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Scientists Have Identified the Best Region To Spot UFOs

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Thursday, March 14, 2024

A study has analyzed UAP sightings across the U.S., revealing that environmental factors and proximity to air traffic and military installations significantly influence sighting reports. This research aids in distinguishing between identifiable objects and true anomalies, emphasizing the importance of contextual understanding in addressing national security concerns and public curiosity about UAPs.Most observations of Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena typically happen in the American West, where the closeness to public lands, dark skies, and military bases provides increased chances of witnessing unusual objects in the sky.“This [Tic Tac-shaped object that] had just traveled 60 miles in…less than a minute, was far superior in performance to my brand-new F/A-18F and did not operate with any of the known aerodynamic principles that we expect for objects that fly in our atmosphere.”In July of 2023, a retired commander in the U.S. Navy David Fravor testified to the House Oversight Committee about a mysterious, Tic Tac-shaped object that he and three others observed over the Pacific Ocean in 2004. The congressional hearings riveted the world by bringing Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP) out of the “alien truther” realm and into the mainstream. As sensor technology has advanced and personal aircraft-use has skyrocketed, our ability to explain strange events has become harder to resolve. The U.S. Department of Defense has increasingly taken UAP, formerly known as Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs), as a serious threat to national security.A new study led by University of Utah geographers attempts to understand if local environmental factors increase or decrease the number of sighting reports. The authors used data from the National UFO Research Center, and included approximately 98,000 total sighting reports over a 20-year period, from 2001 to 2020. For each county in the contiguous U.S., the researchers analyzed two conditions: Sky view potential, which refers to the area’s light pollution, cloud cover, and tree canopy cover; and the potential for objects to be present in the sky, meaning the proximity to airports and military installations.VIDEOIn July of 2023, retired commander in the U.S. Navy David Fravor testified to the House Oversight Committee about a mysterious, Tic Tac-shaped object that he and three others observed over the Pacific Ocean in 2004, off the coast of San Diego. According to his testimony, the object traveled 60 miles per hour in less than a minute and “did not operate with any of the known aerodynamic principles that we expect for objects that fly in our atmosphere.” His crew captured the Tic Tac-shaped Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP) on video. This is one of three videos that the U.S. military declassified and approved for public release in April of 2020. It’s the only official footage captured by a U.S. Navy F/A-18 Super Hornet that was present at the “2004 Nimitz Incident,” named for the USS Nimitz aircraft carriers on which Fravor’s U.S. Navy fighter jet was based. Credit: United States NavyThe majority of sightings were in western parts of the U.S. due to the region’s physical geography—lots of wide-open spaces and dark skies. UAP-reporting hotspots had credible relationships with air traffic and military activity, suggesting that people are spotting real objects, but not recognizing what they are.“The idea is that if you have a chance to see something, then it’s more likely that you’re going to see unexplained phenomena in the sky,” said Richard Medina, associate professor of geography at the University of Utah and lead author of the study. “There’s more technology in the sky than ever before so the question is: What are people actually seeing? It’s a tough question to answer, and it is an important one because any uncertainty can be a potential threat to national security.”Understanding the environmental context of these sightings will make it easier to find explanations for their occurrence and help identify truly anomalous objects that are a legitimate threat.The paper was recently published in the journal Scientific Reports.Hot spots and cold spotsThe authors looked at the number of sightings per 10,000 people per county and identified significant clusters of low numbers of reports (cold spots) and high numbers of reports (hot spots). There were far more sightings reported in the West and in the very Northeast, along some isolated areas. The cold spots were in the central plains and the Southeast. All results except for cloud cover supported the general hypothesis that people will see things when there’s an opportunity.“The West has a historical relationship to UAP—Area 51 in Nevada, Roswell in New Mexico, and here in Utah we have Skinwalker Ranch in the Uinta Basin and military activity in the U.S. Army Dugway Proving Ground,” said Medina. “Plus, there’s a robust outdoor community that recreates in public lands year-round. People are out and looking skyward.”Hotspot analysis of reported sightings from 2001 to 2020. Credit: Medina, Brewer & Kirkpatrick. Sci Rep (2023)Traditional academia has mostly avoided UAP research because of the stigma of flying saucers and space invaders. Yet people around the world continue to spot unexplainable objects in the sky. What little research exists tends to rely on firsthand accounts or look for cultural and psychological explanations, which limits the ability to analyze patterns over a large area.Additionally, legitimate data sources and questionable accounts have limited rigorous study. The authors note that the National UFO Research Center’s data is a public, self-reporting system with no real way to verify hoaxes. However, the authors assert that if the data were entirely invalid due to some psychological and sociological cause, then there would be no spatial pattern. But there is.“There are many factors that can contribute to the report of anomalous objects,” said Simon Brewer, associate professor of geography at the U and co-author of the study. “By examining the spatial distribution of reports and how they relate to the local environment, we hope to provide some geographical context that may help resolve or understand reports by both the public and in military settings.”Timeline of the National UFO Research Center reported sightings from 2001 to 2020. Credit: Medina, Brewer & Kirkpatrick. Sci Rep (2023)Roswell, X-Files, and StarlinkIn July of 2022 the U.S. Deputy Secretary of Defense, in coordination with the Director of National Intelligence, directed the establishment of the All-domain Anomaly Resolution Office (AARO) as the single authoritative UAP office to lead and synchronize a whole government approach to the issue. Earlier UAP tracking efforts include Project BLUE BOOK, a U.S. Air Force-led project that investigated UFO sightings between 1947 and 1969. Project BLUE BOOK’s most famous report is the Roswell, New Mexico, incident alleging that a flying saucer crashed in the desert town on July 8, 1947, and its alien occupants were recovered by government officials. Many Roswell residents witnessed the unexplainable event, which may have led to the flurry of flying-saucer-sightings that swept the nation. Silence from government officials led to wild speculation of otherworldly visitors and subsequent coverups. Later, the U.S. Air Force disclosed that the incident was caused by a classified, multi-balloon project to detect Soviet nuclear tests.Many UAP sightings have a natural explanation—the planet Venus is a regular culprit, for example. The last few years have seen a boost in UAP reports, likely related to the exponential growth in spacecraft launches and orbiters, such as the Starlink satellite-train blazing across the night sky and the ubiquity of personal drones. The challenge is to parse which reports signal a real threat.The authors are exploring whether there are temporal considerations for fluctuations in sightings, based on socio-cultural triggers. For example, were there more reports after the congressional hearings in July of 2023 or after a Space X launch? They’re also investigating whether sociocultural factors influence UAP sightings—is there a spike in reports after a show like “X-Files” gets popular? Are some cultures more likely to see UAPs because of their beliefs?“The U.S. government—the military, intelligence, and civil agencies—needs to understand what is in the operating domains to ensure the safety and security of the nation and its people,” said Sean Kirkpatrick, first director of the AARO, adjunct assistant professor of physics at the University of Georgia and co-author of the study. “Unknowns are unacceptable in this age of ubiquitous sensors and data availability. The scientific community has a responsibility to investigate and educate.”Reference: “An environmental analysis of public UAP sightings and sky view potential” by R. M. Medina, S. C. Brewer and S. M. Kirkpatrick, 14 December 2023, Scientific Reports.DOI: 10.1038/s41598-023-49527-x

Most observations of Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena typically happen in the American West, where the closeness to public lands, dark skies, and military bases provides increased...

