When No News is Bad News: The Struggle to Save Local Journalism

The most critical feedback loop in a democracy is a free press and access to vital information. Yet decades of corporate consolidation allowed giant conglomerates to annihilate local news outlets and predatory hedge funds are leaving news deserts in their wake. In 2025, a fifth of people in the U.S. live with little or no access to local news and three quarters of newspaper jobs have been axed over the last 20 years. But new models are crystallizing to fill the void, thanks to innovating journalists and publishers. With Larry Ryckman, publisher and co-founder of The Colorado Sun; Madeleine Bair, founder of El Tímpano; and Jacob Simas, community journalism director for the Cityside Journalism Initiative.

Featuring

Larry Ryckman, Co-founder and Editor of The Colorado Sun, was previously: Senior Editor at The Denver Post; Managing Editor at The Gazette in Colorado Springs; and City Editor at the Greeley Tribune. 

Madeleine Bair, Founder of El Tímpano, an award-winning civic media organization designed with and for the Bay Area’s Latino and Mayan immigrant communities. 

Jacob Simas, Oakland-based Community Journalism Director at Cityside Journalism Initiative. 

Credits

  • Executive Producer: Kenny Ausubel
  • Written by: Claire Reynolds & Kenny Ausubel
  • Producer: Claire Reynolds
  • Senior Producer and Station Relations: Stephanie Welch
  • Associate Producer: Emily Harris
  • Producer: Teo Grossman
  • Interview Recording Engineer: Rod Akil at KPFA studios
  • Production Assistance: Kaleb Wentzel Fisher
  • Host and Consulting Producer: Neil Harvey

This is an episode of the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature series. Visit the radio and podcast homepage to find out how to hear the program on your local station and how to subscribe to the podcast.

Subscribe to the Bioneers: Revolution from The Heart of Nature podcast


Transcript

Neil Harvey (Host): As the iconic journalist Bill Moyers has said, “The quality of journalism and the quality of democracy are inextricably intertwined.”

Yet decades of corporate consolidation in the U.S. allowed a half-dozen giant conglomerates to seize control of information and nearly annihilate critical local news outlets that people rely on and trust.

Two or more local newspapers go out of business every week. In just the past 20 years, nearly a third have folded under the crushing weight of giant media and digital platform monopolies that starve them of advertising revenues.

Some outlets that survive become distressed properties and therefore targets for private equity firms that swoop in, downsize them, strip them for parts, and then close up shop.

According to a 2025 study by Northwestern’s Medill Journalism School, about a fifth of people in the U.S. live with little or no access to local news – and they often live in rural and low-income areas.

One committed journalist who decided to fight back is Larry Ryckman. After decades working as a reporter for the Associated Press, he landed at the Pulitzer Prize-winning Denver Post.

Ironically, he’d previously worked as a foreign correspondent in the early 90s where he covered the dismantling and looting of the Soviet Union by big banks and investors. Returning to the U.S., he witnessed the Alden Capital hedge fund dismantling and looting the Post. Larry Ryckman spoke at a Bioneers conference.

Uprising against Alden in Denver. Credit: John Leyba

Larry Ryckman (LR): Alden is a hedge fund that buys distressed properties, whether they’re shoe stores or pharmacies or whatever it might be. I mean, you know, back in the day, owning a newspaper was like printing money; it was a very profitable business. Until it wasn’t. Craigslist came along, the Internet came along, digital advertising, print advertising became upended, and it became a very different business. And when the bills came due, the people who held the notes were hedge funds like Alden Global Capital.

So Alden went from not being involved in newspapers at all to being one of the nation’s largest newspaper owners. It’s just been awful to see them snap up newspapers left and right and do what they do.

So, they follow a very similar playbook in town after town after town. They come in and they buy the newspaper. They sell off the real estate – so that might be the newspaper’s building, might be the printing press, whatever that property might be. So they sell off the real estate, they jack up subscription costs, and they cut the staff. So they just lay people off, wave after wave after wave of relentless cutting.

And there’s another hedge fund that owns the nation’s largest newspaper group, which is Gannett. Take a look at Salinas, California, birthplace of John Steinbeck. The Salinas Californian was once a great scrappy newspaper that covered Salinas. Today, Gannett owns it, they have no local reporters left. They have laid off all the reporters. The only unique local content in The Salinas Californian are death notices. I mean, you can’t even make this stuff up. And that’s what the future looks like under hedge fund ownership. They are not planning for the future. It’s all about today.

A mural celebrating John Steinbeck on the former Salinas Californian building. The newspaper moved out of the historic building in 2017.

So they squeeze every dime they can out of these properties. And at the end, if nobody wants to subscribe to it, they’ve already made their money and they move on, and they just turn the lights out. They really do not care at all about newspapers, journalists, or these communities – or frankly, democracy itself.

These hedge funds are such a threat. I think that they have done more damage to American democracy than practically anything that I can even think about. I mean, how can we expect to have informed voters if people don’t have access to knowledge, if they don’t have access to, you know, verified information? There’s a reason the founding fathers put protection for freedom of the press in the very first amendment of the Constitution. It wasn’t that they were any big fans of newspapers. They got beat up pretty bad back in their day; maybe they should have gotten beat up a little more. But they understood that a healthy democracy depends on a vibrant free press. It depends on having a watchdog able to ask difficult questions of those in power.

Host: Powerful political and economic players benefit from information deserts. Research shows what happens when communities don’t have reliable local news sources: there’s more corruption and higher public spending. Fewer people register and turn out to vote, fewer people run for office, and there’s more polarization.

Research also shows that good local journalism holds policymakers to account. Communities that are well informed are more likely to have representatives that vote in their interests.

But since 2005, a whopping three quarters of newspaper jobs have been axed. Newspaper job losses now rank in the same range as employees of companies that manufacture DVDs and cassette tapes. Ryckman says that when we have fewer reporters, it’s the community that loses.

LR: We’ve lost so much. I mean, the fact is, it’s sad when anyone loses their job, whether it’s a journalist or someone working at a restaurant or a factory. 

The tragedy is we’ll never know the stories that aren’t being told because there wasn’t a journalist there to tell them—the trials that weren’t covered, the city council meetings that weren’t covered, the school board meetings that weren’t covered because there wasn’t a journalist left to cover them.

Once upon a time, legacy newspapers like the Denver Post had teams of reporters who covered city hall, teams of reporters who covered state government, who covered religion, education, health, etc. Those are long gone.

Jacob Simas, Madeleine Bair, and Larry Ryckman at a Bioneers 2024 panel.

Where are people left to turn for news about their government? You know the fact is, there are bad people getting away with things because there was no journalist there to shed light on their misdeeds.

But also, you know, journalism is not just about being the watchdog, it’s also about celebrating good people doing good things in our communities. And journalists provide the fabric that weaves together the tapestry of community; it helps us connect with each other.

I’ve heard from people in the arts community that they’ve noticed the absence of journalism as well. They’ve said we don’t care if we even get a bad review for our production. If there’s no review, people don’t come to our art galleries or they don’t come to our productions.

When there is a lack of local coverage, local news coverage, what do you have left? It is more of the national discussion, it’s the news coming out of Washington. It just dominates everything. It’s the politics, the things coming in from TV, from wire services, whatever it is. If the hedge funds and others aren’t willing to hire local reporters, they’re filling up their newspapers with something. It’s not things that are relevant to you and me on a local level.

Host: When Alden Capital hedge fund bought the Denver Post, it ordered Larry Ryckman and his fellow journalists to vacate their offices in the iconic downtown Denver Post building and exiled them to the printing plant in the suburbs. A few weeks later, Alden Capital cut another third of the newsroom.

That’s when Ryckman decided there must be a better way. He invited nine other journalists, including Pulitzer Prize-winning reporters, from The Denver Post to start a new online news outlet. The Colorado Sun would explore new models for journalism.

LR: Journalism isn’t dying, but the old business models are dying. Newspapers, forever, 100-plus years, were dependent largely upon advertising. Yes, you had to pay for a subscription, but circulation never paid the bills for a newsroom, really, and newspapers could provide that because there was no Internet, there was no other way to get their message out there other than advertising in the newspapers or maybe going on radio or TV. So that model is dying right before our eyes.

