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This word was rejected by geologists. But it’s already taken over the world.

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Monday, June 10, 2024

What do you call the current time period — when we humans are warming the atmosphere, acidifying the oceans, altering the land and leaving a literal mark on the planet? Not the Anthropocene, according to geologists who rejected the idea of adding a new epoch to Earth’s official geological timeline.Yet for many activists, artists and academics outside of geology, the Anthropocene, or “Age of Humans,” is here to stay, regardless of what rock specialists have to say.Earlier this year, a panel of geologists rejected a proposal to officially designate the past seven decades, during which humans profoundly impacted the environment, as the new chapter in the planet’s history.But as these scientists spent years debating, the term became widely adopted outside geology to encapsulate the angst around environmental degradation — popping up in book titles, music albums and art exhibitions.For the term’s proponents, the idea that humanity has pushed the Earth into a new geological epoch should serve as a wake-up call. “It’s only been 70 years,” said Francine McCarthy, a professor of earth science at Brock University in Ontario, referring to the start of the new proposed epoch. “We don’t have another 70 years to wait.”The name’s persistence speaks to a need for a cultural shorthand for referring to the big, complex ecological changes that are defining the present era, advocates say — something akin to terms like the Cold War or the Internet Age that came before it. Even if geologists say they cannot pinpoint its exact start, it is obvious to many who continue to use the term that the Anthropocene has begun.“I always thought that this geological discussion was perhaps too soon,” said ecologist Inês Martins, whose employer — the Leverhulme Center for Anthropocene Biodiversity at the University of York — has embraced the term. “But the reality is it is a very useful concept to use to identify an era where humans have increased their impacts.”The term burst into public consciousness in 2000, when the Nobel Prize-winning chemist Paul Crutzen suggested the global effect of human activities was so profound that Earth was no longer in the Holocene, the current geological epoch.“I was at a conference where someone said something about the Holocene, the long period of relatively stable climate since the end of the last ice age,” Crutzen recalled years later to the author Fred Pearce. “I suddenly thought that this was wrong. The world has changed too much. So I said: ‘No, we are in the Anthropocene.’ I just made up the word on the spur of the moment. Everyone was shocked.”The coinage is a combination of the prefix “anthropo-,” which comes from the Greek word for human, and suffix “-cene,” derived from the Greek for “new” or “recent.”The five most recent epochs all deploy “-cene” but lack the specificity of Crutzen’s new name, according to Merriam-Webster, with names simply referring to how far in the past each is.Crutzen, who died in 2021, knew a thing or two about humans degrading the atmosphere, having won his Nobel for his work explaining how pollution was stripping Earth’s protective ozone layer.Earthbound geologists took his idea seriously. In 2009, a scientific body called the International Commission on Stratigraphy appointed a working group to search for a so-called “golden spike” for the new epoch — a literal place on Earth where the rock record shows a clear transition from one ancient time to the next. For example, the Jurassic period, famous for its dinosaurs, is named after the Jura Mountains in Europe.Scientists have put forward plenty of possible start dates. Crutzen himself suggested the second half of the 18th century, as greenhouse gases accumulated in glacial ice. The official Anthropocene Working Group proposed a spike in plutonium found in the mud of Crawford Lake in Canada, the result of nuclear weapons testing in the 1950s.McCarthy, who studies the lake and argues that a plutonium-laced layer of sediment built up on its bottom should serve as a new “golden spike,” said the fact that the Anthropocene began so recently should send a sobering message to society to act fast to slow climate change. “That’s the scary part, is how quickly we have come to this point.”But in a contested vote in March, a subpanel of the International Commission on Stratigraphy, the group charged with dividing the planet’s history into units that correspond with the geologic record, rejected that proposal, with some members arguing that such a recent feature should not define an epoch. Under its rules, geologists cannot submit another Anthropocene proposal for at least 10 years.“Sediment deposited within my lifetime is not a new epoch, by any standards,” said Philip Gibbard, a University of Cambridge geologist who voted against the official Anthropocene proposal.‘The cat’s out of the bag’Golden spike or no golden spike, the Anthropocene isn’t going anywhere.In a statement after the vote, the International Commission on Stratigraphy acknowledged the term will “continue to be used not only by Earth and environmental scientists, but also by social scientists, politicians and economists, as well as by the public at large.”“It will remain an invaluable descriptor of human impact on the Earth system,” the commission added.Even the term’s critics admit it has staying power. “The term Anthropocene is unfortunately here to stay,” Gibbard said. “The cat’s out of the bag. The horse has bolted. We can’t stop it.”If anything, all the headlines on the rejection have only heightened the public’s awareness of the term. “It is definitely drawing more attention” to it, said McCarthy. “Even those people who are against — the no vote people — most of them would probably agree that we are in the Anthropocene,” she added.The term is being searched for online about as much in the months since the March decision as it was during the months prior, according to Google Trends, and is still popping up in scientific studies, including in the prestigious journal Nature.“It’s a good term that explains what we do to the planet,” said climatologist Jan Esper, who wrote a recent Nature paper that found that the summer of 2023 was the hottest in the Northern Hemisphere in 2,000 years.The evolution of the concept is still underway. Norman Wirzba, a professor of theology at Duke Divinity School, said the name Anthropocene may imply that all of humanity is responsible for climate change, even though a handful of countries are responsible for the majority of greenhouse gas emissions.“The question is, why are we calling this the Anthropocene when it’s very clear that what really made this happen was capitalism?” said Wirzba, who noted an alternative name for the current epoch: the “Capitalocene.”“To lump all of humanity together,” he added, “is not discriminating enough.”Gibbard, the geologist, has another idea. He wishes for the Anthropocene to be regarded as an ongoing “event,” a term used in geology to describe ancient episodes that leave a mark in the rocks.Geological events can be something as simple as a footprint left in the mud or as cataclysmic as a volcanic eruption and the dinosaur-killing asteroid that led to mass extinction. For science to work, Gibbard said, researchers need to agree on what words mean.“It would be most unsatisfactory if we had a term that could not be used, or is being used, in different ways in different disciplines,” he said. But he added that no geologist is in a position to stop people from using words how they wish. “We are not policemen. It is not our job to police the language.”But for others, the term’s vagueness is exactly what gives it strength.“We all as a community of citizens of planet Earth decided that this was a word to refer to the age of humanity, and the flexibility that different groups brought to that term really gave it a lot of power,” said Jacquelyn Gill, a paleoecologist at the University of Maine. “The fact that the Anthropocene has eluded definition is a feature and not a bug.”“Geologists and stratigraphers don’t own the concept,” she added. “People can just walk outside, and they recognize we’re in the Anthropocene.”

