Common Home - Issue 07

Letter from the Editors

We’re pleased to announce the seventh issue of Common Home. We’d like to warmly welcome Daniel Greilsheimer (SFS ‘26), who joined our team this past November. He follows on the heels of Maya Snyder, who worked with us since the inception of Common Home — thank you, Maya!

Two years ago, the Earth Commons Institute was founded at Georgetown, signaling a new era for the university’s commitment to environmental and sustainability education, research, and action. Since then, a multitude of new and innovative projects have taken root: an undergraduate degree in Joint Environment and Sustainability, a Master’s program in Environment & International Affairs, environmental research programs and grants, the Hoya Harvest Garden, and more.

This issue celebrates the diversity and spirit of the hard work of students, faculty, administration, and community members in coming together to build these programs from the ground up. Through their dedication, the Earth Commons has fixed sustainability in the heart of Georgetown as an issue for everyone, not just scientists or policymakers. Through the stories, interviews, and profiles in this issue, we hope to paint a full picture of  the vibrancy and zeal of the Earth Commons and its many contributors.

In this vein, we would like to extend our utmost gratitude to Peter Marra, Marcus King, Jennifer Roberts, Adam Shaham, Keaton Nara, Tim Bartley, Brian Griffiths, Erin Cline, Anya Wahal, Max Scheiner, Shelby Gresch, Annie Selak, Oswaldo Villena, Rosemary Sokas, and Maria Petrova, who all contributed their time and insight to articles in this issue.

Sincerely,

The Common Home Editorial Board

Alannah Nathan, Deena Eichhorn, Elyza Bruce, Cecilia Cassidy, Madhura Shembekar, and Daniel Greilsheimer. Undergraduates at Georgetown University

This magazine is printed on 100% recycled paper using 100% recyclable inks. Please share or recycle this copy.

Table of Contents

Letter from the Dean: Why I’m an Environmental Optimist By Peter P. Marra, Dean, The Earth Commons

3 Climate Change and the Water Weapon: How Rising Temperatures are Expanding the Footprint of Conflict By Marcus King, Professor of the Practice, The Earth Commons

6 revisited : Alumni Environmental Researcher, Anya Wahal

8 Challenges in Mangrove Restoration: Does it Work? By Adam Shaham, SFS ’22 & Fulbright recipient

12 Interrupt & Integrate: Environmental Courses Under Development at Georgetown By Keaton Nara, COL ’22 & Earth Commons Post-Bac Fellow

14 Food, Culture, and Conservation in Maijuna Lands By Brian M. Griffiths, Assistant Teaching Professor, The Earth Commons

18 The Mega Impact of Microplastics: The Reality of the “Great” Pacific Garbage Patch By Max Scheiner, MS-ESM ‘24

19 what we ’ re reading : “The Quickening: Creation and Community at the Ends of the Earth” by Elizabeth Rush By Elyza Bruce CAS ‘25 & Common Home Editor

21 MICHELIN Guide’s Green Star Celebrates Sustainability at the World’s Top Restaurants By Alannah Nathan, SFS ‘24 & Common Home Editor

23 Leveraging Technology to Make Smallholder Farming Sustainable By Sarah Devermann, SFS ‘17 Strategy Manager at ISF Advisors

25 Don’t Get In The Water: Blue Space Racism and the Drowning of Black Bodies By Jennifer D. Roberts, University of Maryland School of Public Health

29 What's Under Foot: Land, Environment, and Climate Change By Tim Bartley, Professor, Earth Commons Institute and Department of Sociology, Georgetown University 31 Green Commons Award Recipient: Georgetown Women’s Center

33 revisited : Shelby Gresch, the Force Behind the Hoya Harvest Garden

36 The Impact of Global Warming on Human and Avian Malaria By Oswaldo Villena, Postdoctoral Researcher at The Earth Commons

39 Jesuit Projects in Climate-Change-Affected Liberia By Rosemary Sokas, Professor of Human Science at Georgetown School of Health and of Family Medicine, Georgetown School of Medicine

42 revisited : Harnessing the Power of Community Benefit Agreements for Net Zero Targets By Maria A. Petrova, Program Co-Director of the Masters of Science in Environment and Sustainability Management, Georgetown University

44 Early Ecological Ethics: A Look at Chinese Environmental Thought By Erin Cline, Affiliated Faculty, The Earth Commons

Cover by Cecilia Cassidy

Editorial Board

Alannah Nathan

Alannah is a Senior in the Walsh School of Foreign Service, pursuing a degree in Global Business. Alannah has a strong interest in the energy transition and sustainable food systems and the private sector’s role in pursuing sustainable development. She is from Brooklyn, NY.

Cecilia Cassidy

Cecilia is a junior in the College of Arts & Sciences studying English and Film & Media Studies. She is primarily interested in environmental art, which involves learning about artists who incorporate themes of sustainability into their work and making and directing the visuals for Common Home. She is from Brooklyn, NY.

Madhura Shembekar

Madhura is a sophomore in the Walsh School of Foreign Service studying Science, Technology, and International Affairs. She’s particularly interested in climate justice and environmental racism, as well as how diverse narratives influence climate discourse. Madhura is from Scottsdale, AZ.

Elyza Bruce

Elyza is a junior in the College of Arts & Sciences studying English and Environmental Studies. She is passionate about environmental storytelling and the intersections between sustainability and literature. In her free time, she enjoys writing, reading, and visiting museums. She is from Woodbury, CT.

Daniel Greilsheimer

Daniel is a sophomore in the Walsh School of Foreign Service majoring in Regional and Comparative Studies. He is particularly interested in energy security, sustainable development and the ecological and social effects of climate change. Daniel is from Port Washington, NY.

Managed

from the dean:

Why I’m an Environmental Optimist

peter p. marra

Dean, The Earth Commons, Georgetown's Institute for Environment & Sustainability

Laudato Si’ Professor of Biology and the Environment Professor, McCourt School of Public Policy

Devastating fires in Hawaii, sinking islands in the Chesapeake Bay, cities lost to Category 5 hurricanes and entire species lost to habitat destruction are now all part of our shared and increasingly unstable environmental experience. Increasing levels of carbon dioxide (CO2) in the atmosphere devastate our climate while land use change, overharvesting, and invasive species destroy our natural ecosystems. It seems impossible to get through the day without hearing about some new loss in our battle against climate change. For young adults, the constant sense of loss goes beyond the day-to-day — it lingers as a heavy burden with uncertain futures. It is no wonder climate anxiety and depression are growing health issues on college campuses and beyond.

Despite the proclamations of doom and gloom and the realities of the challenges we face, I refuse to be negative about the future of the planet. I feel strongly that there is nothing to be gained in pessimism. At Georgetown, we’re in the business of training, developing, and motivating young minds. It's incumbent on us to set not only the trajectory of change but also its tone — to approach our collective futures with hope and positive motivation rather than defeatism. I believe in the power of people to make change. We have done it before. There’s enormous power in our community at Georgetown.

You do not have to look too far to see examples of success. In the early 1980s, scientists discovered a sizable thinning in the atmospheric ozone layer which allowed dangerous UVB rays to penetrate to the earth’s surface, endangering humans and all life on earth. In time, they identified one of the major culprits: chlorofluorocarbons, a chemical commonly found in aerosol sprays

and refrigerants. In less than two years, 46 countries around the world came together and banned chlorofluorocarbons under the Montreal Protocol, a landmark environmental agreement signed in 1987 and enacted in 1989. If the now 197 signatory countries maintain these bans on chlorofluorocarbons and other chemicals, ozone levels between the polar regions should reach pre-1980 levels by 2040.

This is one among many success stories, and there are countless more on the horizon. In the early 1970s, the banning of dichloro-diphenyltrichloroethane (DDT), an insecticide, and critical legislation like the Endangered Species Act saved species like the Peregrine Falcon and Bald Eagle from extinction.

At around that same time, a new federal agency, the Nixon administration created the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). It served as a much-needed environmental watchdog within the United States government and has since served as a massive positive force in countering various forms of environmental degradation in the United States.

Institutionalizing instruments of environmental change is essential and often transformational. That’s why I believe so strongly in the need for strong environmental education at Georgetown — a university whose faculty, staff, and students have remarkable potential to make positive environmental change — and why I am so proud of all the progress we have made at the Earth Commons in institutionalizing environmental education and research at Georgetown.

Despite the proclamations of doom and gloom and the realities of the challenges we face, I refuse to be negative about the future of the planet.

In just a little over four years, we have developed two new Master’s degrees through the Earth Commons Institute and The Graduate School of Arts and Sciences: the first, a joint degree with the McDonough School of Business in Environment and Sustainability Management (MS-ESM) and the second, an MS with the School of Foreign Service in Environment and International Affairs (MS-EIA). Also newly approved is an exciting and innovative new BS in Environment and Sustainability. This new Joint Program in Environment and Sustainability is a brand new collaborative undergraduate degree with the College of Arts & Sciences that will have undergrads on the Hilltop as Freshmen and Sophomores and on the new emerging Capital Campus as Juniors and Seniors. We are also working with the College on revising the Environmental Studies minor so it integrates and partners with the new degree. All these new degrees support new faculty along with their research programs. These new hires complement the incredible Georgetown faculty already working on environmental issues with new focuses in a variety of areas including climate science, wetland biology, ecotoxicology, oceans, greenhouse gas measurement, environmental sociology, justice, and so much more.

Why am I optimistic about our environmental futures? The environmental and educational infrastructures we are building at Georgetown will prepare hundreds of students a year with interdisciplinary approaches to tackle environmental problems around the world. That’s transformational, as is the exciting research all of our faculty in ECo and across campus are tackling on today’s most pressing environmental problems. So I choose optimism and believe in the power of the Georgetown community to make truly transformative environmental change.

Hoya Saxa!

Climate Change and the Water Weapon: How Rising Temperatures are Expanding the Footprint of Conflict

marcus king Professor of the Practice in Environment and International Affairs, The Earth Commons

Water stress is a growing problem in many parts of the world. Approximately 2 billion people worldwide lack access to safe drinking water, and nearly half of the world’s population experiences severe water scarcity for at least one month each year. These numbers are expected to increase as the impacts of climate change, including drought and desertification, lower the quantity and quality of water supplies worldwide. The Middle East and regions of Africa such as North Africa and the Sahel are two areas where these impacts are pervasive.

As water becomes scarcer, it becomes subject to manipulation for political ends by national governments and sub-state actors. For example, states with relatively greater water resources are able to wield power and exercise strategic advantage over their neighbors. This can look like one country unilaterally constructing water infrastructure — usually dams — that in turn restrict the flow of water to downstream countries.

This is the case with Ethiopia’s ongoing construction of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD), which impounds water on the upper reaches of the Nile River. As a result, Egypt, which lies downstream and is dependent on the river for about 90% of its water, will lose a substantial portion of its supply. Beset by climate change-induced heatwaves and desertification, Egypt has become increasingly frustrated as talks over water allocation between the nations have stalled. Meanwhile, Ethiopia hit a huge

milestone as the water reservoir behind the dam finally reached its capacity, increasing the country’s ability to generate electricity while also restricting water flow to Egypt.

Although international disputes, such as the one concerning the GERD, capture much of the world’s attention, water conditions within many states have also deteriorated. For those of us who study climate change, this is worrisome.

In my research on environmental security and conflict, I noticed that areas under the influence of violent extremist organizations (VEOs), such as the so-called Islamic State, often experienced climate change-driven water stress. This correlation caused me to ask deeper questions about the nature of water’s relation to conflict in VEO-controlled areas across a wide spectrum of pre- and postconflict situations.

I found that within these nations especially, a water-stress and conflict cycle culminated in the weaponization of water. In this cycle, water stressors such as increasing temperatures, drought, desertification and poor water governance policies manifest in systemic effects which include diminished agricultural yields and reduced food security. This, in turn, led to human responses such as migration within the country and across borders, involvement in extremist organizations and a rise in various forms of violence.

