Cookies help us run our site more efficiently.

By clicking “Accept”, you agree to the storing of cookies on your device to enhance site navigation, analyze site usage, and assist in our marketing efforts. View our Privacy Policy for more information or to customize your cookie preferences.

GoGreenNation News

Learn more about the issues presented in our films
Show Filters

In the hills of Italy, wolves returned from the brink. Then the poisonings began

Strict laws saved the country’s wolves from extinction. Now conservationists believe their relaxation could embolden vigilantesHigh on a mountain pass near the town of Cocullo in central Italy lay six black sacks. Inside were nine wolves, including a pregnant female and seven youngsters – an entire pack. They had eaten slabs of poisoned veal left out a few days earlier, dying over the hours that followed, snarls of pain fixed on their faces.Three griffon vultures and two ravens were also killed, probably alongside more animals that went into hiding, dying out of sight. Poison creates a succession of death, spreading through entire food chains and contaminating land and water for years. Continue reading...

High on a mountain pass near the town of Cocullo in central Italy lay six black sacks. Inside were nine wolves, including a pregnant female and seven youngsters – an entire pack. They had eaten slabs of poisoned veal left out a few days earlier, dying over the hours that followed, snarls of pain fixed on their faces.Three griffon vultures and two ravens were also killed, probably alongside more animals that went into hiding, dying out of sight. Poison creates a succession of death, spreading through entire food chains and contaminating land and water for years.The incident in 2023, was described as “culturally medieval” by national park authorities. “It was a bad day for the whole team,” says Nicolò Borgianni, a vulture field officer with Rewilding Apennines, who still remembers what a beautiful May day it was when the animals perished: alpine flowers poking through the grass and snow still dusting mountain peaks on the horizon from the 1,300-metre viewpoint. “But there are many cases like this one.”The bags containing nine wolves poisoned in Cocullo. No one was prosecuted for the deaths. Photograph: HandoutLike all poisoning events in this area, no one was prosecuted. The corpses were disposed of and life moved on. Now the ground is grubbed up from wild boars digging their snouts in the dirt looking for bulbs to eat.Downgrading wolf protection is a misguided decision. It offers no real help to rural communitiesIn the 1970s, wolves were on the brink of extinction in Italy, but thanks to strict protections and conservation efforts, there are now more than 3,000 of them. In many areas of Europe, farmers are having to learn to live alongside wolves again as they return to places they have been absent from for hundreds of years – and many are concerned that they prey on livestock. The story unfolding in this small valley in Italy is being repeated all over Europe. “Farmers feel abandoned by government, so they solve their problems on their own,” says Borgianni.From March 2025, the EU is relaxing its protections from “strictly protected” to “protected”, which means if wolves are perceived as a threat to rural communities, states can organise culls. Poisonings such as the one in Cocullo will remain illegal, but conservationists fear the relaxation of protections will empower vigilantes.Angela Tavone, a communications manager from Rewilding Apennines, is worried this will create more “chains of death” like the one two years ago. “Groups of farmers can feel more free to act against wolves because of the change in the EU law,” she says.Angela Tavone and Nicolò Borgianni inspect a horse skull. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianWhoever killed the wolf pack in 2023 failed to keep wolves away. Months later, another pack moved in. Nearly two years later, on that same spot, there are half a dozen wolf droppings, some just a few weeks old. The pack’s territory overlaps with mountain pastures used for cattle and sheep in spring and summer. Wild boar makes up most of the wolves’ diet here, but you can also spot hairs from cows or horses in the droppings. Borgianni estimates about 10% of their diet is livestock. One pack monitored by scientists in the region appeared to be eating closer to 70% during winter.Vultures are often the sentinels of a poisoning event. The Apennines has the highest number of GPS-tagged vultures in a single population, so observers know something is wrong if their tags stop moving. “If you investigate, you find these incidents,” says Borgianni. They are social animals and up to 60 birds can feed on a single carcass, so dozens can be wiped out quickly. Since 2021 the Rewilding Apennines team has picked up 85 carcasses across all species.An Apennine wolf pup carrying part of a red deer in Abruzzo, Italy. One poisoning event can kill a whole pack. Photograph: Nature Picture Library/AlamyPredator poisoning is an issue across Europe – and the world – but we know little about the extent of it, because animals generally die out of sight. Farmers say these apex predators threaten their livelihoods – and resolving the conflicts is complex.Down in the valley, Cristian Guido’s family farm and restaurant Il Castellaccio back on to fresh mountain pastures. Twenty years ago, when he started farming, there were not many wolves around. Two nights ago, CCTV cameras captured a pair of wolves wandering through the yard. Guido can sometimes hear them howling from the woods by the farm.Cristian Guido at his family farm and restaurant. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianFrom May, his 90 sheep go up into the hills every day to fatten on the succulent grasses, and come down in the evenings. One day last October, 18 of them didn’t come back. Guido believes wolves were to blame, perhaps chasing the sheep off a cliff.I find wolves beautiful, but I keep asking for help. It is just not possible to keep them awayThere was no evidence they had been killed by a wolf (there often is not) so he got no compensation. Now, when he takes his animals up in the morning, he doesn’t know if they will all come back. “I fear that will happen again,” he says.He is not alone. “Other farms suffered the same loss,” he says. In the past few years, half a dozen dead wolves have been hung up by roads and bus stops by people protesting at their return.“I find wolves beautiful, but I keep asking for help. It is just not possible to keep them away. And I’m aware if you shoot them, you will get more and more damage,” he says. Guido believes protections for wolves should not have been downgraded, but that farmers must be given more support.The bones of a horse in ⁨Cocullo⁩, ⁨Abruzzo. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianThis would include making compensation easier to claim and quicker to be distributed. There should be more support for farmers constructing wolf-proof fences near their properties, he believes.Research this year looking at wolf-farmer conflicts in northern Greece found wolves were often scapegoats for deep-rooted issues, such as financial challenges, poor government policies on protection of livelihoods, a changing climate, lack of services and rural depopulation. “Our findings emphasise that while wolves impact farmers, economic and policy-related factors play a greater role,” the researchers concluded. The study found fair compensation schemes were essential for coexistence.These findings are echoed by a coalition of NGOs, including BirdLife Europe, ClientEarth and the European Environmental Bureau, which say that instead of providing support for farmers living alongside wolves, the EU has allowed them to be culled. “Downgrading wolf protection is a misguided decision that prioritises political gains over science and will further polarise the debate,” say the NGOs. “It offers no real help to rural communities.”Virginia Sciore is a farmer with 150 goats grazing on pastures in the Morrone mountains. Since 2018 she has lost five goats. “You can see in the eyes of the goats they are terrified – something happened in the mountain,” she says. Sometimes, she finds a collar or tuft of hair, but usually they disappear without a trace, so she doesn’t claim compensation. “I don’t know if it was a wolf,” she says.“The majority of farmers don’t believe in coexistence,” Sciore says. “They have stories about wolves that have been imported. They want to believe these things. People are angry and it’s projected on to the wolf.”Virginia Sciore has lost five of her 150 goats since 2018. Photograph: Angela Tavone/Rewilding ApenninesThe conflict over wolves comes amid a wider shift away from environmental protections across Europe. Last year, EU leaders scaled back plans to cut pollution and protect habitats after angry protests from farmers, as a law to restore nature was turned into a political punching bag. “It’s a low moment historically to face this issue,” says Tavone.The Cucollo incident was a turning point for the Rewilding Apennines team. In response, they created their first anti-poison dog unit. A malinois dog called Wild – who at six months old is still in training – will, in the coming months, sniff out potential poisoning incidents.As spring approaches, so too does the most dangerous time for poisoning events, as farmers look to protect young and vulnerable livestock. Catching poisoning incidents quickly is key – and Wild will help with that. Those fighting to protect wildlife are increasing their efforts. “The war is still going on,” says Tavone.The mountains around Cocullo⁩. As spring approaches, poisoning events usually spike as farmers try to protect young animals. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The Guardian