Now, at The Colorado Sun, when we launched in September of 2018, we looked around and said, if the old model was built around traditional advertising, then let’s not do that; let’s come up with another way. And in the newspaper world, in the legacy newspaper world—and I’m talking digital here— the way you get get eyeballs is through page views. The way you get page views is to do things like write about zoo babies. When there’s a new baby at the zoo—and for the record, I love zoo babies—but those stories are easy to do, and they’re cheap to do, because you’ll get a press release, you can rewrite it in less than a half an hour, you post some photos and then you move on. But does that really provide us much understanding of what’s going on in the world? It doesn’t.

What takes time is to file public records requests, to sit through court hearings or sit through government hearings. Who’s got time to do that if not a journalist? Most people don’t. So we go there and try to do that work, because it’s important to do. But a lot of news organizations are just stretched so thin that their reporters don’t have time to go out and actually get out in the world and talk to real people and dig into documents, and do the kind of traditional work that needs to be done.

I look around the country and it’s not just The Colorado Sun that has popped up, but there are things here in the Bay Area, Berkeleyside, Oaklandside, CalMatters—things that have popped up to try to fill the void.

Host: When we return, Larry Ryckman joins two fellow news entrepreneurs innovating new models of journalism.

You’re listening to the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature.

Host: As local news outlets are shuttered week after week, new models of news media are crystallizing to fill the void. Today, there are nearly 500 nonprofit news organizations reporting for their communities. It’s clear there’s no lack of heart, grit, and reporting chops to provide vital local news. The question is how to pay for it when… Federal funding for public media has been slashed since the Reagan Administration declared war on it in the 1980s. Those grants continue to diminish today.

Some state governments have passed legislation to support local newsrooms. It includes subsidies, tax credits and journalism fellowships to retain and hire reporters. Philanthropy has also stepped up with hundreds of millions of dollars, but it’s far from enough to stem the losses.

Some outlets are funded solely by their readers. One emerging nonprofit model revolves around building trust by listening to and reporting on the local community’s perceived needs and aspirations. Building that cohesion also helps outlets engage more effectively with city, county, and state governments.

Madeleine Bair is an award-winning journalist and the founder of El Tímpano, a media outlet which creates news stories for and with Spanish and Mayan speaking residents in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Madeleine Bair (MB): So I started El Tímpano back in 2018. And before launching, we undertook a process of just listening for nearly a year to Spanish and Indigenous Mayan immigrants in Oakland, to really hear what do they want to see in local media; what are the issues that are most important to them; where do they get news and information on those issues; what do they want to see change in local media. And what’s really interesting is when you start from that place rather than from the idea that, well, we’ll start putting up Spanish-language articles on a website, you wind up with a very different looking newsroom.

And in that initial listening process, we heard from so many people that, “I don’t have a home computer,” “I don’t have home Internet,” “I wish I could get the news on my phone or at any time of day.” And so text messaging became our primary platform for distribution and also engagement.

But we’re also in the streets. We do a lot of community outreach and engagement. We partner with a lot of other trusted organizations, because all of our work is really founded on a relationship of trust with audiences, the communities that we serve.

Erica Hellerstein, Senior Labor and Economics Reporter, helps a family fill out their event passport so they can be entered into the various raffles during El Tímpano’s resource fair. Credit: Hiram Alejandro Durán for El Tímpano/CatchLight Local/Report for America corps member

We have an editorial meeting each week where, you know, rather than us kind of looking at what other news outlets are covering, or what sort of press releases are coming in, we’re really listening to the community members themselves, and talking about, okay, what are the stories that came in that week from our text messaging community; what stories are worth investigating.

Also looking back at all of the surveying we’ve done, which has told us, for instance, a lot of people might think that as a news outlet covering immigrant communities, immigration might be the number one issue. Not true. Immigration is actually usually around number five. The top issue of concern for the communities we cover is health. Has been well before the pandemic and is every time we go out and ask people. And so that’s why the very first reporter that we hired is a health equity reporter, and that’s most of what you’ll see on our website.

Host: Journalist and educator Jacob Simas is the community journalism director for the Cityside Journalism Initiative. It’s a media outlet that creates hyper-local news stories in Berkeley, Oakland, and Richmond, California.

Jacob Simas (JS): We also started a pretty in-depth community listening campaign to just really try to understand what people in Oakland wanted from a local news organization.

And so we really saw this absence of like a lot of the bread and butter stuff that local newspapers used to provide information about local community events, just consistent reporting about public meetings, what’s happening at the school board, what’s happening with the city council.

You know, we have a section that we call How We Work, and it’s just a space where, as editors and reporters, we can just explain to readers why we do journalism the way we do; why we don’t cover crime the way that the Oakland Trib used to; why instead we chose to cover the police department, and cover systems instead of symptoms, right? That kind of work I think has been really important in building trust with our communities in Oakland.

It’s just so important that local news plays such a critical role of a town square, where people can have conversations and dig into the nuance without the polarization that you get at the national level with discourse, and that’s playing out on certain platforms.

Host: By listening to their readers, news outlets like El Timpano and Cityside can produce life-saving information for the communities they serve. That includes community feedback on what’s not working the way it’s supposed to.

MB: California became the first state in the nation to expand MediCal eligibility to undocumented immigrants of all ages – really groundbreaking policy to address a huge health equity issue. These are the communities that El Tímpano’s really designed to serve. We’ve been following this policy for years. It’s come out in stages. So when they expanded to include undocumented immigrants 50 years and up last year, we informed our community members about that; told them how to sign up; what the eligibility requirements are; where to call if they want to learn more.

For thousands of undocumented immigrants, they were newly eligible, newly enrolled, and really trying to access their healthcare coverage for the very first time. We found a number of these community members within El Tímpano’s own audience. As we were providing information about this expanded new policy, so many people were writing us back saying, actually, I’ve been trying to get back onto MediCal for months but no one will answer my call; or I was dropped from MediCal and I can’t figure out why, it seems to be a mistake.

That’s one example of why this method of really having a two-way conversation with our audience is so critical, because we could just provide this information about this great new policy, how you can access it, but whenever we do that and invite community members to write back, we hear, lo and behold, that policy usually isn’t working as it’s intended. So we want to cover the successes of policies like that, but also what are the challenges that they’re facing.

Host: The Bay Area’s Cityside publishes community input and actually pays community members to contribute stories. Again, Jacob Simas.

JS: We’re not the first publisher to run first-person stories, but we do it with a lot of deliberation and consistency, where we will find community members with important lived experiences to share, and we’ll invite them to either write a piece or allow us to listen to their story and then transcribe it into a piece that we can publish, and we pay them a commission, the same as we would pay a freelance reporter.

Some of those stories have been wildly popular. A few that come to mind would be a mother who lost a son and multiple family members to gun violence and getting that really nuanced take on the problem of gun violence in Oakland. Also from a solutions angle, because she’s now doing incredible violence prevention work for an organization in the community.

Host: New models of journalism range from an approach of community engagement and outreach to creative ways to sustain the small outlets that remain. Surprisingly, some of these new models are reviving the earliest form of news media – print journalism.

JS: We have two housing reporters at Cityside, they would get all these appeals from people in the community—emails, phone calls from folks—asking them, as experts in their beat and in their field—asking them about resource information and questions like: how do I get on this list for this housing in my community? They just realized there’s an incredible need for a one-stop shop for information that people can use about affordable housing in the East Bay.

They came to their editors and said, hey, we want to take this on, and we want to create this affordable housing guide, and we don’t want to just put it on the website because a lot of people are going to miss it. We actually want to create a physical product and distribute that in the community, and make it available to people.

So we piloted that and we did it. They did an incredible job. It was a bunch of reporting and multiple articles, but then also just a lot of resource information that they pulled out of their reporting, what people need to know to access affordable housing in Berkeley and Oakland, and put that content into a print publication.

Jacob Simas and Madeleine Bair at a Bioneers 2024 panel.

We printed 500 of those, because we were taking baby steps and we thought, okay, let’s just kind of see if there’s an appetite for this. Right? Brought it to some, you know, places in the community and some different community providers and libraries and things of that nature. Published the whole package online, made it available as a pdf download, and left an email for people to get ahold of us if they wanted us to actually bring them a copy of the print version. And we ended up producing 5,000 because of the outpouring of like messages that we received from people asking for that information – both people in personal situations where they wanted the information, but also from service providers who saw a benefit in what we produced and the way we produced it. It was very easy to sort of understand and access.

Yeah, it’s a cost, but it sure seems worth it. So I would love to just hear how you’re both sort of thinking about print as a medium.

