’s strict energy efficiency requirements add around 7%. California’s high cost of living may drive up the price of labor, but we found that construction wage differences explain only 6% to 10% of hard cost differences for market-rate apartments. However, for publicly subsidized apartment projects, which are often mandated to pay union-level wages, labor expenses explain as much as 20% to 35% of the total difference in costs between California and Texas.  “Soft costs” in California are a major culprit. California property developers pay remarkably high fees for architectural and engineering services — triple the average cost in Texas. It’s five times as much or more if you’re building publicly funded, affordable apartments in the Los Angeles and San Francisco metro areas.  Read Next Explainers Californians: Here’s why your housing costs are so high by Ben Christopher and Manuela Tobias Seismic engineering requirements play a role. The bigger factor are complex and burdensome design requirements for affordable housing. These are dictated by state and local funding sources, and have little to do with habitability or safety but contribute substantially to these astonishing differences.  Development fees to local governments make up the largest soft-cost difference in California. Such fees, which were the subject of a 2024 U.S. Supreme Court case, average around $30,000 per unit. In Texas, the average is about $800. (Again, Colorado occupies a middle ground at around $12,000.)  In San Diego, for example, these fees on average eat up 14% of total development costs per apartment. But the biggest thing driving up California apartment costs? Time.  A privately financed apartment building that takes just over two years to produce from start to finish in Texas would take over four years in California. It takes twice as long to gain project approvals and the construction timeline is 1.5 times longer.  That means land costs must be carried for longer, equipment and labor are on jobsites longer, and that loans are taken out for a longer term, and so on.  Most of the differences that the study uncovered stem from policy choices made by state and local governments. Many are legacies of the so-called “slow growth movement” in California, which has shaped housing production since the 1980s.  Those efforts worked. Population growth in the state went negative for a few years after 2020, due primarily to the high cost of housing. Even more recently, California’s growth was half the numbers seen in Texas and Florida, with younger and higher earners disproportionately leaving.  These departures have dire implications for the state’s fiscal future and political influence nationally. California recently lost a congressional seat for the first time in its history. If current national population trends hold, it could lose four or five seats in 2030. The California Legislature has become increasingly focused on reducing the cost of living, but meeting this goal requires substantial progress on lowering housing costs. New proposals to exempt urban infill housing production from state environmental law and a package of permitting reforms are steps in that direction.  Will policymakers also take lessons from Texas and Colorado’s cheaper housing methods? That remains to be seen. But the future of California may well hinge on it.

Take back the night: Establishing a "right to darkness" could save our night skies

Dark sky proponents mull the rights of nature to battle light pollution. Here's how it would work