UFO Forest Alien

A study has analyzed UAP sightings across the U.S., revealing that environmental factors and proximity to air traffic and military installations significantly influence sighting reports. This research aids in distinguishing between identifiable objects and true anomalies, emphasizing the importance of contextual understanding in addressing national security concerns and public curiosity about UAPs.

Most observations of Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena typically happen in the American West, where the closeness to public lands, dark skies, and military bases provides increased chances of witnessing unusual objects in the sky.

“This [Tic Tac-shaped object that] had just traveled 60 miles in…less than a minute, was far superior in performance to my brand-new F/A-18F and did not operate with any of the known aerodynamic principles that we expect for objects that fly in our atmosphere.”

In July of 2023, a retired commander in the U.S. Navy David Fravor testified to the House Oversight Committee about a mysterious, Tic Tac-shaped object that he and three others observed over the Pacific Ocean in 2004. The congressional hearings riveted the world by bringing Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP) out of the “alien truther” realm and into the mainstream.

As sensor technology has advanced and personal aircraft-use has skyrocketed, our ability to explain strange events has become harder to resolve. The U.S. Department of Defense has increasingly taken UAP, formerly known as Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs), as a serious threat to national security.

A new study led by University of Utah geographers attempts to understand if local environmental factors increase or decrease the number of sighting reports. The authors used data from the National UFO Research Center, and included approximately 98,000 total sighting reports over a 20-year period, from 2001 to 2020. For each county in the contiguous U.S., the researchers analyzed two conditions: Sky view potential, which refers to the area’s light pollution, cloud cover, and tree canopy cover; and the potential for objects to be present in the sky, meaning the proximity to airports and military installations.


In July of 2023, retired commander in the U.S. Navy David Fravor testified to the House Oversight Committee about a mysterious, Tic Tac-shaped object that he and three others observed over the Pacific Ocean in 2004, off the coast of San Diego. According to his testimony, the object traveled 60 miles per hour in less than a minute and “did not operate with any of the known aerodynamic principles that we expect for objects that fly in our atmosphere.” His crew captured the Tic Tac-shaped Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP) on video. This is one of three videos that the U.S. military declassified and approved for public release in April of 2020. It’s the only official footage captured by a U.S. Navy F/A-18 Super Hornet that was present at the “2004 Nimitz Incident,” named for the USS Nimitz aircraft carriers on which Fravor’s U.S. Navy fighter jet was based. Credit: United States Navy

The majority of sightings were in western parts of the U.S. due to the region’s physical geography—lots of wide-open spaces and dark skies. UAP-reporting hotspots had credible relationships with air traffic and military activity, suggesting that people are spotting real objects, but not recognizing what they are.

“The idea is that if you have a chance to see something, then it’s more likely that you’re going to see unexplained phenomena in the sky,” said Richard Medina, associate professor of geography at the University of Utah and lead author of the study. “There’s more technology in the sky than ever before so the question is: What are people actually seeing? It’s a tough question to answer, and it is an important one because any uncertainty can be a potential threat to national security.”

Understanding the environmental context of these sightings will make it easier to find explanations for their occurrence and help identify truly anomalous objects that are a legitimate threat.

The paper was recently published in the journal Scientific Reports.

Hot spots and cold spots

The authors looked at the number of sightings per 10,000 people per county and identified significant clusters of low numbers of reports (cold spots) and high numbers of reports (hot spots). There were far more sightings reported in the West and in the very Northeast, along some isolated areas. The cold spots were in the central plains and the Southeast. All results except for cloud cover supported the general hypothesis that people will see things when there’s an opportunity.

“The West has a historical relationship to UAP—Area 51 in Nevada, Roswell in New Mexico, and here in Utah we have Skinwalker Ranch in the Uinta Basin and military activity in the U.S. Army Dugway Proving Ground,” said Medina. “Plus, there’s a robust outdoor community that recreates in public lands year-round. People are out and looking skyward.”

UAP Hotspots

Hotspot analysis of reported sightings from 2001 to 2020. Credit: Medina, Brewer & Kirkpatrick. Sci Rep (2023)

Traditional academia has mostly avoided UAP research because of the stigma of flying saucers and space invaders. Yet people around the world continue to spot unexplainable objects in the sky. What little research exists tends to rely on firsthand accounts or look for cultural and psychological explanations, which limits the ability to analyze patterns over a large area.

Additionally, legitimate data sources and questionable accounts have limited rigorous study. The authors note that the National UFO Research Center’s data is a public, self-reporting system with no real way to verify hoaxes. However, the authors assert that if the data were entirely invalid due to some psychological and sociological cause, then there would be no spatial pattern. But there is.

“There are many factors that can contribute to the report of anomalous objects,” said Simon Brewer, associate professor of geography at the U and co-author of the study. “By examining the spatial distribution of reports and how they relate to the local environment, we hope to provide some geographical context that may help resolve or understand reports by both the public and in military settings.”

UAP Sightings Over the Years

Timeline of the National UFO Research Center reported sightings from 2001 to 2020. Credit: Medina, Brewer & Kirkpatrick. Sci Rep (2023)

Roswell, X-Files, and Starlink

In July of 2022 the U.S. Deputy Secretary of Defense, in coordination with the Director of National Intelligence, directed the establishment of the All-domain Anomaly Resolution Office (AARO) as the single authoritative UAP office to lead and synchronize a whole government approach to the issue. Earlier UAP tracking efforts include Project BLUE BOOK, a U.S. Air Force-led project that investigated UFO sightings between 1947 and 1969. Project BLUE BOOK’s most famous report is the Roswell, New Mexico, incident alleging that a flying saucer crashed in the desert town on July 8, 1947, and its alien occupants were recovered by government officials. Many Roswell residents witnessed the unexplainable event, which may have led to the flurry of flying-saucer-sightings that swept the nation. Silence from government officials led to wild speculation of otherworldly visitors and subsequent coverups. Later, the U.S. Air Force disclosed that the incident was caused by a classified, multi-balloon project to detect Soviet nuclear tests.