When a 1-in-100 year flood washed through the Coorong, it made the vital microbiome of this lagoon healthier

The 2022 floods triggered shifts in the Coorong’s microbiome—similar to our gut bacteria on new diets—revealing why freshwater flows are vital to wetland health.

Darcy Whittaker, CC BYYou might know South Australia’s iconic Coorong from the famous Australian children’s book, Storm Boy, set around this coastal lagoon. This internationally important wetland is sacred to the Ngarrindjeri people and a haven for migratory birds. The lagoon is the final stop for the Murray River’s waters before they reach the sea. Tens of thousands of migratory waterbirds visit annually. Pelicans, plovers, terns and ibises nest, while orange-bellied parrots visit and Murray Cod swim. But there are other important inhabitants – trillions of microscopic organisms. You might not give much thought to the sedimentary microbes of a lagoon. But these tiny microbes in the mud are vital to river ecosystems, quietly cycling nutrients and supporting the food web. Healthy microbes make for a healthy Coorong – and this unassuming lagoon is a key indicator for the health of the entire Murray-Darling Basin. For decades, the Coorong has been in poor health. Low water flows have concentrated salt and an excess of nutrients. But in 2022, torrential rains on the east coast turned into a once-in-a-century flood, which swept down the Murray into the Coorong. In our new research, we took the pulse of the Coorong’s microbiome after this huge flood and found the surging fresh water corrected microbial imbalances. The numbers of methane producing microbes fell while beneficial nutrient-eating bacteria grew. Populations of plants, animals and invertebrates boomed. We can’t just wait for irregular floods – we have to find ways to ensure enough water is left in the river to cleanse the Coorong naturally. Under a scanning electron micrograph, the mixed community of microbes in water is visible. This image shows a seawater sample. Sophie Leterme/Flinders University, CC BY Rivers have microbiomes, just like us Our gut microbes can change after a heavy meal or in response to dietary changes. In humans, a sudden shift in diet can encourage either helpful or harmful microbes. In the same way, aquatic microbes respond to changes in salinity and freshwater flows. Depending on what changes are happening, some species boom and others bust. As water gets saltier in brackish lagoons, communities of microbes have to adapt or die. High salinity often favours microbes with anaerobic metabolisms, meaning they don’t need oxygen. But these tiny lifeforms often produce the highly potent greenhouse gas methane. The microbes in wetlands are a large natural source of the gas. While we know pulses of freshwater are vital for river health, they don’t happen often enough. The waters of the Murray-Darling Basin support most of Australia’s irrigated farming. Negotiations over how to ensure adequate environmental flows have been fraught – and long-running. Water buybacks have improved matters somewhat, but researchers have found the river basin’s ecosystems are not in good condition. Wetlands such as the Coorong are a natural source of methane. The saltier the water gets, the more environmentally harmful microbes flourish – potentially producing more methane. Vincent_Nguyen The Coorong is out of balance A century ago, regular pulses of fresh water from the Murray flushed nutrients and sediment out of the Coorong, helping maintain habitat for fish, waterbirds and the plants and invertebrates they eat. While other catchments discharge into the Coorong, the Murray is by far the major water source. Over the next decades, growth in water use for farming meant less water in the river. In the 1930s, barrages were built near the river’s mouth to control nearby lake levels and prevent high salinity moving upstream in the face of reduced river flows. Major droughts have added further stress. Under these low-flow conditions, salt and nutrients get more and more concentrated, reaching extreme levels due to South Australia’s high rate of evaporation. In response, microbial communities can trigger harmful algae blooms or create low-oxygen “dead zones”, suffocating river life. The big flush of 2022 In 2022, torrential rain fell in many parts of eastern Australia. Rainfall on the inland side of the Great Dividing Range filled rivers in the Murray-Darling Basin. That year became the largest flood since 1956. We set about recording the changes. As the salinity fell in ultra-salty areas, local microbial communities in the sediment were reshuffled. The numbers of methane-producing microbes fell sharply. This means the floods would have temporarily reduced the Coorong’s greenhouse footprint. Christopher Keneally sampling for microbes in the Coorong in 2022. Tyler Dornan, CC BY When we talk about harmful bacteria, we’re referring to microbes that emit greenhouse gases such as methane, drive the accumulation of toxic sulfide (such as Desulfobacteraceae), or cause algae blooms (Cyanobacteria) that can sicken people, fish and wildlife. During the flood, beneficial microbes from groups such as Halanaerobiaceae and Beggiatoaceae grew rapidly, consuming nutrients such as nitrogen, which is extremely high in the Coorong. This is very useful to prevent algae blooms. Beggiatoaceae bacteria also remove toxic sulfide compounds. The floods also let plants and invertebrates bounce back, flushed out salt and supported a healthier food web. On balance, we found the 2022 flood was positive for the Coorong. It’s as if the Coorong switched packets of chips for carrot sticks – the flood pulse reduced harmful bacteria and encouraged beneficial ones. While the variety of microbes shrank in some areas, those remaining performed key functions helping keep the ecosystem in balance. From 2022 to 2023, consistent high flows let native fish and aquatic plants bounce back, in turn improving feeding grounds for birds and allowing black swans to thrive. A group of black swans cruise the Coorong’s waters. Darcy Whittaker, CC BY Floods aren’t enough When enough water is allowed to flow down the Murray to the Coorong, ecosystems get healthier. But the Coorong has been in poor health for decades. It can’t just rely on rare flood events. Next year, policymakers will review the Murray-Darling Basin Plan, which sets the rules for sharing water in Australia’s largest and most economically important river system. Balancing our needs with those of other species is tricky. But if we neglect the environment, we risk more degradation and biodiversity loss in the Coorong. As the climate changes and rising water demands squeeze the basin, decision-makers must keep the water flowing for wildlife. Christopher Keneally receives funding from the Australian Government Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water. His research is affiliated with The University of Adelaide and the Goyder Institute for Water Research. Chris is also a committee member and former president of the Biology Society of South Australia, and a member of the Australian Freshwater Sciences Society.Matt Gibbs receives funding from the Australian Government Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water. Sophie Leterme receives funding from the Australian Research Council (ARC). Her research is affiliated with Flinders University, with the ARC Training Centre for Biofilm Research & Innovation, and with the Goyder Institute for Water Research.Justin Brookes does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