The technicolor Florida sunset had faded into darkness, and my extended family, assembled from two continents and three countries, gathered on the beach at Longboat Key to look at the stars. We were incredibly lucky that night in 1984, when I was seven, because a satellite came into view. With no clouds and few lights, it moved steadily like a bright little star across the dark, dark sky. We oohed. We ahhed. Today, some laypeople may still gather to watch a gaggle of newly-launched Starlink satellites, each designed for a lifetime of about 5 years, as they move through the sky like a string of pearls, or a long ellipse of unblinking stars. But the satellites are common enough these days that they often zip through the field of view of astronomers' telescopes, and their radio signals interfere with the signals used by those telescopes. With sunlight reflecting off their solar sails, at times satellites can be brighter than the stars that, from our viewpoint, surround them, and there are enough of them to brighten the night sky. There is little regulation of such space sources of light pollution. And work to better regulate and limit terrestrial, or ground-based, light pollution, while showing some promising results, is still in its infancy. Could an increasingly popular, intermittently successful legal argument involving what's called the Rights of Nature or more-than-human rights possibly reclaim our planet's dark skies? It sounds like a goth dream, but do we have a legal right to darkness? Is light pollution really that bad? It's a small step from annoyance to menace. While satellites offer many benefits, including environmental data gathering, with hundreds of thousands satellites expected to swarm the skies within the decade, we are looking at a genuine threat to the nighttime darkness within which we, and all living things, evolved over hundreds of thousands, in fact millions, of years. Not that satellites are the only concern. Light pollution from terrestrial sources has been a gradually growing menace to dark skies since the Industrial Revolution, as electrical lighting, explosive population growth, and dramatic increases in industry over the years have steadily brightened the sky while dimming the stars, especially near large urban centers. Since the advent of LEDs, though, the problem has become dramatically worse. The low cost, perceived environmental benefit, and abundant availability of LEDs has led to lights being used in entirely unnecessary ways. "Ground-based light pollution has been growing with urbanization, but there's an inflection point just a couple of years ago due to the arrival of LED lights, which have made it much easier to make much more light with less energy," astronomer James Lowenthal, also a dark skies advocate and professor of astronomy in Northampton, Massachusetts, told Salon in a video interview. "And not only are they bright, they're very blue ... It looks white to your eyes, it looks sparkling while, like an emergency room, operating room kind of light". "We see the stars less and less than we did just ten, twenty years ago." White light with that cool, bright white appearance, like intense moonlight, actually contains a higher proportion of short-wavelengths, the blue and green part of the visible spectrum. This cool blueish light is said to have a high temperature (the higher the temperature of light, the bluer it looks to us). In fact, the original LEDs that hit the market around 15 years ago had such a high temperature that when cities and towns installed them in street lights, people were horrified, Lowenthal said, describing "many cases of cities where citizens just revolted against what their city had done."  As most late-night computer users know by now, probably thanks to someone nagging at them, informatively but in vain, to get off the damn screen, blue light has effects on animal and human eyes, especially on older humans. "Just as blue sunlight scatters in the Earth's atmosphere and makes the sun look slightly less blue, light from a strong blue, rich white street light enters your eyeball, scatters around in your eyeball and causes a sort of gauzy veil of glare," Lowenthal explained.  There's more, though. The short wavelength blue light of LEDs bounces around more in the sky, intensifying the brightness of light pollution more than an equivalent amount of less blue light energy. To add insult to injury, our eyes' sensitivity shifts towards the blue end of the spectrum at night. That's why moonlight looks bluish, when it's actually the same color as sunlight. "And that's actually one of the main reasons that we see the stars less and less than we did just ten, twenty years ago," Lowenthal said. A few steps short of regulation As a result of these twin Earth-based and sky-based threats to the skies under which we all evolved, dark sky advocacy became a thing. So have dark-sky preserves, where light pollution is restricted; dark sky certification, which echoes programs such as the UNESCO World Heritage Sites; and dark skies as a marketing attraction.  The Dark and Quiet Skies report, a 2021 report commissioned by the United Nations Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space, notes from the first paragraphs the wide scope of dark sky advocacy — from the importance of that astronomical research for protecting the Earth from asteroids or for advancing scientific research that benefits all humanity, to the cultural significance of dark skies. Many Indigenous peoples use the stars for orientation as their ancestors did, and the panorama of stars serves as a "library" of Indigenous knowledge. Want more health and science stories in your inbox? Subscribe to Salon's weekly newsletter Lab Notes. "We are adapted to darkness. But I would say not just in a physiological way," Aparna Venkatesan, an astronomer at University of San Francisco, told Salon in a video interview, citing numerous studies on human creativity at night, the rich history of references to darkness in human languages and storytelling, and the prevalence of human origin stories — including the scientific account of the Big Bang — that begin with total darkness. Venkatesan, with astronomer and dark sky consultant John Barentine, coined the term "noctalgia," meaning "sky grief," to describe "the accelerating loss of the home environment of our shared skies." It's a loss that affects all of us but has intense implications for Indigenous people, for whom access to dark night skies is a vital factor in preserving traditions around navigation and calendaring. It even impacts food sovereignty, as pollinators are impacted by light pollution. "There's individual rights and community rights, including the rights of future generations and freedom of religion," Venkatesan said. "All of that is true, but I also want to advocate that we are part of the continuum, that darkness lives in our language, our storytelling, our identity, our science, our creativity. Really, much of our human identity rests with darkness." In response to concerns about terrestrial light pollution, dark sky preserves or parks have been springing up around the world (there are more than 120 in the U.S.), offering a distinct attraction for tourism as well as residents — and the ecosystems that are able to enjoy a kind of life that has become largely endangered, life where circadian rhythms follow the same schedule as our ancestors' did. Comparison showing the effects of light pollution on viewing the sky at night (Jeremy Stanley/Flickr/Wiki Commons)International Dark Sky Places is an international program of independent third-party certification of particular areas that apply to become IDSPs. Starting with Flagstaff, Arizona's appointment as the first Dark Sky City in 2001, the organization has certified dark sites, which can be communities, parks or protected areas, on six continents, 22 countries. There are now some 200 of them around the globe, representing 160,000 square kilometers of land on Earth from which you can see clear night skies, glittering heavens, the full starry span of the Milky Way rarely visible from cities or even the average over-illuminated suburb. Some of these are in the remote, austere sites that often serve as ideal sites for astronomical observatories. But not all of them.  There are practices of light pollution mitigation that can be learned and adopted if everyone in a given community is on board — or brought on board through policy decisions. But getting agreement and motivation to pursue dark sky certification status by working to achieve light pollution reduction targets is easier said than done. "There are no binding treaties that have to do with the night sky, with that type of environmental protection," Barentine told Salon in a video interview along with Venkatesan. That's even though certain U.N. instruments do mention it—the U.N. Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and the underlying treaties establishing the United Nations Environment Programme are among these, he said. "At best, what we might get is a series of recommendations to members states of these different conventions that they could choose to enact if they wanted to."  "Much of our human identity rests with darkness." But voluntary standards for light pollution, like voluntary standards for much else where profit and community or ecosystem well-being might be at odds, have a habit of failing to meet the need, of being inconsistently applied, and of simply being ignored. In fact, Ben Price, director of education at the Community Environmental Legal Defence Fund, which assisted in establishment of the world's first community rights of nature legislation, notes that the establishment of minimum protected areas tends to be supported or even promoted by the corporations that cause greatest environmental harm, effectively maximizing the amount of harm that can be done everywhere else.  The federal Clean Air and Clean Water acts, and similar state laws, likewise set out in law just how much degradation or destruction of the natural world corporations or others can get away with. Partly as a result, environmental damage is far, far worse and natural habitats are far smaller and more fragmented than they were half a century ago, before these pieces of legislation existed. Price told Salon in a video interview that he enjoyed amateur astronomy as a child and plans to travel to a noted dark sky preserve in the Pennsylvania wilds. "But really, do you have to travel hours and hours to see the stars the way they actually come through?" he asked rhetorically. "Do we really need to have every damn thing on the surface of the Earth lit up?" Or in the sky — Price has also watched satellites and has memories of seeing Sputnik overhead. Legislation, Price believes, is the answer to bringing back the dark — as opposed to carving the Earth up into little pieces, a few fragments of which might achieve protected status. But with over two decades of work to advance rights of nature at the community level in the United States — nearly 200 communities have adopted CELDF-drafted community bill of rights laws including rights of nature — he believes that the entrenched domination of property rights in the U.S. means that it's going to be an uphill battle.   