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Tools for making imagination blossom at MIT.nano

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Monday, September 9, 2024

The MIT community and visitors have a new reason to drop by MIT.nano: six artworks by Brazilian artist and sculptor Denise Milan. Located in the open-air stairway connecting the first- and second-floor galleries within the nanoscience and engineering facility, the works center around the stone as a microcosm of nature. From Milan’s “Mist of the Earth” series, evocative of mandalas, the project asks viewers to reflect on the environmental changes that result from human-made development.Milan is the inaugural artist in “Encounters,” a series presented by STUDIO.nano, a new initiative from MIT.nano that encourages the exploration of platforms and pathways at the intersection of technology, science, and art. Encounters welcomes proposals from artists, scientists, engineers, and designers from outside of the MIT community looking to collaborate with MIT.nano researchers, facilities, ongoing projects, and unique spaces.“Life is in the art of the encounter,” remarked Milan, quoting Brazilian poet Vinicius de Moraes, during a reception at MIT.nano. “And for an artist to be in a place like this, MIT.nano, what could be better? I love the curiosity of scientists. They are very much like artists ... art and science are both tools for making imagination blossom.” What followed was a freewheeling conversation between attendees that spanned topics ranging from the cyclical nature of birth, death, and survival in the cosmos to musings on the elemental sources of creativity and the similarities in artistic and scientific practice to a brief lesson on time crystals by Nobel Prize laureate Frank Wilczek, the Herman Feshbach Professor of Physics at MIT.Milan was joined in her conversation by MIT.nano Director Vladimir Bulović, the Fariborz Maseeh Professor of Emerging Technologies; Ardalan SadeghiKivi MArch ’22, who moderated the discussion; Samantha Farrell, manager of STUDIO.nano programming; and Naomi Moniz, professor emeritus at Georgetown University, who connected Milan and her work with MIT.nano.“In addition to the technical community, we [at MIT.nano] have been approached by countless artists and thinkers in the humanities who, to our delight, are eager to learn about the wonders of the nanoscale and how to use the tools of MIT.nano to explore and expand their own artistic practice,” said Bulović.These interactions have spurred collaborative projects across disciplines, art exhibitions, and even MIT classes. For the past four years MIT.nano has hosted 4.373/4.374 (Creating Art, Thinking Science), an undergraduate and graduate class offered by the Art, Culture, and Technology (ACT) Program. To date, the class has brought 35 students into MIT.nano’s labs and resulted in 40 distinct projects and 60 pieces of art, many of which are on display in MIT.nano’s galleries.With the launch of STUDIO.nano, MIT.nano will look to expand its exhibition programs, including supporting additional digital media and augmented/virtual reality projects; providing tools and spaces for development of new classes envisioned by MIT academic departments; and introducing programming such as lectures related to the studio's activities.Milan’s work will be a permanent installation at MIT.nano, where she hopes it will encourage individuals to pursue their creative inspiration, regardless of discipline. “To exist or to disappear?” Milan asked. “If it’s us, an idea, or a dream — the question is how much of an assignment you have with your own imagination.”

New STUDIO.nano supports artistic research and encounters within MIT.nano’s facilities.

Milan is the inaugural artist in “Encounters,” a series presented by STUDIO.nano, a new initiative from MIT.nano that encourages the exploration of platforms and pathways at the intersection of technology, science, and art. Encounters welcomes proposals from artists, scientists, engineers, and designers from outside of the MIT community looking to collaborate with MIT.nano researchers, facilities, ongoing projects, and unique spaces.

“Life is in the art of the encounter,” remarked Milan, quoting Brazilian poet Vinicius de Moraes, during a reception at MIT.nano. “And for an artist to be in a place like this, MIT.nano, what could be better? I love the curiosity of scientists. They are very much like artists ... art and science are both tools for making imagination blossom.” What followed was a freewheeling conversation between attendees that spanned topics ranging from the cyclical nature of birth, death, and survival in the cosmos to musings on the elemental sources of creativity and the similarities in artistic and scientific practice to a brief lesson on time crystals by Nobel Prize laureate Frank Wilczek, the Herman Feshbach Professor of Physics at MIT.

