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Ecological Restoration Began with the Wild and Wonderful Gardens of Early Female Botanists

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Friday, June 14, 2024

When historian and ecologist Laura J. Martin decided to write a history of ecological restoration, she didn’t think she would have to go back further than the 1980s to uncover its beginnings. Deep in the archives, she found evidence of a network of early female botanists from the turn of the 20th century. Martin’s book Wild by Design: The Rise of Ecological Restoration brings their work back into the record. The nonfiction account tells the stories of Eloise Butler, Edith Roberts and the wild and wonderful gardens they planted and studied. LISTEN TO THE PODCASTOn supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.Lost Women of Science is produced for the ear. Where possible, we recommend listening to the audio for the most accurate representation of what was said.EPISODE TRANSCRIPTLaura Martin: I found all of these, you know, gems of untold stories of women scientists in the early twentieth century, who really were laying the scientific foundation for restoration.Sophie McNulty: I'm Sophie McNulty and I'm a producer for Lost Women of Science.I worked on the first two seasons of the show before I moved to the UK and ended up working on a gardening podcast for the Royal Horticultural Society. I recently returned to Lost Women of Science and apropos of horticulture, I'm particularly excited to be hosting today's episode on ecological restoration. This is quite the hot topic in the world of horticulture and environmental management at large. To give you a sense of just how hot it is, today billions are spent on ecological restoration projects each year, and the UN General Assembly declared 2021 to 2030 to be the UN decade on ecosystem restoration. But,the history of this field has been largely overlooked, and when it is told, women are often written out of the narrative.And so today, we're going to try to remedy that by zeroing in on important early restorationists who were themselves women. We’ll be focusing on botanists Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts. And to do this, I'm so pleased to welcome Laura Martin, a professor at Williams College and author of Wild By Design, The Rise of Ecological Restoration.Hi, Laura. Thanks for coming on the show.Laura Martin: Thank you. I'm very excited to speak with you today, Sophie.Sophie McNulty: So to start, before we go back in time to the stories of these early restorationists, I want to quickly define terms. So what exactly is ecological restoration and how is it different from say, conservation or preservation?Laura Martin: So there's, there's now an international organization of scientists, restoration ecologists, the Society for Ecological Restoration, that defines ecological restoration as an attempt to repair an ecosystem that has been degraded, damaged, or destroyed.And in Wild by Design, I define restoration a little bit differently. I define it as an attempt to collaborate with non-human species, in order to create an environment. So I chose the term collaborate over the term assist because I think what unifies all of these different attempts to do restoration is a desire to find, to strike some balance between controlling nature and letting nature do its own thing, letting nature be autonomous.Sophie McNulty: MmhmLaura Martin: So you can think about removing non native species as one type of restoration, but that's just only one of many different practices. There's also breeding species in domestic spaces or in laboratories and then re-releasing them to the environment.There's removing dams in order to restore hydrological connectivity between streams or rivers. There's burning in a controlled way, burning forests or prairies in order to simulate natural wildfire for species that are fire-adapted.Sophie McNulty: Yeah, there's a great example in the introduction of your book. You describe the way scientists were trying to save the whooping crane population in North America, and you know,  very much involved people, you know, dressing up in costumes, pretending to be mama cranes in order to raise these birds in captivity, you know, before working out how to release them into the wild, or even if this was a possibility. So all that to say, there's clearly this huge range of things that ecological restoration can be. But turning to the history of this field, what are the roots of ecological restoration, and what surprised you as you look back in time?Laura Martin: I went into the project kind of expecting that restoration would have a very recent history. The Society for Ecological Restoration, in their kind of internal histories, cites the founding of the society in the 1980s as the beginning of ecological restoration. And if they do go further back in time, they credit Aldo Leopold as the kind of soul inventor of ecological restoration.Leopold was the author of Sand County Almanac, a pretty famous environmental text, and he was involved in the University of Wisconsin Madison Prairie Restoration Project in the 1930s. And so when I started to do this project, I thought, you know, okay, I'm going to be looking at what management has looked like since the 1980s.And to my great surprise, I found a much deeper history and a longer, a much longer chronology and tradition of scientists thinking about how to restore degraded biotic communities.Sophie McNulty: Yeah, you know it seems from your book that when you go back and you look at this deeper history,this deeper tradition of ecological restoration that you just described, that many of the people involved in this early era were actually women, though maybe they were a bit more difficult to find.Laura Martin: Yeah, so I had, in doing this, preliminary research for the book, gone to the the archives of the Ecological Society of America. And this was the first professional society of ecologists in the United States. It was founded in 1915. And that society was comprised almost entirely of men and all of the leadership positions were held by men, but I knew from general history of science that there at the time and, before that had been a number of really important influential women botanists. And so I was curious about why weren't these women botanists in the Ecological Society of America when all of these, these men were and what were they doing, what were they working on at that time?And I found that quite a few of them were working on what we today would call ecological restoration very directly. They were doing things like founding Native plant societies, they were doing experiments on native plants to see how to propagate them and how to enable them to flourish, and they were really setting the groundwork for the work that Aldo Leopold and his team did in the 1930s.So this was, this was work being done by women scientists 10, 20, 30 years prior to the University of Wisconsin Restoration project.And I found that all of these, you know, gems of untold stories of women scientists in the early twentieth century who really were laying the scientific foundation for restoration.Sophie McNulty: I feel like with Lost Women of Science, this happens so often where you'll read a paper and you're like, oh, who's this person who's quoted in the footnotes of having done this fieldwork for this research? And you go and you find out that it's a woman who did all this, you know, groundbreaking work, but she isn't given proper credit and she's not part of these large societies like the Ecological Society of America you just mentioned, which, I meant to add, is different from the Ecological Restoration Society founded in the 1980s.  Laura Martin: That is correct. and again, in Wild by Design, it hadn't been my, my initial, my initial project, and I hope that listeners will take up the call to do some further research into these women scientists, because there's, there's still a bunch of, there's still a unanswered questions about their, their lives and their research, but I found that it really was a network, a robust network of women that developed the idea of ecological gardening and wild gardening, which was this first incarnation of the idea of restoration, the idea that people would help species survive, but that they would limit how far they intervened so that the species still had some autonomy.They were kind of guided by natural processes. Uh, one ecologist who was one of the kind of founders of ecological gardening, Eloise Butler called this laissez faire, the idea of you know, planting a plant and then not you know, not trimming its leaves, not taking weeds out.It was both about having a more natural aesthetic, but I think also really it was about the experience of the plants themselves. The idea that the plant should be allowed to grow as they would grow without constant human intervention.Sophie McNulty: So you just mentioned Eloise Butler there, which is a great segway, because I want to get into the stories of both Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts, so to start, who was Eloise Butler and why is she a key figure in this history? Laura Martin: So Eloise Butler was the scientist who created the first native plant garden and research facility in North America. I think her life really illustrates what it was like to be a woman botanist at the turn of the 20th century. She was born in rural Maine in 1851 to parents who were teachers.And we have the benefit of the fact that in her 70s, before her death, Eloise Butler wrote a memoir. It wasn't published, but we still have it.And so we know her account of what it was like to be a scientist in the late 1800s and into the early 1900s. And so she wrote in her own words, at that time and place, so in Maine in the 1860s, 1870s, there was no other career than teaching that was thought of for a studious girl. So she felt, very constrained in her, what her career would be.And she wrote in the margins of her, of her memoir, “In my next incarnation, I shall not be a teacher.” And she decided that she wanted to retire from teaching. She really didn't enjoy it, but she wanted to continue to do science. By this point she was living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She led a petition of science teachers in Minneapolis to the, the city council to establish a native plant preserve, which she calls the Wild Botanic Garden, and her goal there was, again, we have her own words. It was to show plants as living things and their adaptations to their environment to display in miniature, the rich and varied flora of Minnesota and to teach the principles of forestry. Her initial goal was to establish a teaching site. She felt like, you know, with the expansion and development of cities like Minneapolis, teachers were losing the sites that they would take students to in order to teach them species, in order to teach them ecology.And so she wanted to make sure that there was a site that was close enough to schools preserved as an outdoor laboratory for students to teach them the fundamentals of botany and ecology. Um, and I think what's interesting is this petition convinces the board to establish this, this preserve, but then she doesn't just leave it as a preserve, she decides to use it as an active experimental site and to try and do a, a different type of botanical garden. So at the time, botanical gardens were typically organized by evolutionary relationship, or they were organized just aesthetically by color or by size, and Eloise Butler really wanted to organize the plants within this research site by their habitat requirements and by their environmental conditions and to display them in the sorts of situations and communities that they would be found in, in the wild.And so she, she convinces, through sheer tenacity, she convinces the, the city council to appoint her as curator of this botanical garden. And she works to bring hundreds of species to the site. So just between 1912 and 1916, she collects 262 seedlings and seeds and specimens and brings them to the botanic garden and kind of experiments with how to propagate them and how to get them to survive in the landscape.Sophie McNulty: What was the work of collecting these specimens like for her? Can you tell me about some of these specimen-collecting expeditions?Laura Martin: Yeah, it was very difficult, very physically demanding fieldwork. Eloise Butler was doing this fieldwork and she was doing it in long late Victorian era skirts and fancy hats. It's incredible—she called this “bog trotting” and so basically anytime she went anywhere to see friends or family, she would bring along collecting tools. She was on a train ride to Toronto once, and her train broke down, and while, instead of just waiting in the train car, she got out, hiked two miles, and collected epilobium,Sophie McNulty: Oh my gosh.Laura Martin: seeds to bring back to the, the garden.So, you know, she and her collaborators went to great lengths to acquire some of the species that they were trying to, to bring into the wild botanic garden.And once they had collected these species, they also did experiments on them. Butler kept meticulous notes about what methods worked to keep species alive and what did not. She has also detailed notes about the emergence and flowering times of species at the Botanical Garden in the 1910s and 1920s.And that could be a resource for people interested in understanding the effects of climate change on flowering time.Sophie McNulty: Yeah, quickly just commenting on her bog trotting specimen collecting adventures, there's a photo that you include in the book of Eloise Butler kind of out, in a bog, and she is wearing, you know, as you say, this long, looks incredibly heavy skirt, and this fabulous hat, and it looks like it has like little flowers in it and stuff, like a huge hat and she's, you know, standing on a log over this bog, kind of like picking up, different sticks and plants and things, and yeah, it's, it is an amazing photo.Laura Martin: Yeah and she was, she, you know, despite dressing that way, I think she was well that she was defying gender norms at the time, just by working, you know, by being a scientist, by working in those sorts of environments and not being afraid of getting muddy and getting wet and, and enjoying it and encouraging other people and other women to do it.Sophie McNulty: We'll get into the stories of these other women after the break.[BREAK]Sophie McNulty: So beyond Eloise Butler, who were the other women leading the way with ecological restoration in the early 1900s, and what do we know about them?Laura Martin: So the, the richness of what we know about Eloise Butler can be contrasted to another woman that I talk about in Wild By Design. Edith Roberts, who was a botany professor at Vassar College in the 1920s and 1930s, and she started the first ecological restoration experiment, and I'll tell you a little bit more about that, but this was more than a decade before Aldo Leopold's restoration experiment.This was a really important site in the history of restoration.But all we have is the, the scientific papers that Edith. Roberts published. We don't have anything written in her voice besides those, those peer-reviewed scientific papers. And so we just know much less about what her experience was as a woman ecologist. And what her thoughts were about where the field should go.Sophie McNulty: But what do we know about her work? Can you kind of paint me a picture of this ecological laboratory that she started at Vassar and how it was both similar and different from the work that Eloise Butler was doing?Laura Martin: Yes, so Roberts received a doctorate in botany from the University of Chicago in 1915. So again, very rare for, for that time. And after that she was hired as a professor of botany at Vassar College, and as soon as she arrived there, she began developing plans to establish an ecological laboratory and her goals were twofold.It was to train students in the new discipline of ecology. And her other goal was to do experiments to see whether native plants could be reestablished on degraded lands. So, in this experiment, Roberts and her students cleared around two acres of grass and poison ivy and shrubs and just kind of weedy non-native species from a streamside that was on campus.And they planted 600 species that they had collected from across the East Coast of the United States, arranging them into 30 different plant communities that they felt represented the diversity of ecological communities in eastern North America.So what Roberts was doing that was different than what Butler was doing is that Roberts was really asking, what can we do with degraded landscapes? Can we succeed in re-establishing Native ecological communities on them? Whereas, Eloise Butler was really working at an already botanically interesting site and she wasn't trying to get rid of species. She was kind of adding species to the landscape.Sophie McNulty: So, why are the stories of people like Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts so often left out from this history of ecological restoration?Why do we only kind of hear about the Aldo Leopolds of the world or kind of things that happened much more recently in the 1980s?Laura Martin: The archives and stories of women scientists are missing from institutional archives, and I think there's two reasons for that. One reason is that women were actively excluded from professional societies and from universities. So if you're interested in studying the history of ecology and you go to the Ecological Society of America archives, or you go to archives that say the University of Chicago, where there were a lot of ecologists employed in the early 20th century, you're not going to find the records of women scientists because women scientists were not allowed in those spaces. And so it can be hard as a storyteller to, to find people to be able to really paint a picture of what, what the work was like at the time and what it was like to be a woman in science.And I think separately from that, there also were direct conspiracies to keep women out of leadership positions in early environmental movements and early conservation organizations and efforts. In the book, I talked briefly about the experience of Elizabeth Britton, who, as I mentioned, was a co-founder of the New York Botanical Garden.And also she was a renowned expert on, on ferns and mosses. And she created the Wildflower Preservation Society in 1901, in order to try and raise awareness about native plant species and the need to protect and restore them. And this was a very successful society. It expanded during World War I and afterwards establishing chapters across the country. And women accounted for most of its membership,The society became attractive enough that in 1924, a U.S. Department of Agriculture botanist, Percy Ricker, who was a member of the Washington, D.C. chapter, you know, began conspiring to take over the society from Elizabeth Britton. And he argued that under the leadership of women, the society had become a radical organization, and in using this word specifically, he was echoing the language used to disparage women's suffrage activists, and so he, when Elizabeth Britton had to be out of town for another meeting, he organized a hostile takeover of the society and became president.Sophie McNulty: Horrible.Laura Martin: Right, so when people write about the Wildflower Preservation Society, they're often writing about later decades and they're saying, oh, it was run by Percy Ricker and there's just a total lost history of the many women scientists that founded that organization. And I think what's really interesting there, too, is that Ricker moves the Wildflower Preservation Society from a restoration model to a preservation model. Restoration is very hands on, it's about intervening in ecosystems, whereas preservation is very hands off. It's the idea that people should be apart from nature and that we should protect nature from people.He says restoration isn't the way and gardening is not the way to save native species. What we need to do is to set aside wild plant preserves. And I think it's, you know, it's telling that his efforts really didn't go anywhere. The, the native plant preserves that we have in the United States were established by garden societies and the efforts of people like Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts, and not through any of Percy Ricker's proposals or that kind of preservation model.Sophie McNulty: So, Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts with their wild botanic gardens slash outdoor laboratories, they were intervening with the land. So in some ways, could we say that they were ahead of their time?Laura Martin: I would say that they laid the groundwork for what's happening today, that they were maybe not so much ahead of their time, but they were the main actors in their time. There was a large network of botanists and many of them women who were doing this work in the early 20th century and we can turn to it. If we understand the history, we can use it as a resource to think about what options are available to us today.Sophie McNulty: That brings me perfectly to my final question. So to end, I want to turn to you for a moment. You know, you started your career as wetlands ecologist, working in the field before turning to the history of the work. And you write in the opening of the book, Wild by Design, that fieldwork offered insights into how to establish and care for a particular species, but it did not offer solutions to ongoing ecological degradation.So, in what ways do you think turning to the history of people like Eloise Butler, Edith Roberts, or Elizabeth Britton has given you hope? And would you say that their stories offer any sort of solutions to our future?Laura Martin: I do often miss fieldwork and working directly with species, but I think that history allows us at the end of the day, to imagine how things could be different. It teaches us that nothing is predetermined and that nothing is without alternative. And so, the perspective of, of doing archival research and of history really, really just emphasizes how things could have turned out differently.And I think it brings me to reflect upon the fact that none of the environmental degradation that we are facing today was inevitable. It all results from the choices of individuals, of powerful individuals, and of societies to operate in particular ways. And so we can go back to examples of people before us to understand how they imagined alternative relationships with the environment and how they imagined doing something to try and reverse the environmental harms that were happening at their moments in time.Sophie McNulty: What a great note to end on. Thank you so much, Laura, for coming on Lost Women of Science.Laura Martin: Thank you, Sophie.Sophie McNulty: This episode of Lost Women of Science Conversations was produced by me, Sophie McNulty. Many thanks to Laura Martin for taking the time to talk to us. Lexi Atiya was our fact checker, Lizzie Younan composes all of our music, and Karen Meverack designs our art. Thanks to Jeff DelVisio at our publishing partner, Scientific American.Thanks also to executive producers Amy Scharf and Katie Hafner, as well as the senior managing producer, Deborah Unger. Lost Women of Science is funded in part by the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation and the Anne Wojcicki Foundation. We're distributed by PRX. Thanks for listening and do subscribe to Lost Women of Science at lostwomenofscience.org so you never miss an episode.Further ReadingWild by Design: The Rise of Ecological Restoration, by Laura J. Martin, Harvard University Press, 2022.The Women Who Saved Wildflowers, by Laura J. Martin, Sierra, June 2, 2022. "Women’s Work" in Science, 1880-1910, by Margaret W. Rossiter, Isis, Volume 71, Number 3, Sep., 1980.The Wild Gardener: The Life and Selected Writings of Eloise Butler, by Martha E. Hellander, North Star Press of St. Cloud, 1992.Fruits and Plains: The Horticultural Transformation of America, by Philip J. Pauly, Harvard University Press, 2008.