The damage done by bright skies In the law, reparations are often thought of in terms of damages. Well, there's plenty of damage to be redressed. Remember how our eyes naturally become more sensitive to the blue end of the visible spectrum at night? That's just one of the many known and other likely unrecognized ways in which even daylight-waking creatures like us have been conditioned by millions of years of evolving in a world with roughly equal hours of daylight and darkness.  Nocturnal animals obviously depend on having adequate darkness for the kind of eyesight they've evolved and the nighttime behavior they've evolved to carry out in the dark of night. But diurnal animals like humans, and crepuscular animals, like cats, that are naturally at their most active at dawn and at dusk, also have exquisitely calibrated chronobiology, with hormone patterns that change according to the light and processes that take place during either daytime, when the sun is out, or nighttime, when it's not.  Research demonstrating the negative health impacts of messing too much with our bodies' ingrained expectations about light and darkness has accumulated over decades. Light pollution is linked to a host of health harms. Exposure to artificial light when we should be asleep alters our production of the important hormone melatonin, increasing risks of obesity, reproductive problems, certain cancers such as breast and prostate cancer, and mood disorders, and negatively affects immune function. Seine et Marne on march the 6th 2021 at night. Taurus constellation. On this image we can see the effect of the movements of artificial satellites through the sky. On the left we can see the planet Mars, on the right the famous stars cluster the Pleiades (M45). From the bottom right the luminous trail of the satellite STARLINK-1269, and from the top the luminous trail of the satellite STARLINK-1577. (Christophe Lehenaff / Getty Images)It's even worse for animals, who aren't able to make choices like dimming the lights at a decent hour, using a red shift filter on their phones, or installing blackout curtains. Exposure to constant bright light causes pigeons to lose their regular locomotor and feeding patterns, and goldfish that are normally active in daytime likewise lose their own consistent patterns of activity and rest. Abnormal patterns of light and darkness reduce reproductive capacity in male sheep. Both sunlight and moonlight play roles in regulating the spawning and migration of Japanese eels. Outdoor lighting can trap migratory birds and moths. In fact, even kingdoms of life beyond Animalia depend on darkness. Plants, linked in our minds with light thanks to their ability to turn it into energy through photosynthesis, require darkness, too. Artificial light that hampers nocturnal pollinators reduces plant reproductive success and fruit production. It also puts trees' schedules out of whack, affecting the dates of when leaves bud and how and when temperature triggers leaves to change color (though it also might delay plants' schedules for flowering, budding and leap-dropping otherwise moved forwards as a result of global heating-induced changes in seasonal temperatures.) Even fungi need darkness, as they evolved to use patterns of light to interact with the world. They sense light with photoreceptors, and while they use them to avoid too much of it so as not to dry out, that's not all they're for. Fungi can have white collar proteins and cryptochromes for detection of blue light, opsins that detect green light, and phytochromes for red light. These photoreceptors also regulate things like sexual and asexual development and metabolism, accumulation of protective pigments and proteins, and growth. Artificial light seems to reduce the diversity of both fungi and beneficial ("good") bacteria living on grassland plant species, destabilize natural bacteria communities in soil, and may cause harmful algal blooms of blue-green algae in freshwater lakes.  And it isn't just darkness, but specifically the clear view of the stars that dark skies provide that is key to wellbeing for some species. Songbirds that migrate at night calibrate their magnetic compass to the setting sun, then use the stars as a compass. Bull ants use stars to find their way home. The dung beetle, which disperses seeds as it rolls its dung balls, fertilizing topsoil and enhancing biodiversity and engineering its environment, normally orients itself using the Milky Way and the moon. When light pollution or skyglow (light pollution from elsewhere reflected downwards) dims it, the beetle is forced to orient itself by sources of light on Earth. This increases competition within the species as all the dung beetles are attracted to the same artificial light source, or results in them becoming disoriented when they can't find a replacement for the stars. Either way, the result is less of that dispersal that's so important for soil health and biodiversity. Suing for dark skies "Now, of course, there is no legal precedent in U.S. courts for non-human entities having rights in and of themselves. When we talk about laws like the Endangered Species Act, it's always about the value of those species to humans, even if it is only our curiosity or our wonder," Price said, noting that momentum is building in other countries towards a less anthropocentric approach.  "We should draft and enact local [and] state laws," Price argued, "that recognize the right to dark skies as belonging intrinsically to nocturnal life, and not just nocturnal because what happens to life at night, if it's diminished or wiped out is going to have absolutely devastating effects on those creatures and on [that] plant life and so forth that is more active in daylight. It's all connected, and that's the very point of it all." A rights of nature argument would be about "conveying enough legal recognition to those natural systems that they can at least compete with the Western view of humans being at the legal and environmental apex," where the purpose of the nature is framed as being the benefit of humans, and nature is to be made subservient to us, Barentine said. He has scoured the global legal literature for examples that could serve as precedents for applying legislation to dark skies. "There has to be a change in paradigms that are at the foundation of how we run our society and the kinds of laws we create." Some countries have subjected light pollution to law and to judicial review, Barentine said. "And I found some examples of countries that have given a level of consideration to these natural systems that are at least close enough to that, to where you can make the jump and say, if you would protect a river, for example, under rights of nature by giving it [legal] standing ... that there's really no reason that you cannot apply exactly the same logic to light pollution." But the more foundational idea of a legal right to darkness — or, complimentarily, a right to starlight — has not been tested in courts. But rights of nature arguments more generally have found favor with courts in enough jurisdictions that it's definitely no longer a fringe or symbolic legal concept, despite Price's reluctance to be over-optimistic about how quickly change can be achieved. And the framing of darkness or starlight as a right is not entirely new. In 2009, the general assembly of the International Astronomical Union passed "Resolution 2009-B5", which among other related points, states that "an unpolluted night sky that allows the enjoyment and contemplation of the firmament should be considered a fundamental socio-cultural and environmental right, and that the progressive degradation of the night sky should be regarded as a fundamental loss." And since this resolution built on a 2007 conference called the "International Conference in Defence of the Quality of the Night Sky and the Right to Observe Stars held jointly by UNESCO and the IAU, the idea that it's a sociocultural right might seem to be endorsed by UNESCO, the global body dedicated to such rights. But there are limits to how far international bodies are willing to go. Noting a "growing number of requests to UNESCO concerning the recognition of the value of the dark night sky and celestial objects," by 2007, UNESCO's World Heritage Centre stated that "the sky or the dark night sky or celestial objects or starlight as such cannot be nominated to the World Heritage List within the framework of the Convention concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage." Nor, they say, can Dark Sky preserves be considered under the various categories of cultural and natural properties subject to protection — because no criteria exist for them to be considered. And that's still several steps away from an enforceable right. So we're not there yet. If a person or group of people are going to go to court on behalf of nature, "it is a stronger case if the complaint is brought by a human person who lives in a place that is affected by that thing. So it would be hard for me to make an argument that I should be the plaintiff in a case involving light pollution in China or Europe or somewhere like that," said Barentine, who lives in Tucson, Arizona, a dark sky city, "but I could be the person who brings the complaint in my part of the United States, because I can argue that I am impacted by this and I have an interest in this ecosystem." Barentine and colleagues have been developing the concept of a lightshed, analogous to a watershed, a geographical region that may cut across existing legal boundaries but that could define an area within which total light pollution must be kept within a certain limit in order to mitigate harm and limit skyglow. "If we believe that there's anything like a commons and that there is a public interest in the commons, then I could bring suit on behalf of all people similarly situated. We could define a class of people. I can say that literally, every person who lives in my city is affected in one way or another by this issue, and therefore could stand to suffer a legal injury that we're asking a court to remedy," Barentine said. While restrictions on local governance in the US and the country's strong legal emphasis on property rights makes it extremely difficult to advance dark sky legislation through a rights of nature argument, Price said that, in theory at least, were a bill introduced this year in the New York legislature that would grant rights of nature to the Great Lakes ecosystem prove successful, it might then be possible to argue in court that documented harms resulting from light pollution must be rectified under that legislation. The proposed legislation would devolve powers to local municipalities and counties to protect the ability of local ecosystems to exist, to flourish naturally, and to be restored when harmed. And as we've seen, humans, animals, and other organisms might have a strong case that we've all suffered harm from too much light when it should be dark, and even too few stars when the sky should be a-glitter with them. Still, Price thinks that this bill is likely to be a public learning experience more than anything else.  "There has to be a change in paradigms that are at the foundation of how we run our society and the kinds of laws we create," he said. "It's really people's minds that have to change more than the laws before they can accept these laws."  But he quoted science fiction author Ursula K. Le Guin on the eventual inevitability of once-unimaginable change. Accepting an award from the National Book Foundation, Le Guin said that "We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable — but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings." Read more about rights of nature