Host: Again, Larry Ryckman…

LR: And we were just going along and growing at the Sun. Then the phone rang one day and somebody said, you know, have you ever thought about owning a group of newspapers. Like, no, I have not. Should I? And the answer was yes, I should.

A lot of newspapers, small newspapers, particularly in rural areas, are owned by mom and pop operations, and that was the case with these 24 suburban Denver newspapers. So we partnered up with the National Trust for Local News, which is a nonprofit, national nonprofit, and we jointly bought these 24 print newspapers. And the good news is more than two years later, those community newspapers are still doing their hyper local coverage, which is awesome.

As it turned out, you spend most of your money on a newspaper on two things: people, of course, in your newsroom; newsprint is the other thing. Newsprint prices have just gone up like crazy over the past few years. Newsprint manufacturers, you know, frankly make more money printing—creating Amazon boxes than they do creating newsprint. So there are very few suppliers for newsprint.

The place where we printed those community newspapers was up in Cheyenne, Wyoming. They wanted to more than double the cost of printing those newspapers. So we moved the printing to the Pueblo Chieftain, which is owned by Gannett. Well, not for long after, Gannett decided they were going to close the printing plant. So we ended up having to be printed at the Denver Post. [LAUGHTER] So, you know, there’s just no escape sometimes.

So we, along with our friends—really, it was the National Trust for Local News and the Colorado Media Project decided, you know what, what if we bought a printing press; what would that look like? And could we turn it into an asset for the community, for all of these other newspapers?

And we really ran the numbers. It was counterintuitive, like hey, I know a great business model: let’s get into print. [LAUGHTER] But as it turns out, it really—when you run the numbers, it made sense.

I’m still happy about being all digital at the Sun because it is a lot less complicated; we don’t have to worry about the availability of newsprint. But there is an equity issue as well. There are communities in Colorado, particularly rural communities, where their Internet coverage is not great. They need print. They want print.

Host: As established and emergent news outlets continue to research and reveal vital information for their communities, one way or the other, they require support.

Clearly good government policy ought to include support for journalism in a nation where the value of a free press is baked into the Constitution. At the same time, the reality on the ground is that communities themselves have a big stake in supporting local media and real news.

LR: Freedom of the press is something we should all care about. Readers can make choices. Do they want to support hedge fund-owned newspapers and news sites, or do they want to go support Berkeleyside and Oaklandside and some of the other digital startups that have tried to fill the void?

You have to fight for your freedoms, and you have to fight to preserve your rights.  Freedom of the press is not something that you should take for granted. You know, whether it’s a hedge fund taking it away or whether it’s the government. We all need access to information and knowledge.

I’m up on my soapbox, but I’m not dramatizing this. Our democracy is at stake. And it’s not a partisan issue. It shouldn’t be a partisan issue. I think it requires vigilance on all our parts.

Host: Larry Ryckman, Madeleine Bair, and Jacob Simas … When No News Is Bad News…

Nature-Based Solutions: A Cornerstone of Climate Action

Intensifying wildfires, droughts, floods, extreme heat, and biodiversity loss from climate change are not tomorrow’s problems — they are at our doorstep today. But nature has an extraordinary capacity to recover when we give it the space to do so. When the Klamath River was undammed, it took only 10 days for the salmon to come back. Reintroduced species such as beavers, gray wolves, and California condors have begun to rebound. When we work with nature and not against it, the potential for restoration is vast. 

By improving agricultural practices, restoring ecosystems, and integrating natural infrastructure into climate policy, we can enhance biodiversity, improve public health, and support sustainable communities. In this newsletter, hear from California Natural Resources Secretary Wade Crowfoot about the state’s commitment to nature-based solutions; from Indigenous rights and environmental advocate Amy Bowers Cordalis about the removal of dams on the Klamath River; and from three changemakers who are working to integrate land stewardship, conservation, and ecological restoration into California’s broader climate strategy. 


Want more news like this? Sign up for the Bioneers Pulse to receive the latest news from the Bioneers community straight to your inbox.


Wade Crowfoot – California’s Leadership in Nature-Based Solutions: Building Climate Resilience Through Ecosystem Restoration

California’s Natural Resources Secretary Wade Crowfoot says nature is finding its way into the work of governments, not only in California but around the world. “I call it hope with an action plan,” he says. In his presentation, Secretary Crowfoot addresses California’s commitment to nature-based solutions as a cornerstone of climate action and the importance of continued investment and collaboration to protect people, economies, and ecosystems. Crowfoot shares how California is harnessing the power of nature to tackle climate change and build resilience against wildfires, droughts, floods, and extreme heat.

Watch now


Amy Bowers Cordalis – The Water Remembers: Year Zero

In 2024, the removal of the four dams on the Klamath River marked a historic victory for an Indigenous-led movement, achieving the largest river restoration project in history. A revolutionary approach is underway, blending Indigenous knowledge, modern science, and sustainable practices, and the early results are remarkable — salmon are returning in unexpected abundance to spawning grounds that have been inaccessible to them for 100 years.

Amy Bowers Cordalis is a mother, fisherwoman, Executive Director of the Ridges to Riffles Indigenous Conservation Group and former General Counsel of the Yurok Tribe, which has played a major role in this struggle. In her presentation, she highlights the Indigenous values and lessons from the Klamath, showcasing nature-based solutions that heal the land, waters, and people while benefiting the economy. The goal is to restore the river as a living relative, ensuring its health for generations. 

Watch now


Putting the Land First: A Candid Conversation on Climate, Conservation, and California’s Future

As climate change intensifies, nature’s role in building climate resilience is moving from the margins to the center of public policy. In California, home to vibrant ecosystems and mounting climate threats, leaders are working to integrate land stewardship, conservation, and ecological restoration into the state’s broader climate strategy. With federal commitments in retreat, California’s bold approach offers a vital template for others to follow.

In this conversation, three changemakers working at the intersection of policy, land, and climate share their perspectives on what it takes to scale up nature-based solutions. Hear from Clesi Bennett, Senior Environmental Scientist at the California Natural Resources Agency; Torri Estrada, Executive Director of the Carbon Cycle Institute; and Juan Altamirano, Director of Government Affairs at the Trust for Public Land. Together, they explore the progress being made, the roadblocks still ahead, and why putting land first is essential to securing a just, livable future.

Read now


Giving Nature the Chance to Heal: More Nature-based Solutions from Bioneers 


Upcoming Bioneers Learning Courses 

Through engaging courses led by some of the world’s foremost movement leaders, Bioneers Learning equips engaged citizens and professionals like you with the knowledge, tools, resources, and networks to initiate or deepen your engagement, leading to real change in your life and community. 

Learn more 

The Super-sense of Canines: The Depth of Awareness Gained from Animal Companions 

George Bumann

Imagine being able to taste the sweetness of a tablespoon of sugar that has been dissolved into enough water to fill two Olympic-size swimming pools. Such a super-sense is what canines wield as they navigate a smellscape we can scarcely fathom. In the following excerpt from “Eavesdropping on Animals: What We Can Learn From Wildlife Conversations,” author George Bumann, an animal language expert, artist and naturalist, participates in the search-and-rescue training of a border collie–yellow Labrador retriever mix named Chapter. Through the experience, we are given a glimpse into Chapter’s powerful senses — as well as our own connections to the natural world and our place within it.

Bumann’s remarkable guide reveals what our ancestors knew long ago — that tuning in to the owl in the tree, the deer in the gully, and even our canine companions can tell us important information and help us feel connected to our wild community.

This excerpt has been reprinted with permission from “Eavesdropping on Animals: What We Can Learn From Wildlife Conversations” by George Bumann, published by Greystone Books, 2024.


Animal Senses

Secondhand knowledge gained through animal senses can be one of the greatest gifts to learning what is going on around us. Making use of the constellation of animal superpowers elevates our awareness severalfold. Even if we can’t see into the ultraviolet spectrum like an insect or respond to weak electrical impulses like a shark or feel fishes’ hydrodynamic trails like a seal, the behavior of other species gives us clues to what is going on in the more-than-human world. Although human olfaction is geared more for sniffing mangos and bananas than for huffing fumes off a drowned bison, as a bear does, for instance, we can ascertain the presence of a hidden carcass by closely watching a bear as it sniffs its way around an icy pond in early spring.

When teaching field-based classes, I sometimes motion with my arm as if waving an imaginary wand. I tell students they have been transformed into bison, coyotes, or harlequin ducks. Participants are then tasked with figuring out how to abide by unseen territorial boundaries, where to select the best grazing sites in a valley under several feet of snow, or when to set off on their continental-scale migrations. How would you navigate without a GPS, map, calendar, or compass? Where should you go and when would you leave? And how will you know when you get there?