My research, published in the book The Water Weapon, Water Stress and Violent Islamic Extremism in Africa and the Middle East, explores how VEOs have increased their ability to dominate their enemies both on and off the battlefield by manipulating water. My research takes a deep dive into conflict dynamics in three distinct geographies: Syria and Iraq, Nigeria and Somalia — all places that experienced droughts between 2012 and 2017.

I found that the outcomes of the water and conflict cycle enabled VEOs to use water as a weapon in a variety of destabilizing ways. I define a weapon as a medium, action or offensive capability used to coerce, injure or kill. According to this definition, I categorized dozens of actions by VEOs into six types of water weaponization: strategic, tactical, coercive, unintentional, psychological and extortive or incentive.

The use of water to destroy large or important areas, targets, populations or infrastructure

The use of water against targets of strictly military value within the battlespace

The use of water provision to fund territorial administration or weapons acquisition with aspirations of achieving legitimacy

Attempted water weaponization causes collateral damage to the environment or its human component

of extortion or incentivization

The use of the threat of denial of access or purposeful contamination of the water supply to create fear among noncombatants

The use of water provision to reward the behavior of subject populations and support legitimacy of the perpetrator

Design by Cecilia Cassidy

VEOs have used water as a weapon in ways that fall into each of the categories above. For example, in 2014, strategic water weaponization in Iraq was widely covered in the press and caught the attention of people around the globe. The Islamic State seized and briefly controlled the Mosul Dam on the Tigris River, about 140 kilometers upstream from the Iraqi capital city of Baghdad. This action theoretically provided the Islamic State with the ability to destroy the dam and unleash a torrent of water capable of flooding the “Green Zone” — or the location where allied forces led by the U.S. were based. As a result, the U.S. was drawn deeper into the conflict, initiating an airpower campaign in an attempt to dislodge the terrorists from their position.

“It is clearly in the global interest to stop the proliferation of water weaponization.”

Sadly, there is ample evidence to suggest that the practice of water weaponization is spreading beyond the incidents I discovered in my research. Other violent extremists are weaponizing water in the Middle East and Africa, ranging from armed conflict in Burkina Faso to fighting in Yemen. The war in Ukraine has also featured numerous instances of water contamination, ecological destruction and targeting of water infrastructure. These events culminated in the destruction of the Kakhovka Dam, providing an advantage to Russia on the battlefield.

The problem is enormously complicated, but my research suggests that promoting climate adaptation in vulnerable countries is part of the answer. Better adaptation measures such as more efficient irrigation techniques and the use of drought-resistant seed varieties can address the underlying conditions that create the water and conflict cycle and enable water weaponization.

It is clearly in the global interest to stop the proliferation of water weaponization for a host of legal, ethical and practical reasons. However, a rapidly changing climate is a critical factor in the international community’s response to the odious practice of water weaponization — and a key reason why time is not on our side.

A litany of higher temperatures, precipitation changes, extreme weather events and glacier depletions are steadily expanding the global footprint of water stress. As this happens, the potential locations where water can be weaponized by nations and VEOs grow in tandem.

Internationally, under a new principle called “Loss and Damage,” countries that are relatively heavy greenhouse gas emitters would be required to provide funds to enable climate change adaptation projects in countries with historically low emissions. Parties reached a historic agreement on the operationalization of the loss and damage fund and funding arrangements during the Conference of the Parties to the Framework Convention on Climate Change, COP 28, held in Dubai in December. Funding for Loss and Damage should be increased and its scope should be expanded to incorporate more projects that promote water accessibility and build resilience to water stress in vulnerable and war-torn countries.

revisited:

Alumni Environmental Researcher, Anya Wahal

For our one-year anniversary issue, this piece is part of a series revisiting past contributors to Common Home. In Issue 5, Anya Wahal (SFS ’23) wrote about her work as a Green Commons Award recipient focusing on water scarcity in the Colorado River Basin. In this piece, Common Home Editor Madhura Shembekar (SFS ’26) and Wahal revisit her work at Georgetown and discuss her biggest takeaways as an environmental researcher.

Anya Wahal graduated from the Walsh School of Foreign Service with a degree in Science, Technology and International Affairs (STIA) in 2023. She is currently a Fulbright-Nehru Student Researcher in Delhi, India, where she is conducting ethnographic and policy research exploring how women in Delhi’s low-income communities are disproportionately affected by poor water quality. As a Marshall Scholar, Anya will pursue a Master of Philosophy in Water Science, Policy and Management at the University of Oxford.

ms

You often talk about your hometown of Scottsdale, Arizona, which sowed the seed for your interest in the environment. Just last year, you researched and produced a documentary on how the Colorado River Basin water shortages have affected Arizonan farming communities. Now, you’re a Fulbright-Nehru Student Researcher exploring water quality and maternal health. Could you share a little about your journey with environmental research, and water, specifically?

aw

Like every kid growing up in Arizona, water (or rather, the lack of it) was always on my mind. Every time it rained, I’d beg my dad to take me on car rides to see the thunderstorms and the water seep into our desert washes. In school, we’d learn about why it was important to be water-conscious and about the resiliency of our desert cacti. It was only through my Georgetown education in international affairs, though, that I truly recognized that the water crisis facing my home — the worst drought since the year 800 — was a global challenge.

Building relationships with people to create climate solutions.

Now, as a burgeoning water researcher, I’m driven by my upbringing in the Sonoran desert and committed to uplifting communities most affected by water crises.

Coming back to Arizona to research and film the lives of farmers facing water scarcity taught me the importance of community-based solutions. For example, many farmers mentioned that they wish they had funding to switch to more water-conscious agriculture and resented being villainized for a worsening water crisis. Understanding that community perspective can inform policy — like encouraging government subsidies to help farmers transition to water-conscious agriculture. As a Fulbright Student Researcher in India, and beyond, I’m continuing to research the disconnects between policy and practice to empower communities and improve water policies.

You often define yourself as an “environmental researcher, storyteller and activist.” How did your time at Georgetown encourage the adoption of these labels, or ascribe them new meaning altogether?

To me, identifying as an “environmental researcher, storyteller and activist” carries with it a sense of duty and responsibility, beyond the title. Each, but especially research, has a history of extraction, which is why I think it is so important to work with communities, not conduct work on communities. I think Georgetown’s focus on public service was especially conducive to prompting that realization — public service and working for others has always been embedded in a Georgetown education. That means building relationships with people to create climate solutions. For example, in my work in India right now, I haven’t even started formal interviews yet. Why? Because, given India’s colonial history and particularly the history of research in low-income communities, I believe it is critical to build relationships with people first. That’s what I’m doing now: simply asking questions like “Tell me about your family!” and “Where does your son go to school?” Throughout

these conversations, observations and questions about water supply become apparent and inform future interviews, but the primary goal is developing trust by also sharing my own life story and learning the language in which people are thinking and communicating.

As part of your research on Arizona’s water crisis, you produced a documentary film entitled “Water in the West: The Story of Farming in the Colorado River Basin.” Why were you drawn to this format of storytelling? How did it differ from other, more traditional formats of communication, such as academic papers or data visualization?

Don’t get me wrong — I think that written research and written stories also have incredible power to influence and inform the discourse and policy solutions. For example, I’m really proud of my thesis (written) on the impacts of Colorado River Basin shortages on Arizona farmers and of all of the environmental research I’ve done through STIA. But I think my mini-documentary was uniquely able to capture the feelings and emotions of farmers. You could see the tears welling up in Nancy’s eyes, for instance, when she talked about her family farm. And you could see Tim Mazich’s kids running around the farm, learning from their dad. That kind of visual connection is special; it is often able to relay emotional messages to policymakers more effectively than words on paper. The D.C. Environmental Film Festival (DCEFF) has many excellent films that helped me learn how to best capture those messages.

Is there anything else you would like to add?

If you are a young person passionate about alleviating climate change, there is a niche for you. When I first started in this space, I felt a lot of imposter syndrome, and I didn’t quite know where I fit in. But the truth is, there is never a shortage of people working to address the greatest challenge of our time, so if climate is a space you’re thinking about entering, my advice? Don’t hesitate. And don’t ever hesitate to reach out for help (to me, or anyone else)!

Challenges in Mangrove Restoration: Does it work?

adam shaham

SFS ’22 & Fulbright recipient

Adam Shaham graduated from the School of Foreign Service (SFS) with a degree in International Culture and Politics in 2022. He spent the last year in Mumbai, India, studying mangrove restoration through a Fulbright grant.

Mangrove trees are critical to the world’s fight against climate change and ocean degradation. Nowhere is this clearer than in Mumbai, India’s second-largest metropolis. The city, composed of seven islands, was once covered in mangrove forests. Now, the remaining 65 square kilometers of mangroves left in Mumbai are under grave threat.

From 1991 to 2001, Mumbai lost 40% of its mangrove cover. Over the last 15 years, hundreds of thousands of mangrove trees have been cut down for coastal infrastructure development. The ongoing construction of the Mumbai Coastal Road is expected to further erode the city’s mangrove coverage by an additional 1%. Despite Mumbai’s considerable investment in restoring mangrove forests, there remains a glaring absence of comprehensive public evaluation to assess the efficacy and outcomes of rehabilitation efforts.

Through the support of a Fulbright grant, I leveraged satellite imagery and machine learning to analyze $5 million worth of mangrove tree restorations in Mumbai from the last decade. Through my research, I found that only 50% of Mumbai’s restoration sites have shown tangible signs of growth between 2012 and 2022.

Photo courtesy of Adam Shaham

I was inspired to pursue a project in Mumbai after enrolling in the India Innovation Studio course at Georgetown, led by Professors Irfan Noorudin and Mark Giordano. The Centennial Lab course examined the social implications of infrastructure and challenged us to critically examine the socio-ecological impacts of international development. The geographic information systems component, taught by SFS alumna Dr. Katalyn Voss, equipped us with the capacity to visualize geospatial data to assist in policymaker decision-making.

Mangrove trees grow along ocean shorelines and are a key solution in addressing the climate crisis. The trees absorb between six and eight times more carbon dioxide than any other ecosystem on Earth.

In addition, mangroves provide critical services to coastal cities. Their dense root systems prevent coastal erosion and flooding and act as incubators for young fish nurseries. The trees also have medicinal properties, frequently used by Mumbai’s indigenous Koli fishing community.

MANGROVE RESTORATION LOCATIONS

Graphic courtesy of Adam Shaham

ADAM SITTING ON A RAFT IN A RIVER SURROUNDED BY MANGROVES.

Photo courtesy of Adam Shaham

However, rapid urban development has threatened these benefits. Hundreds of construction projects — from new metro lines, airports and ports to bridges and coastal highways — have resulted in the destruction of entire mangrove forests in Mumbai. Mangrove clearance has threatened the local fishing economy and left the city’s communities at increased risk of fatal flooding events.

In light of the trees’ ecological significance, Mumbai’s mangrove restoration initiatives are mandated legislatively. Laws, such as India’s Coastal Regulation Zone, and judicial orders from the Bombay High Court require the municipal government to restore many of the mangrove trees that it cuts down.

Restoring mangroves is easier said than done.

Globally, researchers have found that around 50% of all mangrove restoration projects have failed. Attempted restorations in nearby countries like Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Vietnam and Pakistan yielded lackluster outcomes. Single-species planting of mangrove saplings and low levels of community engagement typically doom even the most well-funded and long-term efforts.

Scientific monitoring of mangrove restorations helps to combat failure by identifying unsuitable sites and ineffective techniques. Yet the Maharashtra Mangrove Cell, the state government body responsible for restorations in Mumbai, does not publish the locations of restoration sites. This limits the capacity of environmental nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and scientists to evaluate restoration efforts and recommend improvements.

To determine how Mumbai’s mangrove restorations have fared, I drew on public environmental clearances and federal budget details from India’s Ministry of Forest, Environment and Climate Change. I identified 25 sites covering more than 150 hectares of attempted mangrove restorations in the Mumbai region and created a dataset of restoration site coordinates.

“Only 50% of Mumbai’s restoration sites have shown tangible signs of growth between 2012 and 2022.”

MAP OF ADAM'S RESEARCH CLEARANCE SITES. Graphic courtesy of Adam Shaham

Equipped with geographic information system (GIS) skills and public satellite data I gathered from the European Union (EU) and NASA, I created a machine-learning analysis that investigated Mumbai’s restorations from 2012 to 2022.