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What do you call the current time period — when we humans are warming the atmosphere, acidifying the oceans, altering the land and leaving a literal mark on the planet? Not the Anthropocene, according to geologists who rejected the idea of adding a new epoch to Earth’s official geological timeline.

Yet for many activists, artists and academics outside of geology, the Anthropocene, or “Age of Humans,” is here to stay, regardless of what rock specialists have to say.

Earlier this year, a panel of geologists rejected a proposal to officially designate the past seven decades, during which humans profoundly impacted the environment, as the new chapter in the planet’s history.

But as these scientists spent years debating, the term became widely adopted outside geology to encapsulate the angst around environmental degradation — popping up in book titles, music albums and art exhibitions.

For the term’s proponents, the idea that humanity has pushed the Earth into a new geological epoch should serve as a wake-up call. “It’s only been 70 years,” said Francine McCarthy, a professor of earth science at Brock University in Ontario, referring to the start of the new proposed epoch. “We don’t have another 70 years to wait.”

The name’s persistence speaks to a need for a cultural shorthand for referring to the big, complex ecological changes that are defining the present era, advocates say — something akin to terms like the Cold War or the Internet Age that came before it. Even if geologists say they cannot pinpoint its exact start, it is obvious to many who continue to use the term that the Anthropocene has begun.

“I always thought that this geological discussion was perhaps too soon,” said ecologist Inês Martins, whose employer — the Leverhulme Center for Anthropocene Biodiversity at the University of York — has embraced the term. “But the reality is it is a very useful concept to use to identify an era where humans have increased their impacts.”

The term burst into public consciousness in 2000, when the Nobel Prize-winning chemist Paul Crutzen suggested the global effect of human activities was so profound that Earth was no longer in the Holocene, the current geological epoch.

“I was at a conference where someone said something about the Holocene, the long period of relatively stable climate since the end of the last ice age,” Crutzen recalled years later to the author Fred Pearce. “I suddenly thought that this was wrong. The world has changed too much. So I said: ‘No, we are in the Anthropocene.’ I just made up the word on the spur of the moment. Everyone was shocked.”

The coinage is a combination of the prefix “anthropo-,” which comes from the Greek word for human, and suffix “-cene,” derived from the Greek for “new” or “recent.”

The five most recent epochs all deploy “-cene” but lack the specificity of Crutzen’s new name, according to Merriam-Webster, with names simply referring to how far in the past each is.

Crutzen, who died in 2021, knew a thing or two about humans degrading the atmosphere, having won his Nobel for his work explaining how pollution was stripping Earth’s protective ozone layer.

Earthbound geologists took his idea seriously. In 2009, a scientific body called the International Commission on Stratigraphy appointed a working group to search for a so-called “golden spike” for the new epoch — a literal place on Earth where the rock record shows a clear transition from one ancient time to the next. For example, the Jurassic period, famous for its dinosaurs, is named after the Jura Mountains in Europe.

Scientists have put forward plenty of possible start dates. Crutzen himself suggested the second half of the 18th century, as greenhouse gases accumulated in glacial ice. The official Anthropocene Working Group proposed a spike in plutonium found in the mud of Crawford Lake in Canada, the result of nuclear weapons testing in the 1950s.

McCarthy, who studies the lake and argues that a plutonium-laced layer of sediment built up on its bottom should serve as a new “golden spike,” said the fact that the Anthropocene began so recently should send a sobering message to society to act fast to slow climate change. “That’s the scary part, is how quickly we have come to this point.”