Many UAP sightings have a natural explanation—the planet Venus is a regular culprit, for example. The last few years have seen a boost in UAP reports, likely related to the exponential growth in spacecraft launches and orbiters, such as the Starlink satellite-train blazing across the night sky and the ubiquity of personal drones. The challenge is to parse which reports signal a real threat.

The authors are exploring whether there are temporal considerations for fluctuations in sightings, based on socio-cultural triggers. For example, were there more reports after the congressional hearings in July of 2023 or after a Space X launch? They’re also investigating whether sociocultural factors influence UAP sightings—is there a spike in reports after a show like “X-Files” gets popular? Are some cultures more likely to see UAPs because of their beliefs?

“The U.S. government—the military, intelligence, and civil agencies—needs to understand what is in the operating domains to ensure the safety and security of the nation and its people,” said Sean Kirkpatrick, first director of the AARO, adjunct assistant professor of physics at the University of Georgia and co-author of the study. “Unknowns are unacceptable in this age of ubiquitous sensors and data availability. The scientific community has a responsibility to investigate and educate.”

Reference: “An environmental analysis of public UAP sightings and sky view potential” by R. M. Medina, S. C. Brewer and S. M. Kirkpatrick, 14 December 2023, Scientific Reports.
DOI: 10.1038/s41598-023-49527-x

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

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Punk Builds a Greener Future

A worldwide but borderless DIY culture rejects consumerism and embraces reuse — and focuses on mutual aid. The post Punk Builds a Greener Future appeared first on The Revelator.