I’m a vet for bees – I think I might be the only one in the US

Every bee is precious, and as the weather gets more erratic I’m growing concerned about the effect it is having on their wellbeingRead about our invertebrate of the year competition herePhotographs by Kate MedleyI’m an only child and grew up in the US in a time when children were free-range. My parents would open the door in the morning and say, “come back for meals.” I would disappear into the forest and wetlands. I loved the constant stories around me that I didn’t understand: the stories of animals.When I was about seven there was a litter of kittens in the house, and a board crushed one of the kittens. The vet examined her mouth and said, “she’s not going to make it”, and minutes later she died in his hands. I couldn’t understand how he knew that – I wanted that superpower to understand animals, and that is why I wanted to become a vet. I got a degree and have been working as an environmental health scientist for more than 25 years. Continue reading...

I’m an only child and grew up in the US in a time when children were free-range. My parents would open the door in the morning and say, “come back for meals.” I would disappear into the forest and wetlands. I loved the constant stories around me that I didn’t understand: the stories of animals.When I was about seven there was a litter of kittens in the house, and a board crushed one of the kittens. The vet examined her mouth and said, “she’s not going to make it”, and minutes later she died in his hands. I couldn’t understand how he knew that – I wanted that superpower to understand animals, and that is why I wanted to become a vet. I got a degree and have been working as an environmental health scientist for more than 25 years.In 2017, because of concerns about antibiotic resistance in humans, the US government changed the rules, which meant beekeepers could no longer buy the drugs over the counter. So they needed a veterinarian to prescribe them, and that’s why I decided to create a veterinary practice for bees.Elizabeth Hilborn checking hives in Orange county, North Carolina Photograph: Kate MedleyThis may make me unique in the US – I don’t know anyone else who is just a bee vet. I’ve been growing fruit my whole life, and I wanted to support bees and the people that keep them. I work evenings, weekends and holidays around my day job. I love pollinators; it is such a pleasure and privilege to work with them, so it doesn’t seem like work.I have clients who have worked with bees for a long time. They say: “I’m seeing brown larvae, it doesn’t smell right, can you come look?” I suit up and I look at their healthy hives first – I’m examining the whole area, looking at bees coming and going, getting a sense of how they look. Then we go to the ones we suspect to be diseased. To avoid stings, I go in there quietly and respectfully, and that makes the bees comfortable. A common disease is European foulbrood. You can often smell it – it’s almost sweet and musky.Hilborn with her hive checklist Photograph: Kate MedleyOnce I’ve settled on a diagnosis, I give them something which is like a prescription – the beekeepers get the antibiotics and mix it with powdered sugar, which the bees eat.We’ve had terrible weather here. If bees are struggling to find food that can put them at risk of disease. European foulbrood kills the babies. The queen survives, but over weeks or months the colony fails.The jetstream is much less stable than it used to be. For example, last February was really warm, and wild bees were coming out of hibernation and there was nothing there for them to eat. This is one of the leading risks to bee health – this mismatch in timing. They need access to flowers, but the flowers are not out. This is a huge stressor on animal populations in general.Checking on the health of a hive. Honeybees are protected in their hives in a way that wild bees aren’t, which Hilborn says is a worry Photograph: Kate MedleyMy first approach to learning this profession was books, but books can only take you so far. I started hanging out with beekeepers and apiarists and then I joined my local bee club.Honeybees are protected from some environmental pressures because we house them, we feed them, we care for them. It is the wild bees I’m extremely worried about: they don’t have anyone to care for them – they depend on how well the environment is supporting them. I’m concerned about the erratic weather; we have some trends which make it very difficult for honeybees and wild bees.I feel like every bee is so precious now, especially early in the year. That is often when the wild bee queens are out and may be distressed. And by saving her, that can save a whole colony. So there’s a lot resting on that one bee: if I can help her, I will.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

Polluting industries like salmon farming need to be properly regulated, not let off the hook | Kelly O’Shanassy

The government appears willing to put the future of an entire unique Australian species at risk at the behest of one industry. The hypocrisy is mind-bogglingThe anger I have witnessed over the past few days within the environment and climate movement has been extraordinary.I have spent the past four days in emergency meetings with leaders across the environment movement furiously responding to Anthony Albanese’s latest attack on nature. Continue reading...

The anger I have witnessed over the past few days within the environment and climate movement has been extraordinary.I have spent the past four days in emergency meetings with leaders across the environment movement furiously responding to Anthony Albanese’s latest attack on nature.The government’s carve-out for the salmon industry means the environment is more poorly protected at the end of its three-year term than it was at the start of it.In case you missed it, the government has introduced amendments to the national nature protection law that sideline the environment minister and effectively terminate a review of the impact foreign-owned salmon farming companies are having on the endangered Maugean skate and the adjacent world heritage area on Tasmania’s west coast.The prime minister came to government in 2022 promising to strengthen Australia’s failing nature laws. But nearing the end this term, this move to push through a bill to weaken those very laws has damaged Labor’s environmental credentials.The Coalition is expected to support the amendments.Peter Dutton’s comments in the past week show he is in favour of overriding established protections and processes on behalf of other destructive and polluting industries.You may not have heard of the Maugean skate before and you might be wondering why this species has suddenly become the poster child for Australia’s broken nature laws.The skate is a flat-bodied ancient ray – a bit like a stingray – that grows to about a ruler-and-a-half in length from its pointy snout to the tip of its tail. It is found only in Macquarie Harbour in Tasmania.It may soon join the sorry list of extinct Australian species.Pollution, including from salmon farming, can lead to conditions that choke the skates to death.In the 2019 storms, the harbour was basically flipped upside down, with oxygen-depleted bottom waters pushed up the water column, suffocating nearly half the skate population in shallower waters. This could happen again.Scientists agree Maugean skate numbers remain perilously low and the imminent extinction risk remains unchanged, as does the threat of salmon farming to the species.The federal government acknowledges all of this. Its own conservation advice for the Maugean skate describes the pollution created by salmon farming in Macquarie Harbour as being “catastrophic” for the endangered fish.Tuesday night’s budget allocated $3m for a captive breeding program for the Maugean skate. And the federal government has earmarked millions of dollars to oxygenate Macquarie Harbour.In other words, public money is being used to breed an “insurance” population of the endangered fish and clean up the salmon industry’s putrid mess.Surely the more economical – not to mention ethical – approach would be to protect the skate’s natural habitat and compensate and support the career transitions of local salmon workers?But here we are. The Maugean skate survived the mass extinction of the dinosaurs 66m years ago. Now it could be snuffed out by a reckless pre-election promise from the Albanese government.Earlier this month the prime minister publicly expressed his outrage when a so-called “hunting influencer” visiting Australia from the US filmed herself for social media wrenching a wombat joey away from its mother.Yet now, Albanese appears willing to put the future of an entire unique Australian species at risk at the behest of one industry. The hypocrisy is mind-boggling.But the impact of these legislative changes extends far beyond that.They could encourage big polluters to seek other industry-specific carve-outs – creating open season on nature. They will make it harder for communities to challenge destructive coal, gas and deforestation projects too.This is bad law-making and bad process – rushed through in the shadow of an election.It’s a middle finger to every one of us who has raised their voice for strong nature laws that would stop the destruction of Australia’s precious forests, oceans and wildlife.The Albanese government has fumbled reforms to our broken nature laws for three years. Now, with an election looming, the prime minister has hurried a bill into parliament that means nature has less protection that it did when he came to office.Polluting industries like salmon farming need to be properly regulated, not let off the hook.We call on all Australians who love nature and care about the future to urge Labor MPs and candidates to dump these amendments and deliver full reform of Australia’s failed nature laws in the first 12 months of a new term of government.