But in a contested vote in March, a subpanel of the International Commission on Stratigraphy, the group charged with dividing the planet’s history into units that correspond with the geologic record, rejected that proposal, with some members arguing that such a recent feature should not define an epoch. Under its rules, geologists cannot submit another Anthropocene proposal for at least 10 years.

“Sediment deposited within my lifetime is not a new epoch, by any standards,” said Philip Gibbard, a University of Cambridge geologist who voted against the official Anthropocene proposal.

‘The cat’s out of the bag’

Golden spike or no golden spike, the Anthropocene isn’t going anywhere.

In a statement after the vote, the International Commission on Stratigraphy acknowledged the term will “continue to be used not only by Earth and environmental scientists, but also by social scientists, politicians and economists, as well as by the public at large.”

“It will remain an invaluable descriptor of human impact on the Earth system,” the commission added.

Even the term’s critics admit it has staying power. “The term Anthropocene is unfortunately here to stay,” Gibbard said. “The cat’s out of the bag. The horse has bolted. We can’t stop it.”

If anything, all the headlines on the rejection have only heightened the public’s awareness of the term. “It is definitely drawing more attention” to it, said McCarthy. “Even those people who are against — the no vote people — most of them would probably agree that we are in the Anthropocene,” she added.

The term is being searched for online about as much in the months since the March decision as it was during the months prior, according to Google Trends, and is still popping up in scientific studies, including in the prestigious journal Nature.

“It’s a good term that explains what we do to the planet,” said climatologist Jan Esper, who wrote a recent Nature paper that found that the summer of 2023 was the hottest in the Northern Hemisphere in 2,000 years.

The evolution of the concept is still underway. Norman Wirzba, a professor of theology at Duke Divinity School, said the name Anthropocene may imply that all of humanity is responsible for climate change, even though a handful of countries are responsible for the majority of greenhouse gas emissions.

“The question is, why are we calling this the Anthropocene when it’s very clear that what really made this happen was capitalism?” said Wirzba, who noted an alternative name for the current epoch: the “Capitalocene.”

“To lump all of humanity together,” he added, “is not discriminating enough.”

Gibbard, the geologist, has another idea. He wishes for the Anthropocene to be regarded as an ongoing “event,” a term used in geology to describe ancient episodes that leave a mark in the rocks.

Geological events can be something as simple as a footprint left in the mud or as cataclysmic as a volcanic eruption and the dinosaur-killing asteroid that led to mass extinction. For science to work, Gibbard said, researchers need to agree on what words mean.

“It would be most unsatisfactory if we had a term that could not be used, or is being used, in different ways in different disciplines,” he said. But he added that no geologist is in a position to stop people from using words how they wish. “We are not policemen. It is not our job to police the language.”

But for others, the term’s vagueness is exactly what gives it strength.

“We all as a community of citizens of planet Earth decided that this was a word to refer to the age of humanity, and the flexibility that different groups brought to that term really gave it a lot of power,” said Jacquelyn Gill, a paleoecologist at the University of Maine. “The fact that the Anthropocene has eluded definition is a feature and not a bug.”

“Geologists and stratigraphers don’t own the concept,” she added. “People can just walk outside, and they recognize we’re in the Anthropocene.”

Read the full story here.
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India arrests environmental campaigners for ‘activities against the national interest’

Sarat Sampada founders Harjeet Singh and Jyoti Aswati say allegations are ‘baseless, biased and misleading’Police have raided the home of one of India’s leading environmental activists over claims his campaigning for a treaty to cut the use of fossil fuels was undermining the national interest.Investigators from India’s Enforcement Directorate (ED) claim that Harjeet Singh and his wife, Jyoti Awasthi, co-founders of Satat Sampada (Nature Forever), were paid almost £500,000 to advocate for the fossil fuel non-proliferation treaty (FFNPT). Continue reading...