Why the Forest Service is logging after Hurricane Helene — and why some say it’s a mistake

Volunteers, scientists, and hikers are asking for transparency in a process they say could prioritize profit over ecosystems

In the months after Hurricane Helene leveled thousands of acres in Pisgah National Forest, John Beaudet and other volunteers cleared downed trees from the Appalachian National Scenic Trail. Chopping them up and moving them aside was back-breaking work, but essential to ensuring safe passage for hikers. So he was dismayed to learn that a section of the trail in western North Carolina could remain closed for more than a year because the National Forest Service wants that timber left alone so logging companies can clear it. “Rather than cut those logs out of the trail and open the trail up, the U.S. Forest Service wanted to salvage those trees as timber,” said Beaudet, an avid hiker who lives near Erwin, Tennessee. Such operations, common after natural disasters like hurricanes and fires, are typically subjected to environmental review, and the government solicits feedback from the public. But when Beaudet tried to comment on the process, he found that was not an option. “For the army of volunteers that work so hard to clear the trail out, it’s kind of a kick in the shins,” he said. The Appalachian Trail Conservancy worked with the Forest Service and local hiking clubs to reroute the trail, but it does not have a timeline for completion for the salvage project, a point of uncertainty for hikers and trail advocates. Of the nearly 800,000 acres of trees that Helene downed, about 187,000 lie in national forests. Salvage logging is the Forest Service’s primary method of handling such a large disturbance. However, scientists and forest advocates have long questioned whether salvage logging, which brings its own ecological damage, is the best approach and believe it denies nature time to heal.  Others argue that such operations are motivated more by profit than safety or environmental concern, and often provide cover for taking healthy trees that still stand.  The fast-track approach to environmental review following Helene has many people concerned that the public isn’t being given any chance to inform the process. According to forest advocates who have been in communication with the Forest Service, the government reportedly plans to announce 15 salvage projects in western North Carolina, including some 2,300 acres in Pisgah alone. The agency did reach out to the state Fish and Wildfire Service and the historic preservation office for consultation, but did not detail what those communications entailed.  Such projects are meant to remove flammable dead trees, create “fuel breaks” where a fire can be halted or slowed, and promote ecosystem regeneration. James Melonas, the supervisor for national forests in North Carolina, said urgency is warranted due to an active and ongoing fire season creating a state of emergency. Beyond providing fuel for conflagrations like those that burned North Carolina last month, felled trees still block many roads.  “Really it’s about reducing that immediate fire risk,” he said. “We’re not really focused at this point on the kind of longer-term forest restoration, which will come.”  A drone photo taken on October 28, 2024, shows trees leveled by Hurricane Helene in Buncombe County, North Carolina. Ted Richardson / The Washington Post via Getty Images Timber salvage is a complex process that requires surveying immense tracts of land, much of it remote and occasionally treacherous, to determine the damage, its impact, and how best to clear it. A scientific assessment, which typically takes about six months, determines the environmental impact of the operation. After that, the environmental impact statement is subject to public comment, after which it is revised into a final version. Once all of that is done, bids are solicited. The cost varies with the scale of the project, any roads that must be built or improved, and other factors, but the baseline is 25 cents per cubic foot of lumber. Then, salvage begins. Such work is difficult and dangerous. “It’s brutal,” said Bryan Box, a timber cruiser involved in a Helene-related operation in Georgia. His job includes choosing trees for removal and estimating how many trees are hauled off for sale. Clearing them requires working with immense machinery in rugged, often steep, terrain. Accidents can be deadly, and crews toil far from help should anything go wrong. Salvaging is ecologically disruptive. It can cause erosion, introduce fire-prone invasive plants, alter natural habitat, and impact water quality. That is why it is, like other logging projects, regulated under the National Environmental Policy Act, or NEPA. A forester’s job, Box said, is to use those guidelines to mitigate risks while protecting any endangered species, archaeological sites, or rare habitat. Box has been involved in NEPA reviews around the country, and understands the scientific questions and ecological intricacies involved with salvage.  “The wildlife biologist comes in and says, ‘OK, here’s where our known hawk nests were prior to the storm,” he offered as an example. Or botanists might look for threatened plants like American ginseng. “They have to have language in the environmental impact statement going over that sort of biological analysis.” All of that information is presented in an environmental impact statement and published so the public can review it. Salvage logging isn’t necessarily profitable, and companies often see it as a chance to squeeze a few dollars out of wood that otherwise might be left to rot. A forest disturbance like a hurricane can devastate local timber markets by making wood suddenly abundant, driving down its value. It doesn’t help that downed trees are less valuable than freshly-cut trees. Box said timber companies sometimes take healthy trees along with the salvage to make more money.  “As long as it’s a targeted salvage project whose aim is simply to remove dead and downed wood, that’s a worthy goal,” said Will Harlan, of the Center for Biological Diversity, who signed a letter asking the Forest Service to allow the public to comment on the projects. “What we get worried about is when the project expands beyond salvage logging to include intact, healthy, mature forests that are nearby, being lumped into the project just to make money.” The Forest Service does have ways to prevent this. It requires a timber sale administrator to visit logging sites every 14 days to make sure everything is on the up and up. Ideally, these agency employees are “watching like hawks,” Box said. But in reality, there are often so many projects going on at once that an administrator might have over a dozen projects to oversee. And the agency, already stretched thin, may soon see further staffing cuts. It doesn’t help that there is currently little regulatory pressure from above to enforce the National Environmental Policy Act. Recently released federal directives for the Forest Service invoke the need for logging as a means for preventing fires and promoting biodiversity, and point towards streamlining NEPA and eradicating it where possible. Read Next Logging doesn’t prevent wildfires, but Trump is trying it anyway Ayurella Horn-Muller Some forest ecologists believe salvage is a flawed fire prevention strategy because removing so much timber can actually increase fire risk. Trees, even fallen ones, keep the ground moist and cool; without them, it dries out. “Big logs are creating shade and humidity and don’t dry out that well,” said Josh Kelly, a forest ecologist with conservation nonprofit MountainTrue. “They can actually slow a fire down.” He isn’t opposed to clearing down trees, “so long as salvage really is aimed at reducing wildfire risk and logging debris is dealt with after logging and either chipped or mulched or pulled away from roads. I just really wish there wasn’t this secrecy surrounding it.” Critics also argue that salvage logging does more harm than good and a damaged forest ought to be left to recover on its own, especially given the trauma it has already endured. “If you look at Webster’s dictionary, salvage is taking something of value from something that’s been destroyed,” said conservation biologist Dominick DelaSalla, an ardent opponent of the practice. Blowdowns are part of the natural cycles that create the diverse habitats needed to ensure forest health and diversity, he said. Those downed logs have greater value in nurturing life by cycling nutrients and creating habitat, two benefits that outweigh any financial gain gleaned from their harvest. Removing them, he said, can interrupt or alter the process of regrowth, especially when many forest types, like some in Appalachia, are fire-adapted. Rather than clearing downed trees and old growth, DelaSalla said fire mitigation should focus on creating fuel breaks, promoting fire safety education, fireproofing homes, and adopting zoning regulations that minimize further expansion into the wildland-urban interface. Kelly said while smaller twigs  downed by Helene may be linked to the fires that burned last month, and the downed trees littering Pisgah and other forests may not pose a threat until they’ve had a few years to dry out. Other factors post a far greater threat, he said. “The Southeast in general has been having a very active fire season due to global warming and weather,” he said. Last month was the lowest-humidity March on record for much of the region.   Ultimately, conservationists would prefer a stewardship-based approach to letting damaged forests regenerate at their own pace. That approach can conflict with the pressure to maintain public safety, the federal government’s interest in increasing logging, and the economic benefits recreation and tourism bring to communities. Such tensions will only increase as climate change brings more frequent, and more intense storms like Helene and the nation’s forests grow increasingly vulnerable.   “What we’re going to continue to see is probably increased rates of canopy turnover, increased mortality rates of the older trees, and a changing species composition and conditions,” said Kelly. “There won’t be an equilibrium until  the climate and weather reach an equilibrium.” Lilly Knoepp contributed reporting to this story. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Why the Forest Service is logging after Hurricane Helene — and why some say it’s a mistake on Apr 15, 2025.

Agriculture Department cancels $3B grant program for climate-friendly crops

The Trump administration canceled a $3.1 billion grant program for climate-friendly crops, the Agriculture Department announced Monday. In a press release, the department said that it was canceling Biden-era Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities, which funded 141 projects that sought to advance climate-friendly farming practices. Projects funded under the program supported things like planting cover crops, which...

The Trump administration canceled a $3.1 billion grant program for climate-friendly crops, the Agriculture Department announced Monday.  In a press release, the department said that it was canceling Biden-era Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities, which funded 141 projects that sought to advance climate-friendly farming practices. Projects funded under the program supported things like planting cover crops, which prevent soil erosion, and managing soil nutrients to minimize farming’s environmental impacts.  The Biden administration estimated that the program would reach more than 60,000 farms and cut more than 60 million metric tons of carbon dioxide — the equivalent of taking 12 million gas-powered cars off the road for a year. However, the Trump administration said that most of the projects “had sky-high administration fees which in many instances provided less than half of the federal funding directly to farmers.” It also said that “select projects” could continue if they can show that a “significant” amount of their funds will go to farmers. “The Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities initiative was largely built to advance the green new scam at the benefit of NGOs, not American farmers,” said Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins in a written statement.  “I have heard directly from our farmers that many of the USDA partnerships are overburdened by red tape, have ambiguous goals, and require complex reporting that push farmers onto the sidelines,” Rollins added.  The cancellation comes amid a broader effort from the Trump administration to axe funding for climate- and environment-related programs. 