Milan was joined in her conversation by MIT.nano Director Vladimir Bulović, the Fariborz Maseeh Professor of Emerging Technologies; Ardalan SadeghiKivi MArch ’22, who moderated the discussion; Samantha Farrell, manager of STUDIO.nano programming; and Naomi Moniz, professor emeritus at Georgetown University, who connected Milan and her work with MIT.nano.

“In addition to the technical community, we [at MIT.nano] have been approached by countless artists and thinkers in the humanities who, to our delight, are eager to learn about the wonders of the nanoscale and how to use the tools of MIT.nano to explore and expand their own artistic practice,” said Bulović.

These interactions have spurred collaborative projects across disciplines, art exhibitions, and even MIT classes. For the past four years MIT.nano has hosted 4.373/4.374 (Creating Art, Thinking Science), an undergraduate and graduate class offered by the Art, Culture, and Technology (ACT) Program. To date, the class has brought 35 students into MIT.nano’s labs and resulted in 40 distinct projects and 60 pieces of art, many of which are on display in MIT.nano’s galleries.

With the launch of STUDIO.nano, MIT.nano will look to expand its exhibition programs, including supporting additional digital media and augmented/virtual reality projects; providing tools and spaces for development of new classes envisioned by MIT academic departments; and introducing programming such as lectures related to the studio's activities.

Milan’s work will be a permanent installation at MIT.nano, where she hopes it will encourage individuals to pursue their creative inspiration, regardless of discipline. “To exist or to disappear?” Milan asked. “If it’s us, an idea, or a dream — the question is how much of an assignment you have with your own imagination.”

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Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica

The Nekajui—a Ritz-Carlton Reserve—has officially opened its doors in Guanacaste, Costa Rica. Nestled within one of the world’s most biodiverse destinations, the resort offers travelers an ultra-luxury retreat amid the pristine natural beauty of Costa Rica’s Peninsula Papagayo. This property marks the first Ritz-Carlton Reserve in Central and South America and is the eighth addition to the brand’s exclusive portfolio. Its name is derived from the Chorotega word for “lush garden.” Spread across 1,400 acres of dry tropical forest perched atop coastal cliffs, Nekajui features 107 ocean-facing rooms and suites, along with three luxury treetop tents that merge indoor and outdoor living. The accommodations include expansive guest rooms starting at 872 square feet, one- and two-bedroom suites, the four-bedroom Nekajui Grand Villa, and 36 private residences with two to five bedrooms. For guests seeking the utmost exclusivity, Villa Guayacán offers a 10-bedroom retreat set against a dramatic natural backdrop. The resort’s architecture marries luxury with local culture and nature, incorporating native materials and sustainable design practices. This blend of contemporary style and environmental stewardship is evident throughout the property. Culinary offerings at Nekajui are designed to be as memorable as the surroundings. The signature restaurant, Puna, features indigenous ingredients paired with refined global techniques, while an exclusive cocktail program—developed in collaboration with The Herball, specialists in sustainable, culturally inspired mixology—promises a unique beverage experience. In addition, the Nimbu Spa & Wellness center spans 27,000 square feet and boasts a striking hydrotherapy pool, emphasizing the restorative power of water—a nod to its namesake, which means “water” in the Chorotega language. Guests can also explore a 250-acre natural sanctuary that offers a variety of outdoor adventures, including ziplining, guided wildlife hikes, and canoe excursions through local mangroves. For golf enthusiasts, the resort provides access to Peninsula Papagayo’s private 18-hole, par-72 Arnold Palmer Signature course. Room rates at Nekajui, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve can vary widely based on the season, room type, and booking conditions. Currently, pricing isn’t published as a fixed rate on many platforms. For example, one Reddit user mentioned booking a stay for three nights at roughly $2,670.47 (around $890 per night) for a family discount, while other discussions have suggested that standard rates could be significantly higher than comparable properties in the region. Most major booking platform require you to input specific travel dates to view the current rates. This dynamic pricing model reflects factors such as room selection, occupancy, and time of booking. For the most accurate and up-to-date room cost information, it’s best to check the official Ritz-Carlton Reserve Nekajui page or contact their reservations team directly at +506 4081-1221. The post Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Culture

