Sunday, April 30, 2023

More people are getting away with murder. Unsolved killings reach a record high By Eric Westervelt

More murders across America are going unsolved, exacerbating the grief of families already reeling and worsening the largely cracked trust between police and the public, especially communities of color most affected by gun violence.

"I haven't had any word," says Mark Legaspi about the murder of his cousin, friend and business partner Artgel Anabo Jr., 39, who was known as Jun. He was shot just outside their popular Filipino fast-food restaurant Lucky Three Seven in East Oakland, Calif., May 18, 2022. "It's still emotional every day coming in here, you know?" Legaspi says nodding toward the street where Jun was murdered.

Oakland detectives released security camera footage and the license plate number of the suspected get-away car. Anabo's family believes the suspect is a man who sold Anabo a truck that turned out to be stolen. Still, there's been no break in the case and no word.

"It's definitely frustrating. Justice hasn't been served," Legaspi says. "I mean it's almost a year. I would like to know something. I don't get no answers," he says noting that he and his family haven't heard from Oakland homicide detectives for months. "You know, if there's anything, you know, even if they didn't do anything, that'd be nice to know. Instead of us hoping." 

 

The U.S. among the worst at solving murders in the industrialized world

Legaspi's frustration and pain are shared by hundreds of families of murder victims in Oakland – and across the country – whose cases remain unsolved.

While the rate at which murders are solved or "cleared" has been declining for decades, it has now dropped to slightly below 50% in 2020 - a new historic low. And several big cities, including Chicago, have seen the number of murder cases resulting in at least one arrest dip into the low to mid-30% range. 

 

"We saw a sharp drop in the national clearance rate in 2020," says Prof. Philip Cook, a public policy researcher and professor emeritus at Duke University and the University of Chicago Urban Labs who has been studying clearance rates for decades. "It reached close to 50% at that time nationwide, which was the lowest ever recorded by the FBI. And it hasn't come up that much since then."

That makes the U.S. among the worst at solving murders in the industrialized world. Germany, for example, consistently clears well over 90% of its murders.

While reasons behind the drop are multi-faceted, Cook and other experts warn that more people getting away with murder in the the U.S. is driving a kind of doom loop of mutual mistrust: low murder clearance rates impede future investigations which in turn potentially drive up killings in some communities where a lack of arrests undermines deterrence and sends a message that the police will not or cannot protect them. 

 

"Communities that are especially impacted by gun violence believe that the police are ineffective or indifferent, and as a result, they're less willing to cooperate and provide information the police need to have successful investigations," says Cook, who has several research articles on the topic coming out.

"It is undermining whatever trust there is in the police. And it's a vicious circle," Cook says.

 

"I certainly don't believe in anyone getting away with murder"

Oakland, Calif., is a prime example of that vicious circle. The city's per capita homicide rate remains abnormally high and its murder solve rate is among the lowest in the nation, hitting just 36% last year. If you take out the handful of older, "cold" cases that were solved during 2022, the clearance rate in Oakland just 27%, an analysis by the S.F. Chronicle shows.

"Well, I certainly don't believe in anyone getting away with murder. These cases are never closed," says Drennon Lindsey, an Oakland deputy chief who formerly led the department's homicide division. "We never give up, you know. And I also think we can only get better."

Lindsey says the veterans among her 16 detectives are often handing two dozen or more cases at a time, far above the federal recommendation that detectives carry an average of only four to six new homicide cases per year.

In addition, she says, an antiquated case management data system, which the city is working to replace, is another reason behind the painfully low clearance rate. But the biggest one, she says, is too many people are scared to talk with and help the OPD.

"People don't want to cooperate, people don't want to come to court and testify. And they're afraid of retaliation, of being labeled in their communities as a "snitch." And we're often left trying to plea and beg for the community to come forward with information to hold this person accountable for committing murder," she says. 

 

But that mistrust is also bred by the department's chronic dysfunction.

The department remains under federal oversight and has for two decades. In that time the troubled agency has gone through a dozen leaders. And recently veteran Oakland homicide detective Phong Tran was arrested and arraigned after the Alameda County district attorney's office accused him of paying a witness thousands of dollars to lie in a murder case that resulted in two men getting life sentences. Detective Tran faces felony charges of perjury and bribery. Those two murder convictions have been tossed out.

In a statement to NPR, Tran's attorney Andrew M. Ganz called the charges "baseless" and lashed out a District Attorney Pamela Price for treating "murderers like heroes."

Price's office in a statement says it is now reviewing at least 125 murders Tran investigated "to see if we have wrongfully convicted anyone else."

"Lying and manipulating a witness are serious violations of the public trust and a threat to the integrity of the judicial system," Price says. "When the integrity of a conviction is at issue in one case, it raises questions in every other case that the detective has investigated."

 

The "exceptional means" clause and chronic police staffing affect murder clearance rates

The FBI defines a murder "cleared" if a suspect has been identified and arrested. But a murder can also be declared cleared through what's known as an "exceptional means." For example, if a suspect is dead, can't be extradited or prosecutors refuse to press charges.

So, criminologists note, even some cities now touting modestly improved murder clearance rates, such as Chicago, are really just artificially boosting their clearance numbers through that "exceptional means" clause.

The arrest rate per murder if is often a better indicator of how police departments are actually doing at holding killers accountable. Prof. Cook's research, for example, shows that from 2016 to 2020 the percentage of murders in Chicago with any type of weapon resulting in at least one arrest was just 33%. And in Durham, North Carolina, between 2017 and 2021 just 41% of gun homicide cases resulted in at least one arrest. 

 

Other reasons for the further decline in murder clearance rates, experts say, include chronic police staffing and recruiting problems, and the fact that more murders are committed with firearms, which can result in fewer witnesses and less physical evidence. In addition, judges, prosecutors and juries have higher evidence and procedure standards than in the 1960s when 90-plus% of homicides were listed as solved.

Researchers say key ways cities can to try to stop the downward spiral is simply investing more in homicide investigations: improving crime labs, training, DNA testing, computer modeling systems.

White crosses with the names and ages of the dead grows with every killing

In front yard of Oakland's Saint Columba Catholic Church along bustling San Pablo Ave, a garden of simple, wooden, white crosses with the names and ages of the dead grows with every killing.