The study results indicated that over half — 52% — of the mangrove sites targeted for restoration by the Mangrove Cell in Mumbai showed no sign of growth over the decade. Out of the 157 hectares set aside for restoration, only 30 were successfully restored.

Thus, Mumbai’s restoration program achieves a success rate consistent with global mangrove restoration efforts — that being that about half of such projects fail. An independent audit of a multi-million-dollar United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) grant that funded some of Mumbai’s mangrove restoration confirmed these findings. The auditors concluded that given prevailing approaches, many mangrove restoration projects in Mumbai were unlikely to become sustainable forests.

Improving Mumbai’s mangrove restoration infrastructure in the future will require a comprehensive transformation of the current approach. The Mangrove Cell needs to publish mangrove restoration locations and more proactively include the local community in restorations. This will promote transparency and accountability for the city’s residents concerning the management of Mumbai’s natural resources.

Currently, Mumbai’s mangrove lands are split amongst the jurisdiction of more than a dozen city agencies. The transfer of all mangrove lands to one agency, such as the Ministry of Forest, would streamline protection and restoration initiatives.

The international community needs to step up as well. Many of Mumbai’s largest infrastructure projects that involved mass mangrove clearance were financed by international financial institutions (IFIs) like the World Bank, Asian Development Bank (ADB) and the Japan International Cooperative Agency. IFIs have a responsibility to consider the environmental ramifications of infrastructure projects in their funding proposals and financially support longitudinal mangrove restorations.

Five hundred years ago, mangroves used to cover every inch of Mumbai. Improving the city’s restoration efforts is necessary to ensure that they will return.

MAP OF AREAS OF FISHBONE MANGROVE RESTORATION. Graphic courtesy of Adam Shaham

Interrupt & Integrate Environmental Courses Under Development at Georgetown

keaton nara

COL ’22 & Earth Commons Post-Bac Fellow

Interrupt and integrate.

These two verbs are the foundational goals of a new series of one-credit courses offered by the Red House and Joint Environment and Sustainability Program (JESP). Having first launched in fall 2023, these seminars offer students the opportunity to “interrupt” their relationship with a variety of environmental topics, followed by a focus to “integrate” new material and skills learned throughout the year in the different foundational courses in JESP.

In designing these courses, we set out to achieve two complementary goals.

First, we wanted to create an iterative reflective opportunity within students’ learning journeys — to hold space at the beginning and end of each semester for students to collaboratively explore their own relationship to the environment. As students move through their classes and build their working knowledge, it is important to reflect on what assumptions they hold and can identify, and then proceed to deconstruct bias while discussing these implications.

Second, we wanted to create more opportunities for students to integrate knowledge, skills and perspectives from a variety of different disciplines. We use these courses to discuss the connections between different classes — including vastly different subjects — all while focused on a central theme. Collaboratively connecting the material between these courses is essential to creating both a cohesive learning engagement, as well as cohort sensibility.

Design by Cecilia Cassidy

The fall 2023 series of “interruption and integration” courses consisted of ENST-1008 Interruptions:  Ecological Belonging and ENST-1009 Integrations: Environment & Wellbeing. To get a better understanding of what each course offers, here is a brief summary of their respective goals.

This course is an introduction to a new way of thinking, which we are calling “ecological belonging.” In this class, students will evaluate their connections to the environment and how their sense of belonging is interwoven with both nature and the multiple ecosystems in which we live. We will discuss how these connections need to be reoriented in order to assure a sustainable future across our communities. This reorientation will be rooted in a complex systems view of the world that, at the same time, rejects linear and solutionist thinking, while also favoring a new way of thinking that begins with inner work and balances knowledge with uncertainty.

This closing integration course is focused on exploring the interconnectedness of our personal wellbeing and the wellbeing of the world. In this course, we strive to cultivate a sense of hope and agency as we confront the challenging reality of our environmental conditions. Our work centers on one question: “What does it mean to be well in an unwell world?”

As displayed in the opening syllabus lines of these courses, there is a strong emphasis on questioning our perspectives and balancing both the internal and the external within our lives. In the first fall launch of these courses, we witnessed students creatively embrace these new ways of thinking via group discussions, art, technology and storytelling in order to explore different dimensions of their interdisciplinary course work. We want to continue developing these courses as spaces for students to reflect on and reconnect with their knowledge, practices and values as we collectively confront the world’s wicked problems.

The interruption and integration courses have been developed and taught by a collaborative teaching team, with Professor Randall Amster as the faculty of record, joined by Noah Martin, Randall Bass, Jan Menafee and myself. In the spring of 2024, we will run new interruptions, ENST-1018, and integrations, ENST-1019, seminars focused on Environment and Power.

Food, Culture and Conservation in Maijuna Lands

brian m. griffiths PhD, Assistant Teaching Professor, The Earth Commons

TREES AMONG THE MIST IN THE PERUVIAN AMAZON FOREST.

Photo by Brian Griffiths

by Brian Griffiths

PORTRAIT OF JAIRO, A MAIJUNA HUNTER, SITTING ON A LOG WITH A TAPIR IN A BAG ON HIS BACK.

Photo

This memoir is a creative account of Dr. Brian Griffiths’s research on mammal ecology and conservation conducted in collaboration with the Indigenous Maijuna people of Peru.

We’ve been walking for three hours now, and the sun is just a few hours from its peak. The cool morning mist of the Amazon has long since burned off, replaced by unrelenting heat and humidity. The conditions do not seem to bother the mosquitos, which happily float along with us through the forest. Jairo, a Maijuna hunter, and I are headed to a mineral lick to take GPS coordinates of game mammals in the Peruvian Amazon as part of my research on the ecology of the region. Mineral licks are places in the forest where animals consume soil, supplementing their diet with minerals or clays. These mineral lick sites are remote and hard to find, but play a critical role in both Maijuna traditional culture and the ecology of local mammals. In Western science circles, we call them biocultural keystones; the Maijuna call them colpas in Spanish or ónóbɨ in Maijiki, their traditional language.

I almost run into Jairo as he suddenly stops in front of me, hardly visible in the dense undergrowth, the steady one-foot-in-front-of-the-other rhythm of hiking making me daydream. He turns to me and whispers that we are nearing the lick, a prime hunting location. We continue quietly, and Jairo slips a cartridge into the shotgun that he has held slung over his shoulder all day. A half-hour more of creeping through the rainforest and swatting frantically at the pesky mosquitos is rewarded when we hear a noise ahead. Jairo takes off.

A boom echoes through the forest seconds later. Then, another one. I smell acrid smoke, which I follow into a small clearing ahead.

Jairo turns with a big smile on his face and embraces me in comradery. Peering over his shoulder, I see a muddy hole — definitively the mineral lick — and an equally muddy animal. Bright red streams of blood are visible in sharp contrast to the dull earthy background, and I realize that the animal is a lowland tapir. The herbivorous animal is a common visitor to mineral licks to supplement its diet. Surprised to see a tapir in real life, I stood there blinking for a few seconds before remembering why I had come. I unclip my GPS unit and notebook and grab the coordinates I need.

I turn to Jairo and congratulate him on his skill and success, but begin to wonder how we are going to get the 250-kg animal home. Tapirs are the largest animals in Maijuna lands—even bigger than jaguars—and have been given the fitting name of sachavacas, or “forest cows.” Tapirs perform ecosystem services that are critical to the rainforest that the Maijuna depend upon; they spread seeds from the fruits they consume as they walk, literally building up the forest structure itself. However, they have incredibly low reproductive rates and are unable to sustain a viable population under intense hunting pressure, making them a species of international conservation concern.

The Maijuna traditionally believe that tapirs and mineral licks are tied to their origins. In the traditional narrative, a Maijuna man named Bék ɨtù tries to trick his son-in-law, who has powers as a creator and subsequently turns Bék ɨtù into a tapir. He slowly takes on tapir-like qualities such as becoming skittish around people, eating palm fruits whole, and receding into the forest. He asks his daughter to bring him some masato, a traditional beverage of fermented yuca, but when she returns, Bék ɨtù will not go near her. His daughter becomes frustrated and throws the jar of masato on the ground. After she leaves, Bék ɨtù licks the masato from the ground, mixing it up with the soil with his

MEMBERS OF THE MAIJUNA COMMUNITY IN A BOAT DURING THE TAPIR HUNT.

Photo by Brian Griffiths

hooves and creating the first mineral lick. Ónóbɨ, the Maijuna word for mineral lick, literally translates to “place of masato,” illustrating the Maijuna belief that animals visit the mineral licks to eat masato

Many hours later, my ponderings are answered as we return to the mineral lick with a cadre of Maijuna community members in tow. They set to work, dragging the carcass out of the thigh-deep mineral lick mud and cleaning it. We set out on our long hike back with the sun waning and a considerably heavier load to carry.

Tapirs are rarely hunted in Maijuna lands. Community norms prohibit the commercialization of their meat, making tapir a subsistence-only food whose consumption is tied to traditional culture. The preferred protein is the paca, a large rodent with a much higher population size and reproductive rate. Tapir populations in Maijuna lands are sustained by vast palm swamps that provide the animal’s favorite aguaje fruit, and the largest network of mineral licks ever discovered in an Amazonian watershed. However, when tapirs are hunted it is a community endeavor. A hunter typically calls neighbors and friends to help with the animal, and each person will leave with a sizable chunk of meat for their family. Sharing tapir meat, a critical protein in the remote region, builds social capital and contributes to food security. Now, if Jairo has an unsuccessful day hunting a few weeks from now, he may receive a chunk of meat or a few fish from one of these neighbors, ensuring that his family do not go hungry. These unwritten social norms ensure that all community members are cared for and fed.

Want to read more about tapir behavior, game mammal conservation, mineral lick ecology, Maijuna traditional hunting practices, and the socioeconomics of game meat? Check out my recent research!

The Maijuna people are one of the most vulnerable Indigenous groups in Peru, with fewer than 600 individuals remaining in four communities. They safeguard an area of primary rainforest that’s almost a million acres (that’s 22 percent larger than Yosemite National Park!) which makes up the Maijuna-Kichwa Regional Conservation Area (MKRCA) and a large portion of their ancestral lands. The Maijuna can legally hunt in the MKRCA, and the enormous area ensures that hunting is sustainable. The Maijuna are longtime partners in my community-based research. One of the stated priorities of the Maijuna Federation is to conserve their local mammal populations and understand how hunting impacts those mammals. I support this stated objective with my research.

Mammal conservation work in Maijuna lands is a collaborative effort between the Maijuna and NGOs OnePlanet and the ACEER Foundation, and others.

As the sun sets, I scratch my chin and consider the foreleg of tapir sitting on the floor of my house, an incredibly kind gift from Jairo, who attributed his success to my good luck. I pick up my knife and set to work; I’ll gift some of this tapir leg since I cannot eat it all myself. After all, I “owe” my neighbor for a fish he left on my step for breakfast this morning.

RAINBOW OVER A RIVER AND TREES IN THE PERUVIAN AMAZON FOREST.

Photo by Brian Griffiths

The Mega Impact of Microplastics: The Reality of the “Great” Pacific Garbage Patch

When you hear about the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch” (GPGP), what first comes to mind?

Most likely, you think of massive islands of trash in the middle of the ocean, supposedly twice the size of Texas. However, after learning about this phenomenon in my environmental science class, I discovered this common perception is far from reality. Most of the GPGP is not visible to the naked eye — a reality in sharp contrast to the mental image of piles of plastic waste floating on the ocean surface. In fact, the majority of plastic does not end up in the ocean. A study conducted by Our World in Data found that approximately 0.5% of plastic ends up in the sea, while the majority of it resides on shorelines. So, why is there so much focus on plastic pollution in the ocean, and why is the Great Pacific Garbage Patch so misrepresented?