Historian and ecologist Laura J. Martin rediscovers the female scientists who established ecological restoration in her book Wild by Design

When historian and ecologist Laura J. Martin decided to write a history of ecological restoration, she didn’t think she would have to go back further than the 1980s to uncover its beginnings. Deep in the archives, she found evidence of a network of early female botanists from the turn of the 20th century. Martin’s book Wild by Design: The Rise of Ecological Restoration brings their work back into the record. The nonfiction account tells the stories of Eloise Butler, Edith Roberts and the wild and wonderful gardens they planted and studied.

LISTEN TO THE PODCAST


On supporting science journalism

If you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.


Lost Women of Science is produced for the ear. Where possible, we recommend listening to the audio for the most accurate representation of what was said.


EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

Laura Martin: I found all of these, you know, gems of untold stories of women scientists in the early twentieth century, who really were laying the scientific foundation for restoration.

Sophie McNulty: I'm Sophie McNulty and I'm a producer for Lost Women of Science.

I worked on the first two seasons of the show before I moved to the UK and ended up working on a gardening podcast for the Royal Horticultural Society. I recently returned to Lost Women of Science and apropos of horticulture, I'm particularly excited to be hosting today's episode on ecological restoration. 

This is quite the hot topic in the world of horticulture and environmental management at large. To give you a sense of just how hot it is, today billions are spent on ecological restoration projects each year, and the UN General Assembly declared 2021 to 2030 to be the UN decade on ecosystem restoration. But,the history of this field has been largely overlooked, and when it is told, women are often written out of the narrative.

And so today, we're going to try to remedy that by zeroing in on important early restorationists who were themselves women. We’ll be focusing on botanists Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts. And to do this, I'm so pleased to welcome Laura Martin, a professor at Williams College and author of Wild By Design, The Rise of Ecological Restoration.

Hi, Laura. Thanks for coming on the show.

Laura Martin: Thank you. I'm very excited to speak with you today, Sophie.

Sophie McNulty: So to start, before we go back in time to the stories of these early restorationists, I want to quickly define terms. So what exactly is ecological restoration and how is it different from say, conservation or preservation?

Laura Martin: So there's, there's now an international organization of scientists, restoration ecologists, the Society for Ecological Restoration, that defines ecological restoration as an attempt to repair an ecosystem that has been degraded, damaged, or destroyed.

And in Wild by Design, I define restoration a little bit differently. I define it as an attempt to collaborate with non-human species, in order to create an environment. So I chose the term collaborate over the term assist because I think what unifies all of these different attempts to do restoration is a desire to find, to strike some balance between controlling nature and letting nature do its own thing, letting nature be autonomous.

Sophie McNulty: Mmhm

Laura Martin: So you can think about removing non native species as one type of restoration, but that's just only one of many different practices. There's also breeding species in domestic spaces or in laboratories and then re-releasing them to the environment.

There's removing dams in order to restore hydrological connectivity between streams or rivers. There's burning in a controlled way, burning forests or prairies in order to simulate natural wildfire for species that are fire-adapted.

Sophie McNulty: Yeah, there's a great example in the introduction of your book. You describe the way scientists were trying to save the whooping crane population in North America, and you know,  very much involved people, you know, dressing up in costumes, pretending to be mama cranes in order to raise these birds in captivity, you know, before working out how to release them into the wild, or even if this was a possibility. So all that to say, there's clearly this huge range of things that ecological restoration can be. But turning to the history of this field, what are the roots of ecological restoration, and what surprised you as you look back in time?

Laura Martin: I went into the project kind of expecting that restoration would have a very recent history. The Society for Ecological Restoration, in their kind of internal histories, cites the founding of the society in the 1980s as the beginning of ecological restoration. And if they do go further back in time, they credit Aldo Leopold as the kind of soul inventor of ecological restoration.

Leopold was the author of Sand County Almanac, a pretty famous environmental text, and he was involved in the University of Wisconsin Madison Prairie Restoration Project in the 1930s. And so when I started to do this project, I thought, you know, okay, I'm going to be looking at what management has looked like since the 1980s.

And to my great surprise, I found a much deeper history and a longer, a much longer chronology and tradition of scientists thinking about how to restore degraded biotic communities.

Sophie McNulty: Yeah, you know it seems from your book that when you go back and you look at this deeper history,this deeper tradition of ecological restoration that you just described, that many of the people involved in this early era were actually women, though maybe they were a bit more difficult to find.

Laura Martin: Yeah, so I had, in doing this, preliminary research for the book, gone to the the archives of the Ecological Society of America. And this was the first professional society of ecologists in the United States. It was founded in 1915. 

And that society was comprised almost entirely of men and all of the leadership positions were held by men, but I knew from general history of science that there at the time and, before that had been a number of really important influential women botanists. And so I was curious about why weren't these women botanists in the Ecological Society of America when all of these, these men were and what were they doing, what were they working on at that time?

And I found that quite a few of them were working on what we today would call ecological restoration very directly. They were doing things like founding Native plant societies, they were doing experiments on native plants to see how to propagate them and how to enable them to flourish, and they were really setting the groundwork for the work that Aldo Leopold and his team did in the 1930s.

So this was, this was work being done by women scientists 10, 20, 30 years prior to the University of Wisconsin Restoration project.

And I found that all of these, you know, gems of untold stories of women scientists in the early twentieth century who really were laying the scientific foundation for restoration.

Sophie McNulty: I feel like with Lost Women of Science, this happens so often where you'll read a paper and you're like, oh, who's this person who's quoted in the footnotes of having done this fieldwork for this research? And you go and you find out that it's a woman who did all this, you know, groundbreaking work, but she isn't given proper credit and she's not part of these large societies like the Ecological Society of America you just mentioned, which, I meant to add, is different from the Ecological Restoration Society founded in the 1980s.  

Laura Martin: That is correct. and again, in Wild by Design, it hadn't been my, my initial, my initial project, and I hope that listeners will take up the call to do some further research into these women scientists, because there's, there's still a bunch of, there's still a unanswered questions about their, their lives and their research, but I found that it really was a network, a robust network of women that developed the idea of ecological gardening and wild gardening, which was this first incarnation of the idea of restoration, the idea that people would help species survive, but that they would limit how far they intervened so that the species still had some autonomy.

They were kind of guided by natural processes. Uh, one ecologist who was one of the kind of founders of ecological gardening, Eloise Butler called this laissez faire, the idea of you know, planting a plant and then not you know, not trimming its leaves, not taking weeds out.

It was both about having a more natural aesthetic, but I think also really it was about the experience of the plants themselves. The idea that the plant should be allowed to grow as they would grow without constant human intervention.

Sophie McNulty: So you just mentioned Eloise Butler there, which is a great segway, because I want to get into the stories of both Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts, so to start, who was Eloise Butler and why is she a key figure in this history? 

Laura Martin: So Eloise Butler was the scientist who created the first native plant garden and research facility in North America. I think her life really illustrates what it was like to be a woman botanist at the turn of the 20th century. She was born in rural Maine in 1851 to parents who were teachers.

And we have the benefit of the fact that in her 70s, before her death, Eloise Butler wrote a memoir. It wasn't published, but we still have it.

And so we know her account of what it was like to be a scientist in the late 1800s and into the early 1900s. And so she wrote in her own words, at that time and place, so in Maine in the 1860s, 1870s, there was no other career than teaching that was thought of for a studious girl. So she felt, very constrained in her, what her career would be.

And she wrote in the margins of her, of her memoir, “In my next incarnation, I shall not be a teacher.” And she decided that she wanted to retire from teaching. She really didn't enjoy it, but she wanted to continue to do science. By this point she was living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She led a petition of science teachers in Minneapolis to the, the city council to establish a native plant preserve, which she calls the Wild Botanic Garden, and her goal there was, again, we have her own words. It was to show plants as living things and their adaptations to their environment to display in miniature, the rich and varied flora of Minnesota and to teach the principles of forestry. 

Her initial goal was to establish a teaching site. She felt like, you know, with the expansion and development of cities like Minneapolis, teachers were losing the sites that they would take students to in order to teach them species, in order to teach them ecology.

And so she wanted to make sure that there was a site that was close enough to schools preserved as an outdoor laboratory for students to teach them the fundamentals of botany and ecology. Um, and I think what's interesting is this petition convinces the board to establish this, this preserve, but then she doesn't just leave it as a preserve, she decides to use it as an active experimental site and to try and do a, a different type of botanical garden. So at the time, botanical gardens were typically organized by evolutionary relationship, or they were organized just aesthetically by color or by size, and Eloise Butler really wanted to organize the plants within this research site by their habitat requirements and by their environmental conditions and to display them in the sorts of situations and communities that they would be found in, in the wild.

And so she, she convinces, through sheer tenacity, she convinces the, the city council to appoint her as curator of this botanical garden. And she works to bring hundreds of species to the site. So just between 1912 and 1916, she collects 262 seedlings and seeds and specimens and brings them to the botanic garden and kind of experiments with how to propagate them and how to get them to survive in the landscape.

Sophie McNulty: What was the work of collecting these specimens like for her? Can you tell me about some of these specimen-collecting expeditions?

Laura Martin: Yeah, it was very difficult, very physically demanding fieldwork. Eloise Butler was doing this fieldwork and she was doing it in long late Victorian era skirts and fancy hats. It's incredible—she called this “bog trotting” and so basically anytime she went anywhere to see friends or family, she would bring along collecting tools. She was on a train ride to Toronto once, and her train broke down, and while, instead of just waiting in the train car, she got out, hiked two miles, and collected epilobium,

Sophie McNulty: Oh my gosh.

Laura Martin: seeds to bring back to the, the garden.

So, you know, she and her collaborators went to great lengths to acquire some of the species that they were trying to, to bring into the wild botanic garden.

And once they had collected these species, they also did experiments on them. Butler kept meticulous notes about what methods worked to keep species alive and what did not. She has also detailed notes about the emergence and flowering times of species at the Botanical Garden in the 1910s and 1920s.

And that could be a resource for people interested in understanding the effects of climate change on flowering time.

Sophie McNulty: Yeah, quickly just commenting on her bog trotting specimen collecting adventures, there's a photo that you include in the book of Eloise Butler kind of out, in a bog, and she is wearing, you know, as you say, this long, looks incredibly heavy skirt, and this fabulous hat, and it looks like it has like little flowers in it and stuff, like a huge hat and she's, you know, standing on a log over this bog, kind of like picking up, different sticks and plants and things, and yeah, it's, it is an amazing photo.