Every Jan. 1 "that garden is a garden for about a minute," says Fr. Aidan McAleenan, St Columba's pastor looking at the roughly two dozen crosses already posted in the yard. "And then is just gets grows and grows" all year. "My biggest concern, and I prayed about this, there are about 100 people walking around Oakland now who will not be walking around Oakland at the end of the year," McAleenan says.

Parishioner Rich Laufenberg makes the wooden crosses and dutifully "plants" them every week or two. "I do it as some kind of service work, I hope, and to let people know that we have a major violence problem here in Oakland," he says. Regularly, Laufenberg says when placing the crosses he'll find family or friends of a victim praying or just gazing in stunned silence at the lives cut short

"They'll stop and look and strike up a conversation and they mention not infrequently that the relative whose cross they're looking at, that case, hasn't been solved yet." 

 At Oakland's Lucky Three Seven Filipino restaurant, owner Mark Legaspi says he doesn't blame Oakland detectives, per se, for not solving his cousin's murder. They're overworked and overwhelmed, he says. But he wants answer. And so does his murdered cousin's son, Kiah, now 12 who was super tight with his dad. Kiah was right next to his dad when the gunman attacked. 

 

"He saw everything. I'm just glad he ran the other way instead of following his dad. You know, because he could have got caught in the line of fire," Legaspi says. "Obviously, as a kid, seeing that, your superhero dad, you know, that will always have problem with you know, like inside," he says.

Anabo's son is doing OK, given the circumstances, he says. He's making the Honor Roll and trying to stay positive. "Just got to keep that love with him every day, you know."

 

The family plans to honor Anabo with a gathering at the restaurant on the upcoming May 18 anniversary of his murder.

But they'd rather celebrate a break in his case.

 

Thursday, April 27, 2023

Why is federal spending so hard to cut? — Recurring debt ceiling fights will only be solved by budget reform

Dr. Linda J. Bilmes 

 Springtime in Washington D.C. brings out the cherry blossoms and a surge of tourists — along with the recurring game of chicken over the federal debt ceiling. There is a whiff of despair this time with the animosity between Democrats and Republicans threatening to tip the brinkmanship over the edge into a real debt default. Such an outcome — even if only brief — risks pushing up the Treasury’s borrowing costs and jeopardizing the stability of a badly-shaken U.S. banking system

 Logically, it makes little sense to link the debt limit (the amount of debt the U.S. Treasury can issue to pay for spending that has already happened) with next year’s budget. But the Congressional budget process is irretrievably broken. For the fourth time in the past 20 years (2011, 2013, 2017 and 2023) the debt ceiling has triggered budget frustrations that threaten to boil over into a full-blown seismic shock.

 The present dysfunction can be traced back to the post-Watergate budget reforms enacted nearly 50 years ago. Historically, budgetary power shifted back and forth between the legislative and executive branches. From 1921 to 1974, the President dominated the budget process. This changed in 1974, when President Nixon decided to “impound” (refuse to disburse) billions of dollars in funds that Congress had appropriated for domestic programs. In a flurry of post-Watergate activity, Congress forced a weakened Nixon to sign the “Budget and Impoundment Control Act of 1974” one month before he resigned under threat of impeachment.

 This 1974 law aimed to reclaim Congressional power over the budget. Among many unwieldy rules, procedures and timelines, it created Congressional budget committees layered on top of the existing centers of fiscal power in the Appropriations, Ways and Means, and Finance Committees. It also introduced “sunshine” laws that opened committee hearings to the public, but which inadvertently led to a surge in lobbying by special interests and a decline in the ability to make backroom “in the room where it happened” type deals.

 Most budget experts of all political stripes agree that the 1974 reforms have largely backfired. The system has become weaker, less predictable, less capable of reconciling competing demands and more prone to fiscal crises. Prior to 1976, the federal government had never ceased operations for lack of funding. Since then, it has “shut down” 22 times, completely or partially. In addition, during this period there have been only four years (1977, 1989, 1995, and 1997) in which Congress passed its 12 annual appropriations bills on time. Instead, lawmakers rely on short-term spending measures (“continuing resolutions”) ranging from days to months that simply replicate the prior year’s budget to keep the government going. This volatile and unpredictable process means that many federal programs do not have the “steady administration” and “predictability” that Alexander Hamilton laid out as “pillars” of effective government.

 

Which leads us back to the present debt ceiling impasse. In the past, Congress has always raised the debt ceiling eventually — viewing it as “must-pass” legislation that also enables individual Members to slip in a few spending earmarks at the last minute. But with a slim majority in the House, Republicans are demanding that federal spending be reduced to 2022 levels and future growth capped for the next 10 years. Since this plan excludes defense spending, it would impose draconian cuts on health care, climate, and other domestic programs, while seeking to expand fossil fuel drilling to raise revenue. Even if House Republicans have the votes to pass such measures, it isn’t going to get anywhere with Senate Democrats or President Biden.

The most likely denouement is that Congress avoids default at ten minutes to midnight by using some arcane method (such as a “discharge petition”) or agrees to a very short-term deal to kick the debt limit battle down the road. But the sides are far apart, and any outcome is possible.

 

The underlying crisis is that Congress has no functioning process for engaging in the difficult but essential work of deciding how to allocate scarce budgetary resources. Even though the debt limit itself has no sensible purpose, it has come to serve as a kind of periodic escape valve. But there is a real cost in wasted time, money and energy that should be spent working to stabilize entitlements, while cutting fat from the defense budget and other priorities.

Getting back to a world of more rational budgetary policymaking requires serious change. This includes both common-sense fixes for the debt ceiling issue (for example, the Bipartisan Policy Centers proposal to align the debt limit with the annual budget process) as well as fundamental reform to mend and strengthen to align the debt limit with the annual budget process) as well as fundamental reform to mend and strengthen the budget process.the budget process.strengthen the budget process.the budget process.

 

Restoring a functioning process for budgeting requires a bipartisan effort. Here are some ideas. First, put the government on a two-year budget cycle. The Department of Veterans Affairs already has such a biennial budget to protect veteran’s hospitals and clinics from continual funding uncertainty. The simplest way to minimize budgetary disruption is to extend this cycle to the rest of government.