In the suffocating heat of The Treehouse, we writhe in the basement, between the walls of peeling posters and rusted pipes, veins bulging, throats raw from screaming. A fist slams against the wall. A boot crashes into the concrete floor. I adjust my foam earplugs. I hate wearing them, but there’s this tinny, soft ringing sound in my head lately. Now my friends won’t let me go anywhere without them. It’s like that here — this tough love, this looking out for one another, this community. Drenched in other people’s sweat, I slither to check in on the bands in my kitchen, a makeshift green room. We talk like we know each other. They’re sitting on their amps, writing on my walls, plucking at their instruments. I ask if they need anything. They say no, and they ask me too. The Treehouse is more than just my home. It’s a refusal. Together, my housemates Austin, Savannah, and Matt scraped together what we had to build a hub of community, a stronghold against the stiff-collar, hypermasculine, Midwestern college-culture: a DIY music venue. Punk isn’t a sound — it’s a verb. It’s a pulse. It’s action. It’s where grief is communal and rage has a melody. It’s the blueprint we write together, in marker and melody and mutual aid. Punk, like the countercultures before it, is bound by folklore — a web of shared stories, anthems, and ethics passed hand to hand in photocopied zines and scrawled on bathroom walls. You learn to build from nothing. To sew patches over holes and turn them into declarations. To scrape together gas money for a friend’s tour and call it love. Here, we don’t consume culture — we create it. Rip it apart and hand it back stitched in threadbare glory. We mend what others throw out — stitching new life into castoffs, scavenging beauty from dumpsters, turning waste into resistance. We reject the disposability of things — and people. Punk’s environmentalism was never polished. It didn’t wear linen or shop organic. In Goths, Gamers, and Grrls, the 2010 book on youth subcultures, sociologist Ross Haenfler argues that punk’s fiercely anti-corporate, DIY ethic allowed working-class kids to reject not just the music industry’s glossy gatekeeping, but the consumer logic embedded in everyday life. Haenfler, who has followed the clean-living punk subculture known as “straight edge” for more than 35 years, tells me that his own rejection of alcohol began as a resistance to peer pressure but grew into a political consciousness. As he writes in his 2006 book Straight Edge: Clean-living Youth, Hardcore Punk, and Social Change, “Straight edge is more than just not drinking or using drugs; it is a way of life that includes values, shared ethics, and community.” In his work, Haenfler defines straight edge not only as personal abstinence from substances, but also a broader moral and political identity. He notes that for many, straight edge extends to vegetarianism or veganism, anti-consumerism, and feminist or anti-racist beliefs. It’s a countercultural response to mainstream norms around not only consumption, but to masculinity. “If you learn to question alcohol culture, you might also question other things we take for granted,” he says. For many straight edge punks, that questioning extended to factory farming, environmental destruction, and capitalist consumption itself. Their abstinence wasn’t just personal — it was political. Neo-Luddism, veganism, and anti-addiction activism emerged from that same ethos. “Subcultures like punk show how collective identity, fun, and resourcefulness can fuel powerful movements,” Haenfler told me. It’s DIY with a purpose — sustainability without sanctimony. Who Gets to Live Cleanly? In his essay “The Rise of Aesthetic Environmentalism,” originally published in the book Saving the Planet: The American Response to the Environment in the Twentieth Century, historian Peter Rothman describes how a shift from radical environmental politics to curated, upper-middle-class green lifestyles took shape in those very suburbs punk rejected. After the first Earth Day in 1970 and the formation of the EPA under Nixon, environmental concern entered the mainstream. But by the 1980s and ’90s, especially under Reagan and later Clinton’s neoliberal centrism, environmentalism was increasingly depoliticized. The countercultural energy of groups like Earth First! gave way to market-friendly “eco-chic” branding, where buying the right shampoo or driving a hybrid became substitutes for systemic change. Rothman argues that aesthetic environmentalism, rooted in a consumer identity, offered a soothing balm for the privileged — allowing people to feel virtuous without disrupting the structures that caused ecological harm in the first place. Punk stood in direct opposition. It asked: who gets to live cleanly? Straight edge kids refused not just drugs and alcohol, but factory farming and corporate food systems, making their bodies into sites of protest. DIY punks built alternative economies and infrastructures out of material necessity. If aesthetic environmentalism shopped its way toward a greener world, punk scavenged one into being — stitched from what had been discarded, loud enough to be heard through boarded-up buildings and abandoned lots. One was born from comfort; the other from collapse. Why Here, and Why Not Somewhere Louder? In December of 2024, the brick roads of Urbana, Illinois froze over. The biting cold burned through even my wool coat, and the ice made me stand still. My ears were ringing. I took a moment to look around, because despite its inconvenience, there was beauty to be found in the silence and desolation. I found myself across the street from a simple two-story home with white siding and a sloped roof, immortalized on the cover of the band American Football’s 1999 self-titled album. What was once just a student rental had become a kind of pilgrimage site, a quiet landmark in the emo and DIY geography of the Midwest. Emo and DIY found a home in the flatlands of the Midwest — especially Illinois, where suburban sprawl met post-industrial decline in perfect disharmony. There’s something about Illinois’s geography that lends itself to longing: endless highways, hollowed-out downtowns, a hundred miles between one sleepy town and the next. Out here, youth culture didn’t erupt in coastal clubs — it simmered in basements, VFW halls, and garages. The absence of mainstream infrastructure didn’t discourage kids; it demanded they make their own. As music journalist Leor Galil detailsn his 2013 Chicago Reader article “Midwestern Emo Catches its Second Wind,” the Midwest’s emo boom was enabled by the abundance of small towns and the lack of traditional music infrastructure, forcing young people to carve out space for themselves in overlooked corners of the map. Illinois became a nucleus. Urbana-Champaign, Bloomington-Normal, and Chicago’s sprawling collar suburbs gave rise to a circuit of basement shows and DIY tours that defied music industry logic. Bands like Cap’n Jazz, American Football, and Braid didn’t come from glossy studios — they came from rented houses with sagging porches and living rooms barely big enough to hold a drum kit. In his 2000 book Popular Music and Youth Culture: Music, Identity and Place, sociologist Andy Bennett argues that suburban alienation and a lack of youth-oriented public spaces drove young people toward DIY production, but Illinois gave this theory flesh: a place where isolation bred intimacy, and boredom became a crucible for art. This wasn’t just music — it was mythology, built night by night on folding chairs and word-of-mouth. And like any folklore, it carried values. Dr. Simon Bronner, a folklorist and scholar of youth subcultures, argues that punk is not just a music scene — it’s a tradition. “Punk culture, as I have known it, basks in its social difference and oppositional stance,” Bronner tells me, “Among its shared values has been a fight for rights — including animal rights. The environmental connection is countering, in its culture, the state of the planet owing to consumerism.” It’s an oral tradition carried in zines, show flyers, patches, tattoos. It’s a living archive, one that binds local scenes into a global movement. And through this folklore, punk carries with it a deep well of environmental ethics. Where Do You Go When You Need to Be Heard? I was eighteen when I slipped through the doors of the High Noon Saloon in Madison, Wisconsin, chasing the promise of noise and something that felt like direction. The band was Days N Daze — gritty, chaotic, gutterpunk with banjos and washboards — and I didn’t know a single person there. That’s where I met Sam. He had a sharp grin, a denim vest heavy with patches, and a presence that made space feel less hostile. We danced like we already knew each other, screamed like we’d done it a hundred times. It wasn’t until much later that I found out — that was one of his first punk shows, too. We were both just kids, wide-eyed under the grime, trying to belong to something louder than ourselves. That night, something permanent settled in my ears — a soft, high whine that never left. My tinnitus started at that show. Years later, I heard the opening lines of Hemlock Chaser’s song at a show — “I don’t know much ‘bout social ecology…” and when the fiddle kicked in behind the fury, I pushed through the crowd to see the band. I knew it was Sam. He was there, bow in hand, weaving resistance into melody. Photo: Danny Talaga. Used with permission. That night in Madison wasn’t just a show. It was the beginning of a throughline — of people, of noise, of care made loud. By the time I transferred to the University of Illinois in the middle of my sophomore year, I felt like I’d already missed the window to belong anywhere. Everyone had their friend groups, their routines, their lives already underway. I thought I’d be alone for a long time. But then I found the house shows. The Mirror, Waluigi’s Mansion, Green House — names that sounded like inside jokes until they became sacred spaces. You didn’t need to know anyone to be welcomed in. The shows felt like they ran on instinct, like someone had just decided that the living room needed to be louder. No one cared that I was a transfer student, they cared that I showed up. The Champaign scene didn’t just make space for me — it gave me something to help build. Showing up turned into helping out — loading gear, working the door, talking cops away. Eventually, my basement became The Treehouse. Not because I planned it, but because punk scenes grow like weeds — wild, resilient, thriving wherever they’re allowed to take root. We strung a circus tent from the tree in the front yard and cleared enough space in the basement for amps, bodies, and borrowed lighting. We built a computer out of things we found in the trash during move-in. Can a Local Ethic be Global? The Treehouse isn’t just a venue — it’s an ecosystem. Bands crashed on our couches, people brought food donations for the local shelter, and I patched a hole in the hall someone kicked in. What I’d seen in Madison — what Sam had shown me — was alive here too: punk as mutual care, as rhythm you live by, not just a genre you consume. We weren’t just making shows. We were building something that could hold all of us. The more I traveled, the more I realized how far The Treehouse extended beyond its basement walls. I went to shows in Bloomington-Normal, where the pits were just as wild and the hospitality just as generous. I drove through snowstorms to catch sets in Minnesota, where strangers passed me plates of food like I’d lived there my whole life. No one asked who I was — they asked if I needed anything. Every basement felt familiar. Every off-key group chorus pointed to something shared. The lyrics might change, the weather might shift, but the ethos remained: care over clout, presence over polish. That’s when I started to understand that these scenes were decentralized but uncannily aligned. That’s the power of folklore. Bronner tells me that folklore enables geographically distant communities to mirror each other. “Subcultures form trends that pervade adult society,” he says. The punk scenes of Central Illinois aren’t anomalies — they’re part of a uniform, borderless network of resistance. And that network doesn’t stop at the Atlantic. When I spoke with Michal, a Czech organizer and co-founder of Fluff Fest — a European hardcore festival centered on veganism, environmentalism, and inclusion — he was candid about the cost of commitment. “The festival ended out of exhaustion and complete burnout,” he told me. “It was one of the most wasteful things on earth. We had to truck in water, power everything with gas generators. Weather became unpredictable. I’m still in debt from the final edition.” For over a decade, Michal and his team hosted thousands of punks on a grassy airfield in Rokycany. They raised funds for refugee support, animal rights, and grassroots organizations. And yet, even this act of resistance was haunted by the contradictions of the modern world — emissions, consumption, and the ever-lurking threat of capitalist co-optation. Michal’s reflection is vital. Punk doesn’t always win. But its failures are often more honest than institutions’ successes. Fluff Fest wasn’t perfect, but it was transparent, intentional, and brave. “I don’t want to enforce lifestyle on anyone,” Michal said. “Straight edge and veganism can be powerful choices, but they’re not my identity anymore. What matters is making people think. Asking them to reflect on how they consume, where their money goes.” Who Builds the Future? This ethos — critical, flexible, values-driven — is exactly what makes punk a blueprint for environmentalism. Not a perfect one, but a real one. This ethos finds sharp expression in radical environmental groups like Earth First! Founded in 1980, Earth First! rejects compromise and embraces direct action. Tree sits, road blockades, anti-logging protests — these aren’t hypothetical ideals. They’re inherited tactics, borrowed from the same DIY playbook punk lives by. Earth First! shares more than an ethos with punk — it shares its methods, aesthetics, and values. Their benefit shows feel like hardcore gigs. Their pamphlets read like zines. Their defiance, like the music that fuels them, is raw and immediate. Likewise, Food Not Bombs — an anarchist collective reclaiming food waste to cook free vegan meals in public — turns punk’s anti-consumerism into survival. It began in the 1980s and now exists in over 1,000 cities worldwide. They feed communities, fight corporate food systems, and center mutual aid as the alternative to capitalist neglect. Like Michal’s festival or my own shows, Food Not Bombs isn’t about saving the world all at once. It’s about showing up, using what you have, and trusting that a better world begins at the street level. Institutions have failed. Governments delay. Corporations greenwash. Environmental NGOs make compromises that leave frontline communities behind. Punk doesn’t promise perfection. But it offers something else: persistence. It teaches us that rebellion can be ritual. That defiance can be joyful. That movements built on shared stories — not savior complexes — are the ones that last. DIY venues like The Treehouse may never appear in policy reports or climate models. But in basements and backyards across the world, young people are organizing food drives, printing radical literature, fundraising for land defenders, and building communities that refuse to look away. Punk’s folklore isn’t handed down by institutions — it’s whispered between sets, scrawled in notebooks, screamed in choruses. And that folklore carries something vital: not just a critique of the world, but a vision for what else could be. There is a future not built for us, but by us. Resistance isn’t inherited. It’s learned from the people beside you, from the songs and stories that refuse to die. In the ruins of the systems that failed us, punk offers tools. Not escape, but engagement. Not utopia, but solidarity. Not saviors, but friends. All Noise Is Signal The ringing in my ears hasn’t gone away. Some nights, it’s louder than others — like a quiet alarm I can’t turn off. It’s the cost of screaming, of listening, of being there. Memory etched in sound. The afterimage of music, of bodies, of resistance. A reminder that this movement lives in the body. That punk isn’t clean or consequence-free. It’s loud. It leaves marks. But those marks mean we were here. That we showed up. That we chose noise over silence, and community over comfort. It’s what follows you home from the show — what hums beneath the quiet, what binds you to every basement, every flyer, every friend who handed you earplugs, a mic, or a plate of food. It’s folklore with frequency. A personal archive, vibrating in your bones long after the amps are shut down. Punk’s refusal to die lives in that ringing. It’s not just a warning. It’s a thread. A signal. A stubborn pulse that says: We were here. And we’re still listening. Previously in The Revelator: Moby: Veganism, Skepticism and Punk Rock The post Punk Builds a Greener Future appeared first on The Revelator.