An ‘Impossible’ Disease Outbreak in the Alps

In one tiny town, more than a dozen people were diagnosed with the rare neurodegenerative disease ALS. Why?

Photographs by Elliott VerdierIn March 2009, after a long night on duty at the hospital, Emmeline Lagrange took a deep breath and prepared to place a devastating phone call. Lagrange, a neurologist, had diagnosed a 42-year-old woman with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS. The woman lived in a small village in the French Alps, an hour and a half drive away from Lagrange’s office in Grenoble Alpes University Hospital. Because ALS is rare, Lagrange expected that the patient’s general practitioner, Valerie Foucault, had never seen a case before.Snow fell outside Lagrange’s window as she got ready to describe how ALS inevitably paralyzes and kills its victims. But to her surprise, as soon as she shared the diagnosis, Foucault responded, “I know this disease very well, because she is the fourth in my village.”ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, occurs in roughly two to three people out of every 100,000 in Europe. (The rate is slightly higher in the United States.) But every so often, hot spots emerge. Elevated ALS rates have been observed around a lagoon in France, surrounding a lake in New Hampshire, within a single apartment building in Montreal, and on the eastern—but not western—flank of Italy’s Mount Etna. Such patterns have confounded scientists, who have spent 150 years searching for what causes the disease. Much of the recent research has focused on the genetics of ALS, but clusters provocatively suggest that environmental factors have a leading role. And each new cluster offers scientists a rare chance to clarify what those environmental influences may be—if they can study it fast enough. Many clusters fade away as mysteriously as they once appeared.After the call, Lagrange was uneasy; she had a hunch about how much work lay ahead of her. For the next decade, she and a team of scientists investigated the cluster in the Alps, which eventually grew to include 16 people—a total 10 times higher than the area’s small population should have produced. Even during that first call, when Lagrange knew about only four cases of ALS, she felt dazed by the implications, and by Foucault’s desperate plea for help. If something in the village was behind the disturbing numbers, Foucault had no idea what it was. “She was really upset,” Lagrange remembers. “She said to me, ‘This is impossible; you must stop this.’”For some people, the trouble begins in the throat. As their muscles waste, swallowing liquids becomes a strenuous activity. Others may first notice difficulty moving an arm or a leg. “Every day, we see that they lose something,” Foucault said of her patients. “You lose a finger, or you lose your laugh.” Eventually, enough motor neurons in the brain or spinal cord die that people simply cannot breathe. Lou Gehrig died two years after his diagnosis, when he was just 37. Stephen Hawking, an anomaly, lived with ALS until he was 76.Five to 10 percent of people with ALS have a family member with the disease. In the 2000s, advancements in DNA sequencing led to a swell of genetic research that found that about two-thirds of those familial cases are connected to a handful of genetic mutations. But only one in 10 cases of ALS in which patients have no family history of the disease can be connected to genetic abnormalities. “What we have to then explain is how, in the absence of genetic mutation, you get to the same destination,” Neil Schneider, the director of Columbia’s Eleanor and Lou Gehrig ALS Center, told me.Scientists have come up with several hypotheses for how ALS develops, each more complicated and harder to study than genetics alone. One suggests that ALS is caused by a combination of genetic disposition and environmental exposures throughout a lifetime. Another suggests that the disease develops after one person receives six cumulative “hits,” which can be genetic mutations, exposures to toxins, and perhaps even lifestyle factors such as smoking.Elliott Verdier for The AtlanticEmmeline Lagrange stands in her office at Grenoble University Hospital.Each time a cluster appears, researchers have tried to pin down the exact environmental hazards, professions, and activities that might be linked to it. After World War II, a neurodegenerative disease that looked just like ALS—though some patients also showed features of Parkinson’s and dementia—surged in Guam, predominantly among the native Chamorro people. “Imagine walking into a village where 25 percent of the people are dying from ALS,” says Paul Alan Cox, an ethnobotanist who studied the outbreak. “It was like an Agatha Christie novel: Who’s the murderer?”Early research tried to pin the deaths on an unlikely culprit: the highly toxic cycad plant and its seeds, which locals ground into flour to make tortillas. Cox and his colleagues hypothesize that human cells mistake a compound called BMAA found in the plant for another amino acid, leading to misfolded proteins in the brain. Peter Spencer, an environmental neuroscientist at Oregon Health & Science University, has argued for a different explanation: The body converts cycasin, a compound also found in the plant’s seeds, into a toxic chemical that can cause DNA damage and, eventually, neurodegeneration. Each theory faced its own criticism, and a consensus was never reached—except for perhaps an overarching tacit agreement that the environment was somehow integral to the story. By the end of the 20th century, the Guam cluster had all but vanished.Genetic mutations are precise; the world is messy. This is partly why ALS research still focuses on genes, Evelyn Talbott, an environmental epidemiologist at the University of Pittsburgh, told me. It’s also why clusters, muddled as they might be, are so valuable: They give scientists the chance to find what’s lurking in the mess.Montchavin was a mining town until 1886, when the mine closed, leaving the village largely deserted. In 1973, it was connected to a larger network of winter-tourism destinations in the Alps. On a sunny December afternoon, the week before ski season officially began, I met Foucault outside of the church in the center of Bellentre, a town of 900 whose borders include Montchavin and neighboring villages. The mountains loomed over us, not yet capped with much snow, as she greeted me in a puffer coat. She led me briskly up a steep hill, chatting in a mix of French and English, until we arrived at her home, which she occasionally uses as an office to see patients.Foucault made us a pot of black tea, then set down a notepad of scrawled diagnoses and death dates on the table beside her. The first person Foucault knew with ALS lived a stone’s throw from where we were sitting, in a house down the hill; he had been diagnosed in 1991. The second case was a ski instructor, Daniel, who lived in Montchavin and had a chalet near Les Coches, a ski village five minutes up a switchback road by car. Daniel, whose family requested that I use only his first name for medical privacy, had told Foucault in 2000 that he was having trouble speaking, so she’d sent him to a larynx specialist. When the specialist found nothing wrong with his throat, Daniel was referred to a neurologist in Grenoble, who diagnosed him with ALS.In 2005, after Foucault heard that the husband of one of her general-medicine patients had been diagnosed with ALS, she called her father, a heart doctor in Normandy. “It’s not normal,” he told her. A few years later, she saw one of her patients, the 42-year-old woman, in the village center with her arm hanging limp from her body. Even before the woman received her ALS diagnosis from Lagrange, Foucault suspected the worst.Elliott Verdier for The AtlanticValerie Foucault stands in her backyard in Bellentre.After her call with Foucault, Lagrange assembled a team of neurologists and collaborators from the French government to search for an environmental spark that might have set off the cluster in Montchavin. They tested for heavy metals in the drinking water, toxins in the soil, and pollutants in the air. When the village was turned into a ski destination in the 1970s, builders had repurposed wood from old train cars to build garden beds—so the team checked the environment for creosote, a chemical used in the manufacture of those train cars. They screened for compounds from an artificial snow used in the ’80s. They checked gardens, wells, and even the brain of one deceased ALS patient. Years passed, and nothing significant was found.The day after I had tea with Foucault, I visited Lagrange at the hospital. Her voice faltered as she ruffled through the piles of papers from their investigation on her desk. She’d cared for most of Montchavin’s ALS patients from their diagnosis to death. She worked in Montchavin on the weekends and took her family vacations there. “I felt responsible for them,” she said. “People were telling me, This is genetic. They all live together; they must be cousins. I knew it was not so.” Lagrange’s