Laura Martin: Yeah and she was, she, you know, despite dressing that way, I think she was well that she was defying gender norms at the time, just by working, you know, by being a scientist, by working in those sorts of environments and not being afraid of getting muddy and getting wet and, and enjoying it and encouraging other people and other women to do it.

Sophie McNulty: We'll get into the stories of these other women after the break.

[BREAK]

Sophie McNulty: So beyond Eloise Butler, who were the other women leading the way with ecological restoration in the early 1900s, and what do we know about them?

Laura Martin: So the, the richness of what we know about Eloise Butler can be contrasted to another woman that I talk about in Wild By Design. Edith Roberts, who was a botany professor at Vassar College in the 1920s and 1930s, and she started the first ecological restoration experiment, and I'll tell you a little bit more about that, but this was more than a decade before Aldo Leopold's restoration experiment.This was a really important site in the history of restoration.

But all we have is the, the scientific papers that Edith. Roberts published. We don't have anything written in her voice besides those, those peer-reviewed scientific papers. And so we just know much less about what her experience was as a woman ecologist. And what her thoughts were about where the field should go.

Sophie McNulty: But what do we know about her work? Can you kind of paint me a picture of this ecological laboratory that she started at Vassar and how it was both similar and different from the work that Eloise Butler was doing?

Laura Martin: Yes, so Roberts received a doctorate in botany from the University of Chicago in 1915. So again, very rare for, for that time. And after that she was hired as a professor of botany at Vassar College, and as soon as she arrived there, she began developing plans to establish an ecological laboratory and her goals were twofold.

It was to train students in the new discipline of ecology. And her other goal was to do experiments to see whether native plants could be reestablished on degraded lands. So, in this experiment, Roberts and her students cleared around two acres of grass and poison ivy and shrubs and just kind of weedy non-native species from a streamside that was on campus.

And they planted 600 species that they had collected from across the East Coast of the United States, arranging them into 30 different plant communities that they felt represented the diversity of ecological communities in eastern North America.

So what Roberts was doing that was different than what Butler was doing is that Roberts was really asking, what can we do with degraded landscapes? Can we succeed in re-establishing Native ecological communities on them? Whereas, Eloise Butler was really working at an already botanically interesting site and she wasn't trying to get rid of species. She was kind of adding species to the landscape.

Sophie McNulty: So, why are the stories of people like Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts so often left out from this history of ecological restoration?

Why do we only kind of hear about the Aldo Leopolds of the world or kind of things that happened much more recently in the 1980s?

Laura Martin: The archives and stories of women scientists are missing from institutional archives, and I think there's two reasons for that. One reason is that women were actively excluded from professional societies and from universities. So if you're interested in studying the history of ecology and you go to the Ecological Society of America archives, or you go to archives that say the University of Chicago, where there were a lot of ecologists employed in the early 20th century, you're not going to find the records of women scientists because women scientists were not allowed in those spaces. 

And so it can be hard as a storyteller to, to find people to be able to really paint a picture of what, what the work was like at the time and what it was like to be a woman in science.

And I think separately from that, there also were direct conspiracies to keep women out of leadership positions in early environmental movements and early conservation organizations and efforts. In the book, I talked briefly about the experience of Elizabeth Britton, who, as I mentioned, was a co-founder of the New York Botanical Garden.

And also she was a renowned expert on, on ferns and mosses. And she created the Wildflower Preservation Society in 1901, in order to try and raise awareness about native plant species and the need to protect and restore them. And this was a very successful society. It expanded during World War I and afterwards establishing chapters across the country. And women accounted for most of its membership,

The society became attractive enough that in 1924, a U.S. Department of Agriculture botanist, Percy Ricker, who was a member of the Washington, D.C. chapter, you know, began conspiring to take over the society from Elizabeth Britton. And he argued that under the leadership of women, the society had become a radical organization, and in using this word specifically, he was echoing the language used to disparage women's suffrage activists, and so he, when Elizabeth Britton had to be out of town for another meeting, he organized a hostile takeover of the society and became president.

Sophie McNulty: Horrible.

Laura Martin: Right, so when people write about the Wildflower Preservation Society, they're often writing about later decades and they're saying, oh, it was run by Percy Ricker and there's just a total lost history of the many women scientists that founded that organization. And I think what's really interesting there, too, is that Ricker moves the Wildflower Preservation Society from a restoration model to a preservation model. Restoration is very hands on, it's about intervening in ecosystems, whereas preservation is very hands off. It's the idea that people should be apart from nature and that we should protect nature from people.

He says restoration isn't the way and gardening is not the way to save native species. What we need to do is to set aside wild plant preserves. And I think it's, you know, it's telling that his efforts really didn't go anywhere. The, the native plant preserves that we have in the United States were established by garden societies and the efforts of people like Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts, and not through any of Percy Ricker's proposals or that kind of preservation model.

Sophie McNulty: So, Eloise Butler and Edith Roberts with their wild botanic gardens slash outdoor laboratories, they were intervening with the land. So in some ways, could we say that they were ahead of their time?

Laura Martin: I would say that they laid the groundwork for what's happening today, that they were maybe not so much ahead of their time, but they were the main actors in their time. There was a large network of botanists and many of them women who were doing this work in the early 20th century and we can turn to it. If we understand the history, we can use it as a resource to think about what options are available to us today.

Sophie McNulty: That brings me perfectly to my final question. So to end, I want to turn to you for a moment. You know, you started your career as wetlands ecologist, working in the field before turning to the history of the work. And you write in the opening of the book, Wild by Design, that fieldwork offered insights into how to establish and care for a particular species, but it did not offer solutions to ongoing ecological degradation.

So, in what ways do you think turning to the history of people like Eloise Butler, Edith Roberts, or Elizabeth Britton has given you hope? And would you say that their stories offer any sort of solutions to our future?

Laura Martin: I do often miss fieldwork and working directly with species, but I think that history allows us at the end of the day, to imagine how things could be different. It teaches us that nothing is predetermined and that nothing is without alternative. And so, the perspective of, of doing archival research and of history really, really just emphasizes how things could have turned out differently.

And I think it brings me to reflect upon the fact that none of the environmental degradation that we are facing today was inevitable. It all results from the choices of individuals, of powerful individuals, and of societies to operate in particular ways. And so we can go back to examples of people before us to understand how they imagined alternative relationships with the environment and how they imagined doing something to try and reverse the environmental harms that were happening at their moments in time.

Sophie McNulty: What a great note to end on. Thank you so much, Laura, for coming on Lost Women of Science.

Laura Martin: Thank you, Sophie.

Sophie McNulty: This episode of Lost Women of Science Conversations was produced by me, Sophie McNulty. Many thanks to Laura Martin for taking the time to talk to us. Lexi Atiya was our fact checker, Lizzie Younan composes all of our music, and Karen Meverack designs our art. Thanks to Jeff DelVisio at our publishing partner, Scientific American.

Thanks also to executive producers Amy Scharf and Katie Hafner, as well as the senior managing producer, Deborah Unger. Lost Women of Science is funded in part by the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation and the Anne Wojcicki Foundation. We're distributed by PRX. Thanks for listening and do subscribe to Lost Women of Science at lostwomenofscience.org so you never miss an episode.

Further Reading

Wild by Design: The Rise of Ecological Restoration, by Laura J. Martin, Harvard University Press, 2022.
The Women Who Saved Wildflowers, by Laura J. Martin, Sierra, June 2, 2022.
"Women’s Work" in Science, 1880-1910, by Margaret W. Rossiter, Isis, Volume 71, Number 3, Sep., 1980.
The Wild Gardener: The Life and Selected Writings of Eloise Butler, by Martha E. Hellander, North Star Press of St. Cloud, 1992.
Fruits and Plains: The Horticultural Transformation of America, by Philip J. Pauly, Harvard University Press, 2008.

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El Comandante Hernández Leads ‘Tree Army’ in Defense of Mexico City’s Trees

There's an army taking to Mexico City's streets — the Tree Army

MEXICO CITY (AP) — Scooting on his electric skateboard through a southern Mexico City neighborhood, Arturo Hernández spots a likely target for his next action and uploads a photo to social media calling his followers to help. A couple of days later, he and several of them are swinging sledgehammers at a thick layer of concrete suffocating the roots of an ash tree when a pair of police officers arrive and ask to see a permit.“We do not need permits to liberate the tree,” Hernández tells one of the officers with a grin. "It’s as if you asked me to have a permit to pick up trash from the street.” The officer responds with his own smile, turns to his partner and they walk away. The hammering resumes.This is El Ejercito de Arboles — The Tree Army — and Hernández is El Comandante, its commander. Hernández, a community activist who developed a following over years of tackling the city's problems in humorous online posts, launched The Tree Army in May in response to growing complaints from his followers about vandalized trees in their neighborhoods. Its mission is to protect and improve Mexico City's urban forest, whether it's chipping away at unauthorized concrete, confronting illegal cutting or planting trees in areas of need.“I always tell people, if we can’t take care of the tree in front of our home, how can we expect to save a place like the Amazon?” Hernández said.Trees are essential assets in cities, where they provide cooling shade, reduce pollution and contribute to green space. They take up water, helping to prevent flooding at a time when climate change is leading to more intense rainfall events. All this is especially welcome in Mexico City, which has dealt with flooding in recent weeks and which suffers from severe air pollution in a metropolitan area that sprawls to some 22 million people.Launching The Tree Army was a natural move for Hernández, who a decade ago founded Los Supercivicos, a social media-based campaign that takes on community issues through humor and satire. Los Supercivicos videos have featured him taunting cars obstructing bike lanes, performing skits on the subway to promote voter participation and returning garbage to people who litter, for example. Hernández said he drew more than 100,000 views for each of his first few Tree Army videos. The “army” itself is small — an informal core group of five or six people, ranging from environmental activists to arborists to residents — but Hernández is always quick to recruit bystanders to swing a sledgehammer or otherwise help. He has a GoFundMe page to raise money for the work.He said he's responded to about a dozen cases of tree vandalism since starting the group, and now fields more than 15 messages a day from people reporting vandalized trees throughout the city. Common complaints include businesses cutting down trees to improve their visibility, people incorrectly trimming trees and people pouring concrete over the soil at a tree's base, perhaps to add parking or to avoid maintenance headaches like picking up after dogs or clearing out litter.Hernández said the ash tree he and his followers were trying to free was suffering from concrete that a nearby food preparation business poured on its roots to add parking area for delivery motorcycles. Workers at the business declined to comment to an Associated Press journalist.After 20 minutes of intense hammering, the roots of the tree began to appear through the broken concrete. A neighborhood resident brought water for the workers, who sipped, then wiped their foreheads and resumed hammering. Some people walking past took an interest in the action and began to crowd around.“Do one of you guys want to take a swing?” Hernández said to the observers. “The people that are most affected by this is you."Not everyone supports The Tree Army's work. Hernández said he has been chased and threatened. He said he always approaches a negative encounter with humor and views it as an opportunity to educate those opposing their work.“We are called The Tree Army because sometimes these are battles," he said.María Toledo Garibaldi, a postdoctoral fellow at the National Institute of Ecology (INECOL) and an urban tree expert, praised The Tree Army's work, and said such groups are making up for government inaction.“I think it is important that the authorities begin to make clearer and stricter regulations on what can be cut, what can be trimmed, what can be planted, where you can plant it," Garibaldi said. The city should establish an urban forest management plan, she said.Fanny Ruiz Palacios, a spokeswoman for the city’s Secretariat of the Environment, said the city has developed programs to care for trees, but that care along secondary roads depends on the various borough governments.When the ash tree was finally free of concrete, The Tree Army carried the rubble to a truck to be carried away, then applauded each other and exchanged hugs in the tree's shade.Humberto Cruz, a resident of the neighborhood, had joined the action after seeing Hernández’s call on social media.“I have a son, and I want the best for him. One of the few things I can do is take care of the environment for him. He’s the future and he is going to be able to enjoy this,” Cruz said, pointing to the ash tree.The Associated Press’ climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP’s standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.Copyright 2024 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - July 2024

Did the Student Encampments Accomplish Anything?