Engineering Marvels of the Silver State

Discover the 19th-century innovations that put Nevada on the map

Imagine stepping onto the scenic Marlette Flume Trail, winding high above the shimmering blue expanse of Lake Tahoe. The crisp mountain air fills your lungs as you take in the panoramic views—but you may not realize you’re also standing on the remnants of a 19th-century engineering marvel. Beneath your feet was once an innovative wooden flume and pipeline system that helped channel water from Tahoe’s forests to Virginia City and the silver mines of the Comstock Lode.  The Marlette Flume was hardly Nevada’s only 19th-century engineering wonder: the Silver State’s rise was built on ambitious projects. To extract the vast wealth beneath the desert, environmental and logistical hurdles had to be solved with similar large-scale innovations.  The Comstock Lode: Supplying America’s First Major Silver Discovery  The 1859 discovery of the Comstock Lode—an immense silver deposit—was a turning point in American mining history. This rich vein of silver and gold, buried beneath the mountains of western Nevada, transformed the region into an economic powerhouse, drawing thousands of prospectors and engineers eager to stake their claim. At its height, the Lode produced hundreds of millions of dollars in silver, fueling the growth of Nevada and even financing the Union during the Civil War.   However, extracting silver from deep underground came with significant challenges. Virginia City—the Comstock Lode’s largest settlement—was built on a remote mountaintop in what was already a remote desert. This made supplying the town (and keeping its miners happy) a logistical nightmare. Critical resources like food, water and building materials were simply not available locally, which meant the city had to import pretty much everything it needed.   Today, visitors can take a 24-mile round-trip tour from Carson City to historic Virginia City aboard the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Travel Nevada Most supplies came via an endless stream of wagon and mule teams that navigated the steep mountain passes. This included fresh water. But as Virginia City grew, officials knew they needed a more permanent solution to their water woes. The answer came in the early 1870s, when developers constructed an intricate flume and pipeline system. The Marlette Flume took fresh water on a 50-mile journey from Marlette Lake—located just above Lake Tahoe—down the slope of the Sierra Nevada, and then back uphill into mountains of The Comstock.   Additional supply relief came in 1869 with the completion of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Not only did rail make the Comstock much easier to supply, but its silver mines were finally connected to processing centers and markets across the country. The line ran supplies until 1950 before shuttering. In 1976, the V&T Railroad was revived as a heritage railroad, and today it still offers tourists the chance to ride the historic route from Carson City to Virginia City. Experience It Today: The Marlette Flume Trail (otherwise known as the Lake Tahoe Flume Trail) has been transformed into a world-renowned hiking and mountain biking route that offers breathtaking views of Lake Tahoe. Remnants of the original flume system are still visible along portions of the trail. The Flume Trail: A Water Slide That Fueled the Mines Although Comstock officials were able to solve logistical supply issues to keep the town running, building and maintaining the mines were an entirely different problems that required cutting-edge Wild West technology.  One of the biggest issues miners faced was that the silver was far below the earth—sometimes more than half a mile down. To extend (and support) mine shafts at that depth, new construction methods would need to be developed. One of those pioneering technologies came from German mining engineer Philip Deidesheimer. His system—known as square-set timbering—used interlocking wooden frames to stabilize the soft, collapsing rock, making deep mining not only possible, but far safer. The only problem was that this method required a significant amount of timber.   Timber was not abundant around the Comstock Lode. However, the dense forests surrounding Lake Tahoe were relatively nearby. To bring the lumber to the mines, developers had to build an advanced rail and flume system, today called the Incline Flume. This incredible feat of engineering brought trees harvested from the Tahoe basin to Incline Village. The timber was then winched up 35-percent grade incline railway to the top of the mountain then launched down the Sierra Nevada via a spectacular wooden flume system.  The Incline Flume—essentially a waterslide for logs— carried logs more than 30 miles using only the force of gravity. The wooden scaffolding snaked along cliffsides, through rugged canyons, and across vast expanses of desert terrain, delivering the timber necessary to keep the Comstock mines operational and structurally sound.   While it was an effective innovation, the Incline Flume helped accelerate deforestation in the Tahoe Basin, altering the landscape at the time. However, by the late 19th century, efforts to replant and conserve the region’s forests were already underway, and dedicated conservation initiatives continue to this day.  Experience It Today: Not to be confused with the more-popular Marlette Flume Trail above Lake Tahoe, portions of the Incline Flume are still accessible today via Mt. Rose Highway. Sutro Tunnel: A Game-Changer for Nevada’s Mining Industry  By the 1860s, mining operations in the Comstock Lode had hit a major obstacle: deep tunnels flooded with water, while stagnant air polluted with toxic gases combined to make working conditions treacherous. Miners often found themselves wading through knee-deep water, with ventilation shafts struggling to supply fresh air throughout their shifts. Enter Adolph Sutro, a Prussian-born engineer with a radical idea: an underground tunnel that would drain the mines, improve airflow, and create a safer passage for miners and supplies.  Sutro envisioned a 4-mile drainage tunnel running beneath the Comstock Lode, diverting floodwaters and allowing mining operations to continue at even greater depths. Construction began in 1869, employing thousands of workers who blasted through rock with dynamite—an innovation at the time. Progress was slow, however, and by the time the tunnel was completed in 1878, the silver boom had begun to decline.  Entrance to the Sutro Tunnel site today. Travel Nevada [/] A historic photo of the Sutro Tunnel site circa 1870. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel [/] A photograph of an early entrance to the Sutro Tunnel. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel [/] Despite this, the Sutro Tunnel proved valuable, remaining in use for decades as a critical drainage system for nearby mines. While debates persist over whether it was worth the effort, its engineering impact was undeniable. The tunnel influenced later mining operations and set a precedent for large-scale infrastructure projects in Nevada and around the world.  Experience It Today: The Sutro Tunnel is currently being restored, and expert-guided tours offer visitors a rare glimpse inside this ambitious engineering project. Today, explorers can walk along the same underground pathways that miners once used to navigate the depths of Nevada’s silver industry. The Lasting Legacy of Nevada’s Silver Boom  Nevada’s history is deeply intertwined with engineering innovation. The breakthroughs of the 19th century shaped the state’s economy and influenced mining technologies in other Western states and beyond. Today, remnants of these once-cutting-edge feats can still be explored—no longer as functioning infrastructure, but as part of Nevada’s rich and proud heritage. Ongoing preservation efforts are helping to restore and protect these historic landmarks, ensuring they remain accessible for future generations. From trail access along the Flume Trail to the restoration of the Sutro Tunnel to guided tours of Virginia City and more, historical tourism plays a vital role in keeping Nevada’s mining legacy alive today. Plan Your Visit  Whether hiking the Flume Trail, touring the Sutro Tunnel, or walking the streets of Virginia City, visitors can experience Nevada’s rich industrial heritage firsthand. These historic sites invite travelers to step into the past, engage with the stories of grit and innovation, and support the ongoing conservation of the state’s most iconic engineering landmarks. Plan your trip to stunning Nevada to experience the nation’s proud history of engineering and innovation. 

Coalition scores just 1/100 points for environment and climate policies from conservation organisation

Australian Conservation Foundation says opposition has ‘failed every single test’ while Labor passes with 54% and Greens achieve 98%Polls tracker; election guide; full federal election coverageAnywhere but Canberra; interactive electorates guideListen to the first episode of our new narrative podcast series: GinaGet our afternoon election email, free app or daily news podcastOne of Australia’s largest conservation organisations has awarded the federal Coalition just 1 out of 100 for its environment and climate change policies – the lowest score it has given the Liberal and National parties in more than 20 years of compiling pre-election scorecards.Labor scraped through with a pass – on 54% – while the Greens achieved 98%, according to the scorecard, which ranked the major parties and key independents on their policies for protecting nature, championing renewable energy, and rejecting nuclear and fossil fuels.Sign up for the Afternoon Update: Election 2025 email newsletter Continue reading...