Second, overhaul the congressional committee structure regarding money. The appropriations and authorizing committees have multiplied into hundreds of subcommittees with overlapping jurisdictions. The budget committees have term limits and limited powers, limiting their effectiveness. We need to restructure and simplify, with committees that oversee both revenue and expenditures for vital programs.

Finally, implement basic effective budgeting tools, such as proper tracking and account for government expenses — costs, overheads, and capital expenditures. These proven techniques will help the federal government improve performance at the same or lower costs.

The core tenet of budgeting is to enable competing interests to compromise. Unless we begin to repair the broken budget process, we will continue to wallow in artificial, self-inflicted debt limit crises.


Tuesday, April 25, 2023

80 is different in 2023 than in 1776 – but even back then, a grizzled Franklin led alongside a young Hamilton

 By

 

President Joe Biden’s announcement that he’s running for another term raises concerns for many Americans. At his potential second inauguration, he would be 82, beating himself in becoming the oldest among American presidents.

Aging has changed dramatically over the centuries. Medicine and better lifestyles have significantly diminished the effects of time.

In the past, things were much different. In 1783, for example, at age 51, Gen. George Washington resigned his military commission and took a hard look at himself.

 What he saw was a wreck – nearly a Methuselah. He had grown, in his famous statement, “not only gray, but almost blind in the service of my country.”

 

As a biographer of Washington, I can assure you that his well-known description of his condition may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Washington wasn’t that old, really, although the average life expectancy in that era was 38.

Old people today, so to speak, are much younger than they used to be, especially when they are wealthy. The field of anti-aging is waxing, and data suggests that science might be able to extend not only life span, but also the years a person remains healthy and free from disease. Furthermore, a youthful frame of mind can have a powerful effect, increasing longevity.

But no matter what, 82 remains a high number.

 

Old ‘machines,’ giving way

Americans have long nurtured mixed feelings about age and aged leaders. For starters, the men who fought in the Revolution and molded the young nation were themselves very young.

Alexander Hamilton, the mastermind behind the Constitution of the United States, was only 30 when he attended the famous Philadelphia Convention, where that document was written.

In opposition to “the Old England vices,” America was envisioned as springing out from the creativity of the young. It represented huge potential. 

 Great Britain has past the Meridian of her Day,” wrote Edward Rutledge, at 26 the youngest delegate to sign the Declaration of Independence. And while England was old beyond recall, “we are young,” he concluded.

During a period when medicine and knowledge of human anatomy were all but rudimentary, old age terrified everyone.

“Our machines have now been running for 70. or 80. years,” an old Thomas Jefferson, age 71, explained to an even older John Adams, age 78, “and we must expect that, worn as they are, here a pivot, there a wheel, now a pinion, next a spring, will be giving way.”

People in their 70s were usually decrepit when the American nation was young. But it would be wrong to assume that the founding generation simply despised old age. Young America admired venerable old sages – Moses of the Bible, first and foremost.

In August 1776, a debate for designing a new great seal for the republic took place. A commission was formed, and Benjamin Franklin, a member of the commission, proposed to draw a Moses, with his wand lifted, in the act of dividing the Red Sea, and the pharaoh, in his chariot, overwhelmed with the waters. Franklin also suggested a motto: “Rebellion to Tyrants is Obedience to God.”

Like Washington and Jefferson, who led a revolution against a tyrannical king and his country, Moses had similarly led a liberty-loving people, the Jews, out of the shackles that tyrannical Egypt had kept them in. 

 

Prophetic old age

America has repeatedly relied upon very old leaders. At the 1787 Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, Franklin was 81. This senior statesman from Pennsylvania didn’t talk much.

One of the most charismatic men of the 18th century, Franklin was universally recognized as a prophet, a Moses dressed in American clothing. Despite “his extreme age” and “particularly sensible of his weakness,” as James Madison said, Franklin stood out from much younger delegates.

His appearance communicated an “antique simplicity,” a French witness held. He looked like a sage, a living classic “contemporary with Plato,” as if he had come directly from “the age of Cato and of Fabius.”

While Franklin was much more than just someone performing a task, old leaders, back then, could still look to the future and attend to many types of tasks as well.

In 1798, after he had completed two terms as president, a worn-out Washington, age 66, was ready to serve again in a military capacity. War with France was probable, and President John Adams had asked for his help.

Washington experienced “Sensations” – which means mixed feelings – at the prospect of entering, “at so late a period of life,” the “boundless field of public action – incessant trouble – and high responsibility.” And yet he agreed to serve. Fortunately for the country, war didn’t come.

Similarly, what Thomas Jefferson achieved during the last years of his life, in his late 70s, is extraordinary. In what he described as “the Hobby of my old age” he devised, organized and built a public university, the University of Virginia.

He worked hard on his last project, which opened to students on March 7, 1825. Jefferson would die one year later, elated by this accomplishment. The University of Virginia, Jefferson believed, would create better leaders who would halt the “threatening cloud of fanaticism” polluting the “atmosphere of our country.”

Biden is old. His speech is imperfect. For sure, he will execute tasks, but slowly, at his own pace. In many ways, he can’t be a match for younger competitors. What’s more, he’s neither Franklin, nor Washington nor Jefferson.

Yet, had he lived in that earlier age, like his more illustrious predecessors, his value would have likely outweighed his deficits in the eyes of his country – a youthful country fighting against the ossified leadership of its British colonial overlords, but also aware of the wisdom that certain old leaders could still provide.


White power movements in US history have often relied on veterans – and not on lone wolves by Kathleen Belew

For decades, the white power movement has gained steady momentum in the U.S. Kathleen Belew is an expert on the history of the white power movement and its current impact on American society and politics. Her book “Bring the War Home: The White Power Movement and Paramilitary America” examines how the aftermath of the Vietnam War led to the birth of the white power movement.

 

What is the white power movement?

The white power movement is an array of activists that is, in all ways but race, remarkably diverse. Since the late 1970s, it has convened people of a wide variety of belief systems, including Klansmen, neo-Nazis, white separatists, proponents of white supremacist religious theologies, and, starting in the late 1980s, racist skinheads and militia movement members. These activists represent a wide range of class positions. The movement has long included men, women and children; felons and religious leaders; high school dropouts and holders of advanced degrees; civilians and veterans and active-duty military personnel. They have lived in all regions of the country, including suburbs, cities and rural areas.