Mohammad Yassin’s parents had warned him away from politics. His father grew up in Lebanon during the civil war, when having the wrong opinion could get you killed. Yassin, who is Palestinian American, arrived at the University of Toronto four years ago with the intention of studying economics and statistics. He felt that Canada wasn’t his permanent home, and he distrusted existing political institutions, so he avoided involving himself in activism or student government. “I just kind of was like: Hey, I’m gonna put my head down and just study for my entire degree,” he told me, chain-smoking cigarettes in a keffiyeh and sunglasses.But when Hamas viciously attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, everything changed. Later that month, a group called U of T Conservatives organized a rally on campus to display “unwavering support for Israel against Hamas terrorism.” By then, Israel had begun its brutal war on Gaza, and word spread among Yassin’s peers that a counterprotest should be organized. Student groups supporting Palestinians were once vibrant on campus but had diminished in recent years, particularly since Covid. Yassin, who has a sardonic sense of humor and a calm demeanor, joined the counterrally, which drew around 200 people. Many were inspired to organize on an ongoing basis.After months of walkouts, rallies, and cultural events in support of Palestinians, on April 1, 26 students clad in keffiyehs and masks occupied Simcoe Hall, the seat of governance at the University of Toronto, demanding that the school divest from holdings in companies complicit in Israel’s siege. After 30 hours, they left, following an agreement to meet with the university president.The meeting, however, failed to satisfy them. A little over two weeks later, some 500 miles southeast, hundreds of protesters occupied the South Lawn of Columbia University. The pitched tents and mass of demonstrators were a lifeline for the Palestinian groups at U of T, who, like student groups around the world, took the Columbia encampments as inspiration for the next phase of their movement. Anticipating Yassin and his allies’ next move, U of T put up fencing along part of its campus called King’s College Circle, a patch of green space that had recently been renovated. But on May 2, Yassin and about 50 others with U of T Occupy for Palestine set up camp anyway, breaching the fence in the middle of the night. Soon allies just started showing up. “The first day was magical,” Yassin recalled. The group demanded that the university disclose its investments and divest from companies and universities associated with Israel’s occupation of Palestinian land. The school warned the students that they were trespassing on private property. Yassin’s group expected the university to expel them at any moment, certainly within a few days.But that didn’t happen. Toronto police declined to arrest the protesters, so at the end of May, U of T sought a court order to force the issue. For more than two months, the People’s Circle for Palestine operated as a miniature village in the heart of Canada’s largest city. Weeks after almost all encampments on campuses in the United States had been disbanded—Columbia’s lasted just under two weeks—this one continued to operate. Around 200 tents were pitched at one point or another, and many residents, like Yassin, slept there almost every night, returning home only to do some laundry or get the occasional decent rest.On July 2, the Ontario Superior Court of Justice finally granted the university’s injunction to clear out the encampment, which had lasted 62 days. Hours later, Yassin stood with other protest leaders to announce to the news cameras and journalists that they were disbanding the mini-village ahead of the deadline the next evening. That would enable them to leave on their terms and avoid being brutalized by police, he said. Behind him, tents with slogans written on them were still up. “This legal maneuver changes nothing,” he announced defiantly. “Make no mistake, our resolve is stronger than ever. We’ve said from day one that we will not leave this campus until U of T discloses, divests, and cuts ties. That commitment stands firm.”Soon after Yassin spoke, protesters began taking down the many signs on the fence surrounding the encampment. By 6 p.m. the next day, little evidence of the encampment remained, outside of people posing for photos in front of a papier-mâché olive tree with anti-Zionist slogans spray-painted on it. As the sun set, a man and a woman wearing an Israeli flag toppled the structure.The campus rallies against Israel constituted the largest protests at North American universities in the twenty-first century. According to the Crowd Counting Consortium, encampments were erected at more than 130 campuses, and many protests erupted at schools even before Columbia’s tents went up. In the United States, more than 3,600 people were arrested or detained during these campaigns. Encampments eventually spread to Australia, Western and Northern Europe, Latin America, and Asia, including even Israel itself, where some students erected a tent at Bezalel Academy, an art school.But by the summer, most of the protests had disappeared along with the tents, either removed by police or disbanded for the summer break. The Israeli government continues to kill thousands of Palestinians with little compunction, and the Biden administration continues arming it. Yassin is still worried about his family in Lebanon and his mother’s extended family in Gaza. Students who participated in the protests, allies who supported them, and critics who derided them as antisemitic are all left wondering: What did the once-in-a-generation mass protests accomplish? How will they influence the activism that may resume when the new academic year begins?Canada has typically had smooth relations with the Jewish state, but in the twenty-first century, the conservative government of Stephen Harper took it to a new level, marching in lockstep with Israel. That history of support is one reason that concern for Palestine has become commonplace on the left in Canada. And not just in Canada, obviously. Not since South Africa in the 1980s has a people captured the left-wing imagination as a symbol of global injustice. The irony is that this phenomenon is something of a reversal; Zionism was once considered a uniquely heroic cause among many of American left-liberalism’s most exalted figures. According to historian Eric Alterman, author of We Are Not One: A History of America’s Fight Over Israel, liberals and leftists from Eleanor Roosevelt (“The Jews in their own country are doing marvels and should, once the refugee problem is settled, help all the Arab countries,” she wrote) to Progressive Party leader Henry Wallace to Freda Kirchwey, editor of The Nation, saw Jews in Palestine as anti-imperialists battling the British Empire, which was manipulating the Arab states and squaring off against the Soviet Union with little care for the fate of Jews.From the 1940s until 1967, the Palestinians had few advocates in the Western world. They were still recovering after being driven out of their villages by Israel in 1947–1949 during the Nakba, or “catastrophe,” the Arabic term for the dispossession of Palestinians. “It’s very hard to organize politically when you don’t even have a roof over your head,” said Yousef Munayyer, a senior fellow at Arab Center Washington DC. Partly as a result, the myth that Palestinians left their homes voluntarily predominated in the United States.The 1967 Arab-Israeli War created a groundswell of support for Palestinians in the United States for the first time, particularly among radical Black intellectuals and activists. As Alterman explains, the Palestinians began to be seen as a “Third World nation,” deserving of sympathy like other non-Western peoples. But pro-Palestinianism remained a minority viewpoint in the civil rights movement, as more mainstream leaders like Martin Luther King and Bayard Rustin and organizations like the NAACP and the National Urban League issued statements in solidarity with Israel. In the 1970s, Palestinians garnered little institutional backing beyond the furthest left of groups, such as West German terrorists. “We have been unable to interest the West very much in the justice of our cause,” the Palestinian American literary critic and activist Edward Said lamented in his 1979 book, The Question of Palestine. That same year, when President Jimmy Carter secured a peace deal between Egypt and Israel, Palestinians’ anger at having their concerns ignored did little to dilute celebrations in the United States. But at the grassroots level, support for Palestinians had been emerging. It deepened during Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon and especially after the massacre at the refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila. It grew again with the first intifada, which began in 1987, and has since “grown gradually over time,” Alterman observed.Today, for people under 30 and those on the left around the world, Palestine has become a defining issue. Erin Mackey, who graduated from U of T this year, is a prime example. A Canadian American from Boston who came to Toronto because its university was cheaper than those in the states, she was active in campaigns to encourage the administration to divest from fossil fuels, which U of T announced it would do in October 2021. Mackey has the message discipline of a seasoned politician and is as polite in private as she is confrontational in public. The day we met, she was wearing overalls, her nails painted bright red. She sees a natural evolution from agitating against climate change to agitating against Israel. “I saw the links between climate justice and Palestinian liberation,” she explained, referring to Israel’s environmental destruction and its confiscation of land and water. In late October 2023, she and other activists began targeting the Royal Bank of Canada for both its funding of fossil fuel companies and its investments in the U.S. company Palantir, which sells AI surveillance technology to Israel. Once Arab and Palestinian students decided to construct the encampment, they asked Mackey, as someone trained in media outreach, for help. She soon became one of the most visible spokespeople for U of T Occupy for Palestine. “As someone who isn’t Palestinian, knowing my tuition dollars are going toward the genocide is horrifying,” she told me when we spoke at the encampment.The demographics at U of T Occupy for Palestine are suitably reflective of the changed landscape. Both Mackey and Yassin estimated that Palestinians or other Arabs made up only 60 percent of the people who were at the encampment; the remaining 40 percent were other people of color, Jews, and white leftists. A group called Jews Say No to Genocide maintained a constant presence, hosting weekly Shabbat dinners and absorbing the slurs of pro-Israel Jews who staged a counterprotest. The intellectual/activist Naomi Klein showed up once. But many of the signs and tents contained writing attesting to the personal connections individuals had with people in Gaza, citing relatives who have died or castigating Arabs for not sticking together. One encampment resident has had an unimaginable 26 members of their family killed in the Gaza Strip in the past year. “We’re not spectating,” Yassin said.If nothing else, the 2023–2024 protests showed that the constituency for the Palestinian cause has broadened significantly beyond the Arab- and Muslim-majority countries to which it was once confined. What’s more, the plight of the Palestinians has managed to push tens of thousands of people to publicly demonstrate in solidarity, sometimes at great personal risk and in violation of laws and school policies. “That signals not just a growth in the scale and scope of this thing, but also the depth of commitment to the cause, which, again, is at a new and unprecedented level,” Munayyer said. While conservatives and many Democratic Party politicians deride Palestinians as a nonexistent people, uniformly antisemitic, or congenitally prone to terrorism, such designations no longer have mass appeal beyond the right wing and an aging subset of Democrats.Younger generations, especially, see Israel’s repression as a straightforward question of right and wrong. Pew Research Center found that the number of adults under 30 who sympathized with Palestinians was twice the number who sympathized with Israelis, and the number who say the way Israel is fighting its war against Hamas is “unacceptable” is more than twice the number who say it’s “acceptable.” Young people have a more positive view of Palestinians than of Israelis, and the number who say Hamas’s reasons for fighting Israel are valid is slightly higher than the number who say they are not (notably, however, 58 percent of young people said Hamas’s October 7 massacre was unacceptable). Just 16 percent of young people favor the United States providing military aid to Israel. For Palestinians, who were once synonymous with terrorism in the Western imagination, this widespread support marks a staggering shift. The students holding signs and chanting in unison might eventually be seen as a harbinger of a changed Western approach to the role of Palestinians in the Middle East.But the levels of participation in protests over the last year should not be exaggerated either. For all the attention they received—and for all the anxiety they provoked among conservatives and in the Jewish establishment in the United States—only 8 percent of college students took part in demonstrations in support of either Palestinians or Israelis, according to a Generation Lab survey published on May 7. The Vietnam War–era protests with which the encampments have been compared far outstripped these figures and lasted for years. In May 1970 alone, more than four million students at around 900 campuses went on strike after National Guardsmen gunned down four students at Kent State University. The Gaza encampments “were really centered around student communities and the people you would be expecting to engage in these campus uprisings,” said Lisa Mueller, a political scientist at Macalester College who studies protest movements. The Vietnam antiwar movement “far transcended students and people on the left.” Moving beyond protests that are largely drawing on the left would signal to potential supporters and elites that the movement can be a force for a pressure and not just confined to a fringe, but it remains to be seen whether the pro-Palestinian elements in the West can make it happen.Similarly, while young people are more sympathetic to the plight of Palestinians than their older counterparts are, they are generally less likely to be politically active and engaged than their elders, rendering their sentiments less impactful. People who are under 30 years of age vote in smaller numbers than their elders, feel less informed about candidates and issues than others, believe they’re unqualified to participate in politics, donate less money to political campaigns, and run for office in far fewer numbers. And while young people hold far more pro-Palestinian sentiments than others, that does not necessarily translate into a concentrated bloc powerful enough to alter U.S. policy. The same polls showing the sea change in how younger generations perceive the Israeli- Palestinian conflict reveal that they care most about the same issues that older people do: the cost of living, access to good-paying jobs, and preventing gun violence. “Particularly in a democratic society, there are electoral pressures for elected leaders and candidates to heed the demands and grievances of diverse potential voters,” Mueller said. “I haven’t seen that happen so much yet.”Of course, the usual apathy and cynicism of younger voters are precisely what make the campus protests so unusual. Every organizer knows how difficult it is to get people into the streets for an afternoon, let alone for days or weeks. On day 56 of the camp, Mackey told me, “I don’t think anybody thought we would get here.” After negotiating with the administration the first week, U of T Occupy for Palestine settled in for a long haul. They got trespassing notices and were threatened with expulsion and suffered through rainy nights, hail, and extreme heat. Still they stayed. “This is just a piece of a much broader movement,” Mackey said.Indeed, when Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris selected Minnesota’s Tim Walz as her running mate in August, there was wide speculation that she had passed over Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro because of his insulting comments about the protesters and his arguably greater fondness for Israel. If this calculation played a role in Harris’s choice, it would mean the students had influenced politics at the highest level.At U OF T Occupy for Palestine, five people sat on chairs at the entrance, screening people going in and out. “You Are Entering The People’s Circle For Palestine,” a sign read. One tent held a library with a few hundred books; other tents served variously as the kitchen, a space for art, and a prayer room. Solar panels generated energy for phone chargers. The camp lasted so long that some participants left for trips abroad and returned to a still ongoing project. At the final rally after the encampment was dismantled, about 2,000 Torontonians marched downtown to celebrate and mourn what had unexpectedly lasted for two months. “We galvanized an entire city,” Yassin told me. “We opened a lot of people’s eyes.” Mackey, similarly, believes that the protests persuaded some students who were either indifferent or hostile to the Palestinian cause. “I’ve seen it in my own life,” she told me. “The divide is definitely closing against genocide.”The Gaza encampments garnered copious media attention. As University of California at Berkeley political scientist Omar Wasow said, the “campus protests elevated the issue of the war in Gaza and some of the inequities in the war onto the national agenda.” This is no small thing, because even as Israel kills unfathomable numbers of Palestinians—more than 40,000 at the time of this writing—it is easy to imagine the slaughter falling off the front pages. “They’ve succeeded in raising consciousness broadly in America and Canada among everyday citizens who may not be following the war in Israel and Palestine closely,” argued Mira Sucharov, a political scientist at Carleton University in Ottawa.But attracting attention to a cause is not the same thing as persuading people of its justice, let alone its urgency. On the level of broader public opinion, the number of Americans who opposed the Gaza student protests was twice the number who supported them, and the vast majority of survey respondents backed Israel over Hamas. Even worse, a poll conducted in mid-June found that Americans were as likely to say the protests made them sympathize less with the Palestinians than to say the opposite. In March, the Canadian government halted arms sales to Israel after Parliament passed a nonbinding resolution, but this was before the U of T encampment began. Canadians were no friendlier to the campus protests than Americans were. Generally speaking, the encampments raised public awareness of the huge numbers of deaths in Gaza, but that didn’t translate into encouragement or assistance to the cause.Of course, protests can galvanize change even when unpopular. But they can just as easily be ignored, contained, or trigger a backlash. That reality is one of the risks protesters take when they employ maximalist rhetoric. U of T Occupy for Palestine was constructed to accommodate small tents, but it was unconcerned with building a larger one. The fence that encircled King’s College Circle was plastered with signs, some of which testified to the immense violence that Israel has unleashed in Gaza, quoting Palestinian children who have been orphaned, or referencing mothers who have been made childless. Other posters simply had drawings of Palestinian flags or declarations of solidarity from non-Palestinians. Such placards might be divisive, but they can’t reasonably be perceived as dangerous.Other signs were more ambiguous, praising Palestinian “martyrs” and calling for a “student intifada.” These could be read as calls for indiscriminate violence of the kind Hamas perpetrated on October 7, or they could be considered, as organizers claim they are intended, as general (but not necessarily violent) cheers for rebellion. And indeed, polls showed that slogans were heard differently by different audiences. Two-thirds of Jewish university students heard the ubiquitous chant “From the River to the Sea” as calling for the expulsion and genocide of Israeli Jews, while only 14 percent of Muslim students heard it that way, according to a University of Chicago poll. The Muslim students believed it was a chant for the equality of Jews and Palestinians in one state, or for a two-state solution. While the forcefulness and vagueness of these pro-Palestine slogans may seem sinister to some, the reality may be more banal. “It’s a matter of wanting to be concise,” Sucharov told me. “It’s a matter of wanting to center the Palestinian experience.” In the same way that some people incorrectly perceive the slogan “Black Lives Matter” as suggesting that other human lives are less valuable, so do Palestinians use slogans with meanings they understand but that may be unclear or offensive to others, she said.Of course, one difference is that some elements of Hamas do mean the slogans in the darkest possible sense, hoping for more violence against Israeli civilians to the point that the state itself is destroyed and its people either subjugated, expelled, or killed. In his ruling granting the University of Toronto the injunction to remove the encampment, the Ontario Superior Court judge absolved the organizers of antisemitism. “The automatic conclusion that those phrases are antisemitic is not justified,” he wrote about the ambiguous phrases. These determinations by the court were greatly appreciated by U of T Occupy for Palestine, which had routinely been accused of being a hate-fest. (One professor had written in Canada’s National Post newspaper that “the encampments are led by pro-Hamas advocates who are seeking to justify Islamist terrorism by normalizing antisemitism.”)But while the ruling absolved the organizers of antisemitism, it also clarified that at rallies where pro-Palestinian and pro-Israel protesters squared off, unambiguously antisemitic phrases were directed at Jews. These included comments such as “Death to the Jews,” “We need another holocost [sic],” and “Jews belong in the sea.” The judge noted that none of those comments were uttered by organizers like Yassin or Mackey, nor even any of the encampment occupants, but community members who were adjacent to the encampment. Organizers erased antisemitic phrases when they were written in chalk outside the camp. But the reality is that excising antisemitic elements is a constant requirement for pro-Palestinian activists and will grow increasingly important as the movement attracts new adherents, some of whom will inevitably want to target Jews. Again and again at protests against Israel’s destruction of Gaza, antisemitism reared its ugly head. The presence of bigotry at these events suggests how easily demands for unnamed forms of rebellion can shade into justifications for violence.Antisemitic acts skyrocketed in Canada in late 2023 and 2024, as they did in the United States and around the world. In Toronto, synagogues, businesses, and day schools were defaced with graffiti, a synagogue was set on fire, and Jewish students reported rampant antisemitism at U of T and other schools. U of T Occupy for Palestine wasn’t responsible for these acts, which terrified much of the Jewish community and influenced how the public perceived the protests, and the organizers didn’t seem to care much about any of that. The tents inside the encampment had catchphrases like FUCK ALL ZIOS written on them, short for “Zionists.” But there is a thin line between opposing Zionism and cultivating hatred against Zionists, and such rhetoric thins the line even more. In our conversation, Yassin spoke fondly of the Jews who joined him in supporting Palestinian liberation, as did other organizers. But he pushed back against the idea that the protesters should modify their rhetoric to appeal to anyone doubtful of the Palestinian cause or fearful for Zionist Jews. “It’s more important to maintain the purity of the message,” he said. He cited boxing legend Muhammad Ali’s refusal to participate in the Vietnam War when drafted (“I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong,” he famously said as U.S. troops were fighting them) as an example of how a once-shocking message can later be seen as prescient. In the coming years, Yassin argued, it will become more acceptable to publicly castigate Zionism and Zionists. “Calls for justice are not hatred,” he said.One way in which the pro-Palestinian movement differs from activism against South African apartheid, the Vietnam War, and discrimination against African Americans is that its target, Israel, is also a refuge for a persecuted people and their lone nation-state. Another way is that, so far at least, organizers appear indifferent to how their rhetoric and actions are interpreted by the broader public. Yassin and others are convinced that history is on their side, and that public opinion—and government policy following it—will inevitably swing their way. As Mackey put it about the university divesting from Israel, “It’s when, not if.”This line of thinking absolves activists of pursuing alternative strategies that might be more beneficial, such as allying with Israel’s leftists, clarifying the place of Jews in a free Palestine, denouncing all deliberate attacks on civilians, or engaging in self-criticism that could perhaps help propel the movement forward. Mackey observed that the divestment campaign at the University of Toronto began in 2006. But in 2024, the school is no closer to meeting the movement’s demands than it was 18 years ago. The U of T encampment disbanded without compelling the school to make any changes.Some campuses had victories. At Brown University, students took down their tents when the school’s governing body agreed to vote on a proposal to divest the school’s $6.6 billion endowment from companies affiliated with Israel. “Not only did we force the administrators to come to the table, but we also forced them into accepting a really historic vote,” a Brown encampment participant told reporters at the end of April. “Today we’re seeing the results of negotiations that didn’t seem possible even a week ago.” As far away as Ireland, student protesters caused Trinity College Dublin to divest from Israeli firms. At Macalester College in Minnesota, where Mueller teaches, a task force has been organized to deal with the long-term grievances of students. “Putting campus investment practices on the long-term agenda is probably going to have a decent tail,” she said.But these were the exceptions. From Columbia University and other Ivy League schools to smaller campuses in the United States and around the world, by and large, the students failed in their basic objectives of ending U.S. support for Israel or forcing most universities to divest from it.For now.When students return for the 2024–2025 academic year, activism may resume at a high level, after organizers have licked their wounds and recharged their energies. Mackey and Yassin are adamant that their struggle is far from over, and that they are inspired by their successes, such as they were. “I don’t think that this moment of heightened student protest, for Palestinian freedom on college campuses, has ended yet,” Munayyer of the Arab Center Washington DC agreed. The day after the judge issued the injunction that finished the U of T encampment, one spokesperson said at a press conference, “We are just getting started. This encampment is one of many tactics.”Ultimately, the most concrete impact of the Gaza protests may be in educating a new generation of activists. Tens of thousands of students participated in mass demonstrations against Israel, encounters that may be formative for decades to come. Mackey’s experiences in climate activism contrasted with her pro-Palestinian activism. In April 2023, she and 200 other student activists occupied a building on campus demanding U of T divest from fossil fuel companies; the students stayed for 18 days. But authorities handled that situation very differently. “We weren’t threatened by police,” she said. At U of T Occupy for Palestine, individuals hurled slurs at her and the other students and played music at night to disrupt their sleep. She, Yassin, and other organizers were physically exhausted by showing up each day for two months to arrange logistics for hundreds of people: providing food, disposing of waste, cleaning, dealing with press, negotiating with lawyers and the school administration, dealing with hostile counterprotesters, and hosting community meetings. A tent where coffee was served blew away in the wind at one point. It was draining and stressful to manage these tasks, but the experience was also indispensable in training a generation of activists. Mackey said the connections that Palestinian solidarity groups have made with labor and faculty organizations will be lasting. Research shows that individuals who participate in protests can be profoundly changed by the experience, altering their family and career choices, along with their political trajectories and voting patterns. A study from Tufts University’s Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement found that large-scale protests of the kind following George Floyd’s murder by police in 2020 brought new people into the political process at a higher rate than smaller-scale demonstrations.Yassin told me that he has been emboldened to pursue a career in humanities rather than the safer choice in finance to which he had resigned himself. The support and media attention the encampment received were far greater than anything he or his allies expected, convincing him to envision a better future for himself personally as well. He plans to continue in political organizing in some fashion. “If I learned anything from the camp, it’s that anything is possible,” he said. Mackey has likewise been encouraged by her two months in the encampment. She starts a job soon at an environmental nonprofit and will continue to be involved in organizing on and off. Seeing so many people show up in solidarity with Palestinians “was a very profound and transformational moment,” she said. At the rally sending off the encampment, she was in tears.On a rainy day in mid-July, a visibly more relaxed Yassin visited King’s College Circle for the first time since the encampments were dismantled two weeks prior. All traces of the protests were long gone: the tents, the tarps, the Palestinian flags. An orange plastic fence had replaced the wall that ringed the area, and the grass was growing back where it had been trampled by tents and foot traffic. “God, this is strange,” he said, gazing at the empty space where the small village existed for two months.Yassin’s parents worried once he became an activist. But they grew proud of their outspoken son. When his mother visited the encampment, she cried, moved to see so many Palestinian flags displayed in one place. Yassin told me that he’s heartened that the Palestinian cause has gained acceptance over decades; he knows it has the potential to reach many more people. Even if the encampments don’t recur, other protests will follow in their wake. A religious man, he believes that in the long sweep of history, justice for Palestinians is likely. Even if Israel kicks every Palestinian out of their homeland, still they will not give up on returning. And, eventually, they will return. “All of this is still possible,” he said, walking on the grass.