Forests

Indigenous

National Park Service Withdraws Black Community in Louisiana From Historic Landmark Consideration

A Louisiana landscape where centuries-old sugar cane plantations and Afro-Creole culture remain preserved along the Mississippi River will no longer be eligible for consideration for federal recognition following a request from state officials

WALLACE, La. (AP) — A Louisiana landscape of centuries-old sugar cane plantations and enduring Afro-Creole culture along the Mississippi River had been eligible for receiving rare federal protection following a multi-year review by the National Park Service.But this month, the agency withdrew the 11-mile (18-kilometer) stretch of land known as Great River Road from consideration for National Historic Landmark designation at the request of state officials, who celebrated the move as a win for economic development. Community organizations bemoaned the decision as undermining efforts to preserve the rich yet endangered cultural legacies of free African American communities that grew out of slavery.Ashley Rogers, executive director of the nearby Whitney Plantation, said the decision to remove the Great River Road region from consideration for federally granted recognition was due to the “changing priorities” of the Trump administration, the latest blow to “a culture under attack.”“It’s 100% because of the politics of the current administration, it’s not because we’ve suddenly decided that this place doesn’t matter,” Rogers said. A multi-year National Park Service study on the area completed in October concluded that the “exceptional integrity” of the Great River Road landscape conveys “the feeling of living and working in the plantation system in the American South."Plantation buildings are so well-preserved that director Quentin Tarantino used them while filming “Django Unchained,” to capture the antebellum era. But there's also a rich and overlooked history of the enslaved people who worked the plantations, their burial sites likely hidden in the surrounding cane fields and many of their descendants still living in tight-knit communities nearby.The study deemed the region eligible to gain the same federal recognition as around 2,600 of the nation’s most important historical sites, including Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate and Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s residence. However, the determination was “premature and untimely” given that a grain terminal that threatened to impact historic properties was no longer planned, said the National Park Service’s Joy Beasley, who oversees the designation of historic landmarks, in a Feb. 13 letter to the Army Corps of Engineers. Beasley’s letter stated the reversal was prompted by a request from the state’s Department of Environmental Quality, which is tasked with regulating environmental protection and has made no secret of its support for industrial expansion.The head of the department, Aurelia S. Giacometto, framed the decision as freeing the region from federal meddling and oversight and opening up pathways for development.“I’m grateful that the Trump Administration understands that states and localities are better at determining their interests relating to clean air, water and developing industry than leaving crucial decisions like those to Washington,” Giacometto said in a statement.Port of South Louisiana CEO Paul Matthew said in a press release that companies are clamoring to develop and expand along the Mississippi River, which would improve quality of life and spur economic growth without sacrificing cultural legacies.“If you really want to lift people out of poverty, you get them work and increase job opportunity,” Republican Gov. Jeff Landry said.Local historical and community organizations believe the region can instead improve its economy by focusing on preserving and promoting its history. Ramshackled homes and shuttered buildings in the area are endemic of longstanding underinvestment in these communities, but it's not too late to reverse this trend through means besides industrialization, said Joy Banner, co-founder of the local nonprofit The Descendants Project, which is restoring historical properties in Great River Road.Banner helped lead efforts to successfully halt the construction of a towering $600 million industrial grain terminal that would have been built in her hometown, the predominantly Black community of Wallace — spurring the National Park Service's study. A spokesperson for the Army Corps of Engineers said any future industrial development in the Great River Road would still need to consider the potential impacts on historical and cultural heritage.In the region's Willow Grove neighborhood, 76-year-old Isabella Poche still trims the grass and repaints the tombs at the cemetery where her mother, sisters and other relatives were buried with help from the Black community's generations-old mutual aid society she now leads. Beyond the furrows of the sugar cane fields where her family once worked, a large plantation home stands in the distance by the river's bank. It's a peaceful place she hopes to see protected.“I don’t want to move anywhere else,” Poche said. “I've been here all my life."Brook is a corps member for The Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse News Initiative. Report for America is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues. Follow Brook on the social platform X: @jack_brook96.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Sept. 2024

Culture

Water

How Latinos are redefining identity beyond perfect Spanish

Discover how the term "no sabo kid" evolved from a put-down to a symbol of cultural pride, as Latinos embrace their identity beyond language fluency and challenge traditional expectations.