 

For decades, the white power movement has gained steady momentum in the U.S. Kathleen Belew is an expert on the history of the white power movement and its current impact on American society and politics. Her book “Bring the War Home: The White Power Movement and Paramilitary America” examines how the aftermath of the Vietnam War led to the birth of the white power movement.

In March 2023, Belew spoke at the Imagine Solutions Conference in Naples, Florida, about how the narrative of the “lone wolf” actor distracts from the broader threat of the white power movement in America. The Conversation asked Belew about her work. Her edited answers are below.

Kathleen Belew speaks at the 2023 Imagine Solutions Conference.

What is the white power movement?

The white power movement is an array of activists that is, in all ways but race, remarkably diverse. Since the late 1970s, it has convened people of a wide variety of belief systems, including Klansmen, neo-Nazis, white separatists, proponents of white supremacist religious theologies, and, starting in the late 1980s, racist skinheads and militia movement members. These activists represent a wide range of class positions. The movement has long included men, women and children; felons and religious leaders; high school dropouts and holders of advanced degrees; civilians and veterans and active-duty military personnel. They have lived in all regions of the country, including suburbs, cities and rural areas.

How has the legacy of US warfare fueled white power groups?

After every major American war, the historical record shows a surge in membership and activity among extremist groups like the Ku Klux Klan. In each example, these groups also adopt elements of military activity, like uniforms, weapons and the latest military tactics. But this doesn’t mean that these surges are entirely composed of veterans. All measures of violence rise after warfare, including acts carried out by women, children and older people. Groups like the Ku Klux Klan have been able to use this postwar opportunity for their own purposes: recruitment and radicalization.

 

When and why did the white power movement emerge in the US?

The white power movement came together in the late 1970s around a shared narrative of the Vietnam War. In this narrative, the war exemplifies the failure of government, the betrayal of the American people by the government and the betrayal of American men by the state.

Disillusioned veterans and civilians alike mobilized around a number of other social grievances, such as dissatisfaction with changes caused by feminism, the Civil Rights Movement and other movements at home, as well as frustrations with economic changes like the farms crisis and the general move to financialization in the 1970s that made it harder to find and keep a working-class job.

This disaffection allowed for the white power movement to recruit in two different ways: narrative force – the story that was used to hold these activists together; and contextual force – the social grievances many of them had in common.

What role do women play in the white supremacist movement?

People often think of the white power and militia movements as men’s movements. It’s true that the majority of media reports heavily feature men; that’s because those who participate in public demonstrations and those who get arrested because of underground activity tend to be men. But this is a movement that has relied in extraordinarily heavy ways on women.

Women have been tasked with normalizing and legitimating violence, orchestrating recruitment and maintaining the relationships that allow this movement to operate as a social network. Take, for instance, the Aryan Nations World Congress, a 1983 meeting in which the white power movement declared war on the United States. This meeting featured men’s speeches and ideological activities, a cross burning and a swastika burning. But it also featured matchmaking and a big spaghetti dinner, which socially bound activists together to enable the organization of violence. Women were indispensable for arranging these kinds of activities and for maintaining strong relationships between groups.

Where do US veterans fit in?

Veterans are specifically targeted for recruitment into white power groups because they and active-duty service members have a set of experiences and expertise that is very much in demand by these groups. Veterans have tactical training, munitions expertise and weapons training that the white power movement wants because it is trying to wage war on the American government – in fact, this movement has directed recruitment specifically aimed at veterans and active-duty troops.

While very few veterans returning from war join white power groups, the groups still feature an enormous percentage of people who are veterans or active duty – or falsely claim to be. This is because those military roles are in high demand among these groups – and their command structure within the movement mirrors military organization.

How can the US address its lack of care toward veterans?

The white power movement is one example of a broader social failure to support veterans and to reckon with the cost of warfare. This movement is able to opportunistically mobilize disaffected people in the aftermath of war because our society lacks robust social structures to reintegrate people after warfare and to have a real public discourse about the price of war.

Before the fall of Kabul in Afghanistan, my undergraduate students at Northwestern and the University of Chicago had been at war for their entire living memory. These are kids who don’t remember 9/11. And yet that war has not featured prominently even in the list of the top five or 10 crises facing our nation. In the recent past, war has not been at the center of our political conversation. We don’t reckon with the massive impact the people who serve in our armed forces shoulder for the nation.

In all of these ways, the global war on terror has continued the cycle of generating a recruitment opportunity for extremist groups. We are now in the middle of a massive groundswell of white power and militant right activity, both underground and in public-facing actions.

What are you working on now that people might not be aware of?

My next project departs from the white power movement to examine gun violence in America, specifically the Columbine shooting – which happened when I was in high school, not far from where I was in high school – as a fulcrum point between the 20th century and the 21st. There were mass shootings at schools and elsewhere before Columbine. But Columbine really marks the moment when mass shootings became normalized. I think the event signals major fissures in the social fabric and reflects other massive changes in how society thinks about place, politics and violence – not only in Colorado but in the nation as a whole.

Monday, April 24, 2023

Arbor Day: Why planting trees isn’t enough by Karen D. Holl & Pedro Brancalion

 For 151 years, Americans have marked Arbor Day on the last Friday in April by planting trees. Now business leaders, politicians, YouTubers and celebrities are calling for the planting of millions, billions or even trillions of trees to slow climate change.

 As ecologists who study forest restoration, we know that trees store carbon, provide habitat for animals and plants, prevent erosion and create shade in cities. But as we have explained elsewhere in detail, planting trees is not a silver bullet for solving complex environmental and social problems. And for trees to produce benefits, they need to be planted correctly – which often is not the case.

 

Tree-planting is not a panacea

It is impossible for humanity to plant its way out of climate change, as some advocates have suggested, although trees are one part of the solution. Scientific assessments show that avoiding the worst consequences of climate change will require governments, businesses and individuals around the globe to make rapid and drastic efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

Moreover, planting trees in the wrong place can have unintended consequences. For example, planting trees into native grasslands, such as North American prairies or African savannas, can damage these valuable ecosystems

 

Planting fast-growing, nonnative trees in arid areas may also reduce water supplies. And some top-down tree-planting programs implemented by international organizations or national governments displace farmers and lead them to clear forests elsewhere.