Police have raided the home of one of India’s leading environmental activists over claims his campaigning for a treaty to cut the use of fossil fuels was undermining the national interest.Investigators from India’s Enforcement Directorate (ED) claim that Harjeet Singh and his wife, Jyoti Awasthi, co-founders of Satat Sampada (Nature Forever), were paid almost £500,000 to advocate for the fossil fuel non-proliferation treaty (FFNPT).The ED is a law enforcement agency which operates under India’s ministry of finance and is responsible for enforcing economic laws and investigating financial crimes. In a statement, the agency said it had carried out searches at Singh’s home and Satat Sampada properties “as part of an ongoing investigation into suspicious foreign inward remittances received in the garb of consultancy charges” from climate campaign groups, “which have in-turn received huge funds from prior reference category NGOs like Rockefeller Philanthropy Advisors.“However, cross-verification of filings made by the remitters abroad indicates that the funds were actually intended to promote the agenda of the Fossil Fuel Non-Proliferation Treaty within India,” the agency said.The FFNPT is an international campaign which calls for a treaty to stop exploration for new fossil fuels and to gradually phase out their use. First endorsed by the Pacific Island nations of Vanuatu and Tuvalu, it currently has the support of 17 national governments, the World Health Organization and the European parliament, as well as a constellation of civil society figures.The ED officers stated that: “While presented as a climate initiative, its adoption could expose India to legal challenges in international forums like the International court of justice (ICJ) and severely compromise the nation’s energy security and economic development.”In the course of their search, the ED officers said they had found a “large cache” of whiskey, above legal limits, at Singh’s home in Delhi and had told local police who subsequently arrested and then bailed him on Monday night.The agency said it was also investigating trips Singh made to Pakistan and Bangladesh last year, including how they were funded.Singh and Aswati said in a statement that they were prevented from sharing details of the case for legal reasons, but added: “We categorically state that the allegations being reported are baseless, biased and misleading.”Singh is a familiar figure at Cop climate negotiations, having worked for more than two decades with international NGOs and climate campaigns including ActionAid, the Climate Action Network and the Fossil Fuel Non-Proliferation Treaty Initiative. Under PM Narendra Modi, civil society organisations in India have faced severe pressures. Almost 17,000 licenses to receive foreign funding have been suspended and a large number of civil society organisations have shut down.According to an unnamed ED officer quoted by the Hindustan Times, the investigation into Singh began on the basis of intelligence received from Cop30 in Belem, Brazil, last November. Other activists “whose climate campaigns may be inimical to India’s energy security” were also being investigated, another unnamed officer was quoted as saying.The ED accused Singh of running Satat Sampada as a front, publicly projecting itself as a company marketing organic produce while its “primary activity appears to be channelling foreign funds to run narratives furthering the FF-NPT cause in India, on behalf of foreign influencer groups”.The agency said the company had been running at a loss until 2021 when payments from campaign groups, registered as “consultancy services” and “agro-product sales”, turned its fortunes around.“The ED suspects mis-declaration and misrepresentation of the nature and purpose of the foreign funds received by SSPL. The agency is investigating the full extent of the suspected violations … and whether the activities funded were against the national interest, specifically India’s energy security.”Singh and Aswati said they had started Satat Sampada with their own savings and loans secured on their home in 2016, and that the organisation’s consultancy and management services had grown in 2021 after Singh left his full-time employment to focus more on its work.“His work and contributions are well documented across print, digital, television and social media, as well as public platforms,” they said.

How Urban Gardens Can Bolster American Democracy

But when Kate Brown, an environmental historian at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), looks at urban gardens, she sees a deep-rooted history of activism and sustainability—one that spans centuries, continents, and communities. Brown distilled her research on the subject into her forthcoming book, Tiny Gardens Everywhere: The Past, Present, and Future of the Self-Provisioning […] The post How Urban Gardens Can Bolster American Democracy appeared first on Civil Eats.