By Alyssa Cruz | Edited by Dianne SolisJustin Delgado identifies as Latino. His parents are Puerto Rican, and he grew up visiting the island. The 21-year-old with dark hair and eyes doesn’t speak Spanish fluently.Delgado is one of the thousands of people, usually children or grandchildren of native Spanish speakers, who have been called a “no sabo kid.” The term is a play on words, rooted in the incorrect way to say, “I don’t know” in Spanish. The correct form is “No sé,” with “to know,” or “saber,” being an irregular verb.Muriel Gallego, an associate professor of applied linguistics-Spanish at Ohio University and a native Spanish speaker, said “no sabo” started as an insult. But that shame has flipped into sharper examinations of identity and what makes a Latino or Latina.“This shaming for not using proper Spanish is going to shift the longer the generations are distant from the grandparents or the first generation who came fully monolingual,” she said. “I think most of the shaming comes from there. The older [generations] – the abuelas, the tías that say, ‘Oh, you don’t know.’”Justin Delgado during one of his family visits to Puerto Rico.Photo courtesy of Justin DelgadoThe term “No sabo” may have started as a degrading insult, but many Latinos are changing the narrative and wearing it as a badge of honor. TikTok alone has more than 67.4 million posts under the term “no sabo kid.” “When they say ‘no sabo,’ they think it means ‘no culture’ – but that’s just not true,” Delgado said.In fact, according to Pew Research Center data from 2021, “72% of U.S. Hispanics ages 5 and older either spoke only English at home or spoke English very well, up from 65% in 2010.”Every person’s experience with learning another language differs, and Delgado’s is no exception.His mother was born in Puerto Rico, and his father’s family was part of the great Puerto Rican migration to New York City. The couple met as students at the University of Puerto Rico. Afterward, the couple moved to the U.S.Born in Georgia, Delgado moved to Ramstein, Germany, when he was 3 years old due to his father’s military deployment. Because his father was on active duty, Delgado spent most of his time with his mom, who only spoke Spanish.“On that base, my mom didn’t know English,” he said. “And at that time, when I was really young, both me and her started learning English together. Instead of teaching me fully Spanish, she was like, ‘We both got to learn English’ because she’s by herself.”After deployment, the family moved to Enterprise, Alabama. There weren’t many opportunities there to learn Spanish, plus he was in a private Christian school. “I was the only person of color in that school.”More moves followed until the family landed in Virginia, near Arlington. The city’s diversity prompted him to try Spanish in high school — fortified by an inspiring trip to Puerto Rico to see family. “They would be like, ‘Man, you gotta learn Spanish.’”“I needed to connect back to my roots,” he said.“We wanted to add that twist where it was like, ‘Yo sabo.’ It was for people to feel empowered to make that mistake.”Last summer, Delgado completed an internship in Quito, Ecuador. Before going to Ecuador, Delgado said he and his mom were ecstatic he was going to have the opportunity to immerse in a Latino culture for the entire summer and practice his Spanish.While in Ecuador, Delgado worked with Comciencia, a multimedia organization dedicated to spreading awareness about social and environmental issues. He helped with video production and photography editing projects in the Amazon Rainforest.Not only was Delgado learning skills to boost his professional development, he was also finally immersed in a Latino culture 24/7.Delgado said he faced a little razzing from his coworkers about his Spanish, but it was always from a place of love.