When I spoke to Dr. Jennifer Brandon, a sustainability consultant and leading expert on the emerging dangers of microplastics, she explained that at least 90 percent of the trash is microplastics, which are “tiny plastic particles less than five millimeters in size.” While the specifics are unclear, the World Wildlife Fund estimates that microplastics make up 94 percent of objects in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Indeed, these microplastics have resided in the ocean for so long that scientists have found around 40 different organisms (e.g., mussels and barnacles) inhabiting the plastic. The durability of plastics has also played a role as a habitat or aid in the lifecycles of the organisms that inhabit them. Knowing this about the GPGP, how should we go about largescale cleanup?

According to Dr. Brian Griffiths, Assistant Teaching Professor at the Earth Commons, “Any policy or action that relates to plastics has to consider the life that lives there but also the life that has now adapted to a plastic-filled ecosystem.” But, isn’t plastic supposed to harm marine life? Surprisingly, since plastic “can float in the oceans for a long time, [it] allow[s] creatures to survive and reproduce in the open ocean for years.” Now that scientists are looking, they are likely to find more organisms latching onto plastic in the GPGP and the durable ecosystem it provides.

Devastatingly, many plastic removal technologies have not been tested to evaluate their effectiveness in the context of organisms living within the plastic ecosystem itself. In fact, “some [clean-up devices] have been shown to harm quantities of marine organisms–including fish, crustaceans, and seaweeds–that far exceed the amount of plastic captured, meaning their overall impact on the ocean is potentially more harmful than helpful.” We are not looking at the problem holistically if plastic clean-up organizations do not consider species' livelihoods.

Our current solution — dragging a large net across the GPGP to clean up plastic — might solve one aspect of the plastic problem but it puts the organisms living there at risk. However, there is a more robust solution: reducing plastic production at the source. Because “plastic production [is] projected to triple by 2060, the most cost-effective and efficient way to prevent further pollution is to reduce plastic production and consumption.” Since resources to solve this issue are finite, it is especially incumbent that we pursue the solution that brings about the most good. Reducing plastic production not only limits plastic from entering the ocean but allows the organisms that inhabit existing plastic to thrive and limits the amount of microplastics in the human food system. In order to avoid a band-aid solution, we must weigh the environmental and economic costs of plastic removal with the short- and long-term benefits of doing so.

Without addressing the root causes of the problem, we will only cure its symptoms by cleaning up plastics after they enter the ocean and harming those creatures who have already adapted to our pollution. When we reimagine the production and consumption systems we currently rely on, we must be clear-eyed about the complexity of our impact and ask the question: What is the true cost of our plastics in production and clean-up?

The Quickening: Creation and Community at the Ends of the Earth

by Elizabeth Rush

Rethinking the Stories We Tell about the 7th Continent

Elyza Bruce CAS ‘25 & Common Home Editor

Throughout history, stories have played a crucial role in shaping what society cares about and the visions of the future to which it aspires. As a result, it feels especially crucial for stories to be written about Antarctica — the most remote place in the world — for it is both symbolically and literally at the heart of the climate crisis. According to NASA data, between 2002 and 2023, the Antarctic ice sheet melted an average of 150 billion metric tons of ice per year, contributing greatly to global sea level rise.

Elizabeth Rush’s book, The Quickening: Creation and Community at the Ends of the Earth (2023), recounts her voyage alongside a team of 57 scientists and crewmembers to Antarctica to study the Thwaites Glacier, a region in Antarctica heretofore never traveled by humans, and which is rapidly deteriorating due to climate change.

The Quickening isn’t merely an adventure narrative following the exploits of scientists as they plunge into the unknown reaches of the seventh continent; Rush also deeply considers the social politics of Antarctic exploration. In particular, Rush unpacks the White, male-dominated perspectives that shape our cultural understanding of Antarctica, how this excludes the contribution of women and people of color, and what it would mean to give the Antarctic landscape the agency of a protagonist, rather than flattening it to a two-dimensional backdrop. Rush’s reimagination of the Antarctic landscape could have key implications for the way we understand the urgency of the climate crisis.

Before Rush set out on the months-long expedition, she combed through every book related to Anaratica she could find in the library. She soon discovered a pattern: the vast majority of “classic” tales about Antarctica feature White, male protagonists involved in the continent's “discovery” at the turn of the century. As a result, the Antarctic becomes just another “blank spot” on the map and a backdrop for “well-educated white men [to] make displays of derring-do.”

Rush uses the term “Antarctic Masculinity” to describe the malecentric narratives and imagery surrounding Antarctic exploration. Beyond representation, “Antarctic Masculinity” is also present in the institutional frameworks that shape life on an Antarctic Voyage. For example, Rush points out the lack of uniforms to accommodate diverse body types beyond a traditionally masculine physique and the lack of preparation for the possibility of a pregnant body present during the expedition.

Another issue with this prevailing narrative surrounding the Antarctic that Rush aims to challenge is the limitation of who can even go to the Antarctic in the first place. Rush points out that no women or people of color are featured as protagonists in the stories from the “so-called Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration” and their already limited contributions are relegated to that of service workers and captains’s wives. Because of this, Rush argues there is a “whole different lineage of stories missing from the Antarctic Archive” which she hopes to fill, in part, with her own narrative project.

In contrast to the hyper-individualistic tales of courageous explorers setting out to conquer the untouched regions of the planet, Rush bakes a sense of communalism into the structure of the book. The main narrative is interspersed with interview transcripts from various members of the crew — ranging from glaciologists and biochemists to electricians and the ship’s chef. In fact, Rush includes a “Cast of Characters” section in the front matter of the text, further cementing the crew’s status as active agents in the narrative. I think this experimental form of storytelling reflects the inherent communal nature of life on scientific expeditions, but also, more broadly, the communal experience of the climate crisis.

Rush invites readers to think of the Antarctic not as a cold, static place devoid of life, but as an active agent. Rush asks, “What if we were taught to see Antarctica not as a prize to be won but as an actor in its own right, an entity that shapes us just as much as we shape it?” As Rush describes the strange, Antarctic landscape, she tries to avoid using “language that denies agency to the birds and the sun and the land refusing them the pronouns that denote personhood.” Traditional narrative conventions require characters and plots to drive

What if we were taught to see Antarctica not as a prize to be won but as an actor in its own right, an entity that shapes us just as much as we shape it?

the story forward, leaving many stories about the Antarctic centered around the exploits of explorers. However, once Rush experienced the Antarctic as “an unfathomable sea that soon will transform into something solid, fused to a continent that carries traces of atmospheric history hundreds of thousands of years old,” she found these narrative conventions to be sorely lacking.

Rush highlights how in contrast to the Western scientific conception of glaciers, in Indigenous narratives of the Tlingit and Athapaskan people, “glaciers take action and respond to their surroundings” as they “give birth to seasons like summer and winter; at other times they swallow humans whole as a warning that others should act with greater humility.”

This shift in understanding about the nature of glaciers could have potentially crucial implications for the climate crisis. When we think of glaciers not as static, lifeless forms drifting on a distant region of the Earth, but as active, lively, constantly transforming agents in the Earth’s systems, it creates a greater sense of urgency surrounding their deterioration. This reimagination should not stop at ancient glaciers; rethinking all of the Earth’s ecosystems as active agents in their own rights will not only help us understand the true implications of climate change but also give us the tools to challenge the cultural practices that contribute to climate change in the first place.

MICHELIN Guide’s Green Star Celebrates Sustainability at the World’s Top Restaurants

alannah nathan SFS ‘24 & Common Home Editor

In 2020, Michelin Guide, one of the most highly regarded restaurant guides in the world, launched its annual Green Star award. The award honors restaurants at the forefront of the industry in their practice of sustainability.

Although the sustainability practices of Green Star restaurants vary, they each demonstrate a degree of ethical and environmental standards, often working with producers and suppliers to avoid food and non-recyclable waste in their supply chain. Many of these restaurants work directly with growers, farmers, fishermen and foragers who use regenerative methods, cover crop growing and sustainable sourcing.

There are now 291 Michelin Green Star restaurants across the globe. Here is a sampling.

opened in 200 4 , hudson valley ’ s blue hill at stone barns has built its reputation through its farm to table concept .

Blue Hill is consistently ranked one of the top 50 restaurants in the world and has earned two Michelin stars. In 2021, Blue Hill received a Green Star.

Hailed as a “philosopher chef,” Head Chef Dan Barber is on a long-term mission to change food and farming. Blue Hill is committed to supporting small, independent farmers and strives to build a menu that delivers both economic and ecological viability to farmers.

“When you are chasing the best flavor, you are chasing after the best ingredients — and when you’re chasing after the best ingredients, you’re in search of great farming,” Barber said.

Barber is a major advocate of regenerative farming and works directly with 64 local farms at the restaurant. In addition, 80% of Blue Hill’s seafood purchases are caught that day by fishermen off of Long Island, N.Y.

The non-profit behind the restaurant, the Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture, has helped shape a conversation around sustainable food systems nationally. The non-profit strives to drive innovative practices in ecological farming and mindful food choices. The campus, shared with the restaurant itself, brings together farmers, chefs, diners, educators and artisans to push the boundaries of sustainable farming and eating.

Visit bluehillfarm.com to learn more about Blue Hill at Stone Barns.

in san francisco ’ s cow hollow neighborhood , dominique crenn ’ s atelier crenn , which opened in 2011 , controls the entire lifecycle of its ingredients .

Chef Dominique Crenn of three Michelin-starred Atelier Crenn cares deeply about from where her ingredients come. Crenn, the first female chef in the United States to earn three stars — is adamant about “controlling the entire life cycle of her ingredients — from seed to harvest to preparation — to ensure the very best quality.”

Atelier Crenn sources the majority of its ingredients from the restaurant’s own Blue Belle Farm, which launched in 2018 on a four-acre plot of land in Sonoma, Ariz. The farm uses regenerative agriculture practices to rebuild the soil’s organic matter and restore its biodiversity.

In 2018, motivated by the outsized carbon intensity of meat production, Atelier Crenn completely removed meat from its menu. Moreover, the restaurant is attempting to become a zero-waste establishment across all operations — from the kitchen to the dining room. For example, all food scraps from the restaurant are sent back to Bleu Belle Farms as compost to nourish the soil.

Having removed single-use plastics from the restaurant’s operations, Atelier Crenn is also certified as a Plastic Free establishment — the first American restaurant to earn that title.

Learn more about Atelier Crenn on their website, ateliercrenn.com

in helsinki , finland , nolla — named after the finnish word for “ zero ” — opened in 201 8 with the goal of sending zero waste to landfills .

“The idea for Nolla arose out of our desire to make the restaurant industry more environmentally friendly,” Albert Franch Sunyer, one of Nolla’s three co-founders, said in an interview with “Eatweek Guide.” “Working in different restaurants and realizing the problem with waste, which is part of the industry, you realize you can either close your eyes to it and continue cooking, or admit the problem and try to do something about it.”

To eliminate waste across the restaurant’s operations, Nolla has considered every detail.

For example, they prohibit secondary packaging from suppliers; servers wear uniforms made of discarded bed linen; and their gift cards are made from biodegradable paper (with embedded poppy seeds for planting at home).

Nolla serves a pre-fixed, four to six-course dinner to avoid over-preparing food, a common source of waste in the restaurant industry. Moreover, Nolla often uses techniques, such as drying, fermenting and curing products, to preserve ingredients. Whatever cannot be used is processed in the restaurant’s in-house composter, where food scraps are turned into fertilizer in under 24 hours and sent back to farmers.

“We use common sense to prevent waste which, over time, becomes a trend that everyone benefits from. It’s painful to see waste and neglect and, once it is done, we cannot go back. It’s simply a mindset and, for us, now a daily routine,” Nolla told the Michelin Guide.

Learn more about Nolla on their website, restaurantnolla.com .

Leveraging Technology to Make Smallholder Farming Sustainable

sarah devermann

SFS ‘17 Strategy Manager at ISF Advisors

Half of U.S. adults start their day with a cup of coffee.

I saw the importance of this morning coffee routine firsthand while working as a barista at Uncommon Grounds — one of Georgetown’s on-campus coffee shops. For four years, I served thousands of cups of coffee to students, professors, visiting diplomats and other caffeinedeprived individuals on campus. However, it was not until I started working in the food systems space that I took a step back to think about where that coffee came from.