When people walk or drive past urban gardens, they often just see what’s on the surface. Raised beds on a small plot. Seedlings poking through the dirt. Perhaps bright pops of colorful produce, like tomatoes or peppers. But when Kate Brown, an environmental historian at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), looks at urban gardens, she sees a deep-rooted history of activism and sustainability—one that spans centuries, continents, and communities. Throughout, Brown reveals a common thread: Unused urban spaces disparaged by the powerful as “wastelands” were, in reality, areas where working-class and poor communities used gardening to build self-sustaining livelihoods. Brown distilled her research on the subject into her forthcoming book, Tiny Gardens Everywhere: The Past, Present, and Future of the Self-Provisioning City. The chapters cover feudal England, 19th-century Berlin, and early 20th-century Washington, D.C., as well as modern-day Chicago; Mansfield, Ohio; and Montgomery, Alabama, traversing time and space to illuminate their connected stories. Throughout, Brown reveals a common thread: Unused urban spaces disparaged by the powerful as “wastelands” were, in reality, areas where working-class and poor communities used gardening to build self-sustaining livelihoods. Civil Eats spoke with Brown about her book, the histories of urban gardens, and why she thinks urban gardeners can transform people and society. You’re known for your writings about nuclear disasters, particularly Chernobyl. This book seems to be a slightly different turn in your work. What made you focus on urban gardens? When I was in the Chernobyl zone, I came across all these people who were picking berries in the radioactive swamps and selling them to people [there]. So that really got me thinking about plants—because plants can be sources of pollution [and toxins]. Or you could think of these plants as our allies, doing what an army of soldiers had not managed to do: They were cleaning up the environment. They were taking radioactive isotopes and bringing them in neat little round purple packages. If we’d taken those berries and deposited them as radioactive waste, it would [have been] a really affordable and fantastic form of cleanup. So then I started to think, “How else do people in tough circumstances use plants as their allies?” I started looking at cities. [In the] 1850s, people were getting pushed out of their peasant villages, where they farmed the land and foraged and raised animals, and they went to big cities for industrial jobs. What I noticed is that they go to the edges of the cities, and they find [underdeveloped] areas they call “wastes.” They can use the wastes around them to procure food, fuel, and shelter. Around Berlin in 1850, these urban gardeners took whatever they could find—garbage, beer mash, pulp from sugar beet factories, kitchen scraps, animal manure, human manure—and they built human-engineered soils and created a green shantytown. They started to build the sinews of the social welfare network that we so rely on today. My sense is they were doing what plants and microbes and fungi do in soils: They’re sharing, creating mutual aid societies, supporting each other. And what comes of that is not a realm of scarcity, but one of abundance. People thrived in these infrastructure-less, green shantytowns, and then wherever I started to look, I found places like this. Your book reveals how urban gardens nurture health, despite a prevailing stereotype of cities as dirty or unclean, particularly during the industrial era. Can you describe a bit about what you found at the intersection of public health and urban gardening? Take Washington, D.C., for example. . . . People know the Potomac River, but very few are aware that there’s a second river called the Anacostia River. If you cross it, there’s a part of town that has been historically Black, where Black people could buy lots of land. What we found east of the Anacostia is that in these communities that got going around 1910 to 1920, people bought not one lot but two to six. And when they did that, they put a tiny house in the middle and then used all the rest of the land around it to garden. Where sanitation comes in is that these neighborhoods were ignored by the congressmen in charge of D.C. at the time. These were mostly Dixie Democrats, they were racist, and they just didn’t put any infrastructure in that part of town. . . . So there’s no sewer systems, there’s no garbage pickup, there’s no paved surfaces. And it’s pretty densely populated. So if you’re following the germ theory, you would expect to have all kinds of outbreaks of disease, especially fecal-borne diseases. But there doesn’t seem to be any sign of this. In fact, people had outdoor privies, and then they would either compost what was in the privy themselves, or nightsoil workers would come and bring [that compost] to the dump, which was run by a company called the Washington Fertilizer company. And the Washington Fertilizer company had hundreds of pigs running around this area. Composted nightsoil, digested by the pigs, would be brought to local farms but also to these gardens, and people would use it with their other household compost. They’d [also] take water that came down from their roofs and kitchen water, run it through gravel, and then have pretty clean water that they could use to water their plants. They were doing all the things that would be considered green architecture today, that they had invented themselves in the 1920s and ’30s. Your book emphasizes that working-class people are often at the forefront of urban gardening. What is it about urban gardening that makes it an effective or necessary tool for marginalized groups? People are drawing from the bounty of their gardens [and] they’re creating these kinds of societies that then start to solve other problems. These are communities that are not getting the benefit of state largesse. They’re often either overtly discriminated against or they’re just simply ignored. So they’re using their spontaneously created mutual aid societies, which includes plants and microbes and animals, to share this bounty as a kind of public wealth. You feature stories of people who have started up urban gardens to feed themselves and their communities, but faced interference from bureaucratic forces. Municipal laws prevented a couple living in the Chicago suburbs from building a hoop house to grow food during the winter, for example. Can or should urban farming be advanced by policymakers, or do you see it as mostly an alternative to our political and food systems? This family had a hoop house safely in the backyard. They grew a lot of food in the summer, and then they were always sad in November when it was starting to get cold. So they put up this hoop house, and they could be in there with T-shirts and grow the cold-weather greens that they really enjoyed all winter long. A neighbor complained, the city told them to take it down, and they kept fighting it. They pursued this for seven years. The city leaders would say things like, “What are you growing there? Why don’t you just go to Whole Foods? We’re a suburb, not an agricultural region.” And so [they] pursued this all the way down to the state legislature and passed the Right to Garden law. Just a couple of states in the country have this right, [that] says no matter the municipality, no matter [the] homeowner association rules, people have the right to grow food on their private property and on other property that’s not being used. That’s one of the motivations for writing this book. We’re facing major environmental and ecological problems that are going to lead to all kinds of other problems, like wars and economic distress. I think a lot of people feel like we can’t do anything about it. We can’t get anything changed at the U.N. level. We certainly can’t get an act of Congress passed. But we can get our municipalities to change code. What if every time you build a new condo, you have to have a garden spot the size of a parking space? Suddenly everything can start to change. There’s more green space, which means there’s more places for rain to fall that prevent flooding. There’s more green space, which means the cities are cooler and people are outside on the streets [more]. In this time, when so many people feel lost and alienated and lonely, this simple change in zoning on a municipal level could change the whole nature of American democracy. You described your book as part manifesto. What do you hope people take away from it? What I’m hoping people take away is that we still have commons that we devote to moving and parking cars, and we should ask for those back. For humans—not machines—and for plants, animals, insects, and microbes. Part of this manifesto is that these commons are not a free-for-all. What the commons provide is common bounty, a common wealth, that is off the market. My hope is that we start with these commons in cities, where by 2050, the majority of people in the world will live, and from there, that understanding of transactions starts to spread. So that’s my manifesto, to think back to common right: the right to food, fuel, and shelter. More useful, I argue, than the right to liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Nobody can eat those. Very few people can attain those without having access to money and power. But common law rights provided food, fuel, and shelter for everyone. And that’s, I think, where we need to start again. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. The post How Urban Gardens Can Bolster American Democracy appeared first on Civil Eats.

From timber wars to cannabis crash: Scotia's battle to survive as California's last company town

The redwood wars are long over. Pacific Lumber is no more, but the company town it built endures in Humboldt County. Can it find a new life as a hidden real estate gem?