“They would call me ‘the no sabo kid,’ and at first I was like, ‘What the f—?’ But then I realized they didn’t mean it with ill intent because that’s what I am,” he said.Justin Delgado and Ecuadorian llamas during his visit to Quito, Ecuador.Photo courtesy of Justin DelgadoGallego, the linguistics expert, even questioned what is “correct Spanish.”“We are the ones who own the language, so what is correct Spanish? We decide that,” she said.Policing “correct Spanish” can have a negative impact, Gallego said.“They go back home, and they say, ‘The teacher said it was wrong,’ and the mom is an undocumented person, maybe working [on] a farm, and she said, ‘Oh, the teacher might be right, so we are in the wrong,’ and then they stop using it, right? Or they stop taking Spanish.”Carlos Torres also saw himself in the term “No sabo.” A Los Angeles native, Torres was raised by his mom, a Mexican immigrant. As a single mother, teaching him her native language fell through the cracks, her son said.“Language wasn’t a huge priority for my mom because she was an immigrant and needed to work,” Torres explained. “She only went up to middle school in Mexico, and she really wanted me to learn English so that I could teach her English.”Now 32, Torres said it was not until after college and during the coronavirus pandemic that he started to be dedicated to fully learning Spanish. According to him, his wife Jess always had a stronger Spanish vocabulary, so he would often ask her how to say certain words. That phrase, “¿Cómo se dice?” became a ritual. It sparked the idea for the game “Yo Sabo.”“Yo Sabo,” created by Jess and Carlos Torres.Photo by Alyssa Cruz for palabraThe Yo Sabo deck consists of three types of cards: “¿Cómo se dice?,” “Prueba” and “Chancla.” The majority of the cards are “¿Cómo se dice?”, which consists of a word in English with its Spanish counterpart at the bottom. The words, mostly nouns, are varied, ranging from “raccoon” to “jaundice.”“We got to make a game out of this because I know I’m not the only one struggling with this,” Torres said. “(We wanted) to see how we could test and improve our Spanish in a fun way and kind of get people who are shy to practice their Spanish and be willing to make mistakes.”With the help of a graphic designer, the couple was able to flesh out the mechanics of making the game and begin production. In 2022, they printed their first 500 games and sold out. Torres said they have sold over 22,000 games.“‘No sabo’ has such a negative connotation,” Torres, the game’s co-creator, said. “We wanted to add that twist where it was like, ‘Yo sabo.’ It was for people to feel empowered to make that mistake.”The flip of the put-down draws praise.“There’s the other side of the coin, which is something that happened historically with these mock names, which is now people are reclaiming it, and so that offensive meaning kind of washes out,” Gallego said.The team worked to popularize their game by flexing their social media muscles. The game has over 122,000 followers on TikTok and 25,000 on Instagram. Through the accounts, the couple hosts “lightning rounds,” where they rotate through the “¿Cómo se dice?” cards with self-proclaimed “no sabos.”Torres said social media has really helped them elevate their brand. He detailed how the game has provided new perspectives about the different barriers many Latinos face against learning Spanish.“The more we’ve sold and the more we’ve connected with other families, we’ve learned so much about how in some places it was literally illegal to speak Spanish and you were reprimanded for speaking the language,” Torres said. Regardless of different circumstances, Delgado, Gallego and Torres all emphasized that knowing Spanish does not equate to “latinidad.”“What makes you Latino?” Gallego, the linguistics professor, asked. “You decide.”