The majority — around 60% — of coffee comes from smallholder farmers who work on farms of less than 5 hectares, as defined by the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). There are an estimated 600 million smallholder farmers worldwide, many of whom are based in sub-Saharan Africa and South Asia. Not only are these smallholder farmers instrumental to coffee production, but they also produce around 30% of the world’s total food supply.

Smallholder farmers are the backbone of our food system, and are also some of the most susceptible to climate change. This population is no stranger to hardship; many smallholders do not have access to financial institutions and live on less than $2 a day.

However, the acceleration of extreme weather events, natural disasters and changing weather patterns is beginning to challenge their already resilient nature. For instance, in the 1990s, Zimbabwe had one dry year every five years; today, the country has a dry year every two years. Furthermore, pest-driven losses are expected to increase by 50% in Africa. In India, drought threatens 270,000 acres of farmland.

There is no doubt that changing weather, pest habits and arid land increases will negatively impact coffee farming — and other types of farming — over the next decade. From an economic standpoint, these effects will not only be felt by smallholder farmers, but also by consumers downstream in the forms of price hikes and limited availability. Furthermore, these increased threats will challenge food security in many smallholder farmer-anchored regions, which can

have widespread effects on interconnected health and political systems, increasing childhood malnutrition and causing political instability.

The good news is that a strong network of global actors is beginning to address the fragility of global food systems. In 2022, food and agriculture took center stage at COP27. In addition, there has been an influx of funding from both the public and private sector to find innovative solutions.

One of the most promising introductions in the food and agriculture industry is the use of digital technologies, commonly referred to as “food tech,” “ag tech” or “climate tech,” to support smallholder farmers in adapting and building resilience in the face of climate change. These technologies offer a variety of tools, ranging from short message system (SMS)-based weather information to alternative credit scoring.

While the ag tech sector remains largely nascent, many of these innovative models show significant promise in helping smallholders adapt to climate change through varied business models.

Although I am no longer serving coffee at Uncommon Grounds, I now have the opportunity to work with industryleading players, such as the Gates Foundation and International Finance Corporation, to support smallholder farmers in the coffee value chain and beyond. In my role at ISF Advisors — a strategic and financial advisory firm focused on mobilizing capital into food systems — much of my work involves exploring the influence of ag techs in emerging markets. In the past few years, I have landscaped over 200 ag and climate techs in sub-Saharan Africa, interviewed dozens of founders, developed industry-leading taxonomies to categorize business models and advised on investment opportunities.

Ag tech models vary, but many of the most successful companies offer packaged goods and services for smallholder

farmers and agribusinesses, including digital financial records, access to markets and climate intelligence. While these offerings may seem rudimentary at times, these fundamental resources can significantly impact smallholder farmers.

A few promising models helping smallholder farmer-anchored markets are outlined below:

apollo agriculture

The company provides farmers with a bundled offering that includes inputs (e.g., seeds, fertilizer), advisory services (e.g., weather information) and access to markets to sell their goods for fair prices.

hello tractor

The firm offers an Uber-like service to connect tractor providers with farmers in need of mechanization services.

c limate a i

The business leverages artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning to help businesses and governments climate-proof their supply chains and identify opportunities for climate-smart expansion.

s un c ulture

It provides off-the-grid solar irrigation pumps and other solar-powered machinery (e.g., lighting, mobile charging) through a “pay-as-you-grow” model, where farmers pay small monthly installments and the pumps can be remotely turned off in the event of missed payments.

Over the next decade, ag techs are anticipated to become increasingly important in helping smallholder farmers adapt to climate change. Current models are constantly evolving — adding new products and services — while new climate-centric models are emerging. For instance, Boomitra, an ag tech focused on generating carbon credits accessible to smallholders, recently expanded its operations to Africa. Traceability platforms can also help large agribusinesses, such as Nestle, track their produce from smallholder farms to fork.

The agriculture sector is being threatened by climate change, and although ag techs cannot solve the whole problem, they can provide the necessary intelligence, practical products and services to smallholder farmers to help them adapt.

So next time you sip a cup of coffee, take a moment to think about where our morning brew came from and what you can do to help future-proof the coffee value chain.

motel manager pouring acid in the water when black people swam in his pool, 1964.

Photo provided by Rare Historical Photos

Don’t Get In The Water Blue Space Racism and the Drowning of Black Bodies

jennifer d. roberts

DrPH, MPH, University of Maryland School of Public Health

Dip A Toe. Drain The Pool.

The 1999 feature film, “Introducing Dorothy Dandridge,” reenacts the true story of when Dandridge, the first Black American film star to earn an Academy Award nomination for best actress, was hired to headline a Las Vegas casino hotel, but was forbidden from swimming in the establishment’s pool. It was the 1950s, and while Jim Crow laws codified and legitimized a system of racial apartheid in the American South, racial segregation was the social norm for housing, schools, transportation and public facilities, such as swimming pools, throughout the entire country.

Hotel Manager:

“The Last Frontier Hotel is proud to welcome Ms. Dandridge as their first Negro guest. We look forward to her performances. The chefs are at her disposal, meals will be delivered to her room. She can have any dish she likes… the casino and the restaurant are obviously off limits, the club too except of course when she is performing, and the pool. If she got in the pool it would have to be drained…[for] health reasons.”

Dorothy Dandridge:

“Tonight I will take my bows and exit stage rear, go through the kitchen, pass the casino, around the pool I am apparently too dirty to swim in, up the service elevator to my luxurious penthouse, sip my complimentary champagne and pee in a brand-new Dixie cup.”

Enraged and with much indignation, Dandridge ignored hotel management, appeared poolside in her swimsuit and stuck her toe in the pool as onlookers stared in disbelief. As promised, the pool was drained and scrubbed clean by the hotel’s Black maintenance workers that evening.

Interestingly, blue space racism did not always exist in the United States. Before World War I, municipal swimming pools, particularly those in northeastern cities, were gathering spaces for everyone to enjoy. Although designated swim days for different genders guaranteed gender separation, public pools otherwise catered to all working-class communities — Black and native-born White laborers swam together alongside newly-arrived immigrants. During this period, New York, Philadelphia, Boston and other urban areas heavily invested in the building and maintenance of municipal pools, which often served as a source of recreational enjoyment and even “bath time” for the millions of physical laborers who used the pools to clean off at the end of the work day.

However, by the 1920s, the dynamics of public pools were changing and new social lines were drawn. American cities continued to build more and more pools, but these swimming spaces changed from primarily bathhouses to leisure destinations. Gender-designated swim days were dropped, allowing both genders to swim together for the first time. However, this spawned a new wave of racial segregation predicated on the racialization of cleanliness and safety, “as well as intense fears of Black men interacting with White women in bathing suits,” according to Victoria Wolcott, a historian at the University at Buffalo.

Black Americans challenged blue space segregation in the 1950s and 1960s by filing lawsuits against cities and repeatedly pursuing admission to Whites-only pools through wade-ins and swim-ins. Similar to the well-known lunch counter sit-ins,

wade-ins and swim-ins were forms of civil disobedience during which protesters would attempt to swim at Whites-only beaches or pools. Although many of these civil rights milestones were swept under the rug of American history, an image showing a swim-in and the retaliatory Monson Motor Lodge manager pouring acid into the pool and burning several protestors has been widely circulated.

Similar to the St. Augustine, Florida swim-in at the Monson Motor Lodge on June 18, 1964, many of these civil rights protests ended in violence, humiliation and assault. While the integration of these public spaces was eventually mandated by the Civil Rights Act of 1964 — which was passed by the Senate the day after the swim-in, a massive wave of reactionary public pool closures throughout the country had already begun.

ripple effects

Warner

years old

old

When public pools were forced to desegregate, White families abandoned these spaces and fled to the suburbs where they built private pools in their backyards. This “White flight” upsurged the number of private swim and country clubs in the suburbs and predominantly White neighborhoods.

In addition, lack of access to public pools has had far-reaching and fatal effects. The names above represent only a small fraction of Black and Latino youth who died in the past few years from accidental drownings. An overwhelming majority of these drownings occurred in 2023 with primarily male victims who were found in pools, ponds, lakes and other bodies of water.

Prior to the Civil Rights Act of 1964, some cities were already confronted with integration orders via the judicial system when Black communities successfully sued for the use of their tax dollars on a commodity to which they were denied access. To avoid enforcement of these court judgments and the subsequent civil rights legislation, pools were closed and continued to close throughout the subsequent decades.

Heather McGhee, author of “The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together,” speaks about how a grand resort-style pool in Montgomery, Alabama was drained and paved over on January 1, 1959 and how the entire Montgomery Parks system was closed in order to avoid the integration of Black and White recreation. Even when the parks system reopened ten years later, the pool remained closed.

According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “Black children ages 10-14 years drown at rates 7.6 times higher than White children” and are more likely to drown in public pools. These race-based disparities in unintentional drowning deaths have persisted in the U.S. despite a 32% decline in total drowning mortality rates since 1990. In order to understand why these disparities continue, it is important to understand the history of American blue spaces as touched upon at the start of this article.

For example, after Washington, D.C. desegregated its municipal pools in 1953, 125 new private swim clubs opened within the

Elijah Weatherspoon

Luiz Pontes 18 years

Taleah Lowe

Anthony Shores Jr

Black families have generationally avoided swimming as a way of protecting themselves from the racialized dangers of blue spaces.

next ten years intended solely for White membership. Overall, between 1950 and 1962, more than 20,000 private swim clubs opened in White suburbia.

Consequently, taxpayer funding for urban public pools dried up significantly throughout the U.S. and as previously mentioned, city pools began to close in record numbers around the country. For example, in Cleveland, Ohio, the recreation budget was slashed by 80%. Due to these budget cuts and overall disinvestment, public pools have continued to shut down ever since. Subsequently, pool access and opportunities for swimming and swim instruction dramatically declined for non-White swimmers or those who could not obtain access to private clubs.

This is reflected in the 64% of Black youth who do not know how to swim. Aside from underdeveloped or nonexistent swimming skills due to the lack of blue spaces, the history of exclusion, racial segregation and violence associated with these spaces has left many with painful and traumatic memories.

This legacy of institutionalized multi-generational impediments to swimming engagement is still present today. In 2020, a White employee at a North Carolina hotel called the police on a Black family using the pool. The employee accused the family of trespassing despite the fact that they were hotel guests. This type of blue space racism is not an isolated event, as similar incidents have occurred recently in Ohio, Florida, Oregon and other areas throughout the country..

As a result, Black families have generationally avoided swimming as a way of protecting themselves from the racialized dangers of blue spaces. The Holmes family in South Carolina was no

different, never learning the survival skill of swimming. As a result, thirteen-year-old Genesis Holmes died on May 4, 2014 from an accidental drowning. The tragedy devastated his mother, Jennifer, as well as the entire community. However, she knew that “the only way to make peace with Genesis’ death was to make peace with the water.” With three years of swimming lessons, Jennifer became a certified lifeguard and established the Genesis Project to raise funding that supported aquatic safety programs in the rural areas of Charleston County, South Carolina.

Families, like the Holmes, are disrupting pervasive and persistent “Black people can’t swim” narratives and upending the life-threatening cycle of blue space racism. . . .

This piece is dedicated to Mrs. Marilyn Sifontes and all my St. Philip’s Episcopal Church (Buffalo, NY) moms and aunties who soothed me and others through our experience of blue space racism in Baton Rouge, Louisiana nearly 15 years ago.

What's Under Foot: Land, Environment, and Climate Change

tim bartley

Professor, Earth Commons Institute and Department of Sociology, Georgetown University

When we think about climate change, we usually think first about its impacts on the atmosphere and the air around us. We think about carbon dioxide and methane emissions that are primarily fueling climate change. We may then think of water since climate change contributes to rising sea levels, as well as storms that are increasingly more difficult to predict and control.

We rarely, however, think about land. Somehow climate change seems like a problem that floats above or sweeps up over us, rather than a problem that sits under our feet. This is a misconception, since both climate change and attempts to mitigate it are linked to land — to land use, land access and land rights around the world.