Brief as it is, this thought experiment reveals the rift that exists between humans and the rest of the animal kingdom. Making a living in the wild is not child’s play, and without a trove of learned and inherited knowledge, animals wouldn’t know where to show up for breakfast, where to sleep, where to get a drink, who to trust, and who to avoid, and would probably end up being someone else’s lunch.

To survive in the wild requires superpowers. Some pet owners train their animal partners to hone the abilities they inherited from their wild forebears. Animal companions can understandably give us some idea of the depth of awareness available to their wild cousins and act as useful bridges between what wild and domestic messengers are telling us.

Bound for the mailbox one Saturday morning, my son, young George, and I have a chance encounter with our friend Colette Daigle-Berg. Colette, a former Park Service law enforcement ranger, is conducting search-and-rescue training with her female border collie–yellow Labrador retriever mix, Chapter, and Colette asks us if we would help with the day’s exercises. Although our formal introduction to Chapter is still a few hours away, we happily agree. Chapter’s name reflects the pup’s role in Colette’s life, as she embarked on her next life chapter following her retirement from her Park Service career. For our part, George and I are to create an interference pattern, an olfactory red herring, over a scent trail laid down by Colette’s assistant two hours earlier. In short, we are to complicate an otherwise simple path of odors and make things a bit more challenging for Chapter.

Though we are largely oblivious to it, each of us exists in an ever-present cloud of minute fragments that emanate from us like a microscopic ticker-tape parade.

Though we are largely oblivious to it, each of us exists in an ever-present cloud of minute fragments that emanate from us like a microscopic ticker-tape parade. Our unique clouds are partly composed of the roughly two hundred million skin cells we exfoliate each hour. We all resemble Pigpen, the character from Charles Schulz’s Peanuts cartoon with the persistent plume of grime billowing around him—as it billows around all of us, all the time. The chemicals in our sweat, combined with shed hairs, textile fibers, molecules of soap, detergent, and perfume, create a personal scent signature. This odor is a physical extension of our being, and we are leaving a lot of ourselves lying around for someone, or something, else to follow.

Chapter recovers avalanche casualties, drowning victims, and lost hikers for her job, and she depends on the invisible flotsam we generate. At times, the scent particles operate exactly like, well, particles. We might imagine them as minute sticky notes pointing the way. They adhere to the ground or to upright objects such as bushes, buildings, and fences. In other cases, odors behave more like fluids that eddy in, around, behind, and even through some of those very same objects. Scent can pool in low-lying areas such as a pit, a ditch, or a river bottom, and is further altered by each passing breeze.

A couple of hours after young George and I make our contributions to the smell-o-scape by hiking along in normal fashion, Chapter navigates the entire one-mile challenge course with ease. This was a walk in the park for her. Colette later shares with me a single black line on her GPS unit that shows where her human assistant walked through rolling hills and sagebrush, and back down to the road. Colette then shows me a blue line: the path that Chapter took. Chapter’s line lies atop the target person’s path almost exactly. There is a slight bobble at the beginning, where Chapter had to tease out our odors from that of the person she was supposed to find, but then she was off to the races. The only other discrepancies are periodic diversions of a few feet downwind. Chapter also cut off a wide, misleading tangent of about two hundred yards from the end of the exercise when she saw Colette’s assistant standing on the roadside; this, too, is part of the training. In the case of a person teetering on the edge of life, search-and-rescue dogs are taught to leave the scent trail and go straight to the individual whenever possible. 

As Chapter bounds down the dirt embankment and onto the road, young George erupts with a resounding, “Yay, Chapter. You did it!”

None of this would surprise anyone who has worked with scenting dogs. This is routine stuff. What Colette shares with me next, however, really blows my mind. 

Three years before our training run with Chapter, a man parked his car at a trailhead in Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, and never came back. Colette and several other dog handlers were asked to canvas a specific area in hopes of finding evidence of the missing man. They, too, failed. The hiker’s remains would later be found, based on an anonymous tip, in a spot far outside the established search area. During the search that did take place, Colette said Chapter found something far more unexpected than a lost hiker.

At one point, Chapter began signaling that she had found human scent near the roots of an overturned tree. The dutiful pup did a perfect “refind,” as Colette calls it—a trained response where Chapter places her front paws up on Colette then returns to the source of the scent and lies down next to it. This signal is the dog’s way of saying, “Look here, right here!” Colette could see nothing.

Moving closer to the exposed roots of the tree, Colette still found no evidence of human remains. It seemed as though Chapter might be mistaken for once. And when it appeared that her mom might lose interest and drift away, Chapter did something she had never done before in a situation like this—she barked. Chapter’s outburst was so odd that Colette took out her phone and shot some video footage. She shows me the clip as we talk about the encounter. Still feeling a bit unsure, Colette praised Chapter, rewarded her with a treat, and moved on.

On a hunch, Colette checked in with one of the resource specialists at park headquarters afterward. “Are there, by chance, any Native American burials in that area?” she asked. In a guarded way, the specialist answered in the affirmative. “Yes, yes, there are. We don’t typically talk about them, though.”

What made Chapter’s find so remarkable was that this “lost” person was not from a few years before, or even from this century. This area holds ancestral Puebloan burial sites that date back between eight hundred and twelve hundred years. Chapter was not sensing the recently departed. She was mingling with the ancients. What would it be like to go about your day with the odor of the ancestors from centuries, if not millennia, ago swirling around in your nostrils? The thought is nothing short of dizzying.

Dogs trained to smell cadavers focus on a cocktail of fatty acids emanating from decomposing flesh and bone. Dogs and other species that are hyper-focused on these chemicals can often detect them in concentrations of as little as one part per trillion. To get a handle on what that means, envision dissolving a tablespoon of sugar in a volume of water equivalent to two Olympic-size swimming pools and still being able to taste the sweetness—that is how good they are.

Chapter has put these same skills to use when locating drowning victims beneath dozens of feet of water, and in one case pinpointed a deceased man beneath a foot of river ice: human crews couldn’t locate the victim until they used ground-penetrating (in this case, ice-penetrating) radar. I have always maintained that if we could smell as well as our canine friends can, we would probably be down on our hands and knees sniffing the lawn, rocks, and fire hydrants right alongside them.

Lauri Travis, an associate professor of anthropology at Carroll College in Helena, Montana, has taken advantage of the powers of those canine noses in her paleontology and archeology work. Dogs are commonly used to find drugs and buried bombs, and even to detect estrus in cattle. Lauri is among a small group of researchers harnessing canine noses to learn about the past. Lauri’s work started in 2018 with Hannah Decker, an under-graduate student in zoology at Carroll, and a shelter-rescued border collie–Australian shepherd mix named Dax. At that time, Lauri was working on a ten-acre study site and was permitted to dig no more than three one-meter-by-one-meter test pits to search for artifacts. Their teamwork paid off, as Dax’s nose was able to help narrow down a vast field of possibilities; it would have been a multi-acre roll of the dice otherwise. Dax’s oldest find to date has been a five-thousand-year-old bone buried beneath fourteen inches of soil. No man-made device has yet been able to duplicate such feats.

Imagine extending this sort of lesson from domestic super-sniffers to more of our local wild informants. What else might we be able to find? Entire books are filled with examples of these super-senses from across the zoologic spectrum, and as I write these words, more are being discovered. Elephants decode long-distance, low-frequency vibrations through their feet. Certain migratory birds are probably able to see Earth’s weak magnetic field and use it as a navigational aid. Mice are crooning to their darlings in ultrasonic frequencies. Dolphins are reflecting sound off nearly identical objects to differentiate textures and materials. Eels are able to both stun prey and titillate their mates with their electrical pulses, and the list goes on.

Planet Earth is literally brimming with a faunal cornucopia of sensory talents.

Planet Earth is literally brimming with a faunal cornucopia of sensory talents. Who needs Marvel Comics when the non-humans living in your own house or flowerbed can manage parallel feats? Despite our nifty gadgets and techno smarts, we are no match for biological evolution, which has been picking the winners and killing off the rest across millions of years of research and development. When your life is on the line and dinner is not waiting on the table at the end of a long day, every detail counts. For a lizard that misses the shadow of a hawk slipping across the ground, a butterfly that overlooks the fact that the sun has disappeared behind mounting rain clouds, or a young male deer oblivious to the approach of a larger adversary, the consequences can be severe. Meeting your maker sooner than planned is a real possibility.