Large-scale tree-planting initiatives have failed in locations from Sri Lanka to Turkey to Canada. In some places, the tree species were not well suited to local soil and climate conditions. Elsewhere, the trees were not watered or fertilized. In some cases local people removed trees that were planted on their land without permission. And when trees die or are cut down, any carbon they have taken up returns to the atmosphere, negating benefits from planting them.

 

Focus on growing trees

We think it’s time to change the narrative from tree-planting to tree-growing. Most tree-planting efforts focus on digging a hole and putting a seedling in the ground, but the work doesn’t stop there. And tree-planting diverts attention from promoting natural forest regrowth.

To achieve benefits from tree-planting, the trees need to grow for a decade or more. Unfortunately, evidence suggests that reforested areas are often recleared within a decade or two. We recommend that tree-growing efforts set targets for the area of forest restored after 10, 20 or 50 years, rather than focusing on numbers of seedlings planted. 

 And it may not even be necessary to actively plant trees. For example, much of the eastern U.S. was logged in the 18th and 19th centuries. But for the past century, where nature has been left to take its course, large areas of forests have regrown without people’s planting trees. 

 

Helping tree-growing campaigns succeed

Tree-growing is expected to receive unprecedented financial, political and societal support in the coming years as part of the U.N. Decade on Ecosystem Restoration and ambitious initiatives such as the Bonn Challenge and World Economic Forum 1t.org campaign to conserve, restore and grow 1 trillion trees. It would be an enormous waste to squander this unique opportunity.

Here are key guidelines that we and others have proposed to improve the outcomes of tree-planting campaigns.

 Keep existing forests standing. Global Forest Watch, an online platform that monitors forests around the world, estimates that the Earth lost an area of rainforest the size of New Mexico in 2020. It is much more effective to prevent clearing of existing forests than to try to put them back together again. And existing forests provide benefits now, rather than decades into the future after trees mature. 

 Protecting existing forests often requires providing alternative income for people who maintain trees on their land rather than logging them or growing crops. It also is important to strengthen enforcement of protected areas, and to promote supply chains for timber and agricultural products that do not involve forest-clearing.

 Include nearby communities in tree-growing projects. International organizations and national governments fund many tree-growing projects, but their goals may be quite different from those of local residents who are actually growing the trees on their land. Study after study has shown that involving local farmers and communities in the process, from planning through monitoring, is key to tree-growing success.

 

Start with careful planning. Which species are most likely to grow well given local site conditions? Which species will best achieve the project’s goals? And who will take care of the trees after they are planted?

It is important to plant in areas where trees have grown historically, and to consider whether future climatic conditions are likely to support trees. Planting in areas that are less productive for agriculture reduces the risk that the land will be recleared or existing forests will be cut down to compensate for lost productive areas.

 Plan for the long term. Most tree seedlings need care to survive and grow. This may include multiyear commitments to water, fertilize, weed and protect them from grazing or fire and monitor whether the venture achieves its goals. 

 

We recently published a list of questions that all tree-growing organizations should answer and that funders should ask before pulling out their wallets. They include questions about whether the initial drivers of deforestation have been addressed, how the project will be maintained and monitored over time, and how local stakeholders will be involved and benefit from the project. It’s also important to look at the outcomes of prior tree-growing projects overseen by the organization.

Organizations that follow best practices are much more likely to grow trees successfully over the long term. Planting seedlings is just the first step.

 

Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Matthew Henson: The US' unsung Black explorer By Robert Isenberg

 While other explorers may claim credit for discovering the North Pole, an unsung and largely forgotten former sharecropper has as good a case as anyone.

 Located just outside Washington DC in Montgomery County, Maryland, the 116-acre Matthew Henson State Park Stream Valley Park is a leafy, wooded oasis surrounded by suburban sprawl. As you enter, the hum of traffic soon fades away, and all hikers, joggers and bikers can see are grass and trees. A 4.2-mile paved trail gently curves through the forest, before an elevated wooden boardwalk carries it above a wetland. Birds chirp overhead, and deer and wild turkeys are a common sight.

 

You could walk this trail every day and never know who Matthew Henson was – unless you stopped at a certain trailside sign that displays a bulleted timeline of Henson's life:

• 1866: Born in Charles County, Maryland.
• 1879-1884: Joins the crew of the ship Katie Hines as a cabin boy and explores the world.
• 1887: Joins Robert E Peary to assist in the survey of Nicaragua for a possible canal.

Then, in the middle of this biography, there's a surprising detail:

• 1909: Reaches the North Pole with Peary and plants the American flag.

 

The sign is topped with a photograph of Henson wrapped in furs, a hood pulled over his head. His brow is soberly furrowed, and he wears a bushy mustache. His appearance fits the archetype of the polar explorer in every way but one: Henson was Black.

"As a kid growing up in school, I never heard of Matthew Henson," said JR Harris, who is also African American and serves on the board of directors of the Explorers Club, which has inspired some of the world's greatest adventurers. "A lot of people assume that Matthew Henson was somebody I looked up to back in the day, and that's just not true. All we heard was that the North Pole was discovered by Robert Peary."

 Henson's life reads like a Victorian adventure novel. Born to a family of sharecroppers, Henson worked odd jobs before he joined the crew of a merchant ship and sailed to distant continents. His first mentor was one Captain Childs, who trained the adolescent Henson for a life at sea and even taught him to read. When Childs died in 1883, Henson again struggled to make a living – until a fateful encounter with Robert Peary in 1887. They first crossed paths at a haberdashery in Washington DC where Henson worked. Commander Peary, an engineer with the US Navy, was impressed with the young stock boy and he invited Henson to serve as his assistant on a survey mission to Nicaragua later that year.

 The pivotal stage of Henson's career unfolded over an 18-year period starting in 1891, when he accompanied Peary to the Arctic Circle in search of the North Pole. As one of the last unexplored corners on Earth, the quest to physically reach the world's northernmost point had lured explorers for centuries – many of whom had fantasised about standing on top of the planet. Yet, the Pole's harsh weather and ship-crushing ice floes had repelled all human visitors, even the Inuit.