Culture

Forests

"They're not shortcuts": How weight loss drugs became the business of shame

Fat-shaming drove people to Ozempic. Now its competitors are using shame to try to lure them away

As New Year's resolutions kick into high gear, weight loss goals top many people's lists. Like clockwork, advertisements for weight loss programs and supplements are popping up on social media, ready to pounce on the demand. The weight loss drug market is exploding, with new products entering the scene to compete with big names like Ozempic. It is no surprise, considering the millions of people worldwide struggling with obesity, PCOS and diabetes. The medications' promise of weight loss without a complete lifestyle overhaul has sparked hope and controversy, and the market shows no signs of slowing down. Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro and other GLP-1 drugs have transformed how obesity is treated and have corresponded with a 25% decrease in weight-loss surgeries. Sixteen new drugs are set to enter the market in the coming years, per Reuters, and analysts estimate the overall market could expand to $200 billion by 2031. There's an ongoing debate about how GLP-1 drugs fit into a comprehensive strategy for managing obesity, their potential side effects and costs. The growing market also has revealed societal attitudes that include complicated layers of stigma and misunderstanding. How shame boosted GLP-1 drugs Fat-shaming is not a new concept. "In western society, fatphobia and anti-fatness are so ingrained in how we think about body size, health and self-worth," said Katherine Metzelaar, dietitian and owner at Bravespace Nutrition. "There's this belief that being thin equals being beautiful, disciplined and healthy while being fat is often unfairly linked to laziness or a lack of self-control." "It all leads to this idea that fat people are somehow less deserving of respect or dignity," she said. "Diet culture plays a significant role in pushing this, too, making people believe that anyone in a larger body is just not trying hard enough, leading to the scorn and derision we see.” The use of GLP-1 drugs sparked the term "Ozempic shaming" to describe the negative perceptions faced by those who choose medical interventions for weight management. Some critics argue that using the drugs is akin to "taking a shortcut," overlooking the complex factors that contribute to obesity. "Some people think weight loss has to be grueling to be 'real' or 'earned' and see things like surgery or medication as taking shortcuts," said Dr. Raj Dasgupta, chief medical advisor for Garage Gym Reviews. "This belief overlooks how tough those options are and ignores that everyone's journey is different. It's an outdated mindset that simplifies a very complicated issue." Joshua Collins, licensed clinical social worker at SOBA New Jersey, said "medications like Ozempic (Semaglutide) help address underlying metabolic and hormonal issues, such as insulin resistance and appetite regulation." "They're not shortcuts; they're tools — much like using medication to manage diabetes or high blood pressure," he said. "Criticizing someone for using Ozempic reflects a misunderstanding of weight science and reinforces harmful stereotypes about health and effort." "Criticizing someone for using Ozempic reflects a misunderstanding of weight science and reinforces harmful stereotypes about health and effort" GLP-1 competitors also use shame The rest of the weight loss-market has tried to capitalize on this criticism through a marketing approach that devalues GLP-1 medications. Advertisements tout over-the-counter supplements as “Nature's Ozempic," and warn that “GLP-1 meds are effective but come at a steep price." “My doctor thinks I am being scammed,” some ads say, with the taglines "This is NOT Ozempic, but Your Metabolism Will Love It," "Ozempic Power In a Capsule” and "Works 3x Faster than Ozempic." Dr. Michael Chichak, medical director at mental health clinic MEDvidi, said GLP-1 medications come with benefits and risks like any other treatments, but "fear-mongering tactics and misinformation are done to further a certain agenda." "The weight loss industry already preys on individuals, using fear and shame as they are known to be more emotional triggers as opposed to using scientific evidence when marketing their product," he said. "These companies begin by diffusing trust in the medical and pharmaceutical industry, advertising themselves as a safer option, highlighting how GLP-1 medications are more dangerous and encouraging using ‘natural’ alternatives." This can discourage people from seeking treatment altogether, experts said. Many patients may feel pressured to justify their treatment choices, which can lead to stress and feelings of inadequacy, affecting their overall well-being. Treating obesity as a moral failing rather than a medical condition has been "immensely harmful to patient care," said Dr. Rehka Kumar, chief medical officer at online weigh loss program Found. "The weight loss industry already preys on individuals, using fear and shame, as they are known to be more emotional triggers as opposed to using scientific evidence when marketing their product" "As a physician, I find it deeply troubling when patients are shamed for using evidence-based treatments, whether anti-obesity medications or bariatric surgery," Kumar said. "This stems from the persistent but incorrect view that body weight is a matter of willpower. Science shows that weight regulation involves genetic, environmental, hormonal and neurological factors. This bias results in inadequate care, with less than 10% of eligible patients being offered evidence-based medical treatments for weight management and insurance coverage for obesity treatment being denied at rates three to four times higher than other chronic conditions." Combating the stigma requires increased awareness and education about the legitimate medical purposes of these medications while providing evidence-based, personalized care that considers the patient's unique circumstances and goals and treats them with dignity, experts said. "We have the opportunity to reshape the culture and impact a realistic symbol of beauty which is based on healthier standards and body types, genetics, among other factors," said Max Banilivy, clinical psychologist and vice president of education, training & client/staff well-being at WellLife Network. "We need to teach children and families and the media to have accurate and healthy messages. Not all bodies are the same." Read more about this topic

Culture

Education

Health

The Southwest as a cautionary tale for our hot future

In his book “American Oasis,” Kyle Paoletta explores the region’s environmental and cultural struggles and what they mean for the rest of the nation.