team had tested the genomes of 12 people in the Montchavin cluster, and none had mutations that were associated with ALS. Nor did any of the patients have parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents with ALS.But their lives did overlap in other meaningful ways. The first Montchavin cases worked together as ski instructors and had chalets in a wooded patch of land called L’Orgère, up the mountain. Many of them hiked together; others simply enjoyed spending time in nature. “We thought they must have something in common, something that they would eat or drink,” Lagrange told me, sitting in her desk chair in a white lab coat and thick brown-framed glasses. She handed me a daunting packet: a questionnaire she’d developed for the ALS patients, their families, and hundreds of people without the disease who lived in the area. The survey, which took about three hours to complete, asked about lifestyle, eating habits, hobbies, jobs, everywhere they had lived, and more. It revealed that the ALS patients consistently ate three foods that the controls didn’t: game, dandelion greens, and wild mushrooms.Lagrange’s team didn’t immediately suspect the mushrooms. But Spencer, the environmental neuroscientist in Oregon, did after he saw one of Lagrange’s colleagues present on the Montchavin cluster at a 2017 conference. Having researched the role of the cycad seed in the Guam cluster, Spencer knew that some mushrooms contain toxins that can powerfully affect the nervous system.Spencer joined the research group, and in 2018, he accompanied Lagrange to Montchavin to distribute more surveys and conduct in-person interviews about the victims’ and other locals’ diets— the pair had particular interest in people’s mushroom consumption. From the responses, the team learned that the ALS patients were not the only mushroom foragers in town, but they shared an affinity for a particular species that local interviewees without ALS said they never touched: the false morel.Elliott Verdier for The AtlanticThe streets of Montchavin are quiet before ski season begins.A false morel looks like a brain that has been left out in the sun. Its cap is a shriveled mass of brown folds, darker than the caramel hue of the true morel. One species, Gyromitra esculenta, grew around Montchavin and was especially abundant near the ski chalets in spring if enough snow had fallen the preceding winter. France has a rich foraging culture, and the false morel was just one of many species mushroom enthusiasts in Montchavin might pick up to sauté with butter and herbs. The false morel contains gyromitrin, a toxin that sickens some number of foragers around the world every year; half of the ALS victims in Montchavin reported a time when they had acute mushroom poisoning. And according to Spencer, the human body may also metabolize gyromitrin into a compound that, over time, might lead to similar DNA damage as cycad seeds.No one can yet say that the false morel caused ALS in Montchavin; Lagrange plans to test the mushroom or its toxin in animal models to help establish whether it leads to neurodegeneration. Nevertheless, Spencer feels that the connection between Montchavin and Guam is profound—that the cluster in the Alps is another indication that environmental triggers can be strongly associated with neurodegenerative disease.Once you start looking, the sheer variety of potential environmental catalysts for ALS becomes overwhelming: pesticides, heavy metals, air pollution, bodies of water with cyanobacteria blooms. Military service is associated with higher ALS risk, as is being a professional football player, a painter, a farmer, or a mechanic. Because of how wide-ranging these findings are, some researchers doubt the utility of environmental research for people with ALS. Maybe the causes are too varied to add up to a meaningful story about ALS, and each leads to clusters in a different way. Or perhaps, Jeffrey Rothstein, a Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine neurologist, told me, a cluster means nothing; it’s simply a rare statistical aberration. “Patients are always looking for some reason why they have such a terrible disease,” he said. “There’s been plenty of blips like this over time in ALS, and each one has its own little thought of what’s causing it, and they’ve all gone nowhere.”“A lot of people look askew to the idea that there are clusters,” Eva Feldman, a neurologist at the University of Michigan, told me. But she sees evidence of clusters all the time in her practice. Once, she saw three women with ALS who’d grown up within blocks of one another in the Grand Rapids area. Her research has shown an association between ALS and organic pollutants, particularly pesticides. Feldman thinks that the importance and scope of environmental triggers for ALS can be pinpointed only by investigating clusters more thoroughly. To start, she told me, doctors should be required to disclose every case of ALS to state officials. Feldman is also planning what she says is the first-ever prospective study on ALS in the U.S., following 4,000 healthy production workers in Michigan. She believes that clusters have significance and that because doctors can’t do much to stop ALS once it starts, “we would be naive to throw out any new ideas” about how to prevent it from occurring in the first place.Even for the people whose lives were upended by the Montchavin cluster, the idea that mushrooms could be linked to such suffering can be difficult to accept. Those who ate them knew the mushrooms could cause unpleasant side effects, but they believed that cooking them removed most of the danger. When I asked Claude Houbart, whose father, Gilles, died in 2019, about his mushroom habits, she called her mother and put her on speakerphone. Claude’s mother said she knew Gilles ate false morels, but she never cooked them for herself or the family—simply because she didn’t want to risk upset stomachs.Daniel, Foucault’s second ALS patient, also kept his foraging hobby out of the home. He never ate false morels in front of his wife, Brigitte, though she knew he picked wild mushrooms with friends. “I am a bit reluctant when it comes to mushrooms; I would have never cooked them,” Brigitte told me, sitting at her kitchen table in Montchavin, surrounded by photos of Daniel and their now-adult children. After Daniel died in 2008, Brigitte and her family spread his ashes in the woods where he’d spent so much of his time. “He didn’t want a tomb like everyone else,” she said. “When we walk in the forest, we think about him.”Elliott Verdier for The AtlanticBrigitte sits in her home in Montchavin.Hervé Fino, a retired vacation-company manager who has lived in the Alps for 41 years, learned to forage in Montchavin. Bundled in a plaid overcoat inside a wood-paneled rental chalet, Fino recalled local foragers telling him that false morels were edible as long as they were well cooked, but he never ate the mushrooms himself, fearing their digestive effects. Fino told me about one of his friends who regularly gathered false morels, and once made himself a false-morel omelet when his wife was out of town. “He was sick for two days, very ill,” Fino said. Later, that same friend was diagnosed with ALS. He died by suicide.In a gruff voice, Fino speculated about what besides the mushroom might have caused the disease. His friend fell into an icy-cold brook two days before he was diagnosed—“Perhaps the shock triggered the disease?” Another woman owned a failing restaurant next to the cable car—maybe the stress had something to do with it. He shrugged his shoulders. Those events didn’t seem right either, not momentous enough to so dramatically alter someone’s fate. Maybe no single explanation ever will. Claude told me she understands why people are skeptical. “Eating a mushroom and then dying in that way?” she said. “Come on.”Before leaving Montchavin, I walked through L’Orgère, the area where the first ALS patients had their ski cabins. The windows were dark, and below, the village of Montchavin was mostly empty before the tourist season began. Clumps of snow started to fall, hopefully enough to satisfy the skiers. Recent winters in the French Alps have been warm and dry—not the right conditions for false morels. “There are no more Gyromitra in Montchavin,” Lagrange said. In her view, Montchavin has joined the ranks of ALS clusters come and gone; no one has been diagnosed there since 2019, and it’s been longer since Lagrange’s team has turned up a fresh false-morel specimen.Even so, on my walk, I couldn’t help but scan for mushrooms, nor could I shake the feeling that my surroundings were not as benign as I’d once believed. Fino said he still keeps an eye out for false morels too. He would never pluck them from the ground to bring home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped looking. One day in 2023, after he parked his car near a ski lift, his gaze caught on a lumpy spot near his feet. Two dark-brown mushrooms stuck out of the damp soil.Elliott Verdier for The AtlanticHervé Fino walks in the snow near Montchavin.