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Opinion: Lewis & Clark nickname change to River Otters is a unnecessary culture wars overreaction

Lewis & Clark recently changed its school nickname from Pioneers to River Otters.

When I was a senior at Lewis & Clark College 50 years ago a friend and I ran the first down chains for home football games. As I recall, pay was $10 per game. We almost certainly were overpaid. Then again, we were among the few L&C students not on the team who cared much about the school’s football games. Or even knew that they were taking place. Autumn afternoons in the Pacific Northwest trend toward warm and sunny. There was plenty to do besides sitting to watch a team playing at the lowest level of intercollegiate athletics. There were plenty of seats to be had in Griswold Stadium. All objective evidence suggests this remains the case. I don’t think anyone has a problem with this. Few students choose to go to L&C because of the athletic program. There are more important reasons. This is a liberal arts school with an impressive student-to-faculty ratio. The professors are there primarily to teach and engage with their students, and not to turn the heavy lifting over teaching assistants while they pursue research. L&C was among the first institutions of higher education in the nation to feature and encourage overseas study programs. The law school is recognized annually as one of the best in the country for environmental law. The campus atop Palatine Hill in Southwest Portland annually is ranked as one of the most beautiful in the country. All of which makes the school’s decision to wade into the culture wars by changing the name of its nickname -- or mascot -- perplexing. L&C athletic teams have been known as the Pioneers, sometimes shortened to Pios, since 1946. Henceforth, they will be called the River Otters. River otters are cuddly, near-sighted members of the weasel family. The reason for the change? Pioneers are seen as evocative of the westward expansion across North America by people of European heritage. This is a narrow interpretation of a word that Merriam-Webster says can be defined as “a person or group that originates or helps open up a new line of thought or activity or a new method of technical development.” In other words, exactly what should be happening on college campuses, even the one on Palatine Hill. The school will tell you the decision came as the result of a survey of the campus community – students, staff, faculty and alumni – and after nearly 40 community dialogues. As a participant in a small, community dialogue session in 2023 that also included L&C president Robin Holmes-Sullivan, it became clear to me that this part of the process was window dressing. The decision to drop the Pioneers nickname already had been made. Less than half of the students responded to the community mascot survey, which more than anything underscores the perception the school’s nickname isn’t a burning issue on campus. So, why make it one? Let’s be clear. White, westward expansion was a disaster for the native peoples in its path. This is documented and undebatable. When Pioneers are defined as white men in buckskins, well, that is a problem. So, why define it that way? There are multiple generations of living L&C athletes who competed proudly under the Merriam-Webster definition of Pioneers as leaders in thought and methodology. They have taken lessons learned on playing fields, courts and in the water and applied them to post-collegiate success in a wide variety of professional fields. They didn’t come to L&C solely for athletics, but because the school offered them opportunities to pursue academic excellence while also participating in college sports. Colin Oriard, inducted into the school’s Sports Hall of Fame in 2023, took part of one year away from the basketball program to study in Spain. Try that at the Division I level. When I was at L&C, the student body president played on the offensive line. It’s not a good moment for higher education in this country. Small, liberal arts schools that expect their students to think critically and embrace a diversified college experience are being squeezed by the skyrocketing cost of attendance, a shrinking pool of applicants and a hostile administration in Washington D.C. In other words, this is the worst possible time to create a social justice controversy when there hadn’t been one before. Last summer, I received an email from the L&C Board of Alumni asking me to participate in a survey about why alumni giving is down. It was a slap-the-forehead moment. Talk about cause and effect. Transforming the Pioneers into cuddly, nearsighted River Otters contributed to that problem. That change won’t solve it. -- Ken Goe for The Oregonian/OregonLiveKenGoe1020@gmail.com Goe is a 1976 graduate of Lewis & Clark, and member of the L&C Sports Hall of Fame If you purchase a product or register for an account through a link on our site, we may receive compensation. By using this site, you consent to our User Agreement and agree that your clicks, interactions, and personal information may be collected, recorded, and/or stored by us and social media and other third-party partners in accordance with our Privacy Policy.