The clearing of forested land, for instance, raises greenhouse gas concentrations because while healthy forests absorb carbon dioxide, burning forests release it. The preservation of natural forests is a crucial step in healing the climate, but attempts to avoid deforestation often run into vexing questions about who has the right to control land, with governments, companies and local people (including Indigenous communities) making competing claims.

The extraction of fossil fuels occurs deep underground — and increasingly far offshore as well. But mining the lithium and cobalt needed for electric vehicles also involves new land excavations — often leading to severe exploitation of workers and local environmental degradation. Large solar and wind farms take up substantial tracts of land, though sizable swaths of land have also been scarred by oil and gas pipelines and coal mines. Here too, there are conflicts about who has the right to control — and profit from — the land needed for new and old forms of energy.

In both issues concerning forested land and in energy projects, “land grabbing” comes in both profit-seeking and green forms, and sometimes it is not easy to tell the difference. Indeed, in my research, I have looked at how land control and land rights are intertwined with the world of sustainability standards — that

is, rules about what counts as sustainable forestry or sustainable agriculture, and how one can trace supposedly green products back to their sources. Voluntary sustainability standards are supposed to help green the economy, but their impacts have often been thin or illusory.

In principle, voluntary sustainability standards often require clear land rights, community consultation and “free and prior informed consent” for the use of Indigenous people’s land, so that sustainable forests or farms are not developed through exploitative land grabs. In practice, though, rules pertaining to land rights have been among the most difficult to enforce, and land conflicts have sometimes been swept under the rug to clear the path for green markets to expand.

In Indonesia, where I looked at sustainable forestry projects, attempts to get forests certified to the standards of the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) have often struggled with obtaining “free and prior informed consent.” Indigenous groups claim customary rights to particular areas of forest land, but the Indonesian government has historically refused to formalize those rights; this has begun to change since a 2013 Constitutional Court ruling. Companies seeking certification have often benefited from historical injustices and violence against local people, and some have had to negotiate compensation for current land uses. But only rarely do these compensation agreements and consultation procedures amount to more than small concessions — or what I called “shallow solutions to deep problems.” Similar dynamics exist in the palm oil industry, where large plantations have often been built on deforested and contested lands.

Scholars doing research in Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador and other countries have come to similar conclusions, although legal structures and the power of Indigenous rights advocates vary across countries in important ways. Neither are stumbles and struggles over land rights unique to voluntary standards in the

private sector. The U.N.’s program on Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation in Developing Countries (REDD+) has faced similar challenges in balancing forest protection and environmental justice.

In China, where I also examined sustainable forestry efforts, the context is different, but there are nevertheless risks that land grabs can be certified as sustainable. Though the Chinese government does not recognize Indigenous peoples, village councils in rural areas (and sometimes individuals) may hold valuable but fragile land rights. As companies and local governments seek to develop large timber plantations in southern China — in part to feed global demand for furniture and paper packaging — some company and government officials have strong-armed villagers to gain access. Sustainability certifiers ignored or papered over this problem in some cases. Even when they did scrutinize it, efforts to renegotiate compensation and set up conflict resolution procedures could only go so far without unearthing past injustices or veering into “sensitive” political topics, such as land rights and protests.

As this research suggests, greening the economy does not automatically equate to caring for land or respecting the rights of marginalized groups. There is certainly a danger that largescale carbon offsets and “avoided deforestation” projects could

end up excluding local people; walling off valued resources and livelihoods; and exacerbating social inequalities, especially when highly-financed projects meet disenfranchised local populations.

But more promising scenarios are also possible. If marginalized groups gain clear and recognized land rights, they may be able to manage forests and farms more sustainably, while also tapping into redistributive climate finance mechanisms. If rural residents have meaningful chances to shape and benefit from wind and solar farms, the land required to power a low-carbon future could be expanded more equitably, taking account of other land uses and generating less resentment.

More broadly, if we remember that land and climate are intricately intertwined, we will be better equipped to deal with the changes of the coming decades — both those that occur under foot in particular places and those that flow, like air and water, through the global commons.

Design by Cecilia Cassidy

Green Commons Award Recipient:

Georgetown Women’s Center

The Green Commons Awards are intended for proposals that support community discourse and action on environmental and sustainability issues. These proposals celebrate the Earth and encourage diverse perspectives and community engagement with environmental issues while preparing our broader community and future generations to “care for our Common Home”. This is to support Georgetown University as an institutional signatory of the Laudato Si’ action plan.

revisited:

Shelby Gresch, the Force Behind the Hoya Harvest Garden

For our one-year anniversary issue, this piece is part of a series revisiting past contributors to Common Home. In Issue 5, Shelby Gresch (SFS ’22) wrote about her work at the Hoya Harvest Garden, Georgetown’s new community garden. In this piece, Common Home Editor Madhura Shembekar (SFS ’26) and Gresch revisit her work at Georgetown.

Shelby Gresch graduated from the Walsh School of Foreign Service with a degree in Science, Technology and International Affairs. She is currently a post-baccalaureate Fellow at the Earth Commons.

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You do incredible work as a post-baccalaureate fellow at the Earth Commons and the manager of the Hoya Harvest Garden, Georgetown’s new community garden. What has been your journey with the Earth Commons both as a student and now as a graduate of Georgetown?

sg

I first connected with the Earth Commons through a Biology of Migratory Animals class taught by Dean [Peter] Marra during my junior year. I’m passionate about food justice and sustainable agriculture, so I knew I wanted to get involved with the Earth Commons when Dr. Marra casually mentioned starting an educational garden on campus. I applied to intern during my senior year and was given the opportunity to lay the groundwork for making that garden a reality.

I spent my senior year visiting urban farms throughout the city and on other college campuses to learn best practices from folks already doing the work as well as gathering input from the Georgetown community about what they’d like to see from a

project like this. That was a particularly fun part of the process because people were super enthusiastic and had a million ideas — everything from very specific crop requests to ideas for outdoor classroom space to canning workshops and more. The biggest takeaway was simply that people were jazzed about the idea of more gardening space on campus and wanted it to meet a variety of community needs, primarily increased access to fresh food for those experiencing food insecurity. When graduation rolled around in the spring, we had a detailed proposal, but were still waiting to hear where, if anywhere, we would be able to pilot the project on campus. I really wanted to see the project through, so I applied to stay on as a Post-Bacc Fellow.

When I officially started the fellowship in the fall of 2022, I received the news that the garden was a go and that we would get to use the mid-campus terrace as our pilot location. So, for the past year and a half, I’ve been focused on getting the garden up and running and putting systems in place for it to thrive for years to come. It’s been such an incredible experience to get to lead this project and work with folks across the university, and I am so

proud of what we’ve been able to accomplish. This experience has also really solidified my commitment to sustainable agriculture, and I have learned so much about what that entails in practice. My favorite part, though, has simply been the daily joy of connecting with people in the garden. Everyone eats, so everyone should care about and understand how food is grown and what broader impact that may have. Beyond that, food is closely linked to community and culture, and I’ve been lucky to experience that firsthand as folks share their stories (and occasionally seeds) from different plants, places and people with me when passing through the garden. This sharing feels like what we are supposed to do — a natural response to bounty.

The Hoya Harvest Garden is sometimes referred to as a “Living Lab” — a campusbased open ecosystem that involves hands-on sustainability research run by students, the university and others. How has working at a Living Lab impacted, spurred or altered your interest in sustainability and biodiversity?

I’ve always been deeply interested in caring for the environment, but working in this context specifically has opened my eyes to urban biodiversity and biodiversity in food production spaces. The thing that inspires me about the “Living Lab” model is that we can use our campus as a test-bed for sustainability practices that can be applied elsewhere and at a larger scale. For example, the Hoya Harvest Garden relies on a variety of sustainable agriculture practices that promote biodiversity for both pest management and nutrient cycling. These same practices can be used by farmers on a larger scale, and they can also be deployed in non-food-producing landscapes to create habitat for wildlife (including insects). Using a campus landscape this way and measuring the outcomes allows us to imagine stewarding other landscapes like this as well. Imagine if we grew food and flowers everywhere we currently have ornamental landscapes in the city!

Photos provided by The Earth Commons Collage design by Cecilia Cassidy

This sharing feels like what we are supposed to do — a natural response to bounty.

The Hoya Harvest Garden uses some Indigenous agricultural practices. How did you decide that you wanted to employ them, and have they been successful? What’s the importance of culturally diverse agricultural practices?

We employ some Indigenous agricultural practices, namely the Three Sisters and other forms of “companion planting” because they came up several times in our initial interviews with GU community members, and because they are just best practices in “sustainable agriculture.” The Three Sisters is practiced by multiple Indigenous peoples throughout North and South America and involves the planting of corn (or maize), beans and squash together in one plot where they can cooperate instead of competing. The “sisters” work together because the corn provides a stalk for the beans to climb; the squash sprawls out and suppresses weeds; and the bean fixes nitrogen that becomes available to all three. The Three Sisters bed in the garden this year was highly productive per square foot and teeming with life. However, we are certainly still learning this practice and will likely use different corn, bean and squash varieties next year because our timing was a bit off — the corn ripened faster than expected, so it was toppled by the beans and many of the squash didn't mature before the first freeze.

Culturally diverse agricultural methods are essential to creating a welcoming space for everyone in the garden, but also because Western industrial agriculture — while highly productive — is a major contributor to the very environmental problems that we are trying to solve. Our current food system, which relies predominantly on “conventional” or “industrial” agriculture, accounts for more than a quarter of all greenhouse gas emissions and is a main culprit implicated in mass biodiversity loss due to habitat destruction and pesticide use. As is the case with many strategies for mitigating climate change and environmental degradation, much of what is today being touted as new “regenerative” or “sustainable” methods that will save our food system originate in Indigenous knowledge and an understanding of farming with nature instead of subjecting it. For example, cover cropping — the practice of planting non-commodity crops under, between or after commodity crops — builds soil health; helps with water infiltration and pest management; and suppresses weeds. This runs directly counter to conventional farming methods, which rely on herbicides to keep fields free of all but the

desired crops, and instead, more closely mirrors natural systems where bare ground is the exception, not the rule.

I think it’s critically important to recognize and showcase these more cooperative approaches to farming and landscape management in the Hoya Harvest Garden, and I hope that it will spur further conversations about how we can employ such methods to save our planet without co-opting them. I think it’s important to recognize that there is a very real tension when Western countries and companies use these strategies (and often profit from them) to mitigate climate change and increase food security when the history of the Western food system is also inextricably linked with Indigenous genocide, displacement and slavery. I’m not sure how exactly to address that tension, but I do think that farming necessarily opens the door to thinking about how we heal the land and our relationships with it.

In the future, do you hope to work more on sustainable agriculture, or is there another area of sustainability or environmentalism you’d like to explore?

I am definitely hoping to continue to work in sustainable agriculture! I’ve learned a lot about community engagement, project management and, of course, gardening from this role, but I’ve also just been rejuvenated by getting to enact change in real-time. I’ve been passionate about environmental issues for my whole life, and as anyone who works in this field knows, the pace of change can be frustrating and exhausting at times. This role has taught me that one of the best antidotes to ecological grief and burnout is simply hard work in nature — it's given me so much hope and joy to physically care for a little corner of the planet. I hope to continue to harness that feeling in whatever part of sustainable agriculture I work in next — be it policy, farming, research or something else. There is still a ton of work to be done in making our food system more sustainable, resilient and just, and I am excited to play a little part in it.

The Impact of Global Warming on Human and Avian Malaria

oswaldo villena Postdoctoral Researcher at The Earth Commons

As a result of increased atmospheric greenhouse gases, especially carbon dioxide and methane, the global surface temperature has been increasing over the last century — and that increase has been exponential in recent decades.

The atmospheric concentration of CO2 was 280 parts per million (ppm) in preindustrial times, whereas it is almost 420 ppm today. Levels are even predicted to further increase to as high as 1,000 ppm by the end of the century under the Representative Concentration Pathway 8.5 (RCP 8.5) scenario.

With many climate simulations projecting a warmer future, the distribution of ectothermic vectors, such as mosquitoes, are expected to change in response to global warming, affecting vectorborne disease transmission.