Alaska Natives Want the Military to Finally Clean Up Its Toxic Waste

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration. In June 1942, Japan’s invasion of the Aleutian islands in Alaska prompted the US military to activate the Alaska territorial guard, an Army reserve made up of volunteers who wanted to help protect the US. So many of the volunteers […]

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration. In June 1942, Japan’s invasion of the Aleutian islands in Alaska prompted the US military to activate the Alaska territorial guard, an Army reserve made up of volunteers who wanted to help protect the US. So many of the volunteers were from Alaska’s Indigenous peoples—Aleut, Inupiak, Yupik, Tlingit, and many others—that the guard was nicknamed the “Eskimo Scouts.”  When World War II ended and the reserve force ceased operations in 1947, the US approached the Indigenous Yupik people of Alaska with another ask: Could the Air Force set up “listening posts” on the island of Sivuqaq, also known as St. Lawrence Island, to help with the intelligence gathering needed to win the Cold War?   Viola Waghiyi, who is Yupik from Sivuqaq, said the answer was a resounding yes.  “Our grandfathers and fathers volunteered for the Alaska territorial guard,” she said. “We were very patriotic.”  But that trust was abused, Waghiyi said. The US military eventually abandoned its Air Force and Army bases, leaving the land polluted with toxic chemicals such as fuel, mercury, and polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), which are known as “forever chemicals” because they persist so long in the environment. The contamination was largely due to spilled and leaking fuel from storage tanks and pipes, both above ground and below ground. More chemical waste came from electrical transformers, abandoned metals, and 55-gallon drums.  Now, Waghiyi is the environmental health and justice program director at the Alaska Community Action on Toxics, an organization dedicated to limiting the effects of toxic substances on Alaska’s residents and environment. Last week, the organization filed a complaint to the United Nations special rapporteur on toxics and human rights, in partnership with the University of California-Berkeley Environmental Law Clinic.  Their complaint calls for the United Nations to investigate how military waste on Sivuqaq continues to violate the rights of the people who live there, such as the right to a clean and healthy environment and Indigenous peoples’ right to free, prior, and informed consent to what happens on their land.  “By exposing the Yupik people of Sivuqaq to polluted drinking water sources, air, and soil, and by contaminating local native foods; by causing pervasive human exposure to hazardous chemicals through multiple routes; by toxifying the broader ecosystem; and by not cleaning up contamination sufficiently to protect human health and the environment, the US Air Force and Army Corps of Engineers violated human rights long recognized in international law,” the complaint says.  “We wanted our lands to be turned back in the same condition when they turned over.”  This submission from Alaska is part of a larger, global effort to raise awareness of military toxic waste by the United Nations. The UN special rapporteur on toxics and human rights is collecting public input on military activities and toxic waste until April 1. The information collected will be used in a report presented to the UN General Assembly in October.  The two shuttered bases in Sivuqaq, Alaska, are now classified as “formerly used defense,” or FUD, sites, overseen by the US Army Corps of Engineers, and more than $130 million has been spent to remove the contamination. John Budnick, a spokesman for the US Army Corps of Engineers in Alaska, said the cleanup is considered complete but that the agency is reviewing the site every five years “to ensure the selected remedies continue to be protective of human health and the environment.”  “We have completed the work at Northeast Cape, but additional follow-up actions may result from the monitoring phase of the Formerly Used Defense Sites Program,” he said. The last site visit occurred last July and an updated review report is expected to be released this summer. The federal Environmental Protection Agency similarly concluded in 2013 that an additional EPA cleanup wouldn’t significantly differ from what the Army Corps of Engineers is doing and declined to place the sites on the EPA’s list of hazardous waste cleanup priorities. A 2022 study found that so far, federal cleanup efforts have been inadequate. “High levels of persistent organic pollutants and toxic metals continue to leach from the Northeast Cape FUD site despite large-scale remediation that occurred in the early 2000s,” the authors concluded.  The persisting pollution has garnered the attention of Alaska’s state Department of Environmental Conservation, which oversees the cleanup of contaminated sites. Stephanie Buss, contaminated sites program manager at the agency, said her office has asked the Army Corps of Engineers to do additional cleanup at Northeast Cape. “These active contaminated sites have not met closure requirements,” she said. The second former base, Gambell, was classified as completed but still lacks land use controls, she noted.  “DEC takes community health concerns seriously and will continue to provide oversight of the conditions at its active sites in accordance with the state’s regulatory framework to ensure an appropriate response that protects human health and welfare,” Buss said. That same 2022 study found that 89 percent of the fish around the Northeast Cape base contained mercury exceeding the levels the EPA deemed appropriate for people who rely on subsistence fishing. “All fish sampled near the FUD site exceeded the EPA’s PCB guidelines for cancer risk for unrestricted human consumption,” the researchers further found. Waghiyi said the contamination displaced 130 people, and has left her friends and family with a lasting legacy of illness.  “It’s not a matter of if we’ll get cancer, but when,” Waghiyi said. Her father died of cancer. Her mother had a stillborn child. Waghiyi herself is a cancer survivor and has had three miscarriages.  “We feel that they have turned their back on us,” Waghiyi said of the U.S. military. “We wanted our lands to be turned back in the same condition when they turned over.”  The US military has a long history of contaminating lands and waters through training and battles sites, including on Indigenous lands. Citizens of the Navajo Nation in Arizona and  Yakama Nation in Washington continue to raise concerns about the ongoing effects of military nuclear testing on their lands and health. In the Marshall Islands, fishing around certain atolls is discouraged due to high rates of toxicity due to nuclear testing and other military training. On Guam, chemicals from an active Air Force base have contaminated parts of the islandʻs sole-source aquifer that serves 70 percent of the population. Last year, a federal report found that climate change threatens to unearth even more US military nuclear waste in both the Marshall Islands and Greenland.  In 2021, the Navy in Hawaiʻi poisoned 90,000 people when jet fuel leached from aging, massive underground storage tanks into the drinking water supply after the Navy ignored years of warning to upgrade the tanks or remove the fuel. The federal government spent hundreds of millions of dollars to remove unexploded ordnance from the island of Kahoʻolawe, a former bombing range in Hawaiʻi, but the island is still considered dangerous to walk on because of the risk of more ordnance unearthing due to extensive erosion.  The complaint filed last week by the Alaska Community Action on Toxics calls for the United Nations to write to federal and state agencies and call upon them to honor a 1951 agreement between the government and the Sivuqaq Yupik people that prohibited polluting the land.  The agreement said that the Sivuqaq Tribes would allow the Air Force to construct surveillance sites to spy on the Soviet Union, but they had four conditions, including allowing Indigenous peoples to continue to hunt, fish and trap where desired and preventing outsiders from killing their game. Finally, the agreement said that “any refuse or garbage will not be dumped in streams or near the beach within the proposed area.”  “The import of the agreement was clear: The military must not despoil the island; must protect the resources critical to Indigenous Yupik inhabitants’ sustenance; and must leave the island in the condition they found it, which ensured their health and well-being,” the Alaska Community Action on Toxics wrote in their complaint.  “This is a burden we didn’t create,” Waghiyi said.