Living in the Southwest means being routinely scolded by outsiders. How can you live in a place so unsustainable? With that kind of politics? With that kind of culture, or, rather, the lack of it? Rarely does a summer pass in my home city without somebody standing up a roundtable with a title like “Should Phoenix Exist?”Subscribe for unlimited access to The PostYou can cancel anytime.SubscribeIn his book “American Oasis,” journalist and Albuquerque native Kyle Paoletta does a little bit of scolding, too. Yes, the region’s development outpaces its resources. And it is indeed a gaudy and strange place — he’s not wrong to liken Las Vegas to “a pop-up ad the country didn’t mean to click on.”But Paoletta also understands that we underestimate and segregate the Southwest at our peril. No part of the country is immune from drought or reckless development, which is to say that the Southwest’s critics are often committing an epic feat of projection. The region is not America’s weird cousin but its starkest mirror. And, if we’re willing to see it clearly, a source for solutions.Making that case means rejecting some of the region’s most familiar origin stories. The Southwest story, for Paoletta, is a tale not of Wild West frontiersmen but mistreatment of Indigenous peoples and willful neglect of their legacy — Puebloans in New Mexico exploited and massacred by conquistadors, Phoenician settlers who reused abandoned ancient canal lines but removed Native tribes from any discussion of water rights. In the centuries since the region was first visited by non-Native settlers, he notes, it has been marketed as a blank (read: White) slate — the better for resort developers to draw visitors. That vision is bolstered by a softly romantic vision of “a prelapsarian world where comely doñas gamboled about the estates their princely families established along the Rio Grande.”Paoletta lays bare the hypocrisy that drove the region’s development, where Dwight Heard, Phoenix’s most dedicated collector of Indigenous Southwestern art (an excellent museum near downtown bears his name) ran redlined property developments that ensured tribal descendants wouldn’t live near him. In border cities like El Paso, the Border Patrol relies on humanitarian groups to support migrants awaiting processing but dedicates none of its $17 billion budget to maintain shelters. Such contradictions exemplify what Paoletta calls the “Southwest Syndrome: delusions of grandeur mixing with the pursuit of pleasure to disastrous results, all of it amplified by the extremity of its desert setting.”Still, Paoletta is right to note that the region’s reputation for environmental recklessness and cultural know-nothingism isn’t entirely deserved. Since the 1990s, Las Vegas and Phoenix have practiced much-improved water stewardship, maintaining consistent levels of consumption even while the population has exploded. They’ve achieved it through a mix of carrots (subsidies to households that tear out their lawns and farmers who let their fields go fallow) and sticks (jacked-up water rates in summer). As the whole of the United States slides into drought, their lesson will be worth heeding.As for culture, Paoletta argues that the Southwest, by burying its Native past, has risked polishing itself into nothingness. Surprisingly but not wrongly, one of the places he makes a point to visit in Arizona isn’t a dry well or a water-sucking cotton farm but the offices of Arizona Highways, a magazine that has persistently celebrated the state’s natural (and tourist-drawing) wonders. For Paoletta, this idealism offers a scapegoat: So long as there’s a field of saguaros somewhere, we can run roughshod over everything else. That kind of boosterism, bundled with willful neglect, defines the region and ignores its realities — Natives still live here; life on the border need not be a function of surveillance and demonization. But dismiss Vegas at your peril: It “has become one of the few cities in America where service work is a sustainable career, one that can provide a home, health insurance, and a comfortable life.”So forget “Should Phoenix exist?” It does, and will. But thriving requires a kind of reckoning with itself that the region (and the country) is only intermittently interested in. Violent protests in 2020 in Albuquerque over a statue of conquistador Juan de Oñate are, for Paoletta, a signal of the battles ahead, as people whom developers wish away won’t magically disappear. The same thinking afflicts the border, where hyper and bigoted “invasion” rhetoric complicates the tense relationship between residents, humanitarian nonprofits and the Border Patrol. (The incoming Trump administration’s threats to remove restrictions on Immigration and Customs Enforcement from entering sanctuary spaces like churches could further roil the region.)Living in a humanitarian way, and within one’s means, is the Southwest’s constant challenge. That, Paoletta notes, will require more than a few water policy and development changes, a slow-moving prospect at best. Here in Arizona, water managers are forever squabbling with other states over its apportionment from an ever-thinning Colorado River, agreeing just enough to fend off federal intervention. Paoletta rightly recommends that Phoenix address its sprawl issues by promoting denser housing, but lobbying groups have stood in the way for years; laws addressing the matter passed in 2024 but will be slow to take effect and will be fought tooth and nail by municipalities and developers. The blank slate is too appealing, too profitable.What Paoletta suggests is something closer to an existential transformation. “How different would the contemporary Southwest be if, when Anglos arrived, they’d simply accepted that the desert was hot?” he writes. It’s a good question, and not a regional one — a whole country on a heating planet will have to reckon with it.Mark Athitakis is a critic in Phoenix and the author of “The New Midwest.”American OasisFinding the Future in the Cities of the Southwest