Mohammad Yassin’s parents had warned him away from politics. His father grew up in Lebanon during the civil war, when having the wrong opinion could get you killed. Yassin, who is Palestinian American, arrived at the University of Toronto four years ago with the intention of studying economics and statistics. He felt that Canada wasn’t his permanent home, and he distrusted existing political institutions, so he avoided involving himself in activism or student government. “I just kind of was like: Hey, I’m gonna put my head down and just study for my entire degree,” he told me, chain-smoking cigarettes in a keffiyeh and sunglasses.But when Hamas viciously attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, everything changed. Later that month, a group called U of T Conservatives organized a rally on campus to display “unwavering support for Israel against Hamas terrorism.” By then, Israel had begun its brutal war on Gaza, and word spread among Yassin’s peers that a counterprotest should be organized. Student groups supporting Palestinians were once vibrant on campus but had diminished in recent years, particularly since Covid. Yassin, who has a sardonic sense of humor and a calm demeanor, joined the counterrally, which drew around 200 people. Many were inspired to organize on an ongoing basis.After months of walkouts, rallies, and cultural events in support of Palestinians, on April 1, 26 students clad in keffiyehs and masks occupied Simcoe Hall, the seat of governance at the University of Toronto, demanding that the school divest from holdings in companies complicit in Israel’s siege. After 30 hours, they left, following an agreement to meet with the university president.The meeting, however, failed to satisfy them. A little over two weeks later, some 500 miles southeast, hundreds of protesters occupied the South Lawn of Columbia University. The pitched tents and mass of demonstrators were a lifeline for the Palestinian groups at U of T, who, like student groups around the world, took the Columbia encampments as inspiration for the next phase of their movement. Anticipating Yassin and his allies’ next move, U of T put up fencing along part of its campus called King’s College Circle, a patch of green space that had recently been renovated. But on May 2, Yassin and about 50 others with U of T Occupy for Palestine set up camp anyway, breaching the fence in the middle of the night. Soon allies just started showing up. “The first day was magical,” Yassin recalled. The group demanded that the university disclose its investments and divest from companies and universities associated with Israel’s occupation of Palestinian land. The school warned the students that they were trespassing on private property. Yassin’s group expected the university to expel them at any moment, certainly within a few days.But that didn’t happen. Toronto police declined to arrest the protesters, so at the end of May, U of T sought a court order to force the issue. For more than two months, the People’s Circle for Palestine operated as a miniature village in the heart of Canada’s largest city. Weeks after almost all encampments on campuses in the United States had been disbanded—Columbia’s lasted just under two weeks—this one continued to operate. Around 200 tents were pitched at one point or another, and many residents, like Yassin, slept there almost every night, returning home only to do some laundry or get the occasional decent rest.On July 2, the Ontario Superior Court of Justice finally granted the university’s injunction to clear out the encampment, which had lasted 62 days. Hours later, Yassin stood with other protest leaders to announce to the news cameras and journalists that they were disbanding the mini-village ahead of the deadline the next evening. That would enable them to leave on their terms and avoid being brutalized by police, he said. Behind him, tents with slogans written on them were still up. “This legal maneuver changes nothing,” he announced defiantly. “Make no mistake, our resolve is stronger than ever. We’ve said from day one that we will not leave this campus until U of T discloses, divests, and cuts ties. That commitment stands firm.”Soon after Yassin spoke, protesters began taking down the many signs on the fence surrounding the encampment. By 6 p.m. the next day, little evidence of the encampment remained, outside of people posing for photos in front of a papier-mâché olive tree with anti-Zionist slogans spray-painted on it. As the sun set, a man and a woman wearing an Israeli flag toppled the structure.The campus rallies against Israel constituted the largest protests at North American universities in the twenty-first century. According to the Crowd Counting Consortium, encampments were erected at more than 130 campuses, and many protests erupted at schools even before Columbia’s tents went up. In the United States, more than 3,600 people were arrested or detained during these campaigns. Encampments eventually spread to Australia, Western and Northern Europe, Latin America, and Asia, including even Israel itself, where some students erected a tent at Bezalel Academy, an art school.But by the summer, most of the protests had disappeared along with the tents, either removed by police or disbanded for the summer break. The Israeli government continues to kill thousands of Palestinians with little compunction, and the Biden administration continues arming it. Yassin is still worried about his family in Lebanon and his mother’s extended family in Gaza. Students who participated in the protests, allies who supported them, and critics who derided them as antisemitic are all left wondering: What did the once-in-a-generation mass protests accomplish? How will they influence the activism that may resume when the new academic year begins?Canada has typically had smooth relations with the Jewish state, but in the twenty-first century, the conservative government of Stephen Harper took it to a new level, marching in lockstep with Israel. That history of support is one reason that concern for Palestine has become commonplace on the left in Canada. And not just in Canada, obviously. Not since South Africa in the 1980s has a people captured the left-wing imagination as a symbol of global injustice. The irony is that this phenomenon is something of a reversal; Zionism was once considered a uniquely heroic cause among many of American left-liberalism’s most exalted figures. According to historian Eric Alterman, author of We Are Not One: A History of America’s Fight Over Israel, liberals and leftists from Eleanor Roosevelt (“The Jews in their own country are doing marvels and should, once the refugee problem is settled, help all the Arab countries,” she wrote) to Progressive Party leader Henry Wallace to Freda Kirchwey, editor of The Nation, saw Jews in Palestine as anti-imperialists battling the British Empire, which was manipulating the Arab states and squaring off against the Soviet Union with little care for the fate of Jews.From the 1940s until 1967, the Palestinians had few advocates in the Western world. They were still recovering after being driven out of their villages by Israel in 1947–1949 during the Nakba, or “catastrophe,” the Arabic term for the dispossession of Palestinians. “It’s very hard to organize politically when you don’t even have a roof over your head,” said Yousef Munayyer, a senior fellow at Arab Center Washington DC. Partly as a result, the myth that Palestinians left their homes voluntarily predominated in the United States.The 1967 Arab-Israeli War created a groundswell of support for Palestinians in the United States for the first time, particularly among radical Black intellectuals and activists. As Alterman explains, the Palestinians began to be seen as a “Third World nation,” deserving of sympathy like other non-Western peoples. But pro-Palestinianism remained a minority viewpoint in the civil rights movement, as more mainstream leaders like Martin Luther King and Bayard Rustin and organizations like the NAACP and the National Urban League issued statements in solidarity with Israel. In the 1970s, Palestinians garnered little institutional backing beyond the furthest left of groups, such as West German terrorists. “We have been unable to interest the West very much in the justice of our cause,” the Palestinian American literary critic and activist Edward Said lamented in his 1979 book, The Question of Palestine. That same year, when President Jimmy Carter secured a peace deal between Egypt and Israel, Palestinians’ anger at having their concerns ignored did little to dilute celebrations in the United States. But at the grassroots level, support for Palestinians had been emerging. It deepened during Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon and especially after the massacre at the refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila. It grew again with the first intifada, which began in 1987, and has since “grown gradually over time,” Alterman observed.Today, for people under 30 and those on the left around the world, Palestine has become a defining issue. Erin Mackey, who graduated from U of T this year, is a prime example. A Canadian American from Boston who came to Toronto because its university was cheaper than those in the states, she was active in campaigns to encourage the administration to divest from fossil fuels, which U of T announced it would do in October 2021. Mackey has the message discipline of a seasoned politician and is as polite in private as she is confrontational in public. The day we met, she was wearing overalls, her nails painted bright red. She sees a natural evolution from agitating against climate change to agitating against Israel. “I saw the links between climate justice and Palestinian liberation,” she explained, referring to Israel’s environmental destruction and its confiscation of land and water. In late October 2023, she and other activists began targeting the Royal Bank of Canada for both its funding of fossil fuel companies and its investments in the U.S. company Palantir, which sells AI surveillance technology to Israel. Once Arab and Palestinian students decided to construct the encampment, they asked Mackey, as someone trained in media outreach, for help. She soon became one of the most visible spokespeople for U of T Occupy for Palestine. “As someone who isn’t Palestinian, knowing my tuition dollars are going toward the genocide is horrifying,” she told me when we spoke at the encampment.The demographics at U of T Occupy for Palestine are suitably reflective of the changed landscape. Both Mackey and Yassin estimated that Palestinians or other Arabs made up only 60 percent of the people who were at the encampment; the remaining 40 percent were other people of color, Jews, and white leftists. A group called Jews Say No to Genocide maintained a constant presence, hosting weekly Shabbat dinners and absorbing the slurs of pro-Israel Jews who staged a counterprotest. The intellectual/activist Naomi Klein showed up once. But many of the signs and tents contained writing attesting to the personal connections individuals had with people in Gaza, citing relatives who have died or castigating Arabs for not sticking together. One encampment resident has had an unimaginable 26 members of their family killed in the Gaza Strip in the past year. “We’re not spectating,” Yassin said.If nothing else, the 2023–2024 protests showed that the constituency for the Palestinian cause has broadened significantly beyond the Arab- and Muslim-majority countries to which it was once confined. What’s more, the plight of the Palestinians has managed to push tens of thousands of people to publicly demonstrate in solidarity, sometimes at great personal risk and in violation of laws and school policies. “That signals not just a growth in the scale and scope of this thing, but also the depth of commitment to the cause, which, again, is at a new and unprecedented level,” Munayyer said. While conservatives and many Democratic Party politicians deride Palestinians as a nonexistent people, uniformly antisemitic, or congenitally prone to terrorism, such designations no longer have mass appeal beyond the right wing and an aging subset of Democrats.Younger generations, especially, see Israel’s repression as a straightforward question of right and wrong. Pew Research Center found that the number of adults under 30 who sympathized with Palestinians was twice the number who sympathized with Israelis, and the number who say the way Israel is fighting its war against Hamas is “unacceptable” is more than twice the number who say it’s “acceptable.” Young people have a more positive view of Palestinians than of Israelis, and the number who say Hamas’s reasons for fighting Israel are valid is slightly higher than the number who say they are not (notably, however, 58 percent of young people said Hamas’s October 7 massacre was unacceptable). Just 16 percent of young people favor the United States providing military aid to Israel. For Palestinians, who were once synonymous with terrorism in the Western imagination, this widespread support marks a staggering shift. The students holding signs and chanting in unison might eventually be seen as a harbinger of a changed Western approach to the role of Palestinians in the Middle East.But the levels of participation in protests over the last year should not be exaggerated either. For all the attention they received—and for all the anxiety they provoked among conservatives and in the Jewish establishment in the United States—only 8 percent of college students took part in demonstrations in support of either Palestinians or Israelis, according to a Generation Lab survey published on May 7. The Vietnam War–era protests with which the encampments have been compared far outstripped these figures and lasted for years. In May 1970 alone, more than four million students at around 900 campuses went on strike after National Guardsmen gunned down four students at Kent State University. The Gaza encampments “were really centered around student communities and the people you would be expecting to engage in these campus uprisings,” said Lisa Mueller, a political scientist at Macalester College who studies protest movements. The Vietnam antiwar movement “far transcended students and people on the left.” Moving beyond protests that are largely drawing on the left would signal to potential supporters and elites that the movement can be a force for a pressure and not just confined to a fringe, but it remains to be seen whether the pro-Palestinian elements in the West can make it happen.Similarly, while young people are more sympathetic to the plight of Palestinians than their older counterparts are, they are generally less likely to be politically active and engaged than their elders, rendering their sentiments less impactful. People who are under 30 years of age vote in smaller numbers than their elders, feel less informed about candidates and issues than others, believe they’re unqualified to participate in politics, donate less money to political campaigns, and run for office in far fewer numbers. And while young people hold far more pro-Palestinian sentiments than others, that does not necessarily translate into a concentrated bloc powerful enough to alter U.S. policy. The same polls showing the sea change in how younger generations perceive the Israeli- Palestinian conflict reveal that they care most about the same issues that older people do: the cost of living, access to good-paying jobs, and preventing gun violence. “Particularly in a democratic society, there are electoral pressures for elected leaders and candidates to heed the demands and grievances of diverse potential voters,” Mueller said. “I haven’t seen that happen so much yet.”Of course, the usual apathy and cynicism of younger voters are precisely what make the campus protests so unusual. Every organizer knows how difficult it is to get people into the streets for an afternoon, let alone for days or weeks. On day 56 of the