 

Peary was the established leader of these expeditions, raising money and organising teams. Henson accompanied Peary on every journey but one, spending years of his life in the field. In Greenland, Henson bonded with the Inughuit, the northernmost people in North America and part of the Greenlandic Inuit peoples; he learned to build igloos and sledges, and he became fluent in the Inuktun language. He hunted polar animals with a rifle, a life-saving skill when provisions ran low. Most impressively, Henson learned the art of mushing.

"He is a better dog driver and handles a sledge better than any man living, except some of the best [Inuit] hunters," Peary wrote of Henson. "I couldn't get along without him."

Over the course of seven attempts from 1891 to 1909, Henson was Peary's closest collaborator. The Arctic was unforgiving, and the two men nearly froze or starved on several occasions. Peary lost many of his toes to frostbite; Henson once broke through the ice and would have drowned had his Inuit friend Ootah not pulled him from the freezing water. The men weathered catastrophic storms and never-ending technical snafus. They refined their process again and again, until their final expedition in 1909. As supplies ran low and they were roughly 134 miles from the Pole, Peary ordered everyone in his 50-person party to return to their ship, except for four Inuits and Henson.

 According to a Smithsonian article, several days later on 6 April 1909, after an arduous trek through the tundra, Henson allegedly told Peary that he had a "feeling" they were now at the Pole. Henson said that Peary then dug into his coat, pulled out a folded American flag sewn by his wife and fastened it to a staff that he stuck atop an igloo. The following day, Henson said Peary determined their location with a sextant, placed a note and the US flag in an empty tin and buried it in the ice. The men then turned back toward the ship to head home.

 

"Another world's accomplishment was done and finished," wrote Henson in his 1912 memoir, A Negro Explorer at the North Pole. "And as in the past, from the beginning of history, wherever the world's work was done by a white man, he had been accompanied by a colored man."

Yet Henson's moment of glory was short-lived. For the next century, historians would be sceptical about Henson, who returned to the United States at the height of Jim Crow hostility. Peary wrote an effusive foreword to Henson's book, arguing that "race, color, or bringing-up, or environment, count nothing against a determined heart, if it is backed and aided by intelligence". Still, Peary gladly received most accolades for reaching the Pole, while Henson's name faded from the public eye.

Historians debate whether Peary's surveying was correct – plus there's dispute as to whether he was even the first explorer to get there – but most agree that he couldn't have ventured so far north without Henson, who fully embraced Inuit life and studied millennia-old survival skills. Henson adapted Inuit tools, such as fur garments and dog-driven sledges.

 "The [Inuit] people really liked him," said Harris, who has himself embarked on scores of self-supported solo hikes in wilderness areas around the world. Like Henson, Harris has forged relationships with Indigenous people in remote locations and appreciates this early attempt at cultural anthropology. "Peary was kind of standoffish, and he appreciated that someone in his party could deal with the Inuit population and could establish good relations."

 

Still, it wasn't until 1937 that Henson was admitted as a member of the Explorers Club. He eventually received honours from presidents Harry S Truman and Dwight D Eisenhower, but only towards the end of his life. Henson was ultimately interred at Arlington National Cemetery, where a special monument now stands, but it wasn't erected until 1988 – 33 years after his death. Today, a handful of landmarks are named after him: Matthew Henson State Park, several Maryland public schools and the USNS Henson, a 3,000-ton research vessel that conducts oceanographic surveying.

For decades, Henson supporters have kindled the memory of his achievement – and attempted to trace the full breadth of his legacy. His most passionate advocate was the late Dr S Allen Counter, a Boston-based neurologist and fellow member of the Explorers Club. Not only did Counter petition Arlington for the monument, but he discovered unknown branches of Henson's family tree in Greenland – several of his Inuit descendants are still alive today. He documented this lineage in his book, North Pole Legacy.

 

"The story resonated with my father for obvious reasons," said Philippa Counter, Allen's daughter. "They were both explorers. Henson was this unsung hero who didn't get recognised for going to the North Pole. He thought, 'This is a story I absolutely have to tell'."

Dr Counter passed away in 2017, but others have taken up the torch. The Explorers Club started a Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Committee, with JR Harris as its chair. In 2022, the Club posthumously admitted four new members: Seegloo, Egingwah, Ooqueah and Ootah, the Inuit men who accompanied Henson and Peary on their final expedition.

 In my opinion, they're all co-discoverers of the North Pole, all six of them," said Harris. "Those four guys are finally getting the recognition they deserve."

Meanwhile, in Brunswick, Maine, the Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum is currently moving buildings. The museum belongs to Bowdoin College, alma mater to both Peary and fellow Arctic explorer Donald Baxter MacMillan. Since it opened in 1967, the museum has showcased Henson artefacts, including archival photos, a sledge he built himself and a rare television interview from the 1950s. Patrons have always been welcomed with painted portraits of Peary and MacMillan, positioned side-by-side at the entrance. However, when the new space opens in May 2023, it will have an important addition: an enlarged photograph of Henson, dressed in his trademark furs, displayed next to them.

 

Thursday, April 13, 2023

The Colorado River drought crisis: 5 essential reads by Jennifer Weeks

A 23-year western drought has drastically shrunk the Colorado River, which provides water for drinking and irrigation for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California and two states in Mexico. Under a 1922 compact, these jurisdictions receive fixed allocations of water from the river – but now there’s not enough water to provide them.

As states try to negotiate ways to share the decreasing flow, the U.S. Department of the Interior is considering cuts of up to 25% in allotments for California, Nevada and Arizona. The federal government can regulate these states’ water shares because they come mainly from Lake Mead, the largest U.S. reservoir, which was created when the Hoover Dam was built on the Colorado River near Las Vegas.

These five articles from The Conversation’s archive explain what’s happening and what’s at stake in the Colorado River basin’s drought crisis. 

 

A 23-year western drought has drastically shrunk the Colorado River, which provides water for drinking and irrigation for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California and two states in Mexico. Under a 1922 compact, these jurisdictions receive fixed allocations of water from the river – but now there’s not enough water to provide them.

As states try to negotiate ways to share the decreasing flow, the U.S. Department of the Interior is considering cuts of up to 25% in allotments for California, Nevada and Arizona. The federal government can regulate these states’ water shares because they come mainly from Lake Mead, the largest U.S. reservoir, which was created when the Hoover Dam was built on the Colorado River near Las Vegas.