We humans have put a lot of effort into our game of one-upmanship with the rest of Earth’s biota, but more than anything, this one-sided view has stifled our ability to see what is actually there. Watch your cat or your parakeet, or the resident opossum or groundhog. Wait until you see it react to some kind of external stimulus. See if you can tell what brought its head to attention. What made it rotate its ears? What elicited a call? Look in the direction it is looking, then listen carefully for what it has heard. Draw air slowly into your nose on the chance that you can catch a whiff of something it found interesting.

I did this with wild turkeys each spring for a period of three or four years, logging each sound that triggered them to gobble. The final count of gobble-inducing noises climbed to over a hundred natural and man-made sounds. The noises ranged from overhead jets and barking dogs to banging car doors and thunder. The diversity of that list speaks to the level of attention turkeys have for their surroundings at all times. Not all of what they noticed was a matter of life or death, but to truly get to know their home, they needed to take it all in. And by watching them and making a note of the stimuli they were responding to, I not only got to see things I would have completely overlooked, but also began, finally, to see the world a little more closely from their point of view.

In a somewhat comical version of secondhand knowing through animal senses, we were sitting in the living room one evening when our Labrador Hobbes suddenly leaped to his feet and uttered a menacing growl in the direction of the kitchen. I rose to my feet to find he was focused on something in the vicinity of the stove. Was Hobbes cornering a phantom menace that was about to pounce? I soon realized that our trusty defender had finally spotted the fresh loaf of bread that Jenny had pulled out of the oven and placed on top of the stove to cool. Good boy, Hobbes.


This excerpt has been reprinted with permission from “Eavesdropping on Animals: What We Can Learn From Wildlife Conversations” by George Bumann, published by Greystone Books, 2024.

Putting the Land First: A Candid Conversation on Climate, Conservation, and California’s Future

As climate change intensifies, nature’s role in building climate resilience is moving from the margins to the center of public policy. In California, home to vibrant ecosystems and mounting climate threats, leaders are working to integrate land stewardship, conservation, and ecological restoration into the state’s broader climate strategy. With federal commitments in flux, California’s bold approach offers a vital template for others to follow.

In this conversation, three changemakers working at the intersection of policy, land, and climate share their perspectives on what it takes to scale nature-based solutions: Clesi Bennett, Senior Environmental Scientist at the California Natural Resources Agency; Torri Estrada, Executive Director of the Carbon Cycle Institute; and Juan Altamirano, Director of Government Affairs at the Trust for Public Land. Together, they explore the progress being made, the roadblocks still ahead, and why putting land first is essential to securing a just, livable future.

This article is excerpted and edited from the transcript of a panel discussion held at the 2025 Bioneers Conference, moderated by Ellie Cohen, CEO of The Climate Center.


Ellie Cohen

Ellie Cohen, CEO of The Climate Center: Let’s start with a broad question. What does the new administration in Washington mean for your work? How is it impacting you?

Torri Estrada, Executive Director of the Carbon Cycle Institute: Part of the Carbon Cycle Institute’s theory of change is working through existing agricultural conservation infrastructure, specifically resource conservation districts, or RCDs. These were originally established as federal agencies in the 1930s, but after some pushback, they became local agencies. They’re now local government entities, but they remain closely tied to the USDA and are often even co-located with federal offices.

To put it bluntly, in the past three months, we’ve experienced funding freezes and staff reductions within an already weakened federal agency. And I’ll just say it, because I’m an advocate: the USDA has been privatizing much of this work. Government staffing at the local level has been declining for years, which has forced local partners to pick up the slack. A lot of the work has shifted to cooperative agreements funded by the federal government.

This isn’t just happening in California; it’s happening across the U.S. These cuts are detrimental to our work, and we’ll need to rethink where funding and staffing come from, possibly exploring shared staffing models or new funding streams to fill the gap.

Now, with both the funding freeze and reduced staffing, even for administering grants, many of the core staff who provide day-to-day support to farmers are being impacted. And this isn’t just happening in California; it’s happening across the U.S. These cuts are detrimental to our work, and we’ll need to rethink where funding and staffing come from, possibly exploring shared staffing models or new funding streams to fill the gap.

Unfortunately, I don’t see much of an upside, except that in states where climate leadership is strong, where they’re actually funding agriculture as part of climate work, there’s at least a silver lining. I do some work in New York, where RCDs receive core operational funding. That provides a much-needed baseline for the work to continue. In other states that don’t have that, it’s going to be really challenging.

We’re just beginning to feel the effects, and I do think we’ll find ways to recover, but these kinds of cuts are hard to come back from.

Ellie: Torri, is it true that California is one of only two states in the country that doesn’t provide state funding for resource conservation districts?

Torri Estrada

Torri: Yes, that’s right. It’s ironic—California is the largest agricultural state in the country, yet some of our water and resource conservation districts receive no state funding. That means they have to rely almost entirely on project-by-project grants. Some do get support from local county tax bases, and there are a few encouraging examples like Marin County, which is now putting a significant amount of local Proposition funding toward agriculture and climate work. So that’s a bright spot.

In contrast, in New York, where I live, I can call my local resource conservation district anytime, and they’ll send someone out. Their lights, buildings, and staffing are all covered by core operational funding. California doesn’t have that, and we’re working to change it.

And I should add that it’s not just about RCDs. While they’re our primary partners, there’s a whole ecosystem of organizations—nonprofits, Conservation Corps, and others—that do this work on the ground. Still, RCDs and water conservation districts are a critical part of the infrastructure we need to invest in.

Ellie: Juan, how is the new administration affecting your work at the Trust for Public Land, especially given your focus on urban areas?

Juan Altamirano

Juan Altamirano, Director of Government Affairs at the Trust for Public Land: The biggest challenge we’re facing is the strain on state and local budgets. The federal government plays a major role in funding social services, and as that funding diminishes, local and state budgets feel the impact. Unfortunately, environmental services such as open space and green space aren’t typically seen as constitutionally protected core services. So when budgets shrink, those areas often take the hit.

That means less money is going toward maintaining parks and open spaces, just as demand for them is likely to grow. It’s not just local residents who rely on these places. When national parks are forced to close or cut back due to federal budget issues, we see an influx of visitors to state and local parks. But if those areas don’t have the funding to keep up with basic maintenance and services, the whole system starts to break down. It’s a really damaging trickle-down effect.

We’re also seeing this play out in land conservation work. Land acquisition is complex, and many of the people who’ve been doing this work for decades are starting to leave the field. When that expertise disappears, it’s a serious loss; these deals are difficult to navigate, and losing institutional knowledge makes it even harder to move conservation projects forward.

Ellie: Clesi, as someone working inside state government, you’re in a unique position to see how California is navigating this moment, from political shifts to implementation on the ground. What’s your perspective on how these changes are affecting your agency’s work and the broader climate landscape?

Clesi Bennett

Clesi Bennett, Senior Environmental Scientist at the California Natural Resources Agency: I really appreciate everything Torri and Juan shared. I’ll add that there’s still a lot of uncertainty. We’re trying to fully understand how staff reductions and budget cuts will affect our programs.

That said, California remains firmly committed to achieving our climate goals, even as the federal administration begins the process of withdrawing from the Paris Agreement and other national climate commitments. We’re staying the course on the targets we’ve set.

California voters passed a $10 billion climate bond last fall. That means we now have the privilege, and the responsibility, of putting those funds to work on real, on-the-ground projects across the state.

And I have to say, I’m feeling fortunate right now. As Juan mentioned, California voters passed a $10 billion climate bond last fall. That means we now have the privilege, and the responsibility, of putting those funds to work on real, on-the-ground projects across the state. So despite the challenges, there’s a lot of hope in this moment.

Ellie: Let’s talk about scaling up nature-based solutions. We know climate change is accelerating; 2024 was the first full calendar year with global average temperatures 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. California, as a major food producer, faces enormous challenges around water, land use, and resilience. How do we scale solutions quickly and effectively in this context? Juan, let’s start with you.

Juan: One thing that gives me hope is what we’re seeing at the ballot box. In November, there were 23 conservation-related ballot initiatives across the country, including here in California, and all 23 passed. That includes several in deeply conservative areas where the Republican presidential candidate won the majority of votes.

People are still willing to invest in their communities. They may not always identify their support as “climate” work, but with the right messaging, they’re voting for land, water, and wildfire resilience.