Culture
Education
Water

This rural congressional district would be upended by redistricting

Modoc County, meet Marin County. It might be your new political boss.  A ranching region along the Oregon border with just 8,500 residents, Modoc flies flags advocating secession from California. Now, if Gov. Gavin Newsom’s new redistricting plan goes through, Modoc would instead get pulled into the heart of liberal California.  CalMatters political reporter Jeanne […]

Emma Harris holds a belt buckle she was awarded as a prize for winning a branding competition, at the Brass Rail Bar & Grill on Sept. 3, 2025. Photo by Miguel Gutierrez Jr., CalMatters Modoc County, meet Marin County. It might be your new political boss.  A ranching region along the Oregon border with just 8,500 residents, Modoc flies flags advocating secession from California. Now, if Gov. Gavin Newsom’s new redistricting plan goes through, Modoc would instead get pulled into the heart of liberal California.  CalMatters political reporter Jeanne Kuang traveled to Modoc to speak with residents there, who say they’re most concerned Newsom’s Prop. 50 is a death-knell for rural representation. They told her their views on water, wildlife and forest management would be overshadowed in a district that includes Bay Area communities that have long championed environmental protection. Nadine Bailey, an agricultural water advocate: “They’ve taken every rural district and made it an urban district. It just feels like an assault on rural California.” Newsom’s proposal calls for splitting up the 1st Congressional District, which is comprised of 10 rural counties and is solidly Republican. Rep. Doug LaMalfa, a rice farmer, would likely lose his seat.  Here’s Jeanne: Modoc County and two neighboring red counties would be shifted into a redrawn district that stretches 200 miles west to the Pacific Coast and then south, through redwoods and weed farms, to include the state’s wealthiest communities, current Democratic Rep. Jared Huffman’s home in San Rafael and the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge, all in uber-liberal Marin County.  Read the full story here. CalMatters events: Join us Sept. 24 in Sacramento for a special event celebrating CalMatters’ 10th anniversary and Dan Walters’ 50th year covering California politics. Hear directly from Dan as he reflects on five decades watching the Capitol. Plus, attendees can enter a raffle and win a private dinner with Dan. Members can use the code “MEMBER” at checkout for a discounted ticket. Register here. Another event: CalMatters, California Forward and 21st Century Alliance are hosting a Governor Candidate Forum on Oct. 23 in Stockton at the California Economic Summit. Top candidates for governor will address pressing economic challenges and opportunities facing California, and field questions on why they are best suited to lead the world’s fourth-largest economy. Register here. Other Stories You Should Know The ethnic studies classes that never happened A student uses their laptop in an ethnic studies class at Santa Monica High School in Los Angeles on March 28, 2023. Photo by Lauren Justice for CalMatters Right now, California’s high schools should be teaching a one-semester class focused on marginalized communities, thanks to a mandate passed by the state Legislature in 2021.  However, that effort has been hindered by a lack of funding in the state budget and the Trump administration’s campaign against diversity and inclusion programs.  As Carolyn Jones reports:  The class was meant to focus on the cultures and histories of African-Americans, Asian Americans, Native Americans and Latinos, all of whom have faced oppression in California. The state’s curriculum also encourages schools to add additional lessons based on their student populations, such as Hmong or Armenian.  Albert Camarillo, Stanford history professor: “Right now, it’s a mixed bag. Some school districts have already implemented the course, and some school districts are using the current circumstances as a rationale not to move forward.” Read more here. And lastly: The fate of health care legislation Pharmacist James Lee gives a patient information about her prescription at La Clinica on Sept. 26, 2019. Photo by Anne Wernikoff for CalMatters A series of health care bills on Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk would improve access for Californians who can’t afford prescription drugs, shorten delays to medical decisions, and address threats to personal privacy. Kristen Hwang and Ana B. Ibarra have the details. California Voices CalMatters columnist Dan Walters: How Newsom channeled Jerry Brown 1.0 in his flip flop on oil.  CalMatters contributor Jim Newton: Why Alex Padilla changed his tune on nonpartisan redistricting. Other things worth your time: Some stories may require a subscription to read. UC employees sue Trump for forcing ‘ideological dominance’ and ‘financial collusion’ // LA Times  Republican leaders in DC are worried about California’s AI regulation // Politico

Culture
Forests
Health

‘You’re going about your day and suddenly see a little Godzilla’: Bangkok reckons with a giant lizard boom

Viral videos have shifted public opinion about water monitors, long held in contempt in Thai culture, even as rising numbers of the reptiles pose problems for residentsShortly after dawn, Lumphini Park comes alive. Bangkok residents descend on the sprawling green oasis in the middle of the city, eager to squeeze in a workout before the heat of the day takes hold. Joggers trot along curving paths. Old men struggle under barbells at the outdoor gym. Spandex-clad women stretch into yoga poses on the grass.Just metres away, one of the park’s more infamous occupants strikes its own lizard pose. About 400 Asian water monitor lizards call Lumphini Park home, and this morning they are out in full force – scrambling up palm trees, swimming through the waterways and wrestling on the road. Continue reading...