These five articles from The Conversation’s archive explain what’s happening and what’s at stake in the Colorado River basin’s drought crisis.

The Colorado River provides water to 40 million people and some of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S., but its flow is dwindling.

1. A faulty river compact

The idea of negotiating a legally binding agreement to share river water among states was innovative in the 1920s. But the Colorado River Compact made some critical assumptions that have proved to be fatal flaws.

The lawyers who wrote the compact knew that the Colorado’s flow could vary and that they didn’t have enough data for long-term planning. But they still allocated fixed quantities of water to each participating state. “We know now that they used optimistic flow numbers measured during a particularly wet period,” wrote Patricia J. Rettig, head archivist of Colorado State University’s Water Resources Archive.

 Nor did the compact encourage conservation as the West’s population grew. “When settlers developed the West, their prevailing attitude was that water reaching the sea was wasted, so people aimed to use it all,” Rettig observed. 

 

A 23-year western drought has drastically shrunk the Colorado River, which provides water for drinking and irrigation for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California and two states in Mexico. Under a 1922 compact, these jurisdictions receive fixed allocations of water from the river – but now there’s not enough water to provide them.

As states try to negotiate ways to share the decreasing flow, the U.S. Department of the Interior is considering cuts of up to 25% in allotments for California, Nevada and Arizona. The federal government can regulate these states’ water shares because they come mainly from Lake Mead, the largest U.S. reservoir, which was created when the Hoover Dam was built on the Colorado River near Las Vegas.

These five articles from The Conversation’s archive explain what’s happening and what’s at stake in the Colorado River basin’s drought crisis.

The Colorado River provides water to 40 million people and some of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S., but its flow is dwindling.

1. A faulty river compact

The idea of negotiating a legally binding agreement to share river water among states was innovative in the 1920s. But the Colorado River Compact made some critical assumptions that have proved to be fatal flaws.

The lawyers who wrote the compact knew that the Colorado’s flow could vary and that they didn’t have enough data for long-term planning. But they still allocated fixed quantities of water to each participating state. “We know now that they used optimistic flow numbers measured during a particularly wet period,” wrote Patricia J. Rettig, head archivist of Colorado State University’s Water Resources Archive.

Nor did the compact encourage conservation as the West’s population grew. “When settlers developed the West, their prevailing attitude was that water reaching the sea was wasted, so people aimed to use it all,” Rettig observed.


Read more: Western river compacts were innovative in the 1920s but couldn't foresee today's water challenges


2. Temporary cuts aren’t big enough

Western states have known for years that they were taking more water from the Colorado than nature was putting in. But reducing water use is politically charged, since it means imposing limits on such powerful constituencies as farmers and developers.

In 2019, officials from the U.S. government and the seven Colorado Basin states signed a seven-year drought contingency plan that temporarily reduced states’ water allocations. But the plan did not propose long-term strategies for addressing climate change or overuse of water in the region. 

 

A 23-year western drought has drastically shrunk the Colorado River, which provides water for drinking and irrigation for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California and two states in Mexico. Under a 1922 compact, these jurisdictions receive fixed allocations of water from the river – but now there’s not enough water to provide them.

As states try to negotiate ways to share the decreasing flow, the U.S. Department of the Interior is considering cuts of up to 25% in allotments for California, Nevada and Arizona. The federal government can regulate these states’ water shares because they come mainly from Lake Mead, the largest U.S. reservoir, which was created when the Hoover Dam was built on the Colorado River near Las Vegas.

These five articles from The Conversation’s archive explain what’s happening and what’s at stake in the Colorado River basin’s drought crisis.

The Colorado River provides water to 40 million people and some of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S., but its flow is dwindling.

1. A faulty river compact

The idea of negotiating a legally binding agreement to share river water among states was innovative in the 1920s. But the Colorado River Compact made some critical assumptions that have proved to be fatal flaws.

The lawyers who wrote the compact knew that the Colorado’s flow could vary and that they didn’t have enough data for long-term planning. But they still allocated fixed quantities of water to each participating state. “We know now that they used optimistic flow numbers measured during a particularly wet period,” wrote Patricia J. Rettig, head archivist of Colorado State University’s Water Resources Archive.

Nor did the compact encourage conservation as the West’s population grew. “When settlers developed the West, their prevailing attitude was that water reaching the sea was wasted, so people aimed to use it all,” Rettig observed.


Read more: Western river compacts were innovative in the 1920s but couldn't foresee today's water challenges


2. Temporary cuts aren’t big enough

Western states have known for years that they were taking more water from the Colorado than nature was putting in. But reducing water use is politically charged, since it means imposing limits on such powerful constituencies as farmers and developers.

In 2019, officials from the U.S. government and the seven Colorado Basin states signed a seven-year drought contingency plan that temporarily reduced states’ water allocations. But the plan did not propose long-term strategies for addressing climate change or overuse of water in the region.

“Since 2000, Colorado River flows have been 16% below the 20th-century average,” wrote water policy experts Brad Udall, Douglas Kenney and John Fleck. “Temperatures across the Colorado River Basin are now over 2 degrees Fahrenheit (1.1 degrees Celsius) warmer than the 20th-century average, and are certain to continue rising. Scientists have begun using the term ‘aridification’ to describe the hotter, drier climate in the basin, rather than ‘drought,’ which implies a temporary condition.”

 

3. The looming threat of dead pool

Lake Mead and Lake Powell, the other major reservoir on the lower Colorado River, were created to provide water for irrigation and to generate hydropower, which is produced by the force of water flowing through large turbines in the lakes’ dams. If water in either lake drops below the intakes for the turbines, the lake will fall below “minimum power pool” and stop producing electricity.

If water in the lakes dropped even further, they could reach “dead pool,” the point at which water is too low to flow through the dam. This is an extreme scenario, but it can’t be ruled out, University of Arizona water expert Robert Glennon warned. In addition to drought and climate change, he noted, both lakes lie in canyons that “are V-shaped, like martini glasses – wide at the rim and narrow at the bottom. As levels in the lakes decline, each foot of elevation holds less water.”