SCOTIA — The last time Mary Bullwinkel and her beloved little town were in the national media spotlight was not a happy period. Bullwinkel was the spokesperson for the logging giant Pacific Lumber in the late 1990s, when reporters flooded into this often forgotten corner of Humboldt County to cover the timber wars and visit a young woman who had staged a dramatic environmental protest in an old growth redwood tree.Julia “Butterfly” Hill — whose ethereal, barefoot portraits high in the redwood canopy became a symbol of the Redwood Summer — spent two years living in a thousand-year-old tree, named Luna, to keep it from being felled. Down on the ground, it was Bullwinkel’s duty to speak not for the trees but for the timber workers, many of them living in the Pacific Lumber town of Scotia, whose livelihoods were at stake. It was a role that brought her death threats and negative publicity. Julia “Butterfly” Hill stands in a centuries-old redwood tree nicknamed “Luna” in April 1998. Hill would spend a little more than two years in the tree, protesting logging in the old-growth forest. (Andrew Lichtenstein / Sygma via Getty Images) The timber wars have receded into the mists of history. Old-growth forests were protected. Pacific Lumber went bankrupt. Thousands of timber jobs were lost. But Bullwinkel, now 68, is still in Scotia. And this time, she has a much less fraught mission — although one that is no less difficult: She and another longtime PALCO employee are fighting to save Scotia itself, by selling it off, house by house. After the 2008 bankruptcy of Pacific Lumber, a New York hedge fund took possession of the town, an asset it did not relish in its portfolio. Bullwinkel and her boss, Steve Deike, came on board to attract would-be homebuyers and remake what many say is the last company town in America into a vibrant new community. “It’s very gratifying for me to be here today,” Bullwinkel said recently, as she strolled the town’s streets, which look as though they could have been teleported in from the 1920s. “To keep Scotia alive, basically.” Mary Bullwinkel, residential real estate sales coordinator for Town of Scotia Company, LLC, stands in front of the company’s offices. The LLC owns many of the houses and some of the commercial buildings in Scotia. Some new residents say they are thrilled.“It’s beautiful. I call it my little Mayberry. It’s like going back in town,” said Morgan Dodson, 40, who bought the fourth house sold in town in 2018 and lives there with her husband and two children, ages 9 and 6.But the transformation has proved more complicated — and taken longer — than anyone ever imagined it would. Nearly two decades after PALCO filed for bankrupcty in 2008, just 170 of the 270 houses have been sold, with 7 more on the market. “No one has ever subdivided a company town before,” Bullwinkel said, noting that many other company towns that dotted the country in the 19th century “just disappeared, as far as I know.” The first big hurdle was figuring out how to legally prepare the homes for sale: as a company town, Scotia was not made up of hundreds of individual parcels, with individual gas meters and water mains. It was one big property. More recently, the flagging real estate market has made people skittish.Many in town say the struggle to transform Scotia mirrors a larger struggle in Humboldt County, which has been rocked, first by the faltering of its logging industry and more recently by the collapse of its cannabis economy. “Scotia is a microcosm of so many things,” said Gage Duran, a Colorado-based architect who bought the century-old hospital and is working to redevelop it into apartments. “It’s a microcosm for what’s happening in Humboldt County. It’s a microcosm for the challenges that California is facing.” The Humboldt Sawmill Company Power Plant still operates in of Scotia. The Pacific Lumber Company was founded in 1863 as the Civil War raged. The company, which eventually became the largest employer in Humboldt County, planted itself along the Eel River south of Eureka and set about harvesting the ancient redwood and Douglas fir forests that extended for miles through the ocean mists. By the late 1800s, the company had begun to build homes for its workers near its sawmill. Originally called “Forestville,” company officials changed the town’s name to Scotia in the 1880s. For more than 100 years, life in Scotia was governed by the company that built it. Workers lived in the town’s redwood cottages and paid rent to their employer. They kept their yards in nice shape, or faced the wrath of their employer. Water and power came from their employer. But the company took care of its workers and created a community that was the envy of many. The neat redwood cottages were well maintained. The hospital in town provided personal care. Neighbors walked to the market or the community center or down to the baseball diamond. When the town’s children grew up, company officials provided them with college scholarships. “I desperately wanted to live in Scotia,” recalled Jeannie Fulton, who is now the head of the Humboldt County Farm Bureau. When she and her husband were younger, she said, her husband worked for Pacific Lumber but the couple did not live in the company town.Fulton recalled that the company had “the best Christmas party ever” each year, and officials handed out a beautiful gift to every single child. “Not cheap little gifts. These were Santa Claus worthy,” Fulton said.But things began to change in the 1980s, when Pacific Lumber was acquired in a hostile takeover by Texas-based Maxxam Inc. The