Shortly after dawn, Lumphini Park comes alive. Bangkok residents descend on the sprawling green oasis in the middle of the city, eager to squeeze in a workout before the heat of the day takes hold. Joggers trot along curving paths. Old men struggle under barbells at the outdoor gym. Spandex-clad women stretch into yoga poses on the grass.Just metres away, one of the park’s more infamous occupants strikes its own lizard pose. About 400 Asian water monitor lizards call Lumphini Park home, and this morning they are out in full force – scrambling up palm trees, swimming through the waterways and wrestling on the road.Every now and then, a scaly interloper veers in front of a runner, oblivious to the morning stampede. “The big ones are usually fine because they move quite slowly and you can kind of hop over,” says Jayla Chintanaroj, a Bangkok resident who often runs in the park. “But the small ones can be quite fast. There have been a few times I’ve almost tripped over one.”Asian water monitor lizards – the world’s second-largest lizard – have adapted to city living in Bangkok’s Lumphini Park. Photograph: Gloria DickieThe Asian water monitor (Varanus salvator) is the world’s second-largest species of lizard, reaching lengths of about two metres (7ft). It can be found in rivers, lakes and swamps across south-east Asia and into India and China. Increasingly, however, the dark brown lizard can be spotted in urban areas, joining an exclusive league of animals that have carved out a stronghold in cities.It was like a massive lizard onsen Jacuzzi. It was awesomeAs the urban lizard population explodes, authorities are receiving more calls about conflicts: lizards intruding upon popular fishing spots, raiding livestock, and even crawling into people’s homes.Yet, at the same time, the water monitor lizard – once derided in Thai culture – has never been so popular, buoyed up by social media. JX Ang lives close to the park, and says he has become a fan of his scaly neighbours. “It’s actually really nice to see them when you’re going about your day and then suddenly you see a nice little Godzilla swimming through the water,” he says. Ang fondly recalls a time he witnessed more than 10 lizards leisurely soaking in a park fountain on a hot day.“It was like a massive lizard onsen Jacuzzi. It was awesome.”The lizards thrive in the park’s network of khlongs, or canals. Photograph: Romeo Gacad/AFP/Getty ImagesFor environmental authorities, the lizard boom represents a new challenge: to carefully manage the population without disrupting one of Bangkok’s growing ecological attractions.No one knows exactly how many lizards are prowling through Bangkok and its tapestry of more than 1,600 canals, known as khlongs, where the lizard thrives. The city, local people boast, has more canals than Venice.The khlongs provide the perfect cover for water monitors, which feed on a near-constant buffet of fish, birds, chickens and organic waste, helping to dispose of animal carcasses and control rat populations.“In urban areas, they have no natural enemies, which gives them a high survival rate,” says Thosapol Suparee, a deputy director-general of the Bangkok metropolitan administration’s environmental department.The lizards have a ready supply of fish in the park’s canals, but they also eat birds, chickens and organic waste. Photograph: Pacific Press/LightRocket/Getty ImagesUnlike the larger Komodo dragon, which has a venomous bite capable of taking down a water buffalo, the Asian water monitor is considered mostly harmless to humans – making it easier to ignore.One 2024 study tried to assess the urban takeover of monitor lizards across south-east Asia, but struggled to do so. “Despite being … the largest lizard with established populations in urban areas, [Varanus salvator] has drawn relatively little attention from ecologists regarding its colonisation of numerous major cities across Asia,” the authors wrote.“Sometimes these ecological or zoological phenomena are very obvious in urban areas, yet they still don’t get enough research,” says study co-author Álvaro Luna, of the European University of Madrid.Lumphini Park is one place where lizard numbers are closely tracked, as large reptiles running amok in the park can cause problems including “fear and disturbance during rest or exercise”, Suparee says. “On roads, water monitors may also pose risks for accidents.”The large lizards have become a hit on social media, drawing visitors to the park. Photograph: Lillian Suwanrumpha/AFP/Getty ImagesThe surveys show the park lizard population is rapidly increasing. Ideally, Suparee says, the population should stay below 400. In the past, rising numbers of lizards spurred authorities to intervene, with wildlife officials capturing and relocating dozens from Lumphini in 2016. But a female lizard lays a clutch of about 20 eggs at a time, and numbers swiftly bounced back.The lizards are mostly harmless but can be a trip hazard or nuisance. Photograph: David Bokuchava/AlamyThat may not be the worst thing. While the monitor lizard has long been held in contempt in Thai culture (the Thai word for monitor lizard – hia – is considered a highly offensive swear word), public opinion has begun to shift.Many people trace the turning point to a 2021 viral video that captured a 6ft-long lizard climbing a convenience store’s shelf – a quintessential snapshot of modern Thai life. People began to rally around the creatures, and they are increasingly seen as a draw for tourists.“I’ve seen on TikTok and Instagram, people are like: ‘When you’re in Thailand, you have to come to Lumphini Park to see these monsters!’” Chintanaroj says.City officials have also embraced the lizard’s rising stardom. Earlier this year, a large statue of a monitor lizard was installed near one of Lumphini’s artificial lakes. “It was erected to show that water monitors are not just park animals, but also represent the richness of Bangkok’s ecosystem,” Suparee says.A statue of an Asian water monitor lizard in Lumphini Park, where they ‘represent the richness of Bangkok’s ecosystem’. Photograph: Gloria DickieNational authorities see opportunities to exploit the lizard beyond tourism. Although water monitors are protected in Thailand, in July the government moved to begin permitting restricted breeding for commercial purposes – such as leather goods – citing their growing numbers.Somying Thunhikorn, a forestry technical officer with the department of parks and wildlife, says: “We think this decision will benefit the private sector and communities with conflicts, as well as reduce illegal hunting and the impact to water monitors in the wild.”Wildlife officials catch a lizard to be relocated. Photograph: Munir Uz Zaman/AFP/Getty ImagesThe initial stock must come from one of the department’s breeding stations, home to “nuisance” lizards, in Ratchaburi province. All lizards must be microchipped to prove they have not been illegally taken from the wild.So far, commercial farming permits have been issued for about 200 of the lizards, Thunhikorn says.Ang says he is not sure how to feel about Thailand’s move to begin farming the charismatic reptiles. After all, he says with a laugh: “They’re the original Moo Deng.”Find more age of extinction coverage here, and follow the biodiversity reporters Phoebe Weston and Patrick Greenfield in the Guardian app for more nature coverage

Culture
Water
Extinction

How Italy got its citizens — and me — to adopt a rigorous recycling scheme

Italy has become a global leader in recycling, in part by relying on households to do a lot of the work.