Here I will discuss two emblematic cases: human malaria in Africa and avian malaria in Hawaii.

invasive mosquitoes on the rise in africa show a greater thermal range of transmission .

Malaria is the deadliest vector-borne disease worldwide.

In 2021 alone, the World Health Organization (WHO) reported 247 million malaria cases worldwide. Of the total malaria cases, an estimated 619,000 resulted in death, with 94.7% of cases and 95.8 % of the deaths occurring on the African continent. Furthermore, after a steady decline in cases from 2000 to 2015, there has been a resurgence of malaria transmission in many parts of Africa because mosquitoes have become more resistant to the insecticides used on bed nets.

Malaria is caused by protozoan parasites of the genus Plasmodium , which are transmitted by mosquitoes of the genus Anopheles Anopheles gambiae, a mosquito adapted to rural areas, is the main malaria vector in Africa.

However, in the last decade, the Asian malaria mosquito, Anopheles stephensi, native to South Asia and the Middle East, has been invading Africa. Detections of An. stephensi have been reported in Djibouti beginning in 2012, Ethiopia and Sudan since 2016, Somalia in 2019, Nigeria as early as 2020 and Kenya from 2022 onward. It is also likely that this mosquito is already present in other African countries, but its low population counts and/or the lack of a structured surveillance system have prevented its detection.

An. stephensi is a vector of both the Plasmodium falciparum and the Plasmodium vivax malaria parasites. Moreover, this mosquito poses a novel and unique challenge to vector control in Africa because An. stephensi are very well adapted to urban areas and prefer human-made water storage containers in contrast to An. gambiae. This allows the An. stephensi species to survive yearround and to stay active during the dry seasons.

A 2022 study by Villena et al. found that the optimum temperature for the transmission of P. falciparum and P. vivax

ANOPHELES STEPHENSI MOSQUITO ON SKIN.

Photo (#5814) by Jim Gathany for the Center for Diseases Control and Prevention public health image library

parasites by An. stephensi and An. gambiae mosquitoes is very similar — about 25 degrees Celsius. However, the thermal limits of each malaria vector represent the primary differences in transmission capacity.

For An. stephensi , the temperature range of transmission for P. falciparum is between 15.3 and 37.2 degrees Celsius; the temperature range of transmission for P. vivax the temperature range is between 15.7 and 32.5 degrees Celsius.

In contrast, for An. gambiae, the temperature ranges for the transmission of P. falciparum and P. vivax are from 19.1 to 30.1 degrees Celsius and 19.2 to 31.7 degrees Celsius, respectively.

Thus, An. stephensi mosquitoes can transmit malaria over a greater temperature range, posing a greater risk. Given the larger thermal breadth, malaria could spread to countries with greater temperature ranges where the disease is not typically endemic.

A recent study by Ryan et al. (2023) projected that by 2050, most of Africa would be suitable for nearly year-round malaria transmission. This is especially true for the P. falciparum parasite, the most virulent form of malaria, for which transmission suitability extends further north and south than P. vivax (see figure below).

In addition, that research estimated that the number of people at risk (PAR) for year-round transmission suitability of P. falciparum by An. stephensi in 2050 under the greenhouse scenario RCP 4.5 will be over 600 million people. And RCP 4.5 is a relatively moderate scenario in which greenhouse emissions peak around 2040 before declining.

For population projection, Ryan et al. used the shared socioeconomic pathway 2 (SSP2) — which represents a “middle of the road” scenario — to assume that patterns of social, economic and technological growth will not appreciably deviate from historical trends. For the P. vivax parasite transmitted via An. stephensi mosquitoes — under the same scenarios — just under 300 million people will be at risk of contracting malaria by 2050.

In summary, the presence of An. stephensi mosquitoes in Africa poses a great risk in the battle against malaria because the invasive species is well adapted to urban settings and has a greater thermal range of transmission in comparison to native mosquitoes. The two studies mentioned serve as a call for surveillance and preemptive interventions, planning, monitoring and control against An. stephensi.

Hawaiian honeycreepers, a group of endemic Hawaiian forest birds, evolved in isolation over millions of years, one of the more impressive cases of adaptive radiation the ornithological world has ever seen.

Native honeycreepers evolved in the absence of many of the threats now present in Hawaii, including avian malaria — a non-native disease that is driving honeycreeper populations toward extinction. Avian malaria is caused by the invasive parasite Plasmodium relictum , which is transmitted by the invasive mosquito Culex quinquefasciatus

MEDIAN, INTERQUARTILE RANGE, MINIMUM, AND MAXIMUM NUMBERS FOR THE MINIMUM TEMPERATURE, OPTIMUM TEMPERATURE, AND MAXIMUM TEMPERATURE FOR MALARIA TRANSMISSION SUITABILITY.

Graphic by Oswaldo Villena

avian malaria and the honeycreeper crisis in hawaii

The P. relictum parasites reached Hawaii via exotic birds brought by settlers in the early 1800s. And C. quinquefasciatus mosquitoes arrived around 1826 when whaling ship soldiers drained their water barrels off the coast of the island. The first detected case of avian malaria in Hawaii goes back to 1940.

At one point, there were 70 honeycreeper species; today, that number has dropped to 17, 14 of which are already listed as endangered. Avian malaria has been the leading factor for extinction of these species.

Through their influence on the distribution and abundance of mosquitoes, environmental factors, especially temperature and precipitation, play an important role in shaping the dynamics of mosquito-borne disease transmission.

Transmission of avian malaria in Hawaii varies across altitudinal gradients and is greatest at elevations below 1,500 meters (m) where temperature is favorable for the vector, C. quinquefasciatus and the development of the parasite. For a number of years, honeycreepers found refuge at high elevations (greater than 1500m), where cooler temperatures did not allow the development of the mosquito or the malaria-inducing parasite.

However, the relief was short-lived due to global warming. Warmer temperatures make the development of mosquitoes at high elevations possible.

For example, the seasonality of vector in-situ development suitability (VIDS) — particularly the onset and cessation of suitable conditions throughout the year — has increased in recent years. On the island of Kauai, the high elevation areas, situated between 1,350m and 1,450m above sea level, exhibited the most significant shifts, experiencing the onset of VIDS more than 8 days earlier each year.

On the Big Island, changes were also observed, albeit more moderate. The elevational band of 1,550m to 1,650m recorded an advancement in VIDS onset by more than 7 days annually. Furthermore, Maui’s elevational range of 1,500m to 1,700m showed a progression in the onset of VIDS by roughly 4.5 to 6 days per year.

This increase in the onset of VIDS on each island suggests an extended period of mosquito-friendly conditions both early and late in each calendar year.

In 2016, a group of mosquito experts, public health professionals, wildlife specialists and local leaders convened to discuss novel technologies to transform, suppress and ideally eliminate alien mosquitoes from the Hawaiian Islands through an integrative system thinking approach.

One plan calls for the production and release of sterile mosquitoes to decimate the wild mosquito population. This strategy would require an estimation of the quantities and location of mosquitoes in the wild.

Data on mosquito occurrence and abundance estimates could help to direct the release of sterile mosquitoes to reduce C. quenquifasciatus in Hawaii, thus helping to prevent the extinction of the remaining honeycreepers.

APAPANE (HIMATIONE SANGUINEA), A CRIMSON RED HAWAIIAN HONEYCREEPER, BEING BITTEN BY AN INVASIVE MOSQUITO CX. QUINQUEFASCIATUS.

Photo by Jack Jeffrey

Jesuit Projects in Climate-Change-Affected Liberia

rosemary sokas

Professor of Human Science at Georgetown School of Health and of Family Medicine, Georgetown School of Medicine

The African continent, which has contributed only 4% of the carbon emissions driving global climate change, is experiencing disproportionate climate devastation compared to those countries that have contributed the most. Poverty, war and racism are all disaster magnifiers, furthering the effects of global warming.

Liberia, located on the west coast of Africa, has a complicated history, which includes the settlement of free African Americans in the early 1800s; a 14-year period of bitter civil wars which ended in 2003; and the devastating Ebola outbreak from 2014 until 2016 which took the lives of nearly 5,000 Liberians and 8% of the healthcare workforce, already one of the smallest in the world. Midwifery in particular suffered extensive losses due to the transmissibility of the virus and extensive exposure during childbirth.

And to make matters worse, Liberia ranks as the ninth most vulnerable country to global climate change, according to the Notre Dame Global Adaptation Index. Extreme heat and devastating floods have worsened in recent years, challenging initiatives aimed at improving health and education.

In 2014, Georgetown University faculty reached out to, what was at the time, the only Jesuit institution in Liberia, Holy Family Parish. The parish was founded by Jesuit Refugee Services in the wake of the country’s civil wars. It also houses a health center, which serves as a midwifery and maternal and child care center. Although many health services shut down during the Ebola epidemic, Holy Family’s Health Center continued to provide health services and has expanded to primary care services today.

Georgetown faculty, students and staff have collaborated to offer financial assistance and continuing education at the parish. A workshop hosted at the Holy Family Health Center in 2018 featured hands-on midwifery skills training and occupational health instruction focused on respiratory exposures — using tuberculosis as the case study.

In Liberia, the COVID-19 pandemic resulted in economic collapse rather than severe disease and a high death count. Rising unemployment and lack of infrastructure support left many feeling hopeless about their future; storms and flooding as a result of climate change have only worsened economic opportunities. The conditions for climate and economic refugees in Africa have also emerged as an issue.

In response to these difficult times, Jesuits opened a second project in Liberia, the Xavier Jesuit School which serves kindergarten through fifth grade students and aims to expand to twelfth grade in the future.

In keeping with foundational Jesuit principles, this project hopes to facilitate a more positive future for young people, help the poor and marginalized and engage in “care for our common home.”

The environmental concerns in Liberia are two-fold. Recurrent and worsening flooding episodes damage buildings, leaving standing water throughout compounds. This allows mosquitoes to thrive, increasing the odds of malaria transmission.

“The parish has witnessed the adverse effects of water erosion, leading the community to unite in the face of this challenge. The increasing frequency of heavy rainfall and inadequate infrastructure exacerbates the situation, resulting in stagnant water,” Fr. Tersoo Gwaza, S.J. noted. “The Catholic Youth Organization and parishioners actively participate in planting trees and flowers along the parish hall, where stagnant waters like a village swimming pool and other vulnerable areas are present. This initiative serves as a natural barrier against erosion and contributes to the overall ecological health of the community.”

PHOTO COLLAGE OF THE HOLY FAMILY MEDICAL CENTER AND BUILDING PROJECTS IN LIBERIA.

Photos courtesy of Fr. Kevin Odoo / Design by Cecilia Cassidy

The electrical grid, unsteady in the best of times, has sustained further damage due to the effects of climate change, disrupting both education and health care. The parish and health center are also actively raising funds to install solar panels to reduce their carbon footprint and improve patient care.

The newly established Xavier Jesuit School faces even greater challenges, beginning with clean water. Due to the increased flooding and incursion, not only are mosquitoes and malaria issues worsening, but the well which provides clean water needs to be dug very deep, greatly increasing costs.

Fr. Kevin Odoo, S.J. is meeting these challenges head-on, fundraising for both solar panels and the well. In addition to identifying scholarships for education, the school aims to feed their students and is planning a curriculum that will include organic gardening and an emphasis on “care for our common home.”

All of these activities require resources, and fortunately, Magis Americas, the U.S.-based non-profit organization that offers a tax-exempt portal to support overseas Jesuit missions, has recently expanded from a focus on the Americas to offer help globally.

Georgetown students who have participated in the Global Health Initiative program and who have established the Georgetown Undergraduate Environmental Health Collaborative have been active, as have faculty from the newly established Schools of Health and of Nursing. We are eager to identify colleagues from other programs, institutes and schools on campus and beyond to help with these efforts.

Please find additional information about each of these projects, as well as how to offer financial assistance, on the Magis Americas website and by navigating to the Holy Family Health Center, Caldwell, Liberia and Xavier Jesuit School pages.