People are still willing to invest in their communities. They may not always identify their support as “climate” work, but with the right messaging, they’re voting for land, water, and wildfire resilience. One interesting trend is that wildfire has now overtaken clean water as the top environmental concern in public opinion. That’s a major shift from just ten years ago and reflects the growing urgency people feel.

At the Trust for Public Land, we really value ballot measures because they result in tangible outcomes: parks and green spaces people can see and use. While large-scale conservation is important, we can’t neglect urban areas. If people in cities don’t see or feel the benefits, they’re less likely to support broader conservation efforts. Reaching the urban core is essential to building public will and voter support.

Ellie: Torri, could you talk about how you’re working to scale nature-based solutions on agricultural lands in California and beyond?

Torri: Working in agriculture, I try to stay practical about how scale actually happens. We’re involved in state funding and bond measures, but at the end of the day, success depends on reaching individual farmers and land managers and getting them to act.

There’s already a strong groundswell of engagement, but the missing piece is democratizing the climate process. At the county level, we’ve done detailed mapping to assess the climate potential of working lands, then brought that data back to farmers to help them visualize what’s possible. For example, we might identify every denuded stream in a county and propose reforesting it. But then we have to ask: What does that mean for your stretch of land?

The key is empowering farmers to define what will work for their operation, family, and region.

The key is empowering farmers to define what will work for their operation, family, and region. That kind of work is already underway in many counties—from the Bay Area to San Diego—and when farmers are engaged early, they do show up and participate.

We also need to ask not just what we want farmers to do, but what they need in order to do it. For many, it’s access to equipment and financing. We recently helped pass an equipment-sharing program—something simple, but it removes a real barrier. Once a farmer can try a new practice and see its benefits, they’re more likely to innovate further.

Technical assistance is another major need, especially for small and medium-sized farms and farmers of color. If you’re a building owner installing solar, you don’t figure it all out alone; you get an energy audit. Farmers deserve that same level of support. Right now, California lacks robust infrastructure for providing farm-scale baseline information, financing analysis, and implementation support. But that infrastructure is beginning to grow.

A lot of funding is out there, it just hasn’t been organized around climate. We need smarter, countywide business planning that brings farmers together around shared practices and helps attract both public and private investment. I’m hopeful the USDA will continue to offer low-interest loans for on-farm improvements, many of which support climate outcomes. California’s opportunity is to get those projects aggregated and ready.

Not every farmer will join in. But enough will. Our job now is to invest in planning and pre-planning so we’re ready to meet this moment.

Ellie: Can you describe the RCD hub concept? That seems like a key part of scaling.

Torri: California has strong RCDs in about 60 counties. We’ve now organized them into seven regional hubs across the state. These hubs are designed to provide farmers with reliable, on-the-ground support: pre-planning, permitting, and project implementation. The idea is that when a farmer picks up the phone, someone’s there to help.

Just as importantly, these hubs give us a way to test and pilot different approaches. California is incredibly diverse, with over 160 agricultural products across a wide range of ecological and economic conditions. Cookie-cutter programs won’t work here. The hubs help us figure out what does work, share lessons learned, and adapt programs accordingly.

They also offer a feedback loop to the state: what’s effective, what’s not, and how programs can evolve. That kind of adaptive management is critical. We need to stay nimble, and we need the state to listen.

I’m also hopeful the hubs can help bridge political divides. Sometimes people assume farmers in more conservative areas won’t engage in climate solutions. But if they see the benefits—economic, ecological, practical—I think we’ll bring more people into the fold.

Ellie: Clesi, can you talk about what the state is doing to scale up nature-based solutions at a pace that matches the urgency of the climate crisis?

Clesi: A lot is happening across different fronts: funding and financing, policy development, capacity building, technical assistance, and improving science and data. We’re approaching this work from many angles, but I want to highlight three overarching strategies.

We need to stop thinking of nature and green spaces as “nice to have” and start recognizing them as essential infrastructure.

First is a mindset shift. We need to stop thinking of nature and green spaces as “nice to have” and start recognizing them as essential infrastructure. Just like sidewalks, curbs, and drainage systems have baseline public funding, urban trees and green spaces should too. They provide real, measurable benefits and need to be treated as core infrastructure in our communities.

Second is what we call a “big tent” approach. We’re working to integrate nature-based solutions across all sectors—not just natural resources, but education, transportation, energy, housing, public health, and more. Agencies and sectors that haven’t traditionally been part of the climate and conservation conversation are now coming to the table. For example, we’re working with the Department of Education on green schoolyards and with transportation and housing agencies on climate resilience. It’s about creating broad collaboration across government and beyond.

The third piece is workforce development. We’re going to need a much larger workforce to implement this work at scale—planners, designers, field crews, technical assistance providers. That means investing in programs that build the restoration and climate resilience workforce of the future. We’re supporting youth programs, local corps, and community college training to help build that pipeline now.

How Elephants Call Each Other by Name: Joyce Poole on a Lifetime of Listening

What if animals used names like we do — not just sounds, but unique vocal labels to call out to one another across the wild? A groundbreaking study recently confirmed that African elephants do just that, revealing one of the rarest forms of communication in the animal kingdom. For Dr. Joyce Poole, co-author of the study and Scientific Director of ElephantVoices, the discovery is part of a lifetime spent listening to elephants and decoding their rich, emotional world.

In this intimate conversation, Poole reflects on what first drew her to elephants as a child in East Africa, the pivotal moments that shaped her decades-long career, and what it means to truly hear and understand another species. From early discoveries of infrasound to the recent revelation of elephant “names,” Poole shares the wonder, heartbreak, and urgency of protecting these intelligent, socially complex beings.

Note: For listening to the audio clips included throughout, the use of headphones is recommended.

Filming elephants in Gorongosa, Mozambique, in 2012. Credit: ElephantVoices

What if animals used names like we do — not just sounds, but unique vocal labels to call out to one another across the wild? A groundbreaking study recently confirmed that African elephants do just that, revealing one of the rarest forms of communication in the animal kingdom. For Dr. Joyce Poole, co-author of the study and Scientific Director of ElephantVoices, the discovery is part of a lifetime spent listening to elephants and decoding their rich, emotional world.

Filming elephants in Gorongosa, Mozambique, in 2012. Credit: ElephantVoices

In this intimate conversation, Poole reflects on what first drew her to elephants as a child in East Africa, the pivotal moments that shaped her decades-long career, and what it means to truly hear and understand another species. From early discoveries of infrasound to the recent revelation of elephant “names,” Poole shares the wonder, heartbreak, and urgency of protecting these intelligent, socially complex beings.

Note: For listening to the audio clips included throughout, the use of headphones is recommended.

Bioneers: What first sparked your interest in elephants, and what has motivated you throughout your long career studying elephant behavior?

Joyce Poole: I was very fortunate to grow up in Africa. My family moved there when I was just six years old, and I met my first elephant in Amboseli. My family was living in Malawi at the time, and we drove all the way to Kenya in our Land Rover. I asked my father, “What would happen if the elephant charges at the car?” He said, “Well, it could squish the car down to the size of a pea pod.” We ended up being charged by the elephant, and I hid under the Land Rover seat, as my father stalled the car. As a six-year-old, it was pretty scary, of course, but also impressive. Growing up, we were often on safari during our school holidays, and I had lots of interactions with elephants, but that was the first.

Another key moment came when I was 11. I was lucky enough to go to a lecture by Jane Goodall at the National Museums of Kenya, and I turned to my mother then and said, “That’s what I want to do when I grow up: study animals.” My father was later offered a job back in Kenya, running the African Wildlife Foundation’s Nairobi office. At the time, I was 19 and had just finished my first year at university. I said, “Well, I’m not going to be left behind. I want to take a year off.” My parents agreed to that, so long as I applied myself to a worthwhile project. I was so lucky, because that worthwhile project turned out to be elephants in Amboseli, where I had first been charged by an elephant.

That was in 1975 at the beginning of a generation of behavioral ecologists. Iain Douglas Hamilton had just completed the first study of individually known wild African elephants, and Cynthia Moss, the woman who founded the Amboseli Elephant Research Project, was just beginning hers. I joined Cynthia in Amboseli. Being among the first to study individually known elephants meant there were countless discoveries waiting to be made. I soon found that male African elephants have a sexual cycle and come into a period of heightened sexual and aggressive behavior called musth. This phenomenon had been known about for centuries in Asian elephants, but those who came before me, all of whom were men, said it didn’t exist in African elephants. Cynthia and I documented musth in African elephants in a paper published in Nature in 1981. Making a major discovery at a young age and having my first publication in such a prestigious journal really propelled me forward.