Of all the sources of culture shock I might have anticipated after my partner and I bought a home in 2022 in northern Italy, trash collection never crossed my mind. I didn’t know going in that Italy had become the top overall recycling country in the EU and one of the best for household-level recycling — in part by relying on those households to do a lot of the work. I quickly got my crash course. In short: In our town, Lesa, we have to sort trash into six categories: “wet” (compost), plastic, glass, paper, metal, and “dry” (aka everything that isn’t recyclable, which isn’t much). Like our neighbors, we keep six bins in our kitchen, one for each category, and our kitchen is in fact designed around this need. (There’s yet a seventh “green” bin for yard waste, but that generally goes in the shed.) One type gets picked up every day except Sunday, meaning we have to put some form of trash out nearly every night. Some categories go in government-issued bags, while “wet” must be in biodegradable bags, glass goes in an unlined bin, and paper goes into designated reusable open bags. The household bin arrangement: Most of the receptacles fit neatly into drawers and cabinets, with the exception of the paper bin. Sarah Stodola It was a lot to learn. But once I got the hang of it, the recycling and trash sorting efforts stopped feeling like an inconvenience and became something like second nature. I’d go so far as to say it felt satisfying to contribute in this way on a daily basis. Thirty years ago, Italian households mostly took out the trash in one go. Since then, nearly all residents of Italy have at some point reprogrammed their habits, just as I had to. This behavior shift, along with investment in domestic waste-processing infrastructure, has been integral to Italy’s recycling success. Getting residents on board Italy’s transformation into a recycling powerhouse began in 1997 with the Ronchi Decree, a law that created a compulsory minimum recycling rate of 35 percent, placed the responsibility for achieving it on municipalities, and empowered them to manage both the logistics and financing of the subsequent efforts. The law came about after a waste-management crisis in the region around Milan brought the issue of trash processing to the forefront of Italian politics. Most municipalities today set their own local waste collection tax rates (known as the TARI), while recently a few have moved to a “pay-as-you-throw system,” with fees based on the amount of waste a household generates. The Ronchi Decree also placed responsibility for trash sorting at the household level — as opposed to a single-stream approach, where waste gets sorted at facilities — with measures to get residents on board built into the legislation. Marco Ricci, a circular economy expert in Italy who worked with the national government on the legislation’s rollout, points to several factors that helped shift individual behavior, including a new door-to-door collection system and, in most localities, giving residents the necessary bins and bags free of charge. Still, people needed convincing, with concerns about both costs and the program’s effect on their time and their kitchens. “The resistance was approached in a very simple and effective way: a lot of local meetings,” Ricci said. He spent a few years going from town to town, working with mayors and other experts to explain the new scheme to residents. This federally coordinated outreach campaign ultimately reached about 50 percent of the Italian population, he said. Regional implementation, rather than relying on a national system, was key. “It was fundamental,” Ricci said. “Italians are really closely linked to their community, and we made use of this community feeling.” Because small communities were easier to communicate with directly, rural areas ended up adopting the new system more quickly than the big cities. In addition, both local politicians and residents proved more willing to learn from others and hold neighbors accountable. As a result, a domino effect swept the less populated areas of Italy: Once people saw their neighbors using the new bins, they wanted their own, and once mayors saw neighboring towns finding success in recycling, they wanted in on it, too. Fines for improper waste disposal were part of the equation, but equally important were softer incentives, such as the policy of providing residents a set allotment of bags for nonrecyclable trash, which is only picked up if it’s in those bags. If someone were to use up her allotment too quickly by including too many recyclable items, she’d be out of luck until the next allotment. This is all the motivation most residents need to sort their trash properly. In 2006, additional legislation mandated raising Italy’s minimum recycling rate to 65 percent of all household waste, a requirement that went into effect in 2012 — years before the EU set the same standard in 2018. By then, Italy was well ahead of the game. Individual change, collectivized I met Maria Grazia Todesco while doing some volunteer translating for a local museum. She has lived in Italy her whole life and currently resides in Solcio, a town neighboring mine. Since she’s experienced Italian trash collection both before and after the changes of recent decades, I was curious to get her take. She told me that the new system definitely requires more effort and attention — but to her at least, it feels well worth it. “With a little goodwill, the task becomes easier,” she said. “I think it was a necessary choice and very useful if we want to somehow safeguard our planet. Each of us individuals can do a lot to achieve the goal.” Lesa and Solcio are in the wealthier northern part of the country, where recycling efforts have long been among the best in Europe. In recent years, Italy’s southern regions have been making notable progress as well — despite the need for more processing facilities in the south and challenges with a wider recycling industry that resists close monitoring, similar standards and enforcement mechanisms now exist throughout the country. Still, the need for reinforcement and education remains. Erum Naqvi, a friend of mine back in New York who also owns a home in Lesa, said she initially handled her trash the same as she would back in the States — which is to say, not thinking much about tossing most things into the bin destined for the landfill. But one afternoon, a local police officer showed up to give her a warning about sorting, bagging, and putting it out correctly. Naqvi quickly got herself up to speed. She is careful about sorting correctly and keeps the trash pickup schedule pinned next to her door, consulting it every day. Naqvi has now changed her habits even back home. “Coming back to New York, I felt so guilty not doing it [to the same degree]. It’s instilled in me a more positive approach toward recycling,” she said. For me, it’s been revelatory to witness the collective impact of individual efforts, and to participate in it. Nearly every evening in Lesa, households place the appropriate bags or bins out next to their doorsteps, creating a consistent tableau throughout town. Looking up the next morning’s category, then preparing it and putting it out, has become part of my after-dinner routine. Early every morning, collection trucks built small enough to pass through the town’s ancient, narrow streets arrive before most residents are awake — except on glass collection day. Those trucks arrive later so as to not wake residents with the inevitable clatter of glass as it’s dumped from the bins. In the winter months, the nonrecyclable trash gets collected just once every two weeks. Nothing has surprised me more than finding myself struggling to fill even one small bag during that time, so thorough is my sorting of the recyclables. That’s a common observation — and a sign that individual action, like trying to produce less garbage, becomes a whole lot easier when the system is designed to support it. — Sarah Stodola More exposure Read: more about rising recycling rates and circularity in the European Union (Eunews) Read: about the definition of “recycling,” and the difficulty with achieving true circularity for certain products, especially plastics (Grist) Read: about the origins of the chasing-arrows recycling symbol — and how that symbol came to lose its meaning (Grist) Read: about New York City’s recent efforts to mandate composting (Grist), and why the city is now pausing fines for noncompliance (NBC New York) Read: about some common misconceptions with recycling, and how an overemphasis on recycling can obscure more important efforts to reuse and reduce (The Conversation) A parting shot Waste management has long been a troubled industry. When we as individuals “throw something away,” we’re really just sending it somewhere else for someone else to deal with — that same paradigm can play out on a global stage, even going so far as cross-border “waste trafficking.” One of this year’s prestigious Goldman Environmental Prize recipients, announced this week, helped challenge such a scheme between Italy and Tunisia. In 2020, Italy illegally sent 282 shipping containers filled with common household garbage to Tunisia. Thanks to prize winner Semia Gharbi, and other advocates, the majority of the waste was returned in February of 2022 to the same Italian port where it originated, as shown below — and the scandal also led to tightened regulations in the EU. IMAGE CREDITS Vision: Mia Torres / Grist Spotlight: Sarah Stodola Parting shot: Ivan Romano / Getty Images This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How Italy got its citizens — and me — to adopt a rigorous recycling scheme on Apr 23, 2025.

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