One of Australia’s largest conservation organisations has awarded the federal Coalition just 1 out of 100 for its environment and climate change policies – the lowest score it has given the Liberal and National parties in more than 20 years of compiling pre-election scorecards.Labor scraped through with a pass – on 54% – while the Greens achieved 98%, according to the scorecard, which ranked the major parties and key independents on their policies for protecting nature, championing renewable energy, and rejecting nuclear and fossil fuels.The Australian Conservation Foundation’s chief executive, Kelly O’Shanassy, said the Coalition’s “woeful” score reflected its support for “expensive and risky” energy sources like nuclear and polluting gas.“They’ve failed every single test,” she said, adding that the Liberal and National parties wanted to cut environmental protection at the behest of the fossil fuel industry.O’Shanassy said Australians “really cared about nature and a safe climate”, issues that had barely been mentioned during the election campaign, despite major differences between Labor and the Coalition.Labor was “halfway there”, she said, thanks to support for renewable energy – including an 82% target and a home battery subsidy – and its rejection of nuclear power. But the party had lost points for weakening nature protection laws and for continuing to approve new coal and gas mines.Labor was sharply criticised by ACF and other conservation organisations in the last term of parliament after Anthony Albanese intervened to shelve legislation to create a national Environment Protection Agency after a backlash from Western Australia. Labor and the Coalition then voted together to protect salmon farming in Tasmania’s Macquarie Harbour from a legal challenge.Labor has legislated national emissions reduction targets – a 43% cut compared with 2005 levels – which the Coalition has pledged to review.The Coalition’s single point was awarded for its acknowledgment of concerns that Aukus could leave the door open to Australia accepting high-level nuclear waste from overseas.The Greens and several community independents – including Andrew Wilkie, Caz Heise, Monique Ryan, Nicolette Boele, and Zali Steggall – all scored above 90% for policies that championed renewables, protected nature and opposed nuclear energy and new fossil fuels.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Afternoon Update: Election 2025Our Australian afternoon update breaks down the key election campaign stories of the day, telling you what’s happening and why it mattersPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionProf Lesley Hughes, a biologist and climate change specialist at Macquarie University who was not involved with the scorecard, said the Coalition’s low score was “absolutely deserved”.“The Coalition has voted against all policies in the recent term that aim to reduce emissions, and has promised, if elected, to roll back things like fuel standards and weaken the safeguard mechanism,” she said, adding that its support for nuclear energy had been thoroughly discredited.But she said the scorecard, like others – including one recently published by the Climate Council – also showed that “Labor still has a way to go”.The Labor government had “bowed under pressure from the fossil fuel lobby”, she said, and had ignored the wishes of most of the Australian population to better protect biodiversity and step up climate action.“In the next term, we need to see the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act finally reformed so it does its job properly. And we need to see steps to a serious transition out of fossil fuel exports,” Hughes said.“We also need to see an end to the billions of dollars of taxpayers money going to prop up the fossil fuel industry – let’s spend that money on nature instead.”

CDC Denies Milwaukee’s Request for Help on Lead in Schools

By I. Edwards HealthDay ReporterMONDAY, April 14, 2025 (HealthDay News) -- When officials in Wisconsin's largest city asked the U.S. Centers for...

MONDAY, April 14, 2025 (HealthDay News) -- When officials in Wisconsin's largest city asked the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) for help dealing with high levels of lead in city schools, the answer wasn't what they expected.The CDC said no — because it no longer has the staff to help.“I sincerely regret to inform you that due to the complete loss of our Lead Program, we will be unable to support you with this EpiAid request,” Dr. Aaron Bernstein, director of the CDC's National Center for Environmental Health/Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, wrote last week to Milwaukee officials. A copy of the letter was  obtained by CNN.In the past, experts from the CDC’s EpiAid program have provided short-term help to local agencies dealing with urgent public health issues. Milwaukee requested that support on March 26, after finding hazardous lead levels in several school buildings.Lead is highly toxic — even small amounts can harm the brain. There is no safe level of lead exposure. It is most often found in older buildings that used lead-based paint before it was banned in 1978.Milwaukee Health Commissioner Dr. Mike Totoraitis had been working with the CDC for two months on this issue, according to CNN. But on April 1 — the same day 10,000 federal health employees were laid off as part of a major government downsizing — the city was told its CDC contact could no longer help.“My entire division was eliminated today,” a CDC epidemiologist wrote in an email to CNN, adding that others in the agency would take over. But those new contacts were unable to say what kind of help they could offer, according to Totoraitis.U.S. Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. said the lead prevention program might be brought back.“There are some programs that were cut that are being reinstated, and I think that’s one of them,” Kennedy said on April 3, noting that “there were a number of instances where … personnel that should not have been cut were cut.”But that same night, Milwaukee was officially denied CDC support.“While we’re disappointed, [the Milwaukee Health Department’s] work has not stopped,” Caroline Reinwald, a spokesperson for the department, told CNN. “This only underscores the importance of the role local public health plays in protecting communities — and the challenges we now face without federal expertise to call on.”SOURCE: CNN, April 11, 2025Copyright © 2025 HealthDay. All rights reserved.

Acclaimed Lion Conservationist Paola Bouley on Her Second Chance: ‘It Feels Like a Homecoming’

Bouley’s new project at Macossa-Tambara in Mozambique is part of an effort to double the African lion population by 2050. The post Acclaimed Lion Conservationist Paola Bouley on Her Second Chance: ‘It Feels Like a Homecoming’ appeared first on The Revelator.