 

4. Why hydropower matters

Climate change and drought are stressing hydropower generation throughout the U.S. West by reducing snowpack and precipitation and drying up rivers. This could create serious stress for regional electric grid operators, according to Penn State civil engineers Caitlin Grady and Lauren Dennis.

“Because it can quickly be turned on and off, hydroelectric power can help control minute-to-minute supply and demand changes,” they wrote. “It can also help power grids quickly bounce back when blackouts occur. Hydropower makes up about 40% of U.S. electric grid facilities that can be started without an additional power supply during a blackout, in part because the fuel needed to generate power is simply the water held in the reservoir behind the turbine.”

While most hydropower dams are likely here to stay, in Grady’s and Dennis’ view, “climate change will change how these plants are used and managed.”

 

5. The resurrection of Glen Canyon

Lake Powell was created by flooding Glen Canyon, a spectacular swath of canyons on the Utah-Arizona border. As the lake’s water level drops, many side canyons have reemerged. Effectively, climate change is draining the lake

 

A 23-year western drought has drastically shrunk the Colorado River, which provides water for drinking and irrigation for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California and two states in Mexico. Under a 1922 compact, these jurisdictions receive fixed allocations of water from the river – but now there’s not enough water to provide them.

As states try to negotiate ways to share the decreasing flow, the U.S. Department of the Interior is considering cuts of up to 25% in allotments for California, Nevada and Arizona. The federal government can regulate these states’ water shares because they come mainly from Lake Mead, the largest U.S. reservoir, which was created when the Hoover Dam was built on the Colorado River near Las Vegas.

These five articles from The Conversation’s archive explain what’s happening and what’s at stake in the Colorado River basin’s drought crisis.

The Colorado River provides water to 40 million people and some of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S., but its flow is dwindling.

1. A faulty river compact

The idea of negotiating a legally binding agreement to share river water among states was innovative in the 1920s. But the Colorado River Compact made some critical assumptions that have proved to be fatal flaws.

The lawyers who wrote the compact knew that the Colorado’s flow could vary and that they didn’t have enough data for long-term planning. But they still allocated fixed quantities of water to each participating state. “We know now that they used optimistic flow numbers measured during a particularly wet period,” wrote Patricia J. Rettig, head archivist of Colorado State University’s Water Resources Archive.

Nor did the compact encourage conservation as the West’s population grew. “When settlers developed the West, their prevailing attitude was that water reaching the sea was wasted, so people aimed to use it all,” Rettig observed.


Read more: Western river compacts were innovative in the 1920s but couldn't foresee today's water challenges


2. Temporary cuts aren’t big enough

Western states have known for years that they were taking more water from the Colorado than nature was putting in. But reducing water use is politically charged, since it means imposing limits on such powerful constituencies as farmers and developers.

In 2019, officials from the U.S. government and the seven Colorado Basin states signed a seven-year drought contingency plan that temporarily reduced states’ water allocations. But the plan did not propose long-term strategies for addressing climate change or overuse of water in the region.

“Since 2000, Colorado River flows have been 16% below the 20th-century average,” wrote water policy experts Brad Udall, Douglas Kenney and John Fleck. “Temperatures across the Colorado River Basin are now over 2 degrees Fahrenheit (1.1 degrees Celsius) warmer than the 20th-century average, and are certain to continue rising. Scientists have begun using the term ‘aridification’ to describe the hotter, drier climate in the basin, rather than ‘drought,’ which implies a temporary condition.”


Read more: Western states buy time with a 7-year Colorado River drought plan, but face a hotter, drier future


3. The looming threat of dead pool

Lake Mead and Lake Powell, the other major reservoir on the lower Colorado River, were created to provide water for irrigation and to generate hydropower, which is produced by the force of water flowing through large turbines in the lakes’ dams. If water in either lake drops below the intakes for the turbines, the lake will fall below “minimum power pool” and stop producing electricity.

If water in the lakes dropped even further, they could reach “dead pool,” the point at which water is too low to flow through the dam. This is an extreme scenario, but it can’t be ruled out, University of Arizona water expert Robert Glennon warned. In addition to drought and climate change, he noted, both lakes lie in canyons that “are V-shaped, like martini glasses – wide at the rim and narrow at the bottom. As levels in the lakes decline, each foot of elevation holds less water.”


Read more: What is dead pool? A water expert explains


Infographic of Hoover Dam and water levels where power general and then water flow would stop.
This graphic shows the water level in Lake Powell as of November 2022 and the levels that represent minimum power pool and dead pool. Arizona Department of Water Resources

4. Why hydropower matters

Climate change and drought are stressing hydropower generation throughout the U.S. West by reducing snowpack and precipitation and drying up rivers. This could create serious stress for regional electric grid operators, according to Penn State civil engineers Caitlin Grady and Lauren Dennis.

“Because it can quickly be turned on and off, hydroelectric power can help control minute-to-minute supply and demand changes,” they wrote. “It can also help power grids quickly bounce back when blackouts occur. Hydropower makes up about 40% of U.S. electric grid facilities that can be started without an additional power supply during a blackout, in part because the fuel needed to generate power is simply the water held in the reservoir behind the turbine.”

While most hydropower dams are likely here to stay, in Grady’s and Dennis’ view, “climate change will change how these plants are used and managed.”




5. The resurrection of Glen Canyon

Lake Powell was created by flooding Glen Canyon, a spectacular swath of canyons on the Utah-Arizona border. As the lake’s water level drops, many side canyons have reemerged. Effectively, climate change is draining the lake.

A boat trip into zones of Glen Canyon that have been uncovered as water levels drop.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to recover a unique landscape, wrote University of Utah political scientist Dan McCool. “But managing this emergent landscape also presents serious political and environmental challenges.”

In McCool’s view, a key priority should be to give Native American tribes a meaningful role in managing those lands – including cultural sites and artifacts that were flooded when the river was dammed. The river has also deposited massive quantities of sediments in the canyon behind the dam, some of which are contaminated. And as visitors flock to newly accessible side canyons, the area will need staff to manage visitors and protect fragile resources.

“Other landscapes are likely to emerge across the West as climate change reshapes the region and numerous reservoirs decline. With proper planning, Glen Canyon can provide a lesson in how to manage them,” McCool observed.