How Climate Change Threatens Costa Rica’s Peatlands

In Costa Rica’s Cordillera de Talamanca, a team of researchers from the Universidad Estatal a Distancia (UNED), Universidad de Costa Rica (UCR), and Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM) has uncovered a vibrant yet vulnerable world of biodiversity. Their study, titled “Flora of High-Mountain Tropical Peatlands: Threats and Management Measures, Cordillera de Talamanca, Costa Rica,” identified […] The post How Climate Change Threatens Costa Rica’s Peatlands appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

In Costa Rica’s Cordillera de Talamanca, a team of researchers from the Universidad Estatal a Distancia (UNED), Universidad de Costa Rica (UCR), and Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM) has uncovered a vibrant yet vulnerable world of biodiversity. Their study, titled “Flora of High-Mountain Tropical Peatlands: Threats and Management Measures, Cordillera de Talamanca, Costa Rica,” identified 67 plant species thriving in the region’s high-mountain tropical peatlands. These unique ecosystems within the Macizo de la Muerte between El Empalme and Cerro Bellavista in Tapantí National Park, span an altitude of 2,400 to 3,100 meters above sea level (m.a.s.l.). The team surveyed five distinct peatlands, revealing both the richness of these habitats and the threats they face. The results painted a striking contrast. Peatlands in the Salsipuedes and Cerro Paramillo sectors, sheltered within protected areas, displayed greater floristic diversity, with a variety of plants adapted to the soggy, high-altitude conditions. However, three peatlands outside state protection—closer to the bustling Inter-American Highway—showed lower biodiversity. Researchers attribute this decline to the “edge effect,” where habitat boundaries disrupt ecosystems, and to agro-productive activities like farming that encroach on these fragile zones. Near the highway, the team observed a shift in plant life, with species requiring less water dominating the landscape—a sign of environmental stress. Peatlands, often overlooked, are vital to the Mesoamerican Hotspot, a globally recognized cradle of biodiversity. Beyond harboring unique flora, they act as natural sponges, storing water and carbon, and serve as sensitive barometers of human influence. The study pinpointed climate change and anthropogenic pressures, such as land development, as major risks. With 40.3% of the inventoried species identified as ecologically significant—either as keystone species supporting other life or as biogeographical rarities—the stakes for conservation are high. Looking ahead, the researchers aim to broaden their exploration across the Cordillera de Talamanca, hoping to gather more data to shape effective management strategies. Their work underscores an urgent call to action: preserving these highland ecosystems is not just about saving plants, but about safeguarding a delicate balance that benefits the region and beyond. As climate pressures mount, these findings could guide Costa Rica—and the world—in protecting nature’s unsung heroes. The post How Climate Change Threatens Costa Rica’s Peatlands appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Murphy, a Beloved Bald Eagle Who Became a Foster Dad, Dies Following Violent Storms in Missouri

A beloved bald eagle who gained popularity after incubating a rock is mourned after dying from head trauma sustained during violent storms in Missouri last week

A beloved bald eagle who gained popularity for incubating a rock in 2023 is being mourned Saturday after the 33-year-old avian died following intense storms that recently moved through Missouri. Murphy, who surpassed the average life span of 25 years, died last week at the World Bird Sanctuary in Valley Park, Missouri. Sanctuary officials believe the violent storms that ripped apart homes and claimed 12 lives last weekend may have factored in the bird's death. They said birds have access to shelters where they can weather storms and the sanctuary has contingency plans for different environmental situations. But evacuations weren't performed since no tornadoes approached the sanctuary. Three other birds who were in the same shelter with Murphy survived. A veterinarian performed a necropsy and found the bald eagle sustained head trauma. “We are unable to determine if Murphy was spooked by something and hit his head while jumping off a perch or if wind and precipitation played a part in the injury,” a statement shared by the sanctuary on social media said. Murphy lived in the sanctuary's Avian Avenue exhibit area and rose to prominence in 2023 when he incubated a rock. His instincts were rewarded when he was allowed to foster an injured eaglet that he nurtured back to health. The eaglet was eventually released back to the wild and another eaglet was entrusted to Murphy's care. The second eaglet is expected to be released into the wild this summer.“In honor of Murphy’s legacy, we plan to name the eventual eagle fostering aviary Murphy’s Manor, so that we can continue to remember him for decades to come,” the sanctuary's statement added.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Feb. 2025

E.P.A. Investigations of Severe Pollution Look Increasingly at Risk

The agency will no longer shut down “any stage of energy production,” absent an imminent threat, a new memo says, and will curtail efforts to cut pollution in poorer areas.