acquisition led to the departure of the longtime owners, who had been committed to sustainably harvesting timber. It also left the company loaded with debt. To pay off the debts, the new company began cutting trees at a furious pace, which infuriated environmental activists. A view of the town of Scotia and timber operations, sometime in the late 1800s or early 1900s. (The Pacific Lumber Company collection) 1 2 1. Redwood logs are processed by the Pacific Lumber Company in 1995 in Scotia, CA. This was the largest redwood lumber mill in the world, resulting in clashes with the environmental community for years. (Gilles Mingasson / Getty Images) 2. Redwood logs are trucked to the Pacific Lumber Company in 1995 in Scotia, CA. (Gilles Mingasson / Getty Images) Among them was Hill, who was 23 years old on a fall day in 1997 when she and other activists hiked onto Pacific Lumber land. “I didn’t know much about the forest activist movement or what we were about to do,” Hill later wrote in her book. “I just knew that we were going to sit in this tree and that it had something to do with protecting the forest.” Once she was cradled in Luna’s limbs, Hill did not come down for more than two years. She became a cause celebre. Movie stars such as Woody Harrelson and musicians including Willie Nelson and Joan Baez came to visit her. With Hill still in the tree, Pacific Lumber agreed to sell 7,400 acres, including the ancient Headwaters Grove, to the government to be preserved. A truck driver carries a load of lumber down Main Street in Scotia. The historic company town is working to attract new residents and businesses, but progress has been slow. Then just before Christmas in 1999, Hill and her compatriots reached a final deal with Pacific Lumber. Luna would be protected. The tree still stands today.Pacific Lumber limped along for seven more years before filing for bankruptcy, which was finalized in 2008. Marathon Asset Management, a New York hedge fund, found itself in possession of the town. Deike, who was born in the Scotia hospital and lived in town for years, and Bullwinkel, came on board as employees of a company called The Town of Scotia to begin selling it off. Deike said he thought it might be a three-year job. That was nearly 20 years ago.He started in the mailroom at Pacific Lumber as a young man and rose to become one of its most prominent local executives. Now he sounds like an urban planner when he describes the process of transforming a company town.His speech is peppered with references to “infrastructure improvements” and “subdivision maps” and also to the peculiar challenges created by Pacific Lumber’s building.“They did whatever they wanted,” he said. “Build this house over the sewer line. There was a manhole cover in a garage. Plus, it wasn’t mapped.” Steven Deike, president of Town of Scotia Company LLC, and Mary Bullwinkel, the company’s residential real estate sales coordinator, examine a room being converted into apartments at the Scotia Hospital. The first houses went up for sale in 2017 and more have followed every year since.Dodson and her family came in 2018. Like some of the new owners, Dodson had some history with Scotia. Although she lived in Sacramento growing up, some of her family worked for Pacific Lumber and lived in Scotia and she had happy memories of visiting the town.“The first house I saw was perfect,” she said. “Hardwood floors, and made out of redwood so you don’t have to worry about termites.”She has loved every minute since. “We walk to school. We walk to pay our water bill. We walk to pick up our mail. There’s lots of kids in the neighborhood.”The transformation, however, has proceeded slowly. And lately, economic forces have begun to buffet the effort as well, including the slowing real estate market.Dodson, who also works as a real estate agent, said she thinks some people may be put off by the town’s cheek-by-jowl houses. Also, she added, “we don’t have garages and the water bill is astronomical.”But she added, “once people get inside them, they see the craftsmanship.”Duran, the Colorado architect trying to fix up the old hospital, is among those who have run into unexpected hurdles on the road to redevelopment. A project that was supposed to take a year is now in its third, delayed by everything from a shortage of electrical equipment to a dearth of workers.“I would guess that a portion of the skilled workforce has left Humboldt County,” Duran said, adding that the collapse of the weed market means that “some people have relocated because they were doing construction but also cannabis.”He added that he and his family and friends have been “doing a hard thing to try to fix up this building and give it new life, and my hope is that other people will make their own investments into the community.”A year ago, an unlikely visitor returned: Hill herself. She came back to speak at a fundraiser for Sanctuary Forest, a nonprofit land conservation group that is now the steward of Luna. The event was held at the 100-year-old Scotia Lodge — which once housed visiting timber executives but now offers boutique hotel rooms and craft cocktails. Many of the new residents had never heard of Hill or known of her connection to the area. Tamara Nichols, 67, who discovered Scotia in late 2023 after moving from Paso Robles, said she knew little of the town’s history. But she loves being so close to the old-growth redwoods and the Eel River, which she swims in. She also loves how intentional so many in town are about building community. What’s more, she added: “All those trees, there’s just a feel to them.”