Harnessing the Power of Community Benefit Agreements for Net Zero Targets

maria a. petrova

Program Co-Director of the Masters of Science in Environment and Sustainability Management, Georgetown University

For our one-year anniversary issue, this piece is part of a series revisiting past contributors to Common Home. In our fourth issue, Petrova offered seven reasons to learn about energy, with corresponding policy and individual action items. In this piece, Petrova argues for the importance of Community Benefit Agreements (CBAs) in fostering collaboration between renewable energy developers and local communities.

Dr. Maria Petrova is the Academic Co-Director of the Masters of Science in Environment and Sustainability Management program at Georgetown University. She also serves as the Associate Director of the Earth Commons and teaches as a Professor of Environmental Science, Sustainability and Energy Policy. Prior to Georgetown, Petrova directed the Coasts and Communities program at the University of Massachusetts Boston, an interdisciplinary offering for PhD and Master’s students.

The importance of transitioning to net-zero emissions in order to limit warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius and comply with the Paris Agreement is well-established.

Nevertheless, the warning signs of irreversible climate change have been quickly emerging. In May 2022 the amount of heattrapping carbon dioxide in the atmosphere exceeded a key milestone of 421 parts per million, which is more than 50% higher than pre-industrial levels. The urgency of the climate situation has been further communicated in numerous reports, with one from the U.N. Environment Programme (UNEP) noting that global temperatures could reach 2.8 degrees Celsius by 2100.

Phasing out traditional energy sources (coal, oil and gas), increasing renewable energy capacity and improving energy efficiency have all been identified as potential solutions. However, each must be scaled up quickly in this decade to keep the option of limiting warming to the Paris standard of 1.5 degrees Celsius open.

Recognizing its role as one of the largest greenhouse gas emitters in the world, the United States has set a goal of achieving 100% clean electricity by 2035. This is a crucial foundation to allow for complete decarbonization by 2050. To meet this goal, the Biden Administration has enacted several cornerstone bills which constitute the largest investment in energy in U.S. history.

Despite these bold actions, renewable energy developers are still met with opposition in local communities. We often hear that there is support for solar, but it’s not such a “simple story” — that is, many projects are delayed or blocked due to local opposition.

As a result, Community Benefit Agreements (CBAs) are valuable tools for fostering collaboration between renewable energy project developers and local communities, thus helping accelerate the transition to a carbon-neutral future.

CBAs are voluntary agreements, negotiated between developers, community-based organizations and other stakeholders, regarding proposed projects. Their purpose is to ensure that community priorities are reflected in project development and implementation and that the project benefits are extended to the host community.

Furthermore, CBAs have been known to increase project support by fostering a sense of ownership and responsibility among community members and engendering trust between the community and the developer. When communities are involved in the decision-making process, they gain a voice and agency in shaping their energy future.

For many years, CBAs have been utilized successfully in different countries with different technologies. In Denmark — where wind and solar supply — wind cooperatives have harnessed community involvement at a high degree.

For example, as a result of local input, the Middelgrunden Windmill Cooperative arranged 20 wind turbines in a graceful curve that adorns Copenhagen’s coast, serving as a symbol of Denmark’s community-centered approach to renewables. Consequently, the project has enjoyed remarkable popular support since its inception in 1993. Over 50,000 residents took part in the project planning, helping to shape the logistics. Residents were also invited to buy shares in the cooperative; thus, via purchases by 8,500 Danish citizens, 23 million euros were raised, totaling half of the project’s cost. The shareholders became equal partners in the new wind farm and today, earn a 50% share of the revenue.

“We have all the money back and you get about seven percent every year,” said Hans Christian Sørensen, who sits on the cooperative’s board. “People are quite satisfied with this because it is much better than having it in a bank, and at the same time, you are doing something positive for the environment.”

Thanks to the success of the project, the Danish government has mandated a 20% minimum community ownership in all new wind farms since 2011.

In addition, CBAs provide social and environmental benefits. They also have the potential to generate employment opportunities and stimulate economic growth within communities as they transition to a net zero economy. In some cases, CBAs can even require developers to prioritize local hiring during project construction, maintenance and administration; provide job training programs; and support the growth of green industries.

An exemplary case is the Block Island Wind Farm, the first U.S. offshore wind project located 3.8 miles off the coast of Rhode Island. The project, which began operations in 2016, marked a significant milestone in the U.S. offshore wind industry and has demonstrated the effectiveness of CBAs.

The developer, Deepwater Wind, negotiated with local stakeholders, committing to a CBA that includes substantial community investments and employed close to 300 workers during project construction. This resulted in increased employment opportunities, support for local businesses and infrastructure improvements.

Moreover, CBAs can be instrumental in addressing environmental justice concerns. Historically, marginalized communities have borne a disproportionate burden of pollution and environmental degradation. CBAs provide a framework to rectify these disparities by ensuring that environmental and social benefits are distributed equitably. To better reflect the U.S. Department of Energy’s (DOE) commitment to equity-centered climate solutions, DOE Secretary Jennifer Granholm announced a name change for one of its offices — the Office of Economic Impact and Diversity was rebranded the Office Of Energy Justice and Equity on October 31, 2023.

Finally, CBAs can include provisions that support educational programs, workshops and campaigns aimed at raising awareness about climate change, energy conservation and sustainable practices. By fostering a culture of environmental responsibility and equipping community members with knowledge and tools, CBAs empower individuals to make informed choices and actively contribute to reaching net zero targets.

Design by Cecilia Cassidy

Early Ecological Ethics: A Look at Chinese Environmental Thought

erin cline, paul j. and chandler m. tagliabue

Distinguished Professor of Interreligious Studies & Dialogue, Senior Research Fellow for Berkley Center for Religion, Peace & World Affairs, and Affiliated Faculty, Earth Commons Institute

When environmental ethics began to emerge as a subfield in the discipline of philosophy in the 1970s, it did so by challenging the anthropocentrism seen in traditional Western ethics. Anthropocentrism has been present in Western ethics as far back as Aristotle, who claimed that “nature has made all things specifically for the sake of man.” But at the same time that Aristotle was writing — and even earlier — Daoist and Confucian philosophers in East Asia were taking up a radically different position.

As a specialist in Chinese philosophy and religion and a faculty affiliate of Georgetown’s Earth Commons Institute, I often find myself reading early Chinese thinkers and reflecting on the work of ECo faculty, whose research in areas ranging from coastal ecology to ornithology invites us to turn our eyes toward the earth.

Each in their distinct way, Daoist and Confucian texts from the third and fourth centuries B.C.E. contend that the most important insights we can have about ourselves and the world are rooted in seeing ourselves in relation to the rest of Nature.

Daoist landscape paintings express this idea through images of enormous waterfalls, looming mountains, clouds, and massive trees. Only when you look very closely at these paintings do you begin to notice that there are people in them, as well as tiny boats, bridges, and homes. They are dwarfed by Nature, tucked into the landscape, and not imposing themselves on it.

Daoist paintings express the central contention of the early Daoist tradition that we are not the center of the world. On the contrary, we are a small part of a larger whole, and to flourish (that is, to lead genuinely happy, fulfilled, meaningful lives),

we must recognize and live into our smallness. We must live by the patterns and processes of Nature, attending close to them, viewing ourselves as one of the myriad creatures or “ten thousand things” that enliven the world.

From a Daoist perspective, this is not only the truth about us and our place in the world, it is also therapeutic for us to know and experience this truth firsthand. We are happier and more fulfilled when we live lives that are close to the natural world, and when we have an accurate perspective on our problems and challenges, relative to the looming natural world surrounding us. We also tend to take better care of the natural world when we hold such a view.

Students in my Chinese Philosophy classes will tell you that no one leaves my class without understanding that the early Daoists believed their view “cashes out” in a number of very practical ways; indeed, it leads them to make a variety of counter-cultural (and sometimes extreme) proposals.

Among them: We ought to live in small, agrarian communities where our food is grown locally. We ought to avoid privileging standard academic subjects over learning about all of the birds and trees in nearby forests and fields (and not just their names and how to identify them, but their habitats, life cycles, how they are affected by weather patterns, and what they contribute to the world).

As I point out in my book Little Sprouts and the Dao of Parenting, texts such as the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi urge us to question the forms of knowledge and learning that are privileged in our school curriculums and the types of achievement that we celebrate culturally. Moreover, early Daoists also urge us to stop

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We are happier and more fulfilled when we live lives that are close to the natural world, and when we have an accurate perspective on our problems and challenges, relative to the looming natural world surrounding us.

Collage design by Cecilia Cassidy

viewing Nature solely in terms of knowledge to be gained (e.g., a list of names) and to view it as something to be savored, valued, enjoyed and treasured. It is therapeutic for us to do so, and it is also critical for our future.

Interestingly, early Daoist thinkers were critical of more humancentric views because of their contemporaries, including the early Confucians. Indeed, great Confucian paintings stand in contrast to Daoist landscape paintings: They depict Confucian sages at the center. Human beings are not only easy to spot; they are the central focus of each scene. However, the Confucians would not have agreed with Aristotle either; instead, they took an interest in sustainability long before many other cultures and traditions did.

The Confucian thinker Xunzi (310-219 B.C.E.) was one of the first thinkers in the world to offer an ecological ethic, writing, “When the grasses and trees are flowering and abundant, then axes and hatchets are not to enter the mountains and forests, so as not to cut short their life, and not to break off their growth. When the turtles and crocodiles, fish and eels are pregnant and giving birth, then nets and poisons are not to enter the marshes, not to cut short their life, and not to break off their growth .... Be vigilant in the seasonal prohibitions concerning ponds, rivers, and marshes, and then turtles and fish will be fine and plentiful, and the common people will have a surplus to use. Cutting and nurturing are not to miss their proper times, and then the mountains and forests will not be barren, and the common people will have surplus materials.”

Yet, while Xunzi’s sustainability ethics show an interest in making sure that natural resources are available for human use, that is not his exclusive interest. He maintains that “when the way of forming community is properly practiced, then the myriad things will each obtain what is appropriate for them...When reaping accords with the proper times, then the grasses and trees will flourish.” Note that the stated end goal is not that humans will have enough to eat or enough firewood, but that each thing will grow and flourish These are not mutually exclusive aims, for Xunzi, but he takes them each as worthy goals to pursue, and he believes that both can be attained if we view ourselves as having a common home or as forming a community together.

In his book Oneness: East Asian Conceptions of Virtue, Happiness, and How We Are All Connected, Philip J. Ivanhoe, Professor of East Asian Languages & Cultures here at Georgetown writes that for Xunzi, “This aim of harmonizing human needs and desires with other people, creatures, and things offers a clear example of a conception of oneness between self and world and a corresponding expansive view of the self. Those who cultivate the core Confucian virtues to the point where they spontaneously act in ways that harmonize their needs and desires not only with other people but also with the rest of the Natural world will feel a sense of comfort and peace and take satisfaction and joy in living this sort of life . . . . [T]his is one of the most powerful reasons one can have for living

a life that is informed and animated by a lively concern for what today we call ‘the environment.’”

Such views are widely found in early Chinese philosophy. In my forthcoming translation of the Confucian Analects (one of the most influential texts in East Asia), I highlight the text’s keen appreciation for nature. Kongzi (known as “Confucius,” 551-479 B.C.E.) practices a conservationist ethic in the way he fishes and hunts, always fishing with a single line and never with a net or trotline, and never aiming at roosting birds. He marvels at streams that flow on and on unceasingly and how the pine and cypress trees are the last to wither. Kongzi praises classical Chinese works such as the Book of Odes for teaching us the names of birds, animals, plants, and trees and to take note of the finest details in Nature, from the movement of the wings of birds to the fins of fish. The metaphors used in the text evince a deep appreciation for the natural world, what it has to teach us about our flourishing and how closely related we are to the rest of the world.

As we celebrate the many goods that the Earth Commons Institute has brought to our community at Georgetown over the past two years, the invitation to turn our eyes toward the earth is heard in the work of our sensory ecologists, evolutionary biologists, and in the work of faculty spanning wide-ranging disciplines. Indeed, it is an invitation that crosses centuries, for if we listen, we will hear it in the earliest ecological ethics of the Daoists and Confucians.