camp, Mackey told me, “I don’t think anybody thought we would get here.” After negotiating with the administration the first week, U of T Occupy for Palestine settled in for a long haul. They got trespassing notices and were threatened with expulsion and suffered through rainy nights, hail, and extreme heat. Still they stayed. “This is just a piece of a much broader movement,” Mackey said.Indeed, when Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris selected Minnesota’s Tim Walz as her running mate in August, there was wide speculation that she had passed over Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro because of his insulting comments about the protesters and his arguably greater fondness for Israel. If this calculation played a role in Harris’s choice, it would mean the students had influenced politics at the highest level.At U OF T Occupy for Palestine, five people sat on chairs at the entrance, screening people going in and out. “You Are Entering The People’s Circle For Palestine,” a sign read. One tent held a library with a few hundred books; other tents served variously as the kitchen, a space for art, and a prayer room. Solar panels generated energy for phone chargers. The camp lasted so long that some participants left for trips abroad and returned to a still ongoing project. At the final rally after the encampment was dismantled, about 2,000 Torontonians marched downtown to celebrate and mourn what had unexpectedly lasted for two months. “We galvanized an entire city,” Yassin told me. “We opened a lot of people’s eyes.” Mackey, similarly, believes that the protests persuaded some students who were either indifferent or hostile to the Palestinian cause. “I’ve seen it in my own life,” she told me. “The divide is definitely closing against genocide.”The Gaza encampments garnered copious media attention. As University of California at Berkeley political scientist Omar Wasow said, the “campus protests elevated the issue of the war in Gaza and some of the inequities in the war onto the national agenda.” This is no small thing, because even as Israel kills unfathomable numbers of Palestinians—more than 40,000 at the time of this writing—it is easy to imagine the slaughter falling off the front pages. “They’ve succeeded in raising consciousness broadly in America and Canada among everyday citizens who may not be following the war in Israel and Palestine closely,” argued Mira Sucharov, a political scientist at Carleton University in Ottawa.But attracting attention to a cause is not the same thing as persuading people of its justice, let alone its urgency. On the level of broader public opinion, the number of Americans who opposed the Gaza student protests was twice the number who supported them, and the vast majority of survey respondents backed Israel over Hamas. Even worse, a poll conducted in mid-June found that Americans were as likely to say the protests made them sympathize less with the Palestinians than to say the opposite. In March, the Canadian government halted arms sales to Israel after Parliament passed a nonbinding resolution, but this was before the U of T encampment began. Canadians were no friendlier to the campus protests than Americans were. Generally speaking, the encampments raised public awareness of the huge numbers of deaths in Gaza, but that didn’t translate into encouragement or assistance to the cause.Of course, protests can galvanize change even when unpopular. But they can just as easily be ignored, contained, or trigger a backlash. That reality is one of the risks protesters take when they employ maximalist rhetoric. U of T Occupy for Palestine was constructed to accommodate small tents, but it was unconcerned with building a larger one. The fence that encircled King’s College Circle was plastered with signs, some of which testified to the immense violence that Israel has unleashed in Gaza, quoting Palestinian children who have been orphaned, or referencing mothers who have been made childless. Other posters simply had drawings of Palestinian flags or declarations of solidarity from non-Palestinians. Such placards might be divisive, but they can’t reasonably be perceived as dangerous.Other signs were more ambiguous, praising Palestinian “martyrs” and calling for a “student intifada.” These could be read as calls for indiscriminate violence of the kind Hamas perpetrated on October 7, or they could be considered, as organizers claim they are intended, as general (but not necessarily violent) cheers for rebellion. And indeed, polls showed that slogans were heard differently by different audiences. Two-thirds of Jewish university students heard the ubiquitous chant “From the River to the Sea” as calling for the expulsion and genocide of Israeli Jews, while only 14 percent of Muslim students heard it that way, according to a University of Chicago poll. The Muslim students believed it was a chant for the equality of Jews and Palestinians in one state, or for a two-state solution. While the forcefulness and vagueness of these pro-Palestine slogans may seem sinister to some, the reality may be more banal. “It’s a matter of wanting to be concise,” Sucharov told me. “It’s a matter of wanting to center the Palestinian experience.” In the same way that some people incorrectly perceive the slogan “Black Lives Matter” as suggesting that other human lives are less valuable, so do Palestinians use slogans with meanings they understand but that may be unclear or offensive to others, she said.Of course, one difference is that some elements of Hamas do mean the slogans in the darkest possible sense, hoping for more violence against Israeli civilians to the point that the state itself is destroyed and its people either subjugated, expelled, or killed. In his ruling granting the University of Toronto the injunction to remove the encampment, the Ontario Superior Court judge absolved the organizers of antisemitism. “The automatic conclusion that those phrases are antisemitic is not justified,” he wrote about the ambiguous phrases. These determinations by the court were greatly appreciated by U of T Occupy for Palestine, which had routinely been accused of being a hate-fest. (One professor had written in Canada’s National Post newspaper that “the encampments are led by pro-Hamas advocates who are seeking to justify Islamist terrorism by normalizing antisemitism.”)But while the ruling absolved the organizers of antisemitism, it also clarified that at rallies where pro-Palestinian and pro-Israel protesters squared off, unambiguously antisemitic phrases were directed at Jews. These included comments such as “Death to the Jews,” “We need another holocost [sic],” and “Jews belong in the sea.” The judge noted that none of those comments were uttered by organizers like Yassin or Mackey, nor even any of the encampment occupants, but community members who were adjacent to the encampment. Organizers erased antisemitic phrases when they were written in chalk outside the camp. But the reality is that excising antisemitic elements is a constant requirement for pro-Palestinian activists and will grow increasingly important as the movement attracts new adherents, some of whom will inevitably want to target Jews. Again and again at protests against Israel’s destruction of Gaza, antisemitism reared its ugly head. The presence of bigotry at these events suggests how easily demands for unnamed forms of rebellion can shade into justifications for violence.Antisemitic acts skyrocketed in Canada in late 2023 and 2024, as they did in the United States and around the world. In Toronto, synagogues, businesses, and day schools were defaced with graffiti, a synagogue was set on fire, and Jewish students reported rampant antisemitism at U of T and other schools. U of T Occupy for Palestine wasn’t responsible for these acts, which terrified much of the Jewish community and influenced how the public perceived the protests, and the organizers didn’t seem to care much about any of that. The tents inside the encampment had catchphrases like FUCK ALL ZIOS written on them, short for “Zionists.” But there is a thin line between opposing Zionism and cultivating hatred against Zionists, and such rhetoric thins the line even more. In our conversation, Yassin spoke fondly of the Jews who joined him in supporting Palestinian liberation, as did other organizers. But he pushed back against the idea that the protesters should modify their rhetoric to appeal to anyone doubtful of the Palestinian cause or fearful for Zionist Jews. “It’s more important to maintain the purity of the message,” he said. He cited boxing legend Muhammad Ali’s refusal to participate in the Vietnam War when drafted (“I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong,” he famously said as U.S. troops were fighting them) as an example of how a once-shocking message can later be seen as prescient. In the coming years, Yassin argued, it will become more acceptable to publicly castigate Zionism and Zionists. “Calls for justice are not hatred,” he said.One way in which the pro-Palestinian movement differs from activism against South African apartheid, the Vietnam War, and discrimination against African Americans is that its target, Israel, is also a refuge for a persecuted people and their lone nation-state. Another way is that, so far at least, organizers appear indifferent to how their rhetoric and actions are interpreted by the broader public. Yassin and others are convinced that history is on their side, and that public opinion—and government policy following it—will inevitably swing their way. As Mackey put it about the university divesting from Israel, “It’s when, not if.”This line of thinking absolves activists of pursuing alternative strategies that might be more beneficial, such as allying with Israel’s leftists, clarifying the place of Jews in a free Palestine, denouncing all deliberate attacks on civilians, or engaging in self-criticism that could perhaps help propel the movement forward. Mackey observed that the divestment campaign at the University of Toronto began in 2006. But in 2024, the school is no closer to meeting the movement’s demands than it was 18 years ago. The U of T encampment disbanded without compelling the school to make any changes.Some campuses had victories. At Brown University, students took down their tents when the school’s governing body agreed to vote on a proposal to divest the school’s $6.6 billion endowment from companies affiliated with Israel. “Not only did we force the administrators to come to the table, but we also forced them into accepting a really historic vote,” a Brown encampment participant told reporters at the end of April. “Today we’re seeing the results of negotiations that didn’t seem possible even a week ago.” As far away as Ireland, student protesters caused Trinity College Dublin to divest from Israeli firms. At Macalester College in Minnesota, where Mueller teaches, a task force has been organized to deal with the long-term grievances of students. “Putting campus investment practices on the long-term agenda is probably going to have a decent tail,” she said.But these were the exceptions. From Columbia University and other Ivy League schools to smaller campuses in the United States and around the world, by and large, the students failed in their basic objectives of ending U.S. support for Israel or forcing most universities to divest from it.For now.When students return for the 2024–2025 academic year, activism may resume at a high level, after organizers have licked their wounds and recharged their energies. Mackey and Yassin are adamant that their struggle is far from over, and that they are inspired by their successes, such as they were. “I don’t think that this moment of heightened student protest, for Palestinian freedom on college campuses, has ended yet,” Munayyer of the Arab Center Washington DC agreed. The day after the judge issued the injunction that finished the U of T encampment, one spokesperson said at a press conference, “We are just getting started. This encampment is one of many tactics.”Ultimately, the most concrete impact of the Gaza protests may be in educating a new generation of activists. Tens of thousands of students participated in mass demonstrations against Israel, encounters that may be formative for decades to come. Mackey’s experiences in climate activism contrasted with her pro-Palestinian activism. In April 2023, she and 200 other student activists occupied a building on campus demanding U of T divest from fossil fuel companies; the students stayed for 18 days. But authorities handled that situation very differently. “We weren’t threatened by police,” she said. At U of T Occupy for Palestine, individuals hurled slurs at her and the other students and played music at night to disrupt their sleep. She, Yassin, and other organizers were physically exhausted by showing up each day for two months to arrange logistics for hundreds of people: providing food, disposing of waste, cleaning, dealing with press, negotiating with lawyers and the school administration, dealing with hostile counterprotesters, and hosting community meetings. A tent where coffee was served blew away in the wind at one point. It was draining and stressful to manage these tasks, but the experience was also indispensable in training a generation of activists. Mackey said the connections that Palestinian solidarity groups have made with labor and faculty organizations will be lasting. Research shows that individuals who participate in protests can be profoundly changed by the experience, altering their family and career choices, along with their political trajectories and voting patterns. A study from Tufts University’s Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement found that large-scale protests of the kind following George Floyd’s murder by police in 2020 brought new people into the political process at a higher rate than smaller-scale demonstrations.Yassin told me that he has been emboldened to pursue a career in humanities rather than the safer choice in finance to which he had resigned himself. The support and media attention the encampment received were far greater than anything he or his allies expected, convincing him to envision a better future for himself personally as well. He plans to continue in political organizing in some fashion. “If I learned anything from the camp, it’s that anything is possible,” he said. Mackey has likewise been encouraged by her two months in the encampment. She starts a job soon at an environmental nonprofit and will continue to be involved in organizing on and off. Seeing so many people show up in solidarity with Palestinians “was a very profound and transformational moment,” she said. At the rally sending off the encampment, she was in tears.On a rainy day in mid-July, a visibly more relaxed Yassin visited King’s College Circle for the first time since the encampments were dismantled two weeks prior. All traces of the protests were long gone: the tents, the tarps, the Palestinian flags. An orange plastic fence had replaced the wall that ringed the area, and the grass was growing back where it had been trampled by tents and foot traffic. “God, this is strange,” he said, gazing at the empty space where the small village existed for two months.Yassin’s parents worried once he became an activist. But they grew proud of their outspoken son. When his mother visited the encampment, she cried, moved to see so many Palestinian flags displayed in one place. Yassin told me that he’s heartened that the Palestinian cause has gained acceptance over decades; he knows it has the potential to reach many more people. Even if the encampments don’t recur, other protests will follow in their wake. A religious man, he believes that in the long sweep of history, justice for Palestinians is likely. Even if Israel kicks every Palestinian out of their homeland, still they will not give up on returning. And, eventually, they will return. “All of this is still possible,” he said, walking on the grass.