You have a preview view of this article while we are checking your access. When we have confirmed access, the full article content will load.E.P.A. Investigations of Severe Pollution Look Increasingly at RiskThe agency will no longer shut down “any stage of energy production,” absent an imminent threat, a new memo says, and will curtail efforts to cut pollution in poorer areas.The Shell chemical plant and oil refinery in Norco, La., subject to a federal pollution investigation.Credit...Bryan Tarnowski for The New York TimesMarch 22, 2025, 5:02 a.m. ETA refinery in New Mexico that the federal government has accused of some of the worst air pollution in the country.A chemical plant in Louisiana being investigated for leaking gas from storage tanks.Idaho ranchers accused of polluting wetlands.Under President Biden, the Environmental Protection Agency took a tough approach on environmental enforcement by investigating companies for pollution, hazardous waste and other violations. The Trump administration, on the other hand, has said it wants to shift the E.P.A.’s mission from protecting the air, water and land to one that seeks to “lower the cost of buying a car, heating a home and running a business.”As a result, the future of long-running investigations like these suddenly looks precarious. A new E.P.A. memo lays out the latest changes.E.P.A. enforcement actions will no longer “shut down any stage of energy production,” the March 12 memo says, unless there’s an imminent health threat. It also curtails a drive started by President Biden to address the disproportionately high levels of pollution facing poor communities nationwide. “No consideration,” the memo says, “may be given to whether those affected by potential violations constitute minority or low-income populations.”Those changes, said Lee Zeldin, the E.P.A. administrator, would “allow the agency to better focus on its core mission and powering the Great American Comeback.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe.

Artist Michael Brophy explores the haunting legacy of the Hanford nuclear site

Michael Brophy’s exhibit, "Reach: The Hanford Series," is on display at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art at the University of Oregon.

Michael Brophy has earned a reputation as one of the most distinctive artists in the region, known for his meticulously rendered paintings that capture the beauty of the Pacific Northwest landscape while reflecting, as he says in an artist’s statement, “the interconnectedness of human, natural, and cultural histories — the subtle, often violent interplay between humans and the planet.”Those complex elements are powerfully woven into Brophy’s current exhibition, “Reach: The Hanford Series,” on display through April 27 at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the University of Oregon Campus.Nine large-scale paintings — a number that relates to the nine nuclear reactors located at the decommissioned nuclear production complex at Hanford, Washington — are both visually powerful and deeply thought-provoking.That stands to reason, considering the complicated history of the 580-square-mile Hanford site. The Hanford Reach is a 51-mile section of the Columbia River, on the northeastern border of the area.As the official Hanford website notes, native tribes lived for centuries on the land, but they and others were ordered to evacuate in early 1943, when the federal government decided to locate portions of the Manhattan Project — the top-secret research project that produced the first atomic bombs — on the Washington state property where the communities of White Bluffs and Hanford were located.Artist Michael Brophy's "Reach: The Hanford Series" is on exhibit at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the University of Oregon campus, in Eugene.Images courtesy the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, University of Oregon; photography by Josie BrownEven after the U.S. dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, and World War II ended, plutonium production continued at Hanford until 1987. What was left behind included radioactive and chemical waste, and major environmental clean-up projects.Brophy’s paintings — which are accompanied by copy providing context about what viewers are seeing — depict the land, the ghosts of buildings that once stood there, barren trees, the hulking B reactor (the first plutonium production reactor in the world), an array of vintage warning signs (“EVACUATE 1. When radiation alarm sounds, or 2. When advised by a radiation monitor”), and more.“There’s a bit of lure there with some beauty,” says Brophy, 65. “But there’s also a punch.”In 2017, Brophy was invited to visit the Hanford complex by a member of the organization, Physicians for Social Responsibility. Michael Brophy's "Reach: The Hanford Series" is on exhibit at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, on the University of Oregon campus in Eugene.Images courtesy the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, University of Oregon; photography by Josie Brown“I really had not done much research on it,” Brophy says. “Other than what you kind of know, growing up here. I just sort of let the place roll over me. And then I started the series probably about three or four years later, I think. I let it marinate a bit, and came up with the idea of doing nine canvases because there are nine decommissioned reactors on site. And so that was the concept.“Brophy thought further about what he had seen and photographed at the site, following a 2023 trip to Rome. He made the connection between “the ruins of Rome, where you had one civilization sitting on top of another civilization,” with what had occurred at the Hanford site.“Reach: The Hanford Series” also relates to recurring themes in Brophy’s work, which, as he says, is often “an homage to the landscape of the Northwest, which I love.” Another theme is what Brophy calls “the Machine in the Garden, our intervention into the natural world,” elements that appear, for example, in Brophy paintings that depict clear-cut areas in Northwest forests.Asked what he hopes visitors to “Reach: The Hanford Series” may take away from the exhibit, Brophy says he doesn’t think much about that, since each viewer will have their own experience,Artist Michael Brophy is shown at his exhibit, "Reach: The Hanford Series," on display at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the University of Oregon campus, in Eugene.Images courtesy the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, University of Oregon; photography by Brian Davies“I guess I would hope people think about this site, and what this place is,” Brophy says. “It borders the (Columbia) river for 50 miles. It’s a very strange thing, to have such a pristine place, that’s so polluted and deadly.”“Reach: The Hanford Series” is on exhibit at the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the University of Oregon campus through April 27.

No Results today.

Our news is updated constantly with the latest environmental stories from around the world. Reset or change your filters to find the most active current topics.

Join us to forge
a sustainable future

Our team is always growing.
Become a partner, volunteer, sponsor, or intern today.
Let us know how you would like to get involved!

CONTACT US

sign up for our mailing list to stay informed on the latest films and environmental headlines.

Subscribers receive a free day pass for streaming Cinema Verde.
Thank you! Your submission has been received!
Oops! Something went wrong while submitting the form.