Joyce photographed in Amboseli, Kenya, in 1989 with the JA elephant family. Credit: Bill Thompson

Joyce photographed in Amboseli, Kenya, in 1989 with the JA elephant family. Credit: Bill Thompson

“I thought it was so strange that these very aggressive, enormous animals were threatening me with a sound that I could barely hear.”

Bioneers: When did you start paying attention to the different types of sounds that elephants made and in what context they made them? 

Poole: During my early work on musth, I noticed that when musth males threatened me, they approached flapping their ears in a characteristic way, and making a kind of soft ga-dunk, ga-dunk, ga-dunk sound, like water flowing through a deep tunnel. At first, I was puzzled whether the sound I was hearing was a vocalization or just the vigorous flapping of their large ears. And I thought it was so strange that these very aggressive, enormous animals were threatening me with a sound that I could barely hear. Gradually, I realized that the ga-dunk-ga-dunk sound was a type of rumble vocalization. 

Listen to a musth-rumble:

While elephants are well known to trumpet and roar, their most common vocalizations are deep harmonic sounds known as rumbles. I named those made by males in musth, musth-rumbles. It was then, around 1984, that I began to suspect that elephants were producing some sound that we couldn’t hear. And it turned out that in addition to audible sound, they were producing very low-frequency sound below the level of human hearing. Females and calves are much more vocal than the males, and I became very interested in the huge variety of vocalizations they made and the contexts in which they gave them.

I was put in touch with Katy Payne, who studied humpback whales and co-produced “Songs of the Humpback Whale” with her then-husband, Roger Payne. Because of her work with whales, Katy had gotten a similar hunch about Asian elephants. While visiting a zoo, she became aware of this sort of fluttering sensation in her chest when she was in the presence of elephants. When I contacted her, she was preparing to return to the zoo with a microphone capable of recording very low-frequency sound. I told her that if she found that Asian elephants were producing infrasound, she should come to Kenya so we could record African elephants together. Her hunch about Asian elephants was correct and together Katy and I found that all of the different rumbles produced by adult African elephants contain infrasonic components — some are so loud and powerful that they carry several kilometers and others fall completely below the range of human hearing and can only be detected through the use of sensitive recording equipment and observed on spectrograms.

Bioneers: What were some of the first observations you made of elephants that made you suspect they addressed each other by calls akin to names? What do these calls sound like, and in what contexts are they typically used?

Poole: Females live in multi-generational families generally made up of several related adult females and their offspring, which can range from just a mother and her calves to up to 50 or more individuals. Elephant families are very tightly bonded. Like our human families, they’re not together all the time — they may split up for a couple of hours, a day, a week or more. When family members reunite after having been separated, they greet one another with a special rumble and greeting ceremony.

But when they’re apart, they use what we call contact rumbles to try to find one another. An elephant will give this very powerful rumble, often with the head raised and the mouth open, and will then listen afterwards. You’ll see the elephant spreading her ears and turning her head from side to side, trying to localize an answer. Often, we don’t hear that answer because the elephant that she’s calling may be quite far away, but we can pick it up on a spectrogram. It was through observing these contact calls and answers that I started to suspect that elephants might be using something like names for one another.

Listen to a greeting rumble:

“I started thinking, Well, does she have some way of directing that call to particular individuals? I thought then that maybe they had names for one another, but I didn’t dare suggest that.”

We would see an elephant give a contact rumble, and then observe one particular elephant answer, and everyone else in the group would carry on feeding or just ignore the calling elephant. At the time, I thought a contact rumble was a general call to the family, and so, I wondered why these elephants were ignoring her. Then maybe a half hour later, she would give another contact rumble, and somebody totally different would answer. I started thinking, Well, does she have some way of directing that call to particular individuals? I thought then that maybe they had names for one another, but I didn’t dare suggest that. In my book published in 1996, Coming of Age With Elephants, I wrote instead that perhaps they had some way of referring to particular individuals, such as a sister or an eldest daughter.

Then, in 1998, something interesting happened. I was told that some orphan elephants rescued by the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust were making a very weird sound that no one had ever heard before, and I was invited to record their voices. The Trust rescues orphaned baby elephants and slowly reintroduces them to the wild. These particular orphans were being kept in an enclosure at Tsavo National Park at night when, I was told, they made the sound. I’d been listening to elephants for so long, and I was quite skeptical that it was a sound that I hadn’t heard before. I went to the enclosure with my recording gear, and dusk fell. Suddenly, there was this weird didgeridoo sound. Woooooouuuu. It lasted about 14 seconds. “What was that?” I asked.

Joyce recording elephants in Amboseli, Kenya, circa 2000. Credit: ElephantVoices

I just couldn’t believe it. I recorded from the orphans for several nights. I began to notice that when I had my earphones on, I was finding it difficult to differentiate between the sounds the elephants were making and the drone of the trucks on the Mombasa road three kilometers away. I thought, This is really weird. Are these elephants imitating trucks? gain, I thought, No, I can’t go and tell people elephants are imitating trucks. It’s too strange. No one would believe me. It was some years later, in 2004 or so, that Angela Stöeger, who also studies elephant communication, got in touch with me.

Listen to a truck-like call:

Recorded in Tsavo East, Kenya, as part of The Elephant Ethogram: A Library of African Elephant Behavior

She was working at the Vienna Zoo, where an African male elephant was housed together with two Asian females. She wrote to tell me that it appeared that the male African elephant was imitating the chirping sounds that are distinct to Asian elephants. She sent recordings of the sounds they were making. The chirp made by Asian elephants is an ark-ark-ark sound, and this male African elephant was definitely chirping. It was lower in frequency, but it was definitely an attempt to copy these females.

Angela asked if I’d ever heard anything like that. I said, “Oh my God, I have all these recordings of elephants that I think are imitating trucks.” We approached Peter Tyack and Stephanie Watwood, who studied vocal imitation in dolphins. Together, we wrote a paper, which was published in Nature in 2005, showing that elephants are capable of vocal learning.

Mickey Pardo, who led the elephant names study, was aware of our earlier work and questioned why elephants have this ability to create or imitate sounds and how they might use this ability in their daily lives. That’s part of what prompted the study.

“This ability to create and use names really expands elephants’ expressive power . . . It requires individuals to make an abstract connection between a sound and a referent.”

Bioneers: How do the “vocal labels” used by elephants differ from the imitative calls used by dolphins and parrots, and what does it indicate about their cognitive abilities?

Poole: Although elephants can imitate, we found no indication that they were imitating one another in these cases. We found the strongest evidence of vocal labels in contact rumbles and in the rumbles that mothers and allomothers give to infants. Considering that infants haven’t even learned how to rumble yet, the females couldn’t be imitating them. This ability to create and use names really expands elephants’ expressive power, because vocal labels are arbitrary, rather than imitations of the animal they’re calling. Most human words are arbitrary, and that arbitrariness is really crucial to language, because it enables communication about referents that are not dependent on imitating and could be more cognitively demanding. It requires individuals to make an abstract connection between a sound and a referent.

Elephant families split and reunite. In Amboseli, Kenya, the GB family members wait for the rest of the family to catch up before crossing to the plains to the swamp. Credit: ElephantVoices

Elephant families split and reunite. In Amboseli, Kenya, the GB family members wait for the rest of the family to catch up before crossing to the plains to the swamp. Credit: ElephantVoices

Bioneers: You’ve studied the importance of social learning and role models in elephant society and have documented that large adult males in musth can influence the occurrence of musth in younger males. Can you describe the destructive behavior that was being engaged in by a group of cull orphans and what changed after large males were introduced to the population?

Poole: In South Africa, it used to be common practice to cull elephant populations. For example, wildlife managers would decide that Kruger National Park should only have X number of elephants. Each year, they would do a count, and if there were “too many”, they would kill the excess. It’s pretty horrific. The practice involved rounding up families and shooting them from helicopters, often with scoline, a drug that immobilized them but left them cognizant. Then they would land the chopper and kill them. But they would leave calves between two to four years old alive. They then rounded up these youngsters and used them to repopulate, or as founders in new national parks or private game reserves. Basically, people could buy these baby elephants to start their own elephant population.