Biden EPA rejects plastics industry’s fuzzy math that misleads customers about recycled content

The plastics industry uses a controversial accounting method to inflate the recycled content it advertises

The Environmental Protection Agency has taken the first ever federal action against a system that misleads consumers about the recycled content in plastic products. A ProPublica investigation in June showed how the plastics industry uses a controversial accounting method called mass balance to advertise plastic products as 20% or 30% recycled even if they physically contain less than 1% recycled content. It involves a number shuffle, done only on paper, that inflates the advertised recycledness of one product by reducing the advertised recycledness of another, often less lucrative, product. Done purely for marketing, it has been criticized by environmentalists as a greenwashing tactic. According to an EPA policy released this month, companies that want the federal government’s stamp of approval for their sustainable products can no longer use such convoluted math. “This is the turning point” that will allow us to start killing the “hoax” of mass balance. The EPA’s Safer Choice standard is a voluntary program that allows manufacturers to affix a “Safer Choice” label to their dish soap, laundry detergent and other products. The roughly 1,800 products that have earned that distinction include household cleaners sold in grocery stores and more niche products like industrial carpet stain removers. Until now, the program’s criteria have focused on encouraging brands to reduce their use of toxic chemicals. But the updated standard, released on Aug. 8, strengthens requirements for sustainable packaging as well; plastic packaging must contain at least 15% postconsumer recycled content. A key requirement: The content must be determined “by weight,” effectively forbidding the mathematical sleight of hand. “This is the turning point” that will allow us to start killing the “hoax” of mass balance, said Jan Dell, a chemical engineer who founded The Last Beach Cleanup, a nonprofit fighting plastic pollution. It’s the latest of several Biden administration actions to tackle the plastic crisis, which is smothering communities, oceans and even our bodies with toxic material that doesn’t break down in nature. Last month, the White House announced that the federal government — the world’s largest buyer of consumer products — would stop purchasing single-use plastic by 2035. Reuters also reported that U.S. negotiators would support global limits on plastic production in ongoing talks for a United Nations plastics treaty. This EPA decision shows that President Joe Biden’s team is adopting more aggressive policies to curb plastic, said Anthony Schiavo, senior director at Lux Research. Schiavo’s company analyzes global trends in emerging petrochemical and plastics technologies. The new requirement effectively shuts out of the program any product made through a much-heralded chemical recycling technology called pyrolysis, which ProPublica’s investigation revealed to be so inefficient that it cannot yield more than 10% recycled content. In practice, it yields far less. Mass balance has been key to marketing those products and the technology. A prominent plastics industry trade group defended mass balance and cited its use in other products like paper and fair-trade chocolate. “Mass balance is a widely accepted accounting tool used by a variety of industries that would encourage more recycled content in the overall economy,” Adam Peer, the American Chemistry Council’s senior director of plastics sustainability, said in an email. The EPA gives annual awards to participants that have done particularly well in its program. Those recognized in 2023, for instance, included The Clorox Co., Rust-Oleum, Ecos and Seventh Generation, which grew their inventories of less-toxic cleaning products and educated consumers about the Safer Choice program. ProPublica asked these four companies whether it would be difficult to transition to plastic packaging that meets the 15% threshold. None responded to requests for comment. The EPA did not comment directly on the policy’s implications for pyrolysis or mass balance. The agency instead referred ProPublica to comments it made last year to the Federal Trade Commission about mass balance, calling it deceptive and advising against promoting it. “It would be clearer to focus on calculations that involve the actual amount of material used,” the agency told the FTC. After an earlier version of the EPA policy, posted in November, left the door open for the use of mass balance, activists including Dell warned the agency about the accounting method’s flaws. And a group of state and local officials, including the attorneys general of 11 states, shared similar reservations on how the EPA should define recycled content. In response to those comments, the EPA wrote that the final policy was written to “respect this consumer expectation” that “products with labels indicating use of recycled content contain post-consumer recycled content.” “Common sense has prevailed here,” said Peter Blair, who co-wrote the activists’ comments with Dell. Blair, policy and advocacy director at the environmental group Just Zero, said he was thrilled that the EPA’s final decision prioritized “truthful, accurate” labeling of recycled content for a program that’s not explicitly about plastic. The activists’ campaign reflects the mounting pressure to scrutinize and regulate how plastic — especially plastic recycled via newer technologies — is marketed. European regulators have banned the most extreme version of mass balance. And the FTC is updating the Green Guides, which spell out how companies can advertise recycled content in sustainable products. Those officials, too, are considering whether to allow mass balance. Blair hopes the EPA decision sets a precedent for where the federal government will stand. Read more about this topic

How ‘loving corrections’ could transform our relationships with one another — and the Earth

In her newest book, activist and scholar adrienne maree brown offers a practical guide to empathy.

The vision “I foresee a movement with a wide stance, a strong connection to ancestral wisdom, a fortified sense of self that inspires all who see and touch and join it. We spend our time transforming ourselves and our relationships to earth and each other. We show the way with our bodies and behavior, rather than shaming anyone for where they are. There is love at the center.” — adrienne maree brown in Loving Corrections The spotlight “We need each other.” Those words begin a new book by activist and scholar adrienne maree brown: Loving Corrections. It’s a scientific fact that humans rely on one another; even the most introverted among us require social connection, collaboration, and community to thrive. Yet we’re living through what even the surgeon general has deemed an “epidemic of loneliness and isolation,” and our country seems to grow more divided by the day — politically, culturally, even by gender. Loving Corrections is written as a practical guide to begin to remedy some of those divisions, to reinject empathy into our interactions, and to offer an alternative to the harms of cancel culture. “Even among those of us who long for justice and liberation, I noticed an emerging trend within our movements that looked and felt like policing each other, disposing of each other, and destroying each other,” brown writes in the introduction. Brown (who uses both she and they pronouns) is an author, activist, and scholar, and a leading voice on the politics of activism and collective liberation, with a particular emphasis on climate and environmental justice. She has written and edited a number of books that explore themes of self-care, self-help, and best practices in movements for change — including the 2017 book Emergent Strategy, considered by many to be a movement classic. Loving Corrections is the latest in that series. The book draws on brown’s extensive experience as a facilitator; in that role, they said, they learned how to hold a space in which people could slow down, connect as human beings, and really hear one another through sometimes difficult conversations. They thought they might be able to do the same thing as a writer. (Brown also served as a judge for Grist’s Imagine 2200 climate fiction contest in 2021, and wrote for Grist nearly two decades ago about issues of exclusion in environmentalism — a movement certainly guilty of the kind of policing brown describes in the intro to her book.) “I think of the work I do as growing a garden of healing ideas in public,” brown told me. “I’m constantly trying to hone ideas that I think will be helpful to the collective, to the species, to how we relate to the Earth, how we relate to each other — and Loving Corrections emerged because I kept getting questions from people that were like, ‘OK, but how do we actually do this? How do we hold on to each other while we relinquish these systems of oppression in which we’ve been socialized, in which we’re caught up?” The book offers some specific advice, and even an example of brown in conversation with her two sisters, showing how they’ve instituted regular check-ins with each other as a way of easing familial friction. But it’s also about more than our relationships with fellow humans. The Earth can deliver loving corrections, brown writes, and also requires an attentive relationship. That can happen on an individual level, with the land and ecosystems around us — but for some of the systemic changes that humanity needs to make in order to heal our broken systems of extraction, pollution, and destruction, we first need to imagine better systems in their place, brown said. That, too, can be a form of loving correction. “We live in a world that was imagined by people who didn’t actually care about keeping our connection to the Earth intact and who didn’t really care about us being in right relationship with each other,” she said. “It matters hugely that we articulate to each other what we dream, what the world could be like — and that we don’t settle.” Here’s a short excerpt from brown’s book, exploring ways of thinking about our relationship to the Earth, how to listen, and how to care for this blue dot we call home. (This essay originally appeared in “Murmurations,” a column brown started for YES! Magazine, focusing on themes of accountability.) — Claire Elise Thompson Excerpted chapter: “Accountable to Earth,” from the book Loving Corrections by adrienne maree brown I love sitting with mothers in moments of relaxation. I was recently on vacation with some of my goddess crew, one of whom is a new mom. Her baby was sleeping in the next room, and after a bit of time and talk, we heard the sound of his voice, carried in stereo through the door and the little monitor that let us see and hear him. To be honest, anytime he wasn’t with us, we were watching the little monitor, watching him sleep, dream, move around, self-soothe. My friend sat up, alert, and held up a hand to remind herself (and us) to give him a minute to see if he needed her or was just cycling up to the surface of wakefulness before diving into the next dream. He dove, and we went back to what we were doing. An hour later, he cried out again, louder, demanding, fully awake. She moved quickly to hold him, knowing his needs with the incredible grace of a good parent. Later, I thought I heard him again, but he was awake, and it was an owl hooting deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the pitch of the hoot moving up, up, up the scale, and into the moonlight. Another time, it was a cat nearby, mewling for attention. I was reading a book about a talking cat, and for a moment, fiction and fantasy merged as I felt certain I knew what the cat meant: Now, now, now! The baby, the owl, the cat — they all sounded the same to me, each crying out for attention, for care, in a language that translates across species. This pattern of screaming prayer returns me to a familiar question: How do we hear beyond the human cry for help? The Earth seems to be crying. I hear the concurrent calls of one-third of Pakistan underwater in massive floods; Jackson, Mississippi, without water for drinking or toilet flushing for the foreseeable future; Puerto Rico’s power grid flooded out by Hurricane Fiona. And that suffering barely scratches the surface. There are fires that never rest into ash, there is water that doesn’t recede, waves where we need ice, islands whose highest point is now below water, heat waves that send elders into grocery store aisles while chefs cook steak on the hoods of cars. On the recent anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, I noticed how normalized these disasters have become; how comfortable we are becoming with mass displacement and death. What would it look like to answer the demanding cries of Earth, to be accountable to the needs of the planet? Given that these questions are likely already familiar to the readers of this publication, perhaps we need to ask something different: Can those of us willing to be accountable do enough to counter the choices of those bent on destruction? How? Over this past year, I have been experimenting with a climate ban on unnecessary travel. I don’t fly for work or speeches. If I am in transit, it is for love only: going to family, blood or chosen; going to home; going to health. If it’s within reach and my body is up for it, I drive my electric vehicle to get there. I’ve mostly been able to hold this practice, and it has felt like a choice that helps ease my impact on the Earth, while also easing the impact that travel and being away from the sanctuary of home has on my body. I am feeling myself more every day as an earthling, understanding how what is good for my body is good for the Earth, and vice versa. Another practice I’m interested in is folding the Earth into every other thing I do, every decision I make. When I consider any concern I have for people, place, animal, culture, danger, I root myself back to the relationship to our Earth and the changes currently unfolding for her. What would the Earth have me do, have us do? These questions bring me to this brief but powerful wisdom from Margaret Killjoy: “You can’t write fiction on a dead planet.” I think the same is true for everything, far beyond fiction. If the planet effectively dies for us, if it becomes uninhabitable for humans, nothing else we are doing here matters. So many of us have cried this out, in so many ways, for so long — I know I am adding my voice to an ancient wailing, for attention. For care. If every issue was seen through an Earth-related lens, what might we learn? We wouldn’t put down our myriad priorities, but maybe we would reframe and redistribute our time to more accurately account for the care of our only home, currently crumbling and buckling, infested, and burning and flooding in every room. Our home, too, is wailing. But imagine for a moment that everyone was tapped into this pattern of accountability to the planet, of anchoring our actions in consideration of their impact on the Earth. Imagine a common reality of collectively prioritizing our most universal gift: life on Earth. Imagine, for instance, a movement-wide, Earth-forward ban on work travel, and a shared commitment to turn our global attention to the wisdom and need of the Earth beneath our feet and over our heads, flowing all around us. Imagine what we could do together if our movements were focused on sustainability or, even better, sustenance — that which sustains us, that which answers the cry for care. What if movement’s job was to hone the parental instinct of our species? I am not suggesting here that the Earth needs us to parent it in terms of a power dynamic, but rather that there is something communal and universal in the need and offer for care among the species that share this planet. There is a rhythm to care that flows in every direction. Rather than centering a human purpose of domination and forcing the Earth to serve us, imagine if we centered in a human purpose of care, among and beyond our species. More exposure Read: Loving Corrections, out yesterday from AK Press — and check here for tour dates to hear more from adrienne maree brown Read: more from Murmurations, a column featuring the work of brown and other writers (YES! Magazine) Read: Emergent Strategy, brown’s first solo book, heavily inspired by Octavia Butler’s writings about change in her seminal climate fiction novel, Parable of the Sower Read: an article about what we can learn from Parable of the Sower in 2024, the year the story was set (Grist) A parting shot Enjoy this scenic photo of a sunset in the Blue Ridge Mountains — the site of the retreat that brown describes in her essay, and, coincidentally, where I’m from! There’s nothing more soothing to me than the sight of these old, tree-covered mountains, especially in the fall. IMAGE CREDITS Vision: Grist Parting shot: Joe Sohm / Visions of America / Getty Images   This post has been updated to reflect adrienne maree brown’s preferred styling of their name. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How ‘loving corrections’ could transform our relationships with one another — and the Earth on Aug 21, 2024.