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Health

Indigenous

Suggested Viewing

Death and the Dragon

The drought and the lack of water supplies in the capital city of Iran (Tehran), is a horrendous problem nowadays. The lakes of Tehran's area are all dried, some of the farmers have got to irrigate their farms by a kind of drainage to produce adequate harvest. This documentary proves that these problems have historical reasons and background in the political history of Iran in the last century. In addition to this historical and scientific view, The director shows that the fear of drought and famine in Iran is one of the major issues in Persian mythologies and legends. Narration of the film uses a poetic language to combine a mythological story about drought with the historical realities according to this specific topic: There's a dreadful dragon in Persian mythology, who is immortal and responsible for drought. Water crisis in Tehran contemporary history is a major problem too; and a dry land is a sign of the return of the dragon.

Water

Culture

Government

Kumu Niu

The island of O'ahu is covered with coconut palms, but for fear of liability the vast majority of these sacred trees have been stripped of coconuts. The grassroots movement "Niu Now" is on a mission to restore the "niu," or coconut, as a fundamental food crop in Hawai'i and spread the Indigenous wisdom of "aloha 'āina:" loving land and serving people.

Land Use

Indigenous

Food

Yo Gleans

We follow a day in the life of Yosarian Bisbee, aka Yo, as he gathers “junk” from the local dump and unwanted food from the grocery store, all in an effort to minimize waste.

Waste

Experimental

Sustainable

A Whale's Worth

The Canary Islands are a whale Paradise. Their waters hold more than a third of the world’s species, making it the most important enclave in the European Union, and one of the most relevant globally.Today, this paradise is being threatened by different human pressures, such as boat collisions, plastic consumption and climate change. This struggle aggravates their mortality each year and makes us face ourselves as the ones responsible for their survival, forcing us to rethink how much we value these animals currently.How much is a whale worth? Can you put a price on the life of such a majestic animal? How can we estimate that value? How has the value that human beings give to whales changed throughout history? What are whales used and needed for?To answer all these questions, Natacha Aguilar, an eminent Canarian scientist and whale expert, backed up by a group of scientists and non-profit organizations, will guide us in a spectacular journey through time and space to discover the never-told stories of the lives of these animals.

Animals

Culture

Climate

LOUD

Catriona Armour's body art and a special appearance by Dana Lyons of "Cows with Guns" propel the musical narrative about noise pollution in, around, and above the Salish Sea of Washington State and British Columbia.

Music

Culture

Pollution

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Cookies help us run our site more efficiently.

Tools for making imagination blossom at MIT.nano

Related News

Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica

National Park Service Withdraws Black Community in Louisiana From Historic Landmark Consideration

How Latinos are redefining identity beyond perfect Spanish

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The Southwest as a cautionary tale for our hot future

Suggested Viewing

Death and the Dragon

Kumu Niu

Yo Gleans

A Whale's Worth

LOUD

Join us to forgea sustainable future

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

"They're not shortcuts": How weight loss drugs became the business of shame

Join us to forge
a sustainable future