Surfing Activism Takes Hold Across Latin America

Surfers and local communities in Peru, Chile, and Ecuador have stepped up efforts to safeguard their coastlines, pushing for laws that protect key surf spots from development and environmental threats. This movement highlights a shift where wave riders lead conservation, with potential benefits for tourism economies like Costa Rica’s. In Peru, a law passed in […] The post Surfing Activism Takes Hold Across Latin America appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Surfers and local communities in Peru, Chile, and Ecuador have stepped up efforts to safeguard their coastlines, pushing for laws that protect key surf spots from development and environmental threats. This movement highlights a shift where wave riders lead conservation, with potential benefits for tourism economies like Costa Rica’s. In Peru, a law passed in 2000 set the stage by banning projects that disrupt ocean floors or water flows at surf breaks. Since then, groups have secured protections for nearly 50 sites. One campaign aims to reach 100 protected waves by 2030, driven by partnerships between surfers and experts who map out these areas. These actions respond to risks from ports, mining, and urban growth that could erase prime surfing zones. Chile followed suit when its Congress passed a bill earlier this year to shield surf breaks, backed by the Rompientes Foundation. The measure requires environmental reviews for any coastal work that might harm waves. Supporters argue it preserves natural features while supporting jobs tied to surfing, which draws visitors from around the world. Ecuador’s push remains in early stages, with activists collecting signatures to propose similar legislation. Coastal residents join surfers in these drives, focusing on sites vulnerable to oil spills and erosion. The goal extends beyond recreation: protected waves help maintain marine habitats and buffer against climate shifts. This trend echoes broader environmental work in the region. Global networks like Save the Waves have designated over 145 surf reserves worldwide, including several in Latin America. These zones enforce monitoring and cleanup to keep beaches viable for both locals and travelers. For Costa Rica, where surfing fuels a major part of the economy, these developments offer lessons. Places like Pavones and Tamarindo face similar pressures from tourism booms and infrastructure. Local groups here already advocate for marine parks, and observing neighbors’ progress could strengthen those calls. Sustainable practices ensure spots remain attractive without degrading the environment. Experts point out economic ties. Studies show protected surf areas boost visitor spending on lodging, gear, and guides. In Peru, for instance, conserved waves support small businesses that rely on consistent conditions. Chile’s new law includes provisions for community input, which could model inclusive planning. Challenges persist. Enforcement varies, and some projects slip through despite rules. In Ecuador, gathering enough support tests grassroots strength. Yet successes build momentum, inspiring Mexico and Panama to draft their own bills. As Latin American nations balance growth and preservation, surfing activism shows how sports can drive policy. For travelers, it means more reliable destinations that prioritize long-term health over short gains. Costa Rica, with its established eco-tourism focus, stands to gain by aligning with this regional wave. The post Surfing Activism Takes Hold Across Latin America appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Buddhist Monks Persist in Peace Walk Despite Injuries as Thousands Follow Them on Social Media

A group of Buddhist monks is persevering in their peace walk across much of the U.S. even after two participants were injured when a truck hit their escort vehicle

ATLANTA (AP) — A group of Buddhist monks is persevering in their walking trek across much of the U.S. to promote peace, even after two of its members were injured when a truck hit their escort vehicle.After starting their walk in Fort Worth, Texas, on Oct. 26, the group of about two dozen monks has made it to Georgia as they continue on a path to Washington, D.C., highlighting Buddhism's long tradition of activism for peace.The group planned to walk its latest segment through Georgia on Tuesday from the town of Morrow to Decatur, on the eastern edge of Atlanta. Marking day 66 of the walk, the group invited the public to a Peace Gathering in Decatur Tuesday afternoon.The monks and their loyal dog Aloka are traveling through 10 states en route to Washington, D.C. In coming days, they plan to pass through or very close to Athens, Georgia; the North Carolina cities of Charlotte, Greensboro and Raleigh; and Richmond, Virginia, on their way to the nation’s capital city.The group has amassed a huge audience on social media, with more than 400,000 followers on Facebook. Aloka has its own hashtag, #AlokathePeaceDog.The group's Facebook page is frequently updated with progress reports, inspirational notes and poetry.“We do not walk alone. We walk together with every person whose heart has opened to peace, whose spirit has chosen kindness, whose daily life has become a garden where understanding grows," the group posted recently.The trek has not been without danger. Last month outside Houston, the monks were walking on the side of a highway near Dayton, Texas, when their escort vehicle, which had its hazard lights on, was hit by a truck, Dayton Interim Police Chief Shane Burleigh said.The truck “didn’t notice how slow the vehicle was going, tried to make an evasive maneuver to drive around the vehicle, and didn’t do it in time,” Burleigh said at the time. “It struck the escort vehicle in the rear left, pushed the escort into two of the monks.”One of the monks had “substantial leg injuries” and was flown by helicopter to a hospital in Houston, Burleigh said. The other monk with less serious injuries was taken by ambulance to another hospital in suburban Houston. The monk who sustained the serious leg injuries was expected to have a series of surgeries to heal a broken bone, but his prognosis for recovery was good, a spokeswoman for the group said.Buddhism is a religion and philosophy that evolved from the teachings of Gautama Buddha, a prince turned teacher who is believed to have lived in northern India and attained enlightenment between the 6th and 4th centuries B.C. The religion spread to other parts of Asia after his death and came to the West in the 20th century. The Buddha taught that the path to end suffering and become liberated from the cycle of birth, death and reincarnation, includes the practice of non-violence, mental discipline through meditation and showing compassion for all beings.While Buddhism has branched into a number of sects over the centuries, its rich tradition of peace activism continues. Its social teaching was pioneered by figures like the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh, who have applied core principles of compassion and non-violence to political, environmental and social justice as well as peace-building efforts around the world.Associated Press Writers Jeff Martin in Atlanta and Deepa Bharath in Los Angeles contributed.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – December 2025

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