As removal of dams frees Klamath River, California tribes see hope of saving salmon

The largest dam removal project in U.S. history has freed the Klamath River, inspiring hope among Indigenous activists who pushed for rewilding to help save salmon.

HORNBROOK, Calif. —  Excavators clawed at the remnants of Iron Gate Dam, clattering loudly as they unloaded tons of earth and rock into dump trucks.Nine miles upriver, machinery tore into the foundation of a second dam, Copco No. 1, carving away some of the last fragments of the sloping concrete barrier that once towered above the Klamath River.Over the last few weeks, crews have nearly finished removing the last of the four dams that once held back the Klamath River near the California-Oregon border.On Wednesday, workers carved channels to breach the remaining cofferdams at the last two sites, allowing water to flow freely along more than 40 miles of the Klamath for the first time in more than a century. The draining of reservoirs on the Klamath River has left a dry lake bed beside a flowing creek. Indigenous leaders and activists cheered, smiled and embraced as they watched the river slowly begin to pour through what was left of Iron Gate Dam. Some were in tears.For activists who have been waiting for this moment for years, the feelings of joy and excitement have been building in recent weeks as the undamming work neared completion.“The biggest thing for me, the significance of the dam removal project, is just hope — understanding that change can be made,” Brook M. Thompson, a Yurok Tribe member, said recently as she stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the remnants of Iron Gate Dam.“This is definitely one of the highlights of my entire life, seeing this view that we’re looking at right now,” Thompson said. “This is everything.”The dismantling of four hydroelectric dams, which began in June 2023 and has involved hundreds of workers, is the largest dam removal effort in U.S. history. Aggressive and impactful reporting on climate change, the environment, health and science. The project’s goals include reviving the river’s ecosystem and enabling Chinook and coho salmon to swim upstream and spawn along 400 miles of the Klamath and its tributaries.Salmon are central to the culture and fishing tradition of Native tribes along the Klamath River. But the dams have long blocked the fish from reaching ancestral spawning areas, and have degraded water quality, contributing to toxic algae blooms and disease outbreaks that have killed fish.Thompson, a 28-year-old restoration engineer for the Yurok Tribe, is one of many Indigenous activists who began protesting to demand change after witnessing a mass fish kill in 2002, when tens of thousands of salmon died, filling the river with carcasses. Brook Thompson a restoration engineer for the Yurok Tribe, walks along Camp Creek, a tributary of the Klamath River where crews have been doing watershed restoration work. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) Thompson was 7 when she saw the dead fish floating in the river, and that memory has stayed with her. She saw it as evidence that dam removal was essential for restoring the river’s health. In high school, she traveled by bus to demonstrations in Sacramento, Portland, Ore., and other places. She grew accustomed to hearing some say their calls for dam removal would never become a reality.Now, those hard-fought dreams are finally coming to fruition.“It happened so quickly,” Thompson said as she watched machinery carving into the base of the dam in mid-August. “It’s like a magic trick, like it was there and now it’s not.”She hopes the dam removals will mark a historic turning point and eventually restore a thriving salmon population and reinvigorate fishing traditions.“This is something where I can show my grandkids and be like, ‘There was a dam here. There’s not anymore,’” she said. “And part of that is because of the tribal people and our persistence in bringing this down.” Visiting an overlook during the final phase of dam removal work at the Iron Gate Dam, Mark Bransom, chief executive of the Klamath River Renewal Corp., said: “In a month’s time, you won’t see any concrete or equipment. The river will be free flowing. There will be no evidence of a dam.” Accompanying her on the visit was Mark Bransom, chief executive of the nonprofit Klamath River Renewal Corp., which is overseeing the project.“We’ve achieved what we set out to do here, standing on the shoulders of our tribal partners, and getting the job done ahead of schedule, which ultimately is good for the environment, good for the fish,” Bransom said. “It’s amazing to see the progress.” Crews hired by the contractor Kiewit Corp. have excavated an estimated 1 million cubic yards of rock, soil and clay at Iron Gate Dam. They have hauled the material to a location nearby, using it to reform a hill that was removed during the dam’s construction decades ago. Now that the river has returned to its natural channel, work crews will pour concrete to plug diversion tunnels where water has been rerouted and will demolish a concrete tower that was used to control the flow. Those tunnel sites will be covered with large rocks, Bransom said, and the work of taking out the dams will be complete in September. “There really won’t be any visual reminders that there was a dam here,” Bransom said.The project’s $500-million budget includes funds from California and from surcharges paid by PacifiCorp customers. The utility agreed to remove the aging dams — which were used for power generation, not water storage — after determining it would be less expensive than bringing them up to current environmental standards. Two other dams, which aren’t affected by the project, will remain farther upstream in Oregon. The removal of the four dams, which were built without tribes’ consent between 1912 and the 1960s, has cleared the way for California to return more than 2,800 acres of ancestral land to the Shasta Indian Nation.Since the reservoirs were drained in January, the river and its tributaries have returned to their original channels, exposing lands that were submerged for generations. This winter and spring, workers scattered millions of seeds of native plants to begin to restore natural vegetation in the reservoir bottomlands. Sonny Mitchell, a member of a Karuk Tribe fisheries team, looks for juvenile Chinook and coho salmon in Wooley Creek, a tributary of the Salmon River, which is one of the major tributaries of the Klamath River. The approach draws on lessons from previous efforts, including dam removals on the Elwha River in Washington. Bransom said he and others believe the Klamath project will serve as a model for future restoration efforts aimed at helping salmon.“What we’re doing with dam removal is essentially creating more favorable conditions for these amazing species of fish to return,” Bransom said. “Because these fish know. They have ancestral DNA that will lead them back to this place to do what they have done for thousands and thousands of years, to come back from the ocean and to spawn here and die and contribute themselves to the health of the watershed. And for the next generation of those fish to return to the ocean.”With the river flowing freely, salmon will be able to pass upstream to access creeks that provide spawning habitat. Fall-run Chinook have already been entering the mouth of the river and are heading upstream.The emptying of the reservoirs has released vast amounts of sediment that had accumulated behind the dams, sending pulses of turbid brown water into the river. But the current sediment levels aren’t expected to be a major problem for the returning salmon. Watching the dark water flow past, Thompson said: “The river is healing. The river is clearing itself out.”The work of planting seeds in the empty reservoirs will continue this fall. The Klamath River flows freely once again upriver from where the Copco No. 1 Dam once stood, returning to the route seen in a photograph from 1911. Thompson, who is currently a doctoral student in environmental studies at UC Santa Cruz, said she is looking forward to watching the vegetation return in the coming years.Restoration crews have also been using a helicopter to carry logs and place them in the creeks, where they will create stream habitats for aquatic insects and fish.Thompson watched as one helicopter soared over Camp Creek, a log dangling from a cable. A gripping device set the log down on the creek bed while the whirling rotor blades kicked up dust.“It’s not a usual thing where you see fish get their habitat taken away for decades and then it’s given back all of a sudden,” she said. “So seeing how they behave will be interesting.” Work on the removal of the earthen Iron Gate Dam is in its final phase. The removal of four dams on the Klamath River is intended to restore the ecosystem and upstream spawning habitats for salmon. One morning in mid-August, on a tributary creek downstream from the dams, a group of men wearing wetsuits, masks and snorkels swam in clear pools, scanning the water for small fish. The team, part of the Karuk Tribe’s fisheries program, was searching for juvenile Chinook and coho salmon.“Did you see anything?” Toz Soto, the tribe’s fisheries program manager, asked one of the snorkelers.“No,” the man said. “Saw some steelies” — steelhead trout.Soto, who has worked for the tribe for more than two decades, said that 15 years ago, it wouldn’t have been difficult to find Chinook salmon here in Wooley Creek.“Now it’s hard. Just finding fish is challenging now,” he said.The team continued searching in a pool below a sheer rock face. Using a seine net, they formed a circle and pulled up their catch. Juvenile steelhead trout are released back into the water after they were caught during a fish survey in Wooley Creek. At first, they didn’t find any salmon. But after a few tries, the net came up filled with small wriggling fish, including some salmon.Sitting on the bank, the team went to work. They inserted tracking tags in the small coho salmon, and clipped tiny pieces from Chinook salmon fins, placing them in envelopes for genetic testing.The sampling will provide data that can support efforts to rebuild salmon populations, which have declined dramatically because of a mix of factors, including dams and water diversion as well as the worsening effects of climate change.In May, California banned commercial and recreational salmon fishing for a second straight year due to low numbers. Members of the Karuk and Yurok tribes continue small-scale subsistence fishing.Tribal leaders have said they hope salmon populations will gradually rebound as the fish return to productive cold water upstream.“I think dam removal couldn’t come at a better time,” Soto said. “We just tripled the amount of habitat. So that’s pretty exciting.” The nation’s largest dam removal project is nearing completion on the Klamath River. On a recent evening, Karuk men and boys gathered by the Klamath wearing traditional regalia and holding spears, bows and quivers made of animal skins and filled with willow branches. They sang, let out cries and danced facing a fire.Their celebratory dance was part of the tribe’s annual World Renewal Ceremony. Leaf Hillman, an elder and ceremonial leader of the Karuk Tribe, said that through this sacred ritual, people come together to “help to put the world back in balance.”“It’s a resurgence, it’s a revival. It’s a renewal that we do every year, but this one feels significant,” Hillman said. “The added meaning for us is that we’ve been praying for the dams to come down for all these years.”Hillman and others spent more than two decades campaigning for the removal of dams, including filing lawsuits, holding protests and speaking out at meetings of utility shareholders.“We consider ourselves fix-the-world people, and really the whole effort around dam removal and activism,” he said, “was kind of a natural extension of that.”With the dams now gone, he said, the Karuk are finally celebrating victory. “People are feeling inspired,” he said. “I’m feeling hopeful about the future.” Newsletter Toward a more sustainable California Get Boiling Point, our newsletter exploring climate change, energy and the environment, and become part of the conversation — and the solution. You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Los Angeles Times.

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