Ecologist Paola Bouley recently spent a day with local women in central Mozambique as they whirled around in colorful skirts, dancing near ancient baobab trees as part of a community ritual. The next day she heard zebras, saw evidence that an elephant had passed by, and followed large lion pawprints down a forest path in central Mozambique. Bouley with lion tracks. Photo courtesy Macossa.org The day stirred up echoes of her childhood, when she first felt an innate draw to the natural world. As a 10-year-old in apartheid South Africa, she preferred climbing trees in her backyard, sitting on rock outcrops with her dogs observing the animals. But the neighborhood around her was rapidly suburbanizing. The untouched landscape was soon paved over. “I found refuge in nature,” she says. “So when the development happened, I had this feeling of loss.” Today Bouley finds herself back in nature, helping lead a team of Mozambican and international conservationists and scientists rehabilitating the Macossa-Tambara region, an ecosystem the size of Yellowstone National Park. Centered around a river basin, the area supports lions, leopards, pangolins, a vast forest, and 40,000 people. “When you’re in an area like Macossa-Tambara, you feel very whole,” says Bouley. “It’s the birthplace of humanity. We all have roots in a place like this.” Bouley became the codirector of Macossa-Tambara in 2023. Her goals there include supporting efforts to double African lion populations by 2050. In many ways that’s a return to form. Macossa-Tambara sits to the west of Gorongosa Mountain and Gorongosa Park, where Bouley first earned international recognition for her efforts conserving lions and other endangered species. But the journey between the two sites posed many challenges and nearly pushed her out of conservation altogether. Gorongosa Park Bouley found her way to Mozambique through a series of magnetic pulls. After moving to the United States for college, Bouley studied engineering with a plan to become an astronaut, but she says she left classes feeling that she was being pushed into a soulless military-industrial complex. A chance poetry class returned her to her interest in the natural world, and she switched majors to biology with a focus on marine conservation. In graduate school and afterward, she worked on a program that conserved a nearly extinct salmon population in the San Francisco Bay. But missing her native continent — and grappling with persistent seasickness that made being on boats challenging — Bouley returned to Africa in 2010 to work on a large carnivore project in Zambia. In 2011, when she was waiting to board a flight in a small airport for a holiday in Mozambique, an old park warden asked her if she was going to Gorongosa Park. Bouley had never heard of it. Gorongosa Park in Mozambique had once been seen as a crown jewel of Africa. Then its war of independence from Portugal and subsequent civil war — spanning the 1960s to 1990s — ravaged the ecosystem. Gorongosa was an epicenter of resistance. During the war animals were caught in the crossfire, leaving the park barren. But the worst part for the park came after the war, a period marked by further unrest that enabled a trophy hunting free-for-all as foreign and national wealthy hunters descended on the land to kill what they wanted, whether for ivory or food. During this difficult transition period for the country, rural people in poverty and in desperate need of cash would set snares and steel door traps, mainly to kill animals and sell bushmeat to buyers in the city. The traps were meant for warthogs, waterbuck, and antelope, but lions frequently traversed the same trails. By the time Bouley first heard of Gorongosa, the lion population there had fallen to just 30 big cats, many of whom bore permanent injuries from traps and snares. Common sightings included a lion without a paw or a three-legged lioness hopping around with her cubs because a snare or steel jaw trap had severed her limb. Some lions had gnawed off their own limbs to handle the pain. But in 2007, after three years of negotiation, the Mozambican government inked a deal with an American tech entrepreneur named Greg Carr to fund the rehabilitation of Gorongosa, an effort called the Gorongosa Restoration Project. Gorongosa also received significant investments from other donors, including the governments and taxpayers of the United States, Norway, Ireland, Canada, and Portugal (according to an email from Carr, he and his contacts via outside fundraising fund the majority of the park’s efforts today). At the time many hoped the infusion of money would lead to jobs for the local community and renewed conservation of the wildlife. Rehabilitating the Lions In 2012 Bouley was still traveling back-and-forth between California and Africa. One of her former professors volunteered to connect her with Princeton ecologist Rob Pringle, who was on the board of Gorongosa. Pringle was working closely with Carr who, after pioneering voicemail technology and making many millions in tech, became a powerful name in conservation and human rights spaces (Harvard’s Carr Center for Human Rights is named after him). That year, while still a graduate student, Bouley made her first trip to Gorongosa to meet Carr and the local team and embark on a large carnivore rehabilitation program as part of her doctorate to study the restoration of lions. Bouley remembers landing and being “whisked away” by Carr’s entourage, which included a filmmaking crew and biology and conservation legend E.O. Wilson. By 2014 she’d begun an intended five-year fellowship program at the University of California Santa Cruz, splitting time between California and Gorongosa to focus on the lion population with an academic lens. One day she heard about a mother lioness named Helena and her cub; a couple of months later, Helena was killed by a snare. Bouley realized then that there wasn’t much she could do in California to help, so she decided to forgo her fellowship and embark on lion recovery at Gorongosa full-time. Helena and cub before her death. Photo courtesy Paola Bouley. When it came to the lions, Carr recognized the potential for saving large carnivores. He put his weight behind the project and gave Bouley autonomy to implement her program. Bouley transferred from the science department to the conservation department, which she says had completely collapsed. She found that wildlife rangers had no training and were being paid close to nothing. Bouley took on a highly operational role, and their first conservation plan was to put satellite collars on the lion prides. Lions are surprisingly difficult to locate, especially with so few remaining in the 1,500-square-mile park, and the collars would allow Gorongosa to track where families moved — or if they stopped moving. Snares remained a big threat to the cats at the time. Bushmeat sellers would place traps near watering holes and grazing areas where prey such as waterbucks and warthogs would dwell, but lions also seeking those prey often stumbled into the traps. They even trapped humans; Carr himself got snared one day while he was hiking. The team needed a veterinarian to subdue the lions and put on the collars, so Carr called in a native Mozambican named Rui Branco to partner with Bouley. The lions slept by day, and at night the conservation team would use a dart gun to safely tranquilize the lions and collar them. If a collared lion’s signal went static for more than 24 hours, Bouley’s team would know whether the animal had been ensnared and could send a rescue team. The collars worked: Branco and Bouley found themselves all-too-frequently called out to rescue snared lions and other animals. Bonded by the intimacy of treating and de-snaring maimed animals, they would go on to forge a close friendship that ultimately developed into a romantic partnership. Branco, who saw the need to empower and manage local rangers, soon became the head of law enforcement in the park. He also felt that foreign hunting, conducted legally in certain areas, needed to be controlled to meet conservation goals. Bouley, working alongside a team of Mozambican rangers and in partnership with Indigenous communities, launched a range of initiatives that included addressing elephant-human coexistence, first-response during the unprecedented devastation of historic Cyclone Idai, and providing support for communities during multiple severe drought and famine periods. It paid off. They removed more than 20,000 snares and reduced lion deaths by 95%. Today, as a result of that work, the population in Gorongosa has grown to more than 200 lions. They also eliminated the poaching of elephants over multiple years, established the nation’s first pangolin rescue and rehab center, and laid the foundations for and reintroduced populations of endangered painted wolves, leopards, and hyenas. During that time the number of large mammals in the park surged to more than 100,000 — up from fewer than 71,000 in 2014. The efforts earned Bouley and Gorongosa international acclaim. But behind the scenes, long-brewing concerns had started to boil over. Problems in Paradise “Greg Carr did it,” announced CBS News anchor Scott Pelley. In 2022 Pelley toured Gorongosa Park for 60 Minutes, a follow-up to a 2008 story about Gorongosa. The satellite collar program had been successful for years in monitoring lion families. But in the 13-minute report, Bouley and Branco were nowhere to be seen. Bouley says they’d resigned the previous year after clashing with Carr over what she describes as his increasing centralization of power — and the organization not doing sufficient work to protect women. According to Bouley and people with familiarity of the culture at Gorongosa over the years she was there, this was indicative of another problem: Carr maintained a team of highly paid white male foreigners as senior leaders, including two communications leads, the head of science, and the former head of finance. Locals like the Mozambican rangers were paid far less than expats, a problem that Bouley said she raised frequently with leadership. Sources say some foreign leaders had a long leash. In 2021 an American employee — now no longer at Gorongosa — was found to be having a relationship with someone who reported to him. He was asked to leave the organization. According to an email written to Bouley by a Gorongosa employee, that employee “kept a journal” about his alleged “sex addiction,” divulging that he “has slept with many of his employees.” According to Bouley, multiple Mozambican women in mid-management positions under the supervision of this employee had suddenly resigned before he was let go. Despite the former employee’s transgressions, tax records show that the Carr Foundation paid him a consulting fee of $136,000 in 2023 after his departure. Carr says the man’s knowledge of “carbon credits” was critical to a program that would net the park $30 million, so the payment was part of ensuring that intellectual property wouldn’t be lost. In response to questions about Gorongosa’s sexual harassment policy, Greg Carr wrote over email: “It is a fact that we support women’s rights and we have a strong anti-harassment policy, and people are terminated immediately who violate it. There has been no exception to this.” He cites the fact that this employee is no longer with the organization is a prime example of their anti-harassment policy. In 2021, faced with the options of reporting their concerns to Carr, human resources, or the Mozambican government or silencing themselves, Bouley and Branco decided to resign. In an email to Branco on Sept. 3, 2021, Carr wrote about Bouley’s “anger,” writing “she is not the same person now that I met 10 years ago in Chikalango who was happy and enthusiastic about studying and protecting lions. I want that Paola back again. That Poala [sic] was my friend.” Bouley in an email says, “I have since owned being ‘combative.’ I believe being combative and ‘not a team player’ in an org plagued with racism, abuse of women and Mozambican employees, and bullying is not only a good thing to be, but the right thing to be.” Changes at Gorongosa People familiar with the organization say that Carr formed a new oversight board in late 2023 and early 2024, placing Mozambicans and women prominently in leadership positions. But Bouley remembers one time when Carr told her it was the “Machiavellian in me” that put Bouley at the top of an organizational chart to show a face of women in leadership. Bouley left the meeting disturbed by this tokenization of women. Over email, Carr shared that “99% of our employees are Mozambican.” The current president of Gorongosa, Aurora Malene, who joined in 2021, and director of human resources Elisa Langa, who joined in 2020, are both Mozambican women. The current head of conservation and program director are Mozambican men. In Carr’s words, he spends most of his time on the “outside” fundraising, and that his giving is “unrestricted” — meaning that the money is in the hands of the leaders who are accountable to the board and the Mozambican government. Carr shares that Malene is one of the most talented leaders he knows, and that the “Machiavellian” comment was meant ironically. “She’s the boss, and she’s amazing.” He admits that pay equity has been at the forefront of his mind after Bouley left, citing several examples of Mozambican women whose salaries have doubled or tripled since becoming employed with Gorongosa. We spoke with several current Gorongosa employees. But almost a decade ago, during Bouley’s time there, getting people to go on the record about work at Gorongosa without explicit approval was more difficult. When journalist Stephanie Hanes embarked on a book called White Man’s Game, which showed the darker underbelly of conservation efforts at Gorongosa, several staff at Gorongosa signed ghostwritten letters to the publishers that Bouley now describes as “smearing” Hanes and her work. Bouley sent Hanes two letters at the time that painted Gorongosa in a positive light. She tells me she “felt pressured” to sign the letters at the time to continue with her work, adding      “those who refused to sign were quietly dismissed from his project.” Bouley has since apologized to Hanes for signing those letters. Carr says in an email that Hanes last traveled to Gorongosa 18 years ago and that her reporting is not connected to practices today. Under the new leadership, Carr and the female Mozambican leadership team say that the organization is building a hospital in Gorongosa with a hospital and women’s health center, as well as scaling an after-school program to steer at-risk girls away from child marriage. He says the organization is fully run by Mozambicans to whom he has deferred power, and that six out of seven of the people on the board are Mozambicans. Bouley, remembering her own “Machiavellian” placement on the organizational chart, wonders if this is good marketing and a “facade,” and questions whether the changes have genuinely taken place for the purpose of prioritizing Mozambicans or women as leaders in the organization. In a Zoom conversation, Gorongosa president Malene reiterated that “our policy is zero tolerance for women abuse but also for any kind of disrespect.” Supporting girls’ education and protecting girls is their north star, and they also reference their community ranger work to distribute food to people currently experiencing hunger. A New Beginning: Macossa-Tambara After leaving Gorongosa Bouley had what she calls “limiting beliefs” about what she could achieve next. She was unsure that she could build anything of value again in conservation, worried that her passion could be weaponized against her — and that there would never be anything like Gorongosa. She began working with the Malamba Coastal Collaborative, helping communities to strengthen governance of coastal and marine areas. One area of focus is the Inhambane Seascape, which according to Bouley is under severe threat from oil and gas prospecting and heavy sand mining extraction. Then, in 2023, the Mozambique government identified a territory double the size of Gorongosa Park in need of restoration, in a region called Macossa-Tambara. There was a high level of poaching in Macossa, especially among the elephant communities and in communal grazing areas. But Macossa remained a critical habitat for pangolins, lions, elephants, and endemic species of zebra and buffalo. Bouley and Branco, along with a coalition of local Mozambican and international conservationists and scientists, applied to manage the land. In 2024 they won a 15-year extendable agreement with the government to restore and protect a block of land called C13, an area of 1,900 square miles. They then forged an agreement with neighboring block C9, based on their belief that the environment needs to be collectively managed rather than in blocks (or coutadas), which were imposed on the people by colonial, imperial Portugal in the 1920s. Since then the Macossa-Tambara project has received hundreds of thousands of dollars in grants, allowing the team to hire local staff on the ground and create a fully functional camp with tents, Wi-Fi, energy, and bathrooms. Their partners include the Lion Recovery Fund, the Wildlife Conservation Network, Women Together, and the Mozambique Wildlife Alliance. Today an estimated 30-50 lions call the greater Macossa-Tambara landscape home. The team believes that with its vast and intact Miombo woodlands, riverine and savanna habitats, and a shared boundary with corridors connecting to national parks, the landscape has enormous potential to support a robust population of lion, prey, and other wildlife. Despite the poaching pressure, Bouley says it’s not uncommon in Macossa-Tambara to bump into a lion on foot. “You have to turn on all of your senses, walking through lions, elephants, snakes, and warthogs,” she says “We recently walked into a lioness with cubs, with zero room to run. She roared at us — it was overwhelming and goes right through your bones and into your blood, you think this might be the last moment of life.” Bouley says lions can be very forgiving, contrary to what mainstream media has us believe. “We usually get many signs before we are ourselves in danger. But we have to tread carefully in some of these places.” Two greater kudu at Macossa. Photo: Paola Bouley   Associação NATURA, the nonprofit receiving the grants for Macossa, is the only Mozambican-led NGO in Mozambique to ever win a tender for such a project. Bouley, Branco, and their team work directly with local communities on youth well-being and health services, fully supporting a vision where Mozambicans lead. “There is a high-level of eco-literacy among Indigenous people,” says Bouley. “They know the land more than any of us.” Malene of Gorongosa says in an email that local people in Macossa are starving, and that “it is no longer considered morally correct to focus only on wildlife.” Bouley shares that one of their most critical projects now is helping communities manage elephants who move through agricultural fields that are also elephant corridors. Because endangered species can move in and out of areas where communities eat crops, the animals can fall quickly out of favor with people whose entire year of food is in those fields. The team is working on a proactive approach here rather than “old defensive modes,” says Bouley, so conflicts between people and elephants can be prevented before they arise. This includes landscape planning and zonation, to avoid development in the middle of elephant corridors, and deterrents like beehive and chili fences — tactics that Malene and Langa at Gorongosa share. The Macossa team’s vision is to create a living space where native Mozambicans can authentically lead as environmental leaders, health experts, and peace-building educators. Bouley says that stands in stark contrast to some other conservation efforts. “Even if you’re trained and have degrees, you’re always under an expat or foreign organization that earns 4-10 times the amount that you earn,” she says. “You never have the space to be leading.” There are moments where Bouley feels blown away by the beauty and immensity, but she also describes a fast-paced and demanding environment where they’re responding to needs of the team and engaging in community development with the approximately 40,000 Indigenous people in the region. Bouley says Macossa has also provided a comforting space for her and helped to fill the void of what she’d lost. “We had been so rooted in Gorongosa, I felt like I left part of myself there,” she says. “To be back in a landscape that felt so familiar, it felt like a homecoming.” Previously in The Revelator: Giraffes for Peace The post Acclaimed Lion Conservationist Paola Bouley on Her Second Chance: ‘It Feels Like a Homecoming’ appeared first on The Revelator.

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