Fifty-one such babies were dumped in Pilanesberg National Park in the early 1980s and left there to fend for themselves without any older individuals. It was really a bad experiment. These young elephants ran around in a band together. When the males became teenagers, some started coming into musth early and became very aggressive. In a normal population, males come into musth when they are 25-30 years old, and each male is on his own sexual cycle. The older a male is, the higher his rank, the longer he stays in musth. Older males suppress musth in younger individuals. But in Pilanesberg, there were no older males.

Teenage males who had experienced extreme trauma as calves and had grown up without role models started coming into musth. They started mounting rhinoceroses and killing them. They began attacking vehicles. There were a lot of really aggressive incidents happening. In addition to the trauma and lack of role models, there were no older musth males to suppress musth in the younger individuals. The wildlife authorities contacted me and asked if I had any idea what to do. I suggested that they bring in a couple of older males from Kruger, and that solved the problem.

A musth male in Gorongosa, Mozambique. Credit: ElephantVoices

“Where you really see the importance of older matriarchs is when a family faces a threat. Then there is no doubt who the leader is as the family runs to her side and follows her lead.”

Bioneers: You’ve also been involved in studies that have shown the importance of older matriarchs in decision-making. What’s an example of how matriarchs influence the decisions of other elephants?

Poole: Elephant families are pretty democratic. Anyone can suggest a course of action using a “let’s go” rumble, pointing her body in the direction she wants to go and engaging in a series of other gestures indicating her wish to depart. While matriarchs and older adult females most often engage in this behavior, younger females, who play an important leadership role in the family, also try to influence where the family goes on a particular day. Often, though, the matriarch will just slap her ears very hard against her body, like, “Heads up, guys, I’m taking off,” and then she just heads off, and they’re expected to follow — if they want to stick with her.

Listen to a “let’s go” rumble:

Where you really see the importance of older matriarchs is when a family faces a threat. Then there is no doubt who the leader is as the family runs to her side and follows her lead. We saw this extraordinary teamwork on a daily basis in Gorongosa, Mozambique, where the elephants we studied still felt threatened by people a quarter of a century after the population had been decimated for their ivory during the civil war.

We have also found that elephant families with young matriarchs gravitate toward and join up with families with older matriarchs and follow their leadership. Likewise, Caitlin O’Connell has found that in groups of males, younger individuals follow the calls and leadership of older individuals.

In a study led by Graeme Shannon and Karen McComb, we used playbacks of contact rumbles recorded in Amboseli and Pilanesberg to look at the decision-making abilities of elephants in the two populations. Females in intact Amboseli families led by older matriarchs were much better at social discrimination than females in Pilanesburg, where families were led by young elephants who had been exposed to extreme trauma and orphaned by culling. Our work showed that key decision-making abilities that are fundamental to elephant societies can be significantly altered by the long-term exposure to severely disruptive events such as culling and translocation.

In Gorongosa, Mozambique, elephants Valente, and other family members engage in a highly coordinated group charge that lasted close to eight minutes. Credit: ElephantVoices

In Gorongosa, Mozambique, elephants Valente, and other family members engage in a highly coordinated group charge that lasted close to eight minutes. Credit: ElephantVoices

Bioneers: ElephantVoices maintains a database of elephant sounds and gestures, the Elephant Ethogram, which documents around 400 elephant behaviors including written descriptions, sounds, photographs and more than 2,400 video examples. What are the main goals of this initiative? 

Poole: Since my early study of musth, I’ve been interested in how elephants signal to one another, both their vocal communication and their body language. I have published numerous papers describing many of these vocalizations and gestures and given them names — such as ear-folding, ear-waving, musth-rumble, let’s-go-rumble, ear-lifting, etc, but it is hard for other people to understand exactly what I am describing through just the written word or via a spectrogram. Likewise, other scientists have described elephant behavior using different terminology. I felt that there was a need to document elephant behavior with video so that we could use a common language to understand what we were observing.  

My husband and ElephantVoices co-founder and CEO, Petter Granli, and I had long studied elephants in Amboseli and the Maasai Mara in Kenya, where elephants are very habituated to people. Then in 2012, we went to work in Gorongosa in Mozambique, where 90% of the elephant population had been killed for their ivory during the 1977-1992 Civil War. They were shot from helicopters, shot from vehicles — and they really didn’t like people. We witnessed an extraordinary array of defensive behaviors that we didn’t typically see in Amboseli and the Mara. How they were signaling to one another was extraordinary and complex.

Joyce and her husband Petter at work filming and recording elephant behavior in Gorongosa, Mozambique, in 2016. Credit: ElephantVoices

“I have this knowledge that I carry with me, and I love to share what I’ve learned. I’m happy for people to understand these extraordinary creatures with whom we share the planet.”

In 2012-2013, we were involved in the making of a five-part series, Gorongosa Park: Rebirth of Paradise, that was filmed by my brother, Bob Poole. In an agreement with the producers, ElephantVoices was given permission to use the raw footage for science and education. Later, we made a similar arrangement with the footage my brother shot in the Mara about a family of elephants that we were studying, and Petter and I returned to Amboseli to document all the reproductive behavior with video. Armed with some 13 terabytes of footage, we began to make clips of all of the behaviors we’d named and documented over the years and to see what else we would find as we scrolled through the footage. 

And why? Because here I am, I’m almost 70. I have this knowledge that I carry with me, and I love to share what I’ve learned. I’m happy for people to understand these extraordinary creatures with whom we share the planet. I think it is important. I don’t want someone else to have to start from scratch again. Also, when you read a scientific paper, there’s typically no video to demonstrate the behavior described, and usually the paper focuses on just a few behaviors. The communication that defines elephants is more than just a couple of sounds and a couple of behaviors. It’s incredibly complex, and we wanted to take a stab at documenting everything that we were aware of. In addition to the Elephant Ethogram, we also have a separate offline database that contains elephant vocalizations. At the moment, we’ve got around 11,000 records of individually known elephants giving calls in particular contexts.

Rumble-Roar

Context: Coalition Building

From the Elephant Ethogram

An adult female and two tuskless calves, one about four and the other about 6 are feeding on grass. As we drive up we are unaware that another four year old – the son of the female on the left is separated from the family about 50 meters away and it is probably concern about him that stimulates their response. They react to us in a dramatic fashion, initiated by the larger tuskless juvenile female who Rumble-Roars twice. The other tuskless calf seems to Rumble-Roar, too. The mother on the left Head-Shakes and Trumpets and the other adult female comes running over to help, also Trumpeting.

Read More

These are what we would call Social-Trumpets. They Bunch and the two mothers Stand-Tall, Rumbling and Reach-Touch one another and continue to Rumble. The female on the right Trumpets again. The older tuskless reaches Trunk-to-Mouth to the littler one. They Listen. The mother on the right reaches Trunk-to-Mouth to her tuskless calf. The older tuskless touches the younger again, too. They begin feeding again, but continue Rumbling.

We move the car and the female who is missing her male calf Rumbles and then Listens as we stop. Her male calf suddenly comes into frame – we have been hearing him give Separated-Rumbles. He walks to his mother and begins Suckling and then they all move off. The initial behavior and vocalizations are what we call the catch-all term ”Bonding-Ceremony”.

This short video from Amboseli National Park, Kenya, is part of The Elephant Ethogram: A Library of African Elephant Behavior.

Bioneers: What could a deeper understanding of elephants, including elephant communications and behaviors, mean for conservation and the protection of elephants?

Poole: In the years that I’ve been studying elephants, we’ve gone from people thinking that you can just hunt them as you like, or round them all up and kill them, or send them off to a zoo, or use them in the circus. Even moving them around in captivity or across the world, as if they’re furniture, without regard to their individual trauma, the impact on families, and the consequences for their survival. But based on the long-term studies of individually known elephants and their families, studies that have now been going on for 50 years, we’ve learned so much about elephants as individuals and about the devastating consequences of the ways we’ve treated them.

“I think the idea that elephants have names for one another really struck people quite deeply. It is a novel concept for us humans to imagine, but think of it — why shouldn’t they? Mothers and daughters live together for perhaps close to 50 years. They care about one another.”

The more we learn, the more understanding we have of them. It wasn’t so long ago that people said to me, “What? Elephants communicate?” I think people thought, Well, humans communicate, but animals don’t talk to one another. They just make sounds that don’t have any kind of meaning. But now people have begun to realize that the sounds that elephants and other species make hold meaning. I hope that by understanding them, we will be better at seeing their perspective, better at sharing the little remaining space on this planet with them.

Regarding the recent study, I think the idea that elephants have names for one another really struck people quite deeply. It is a novel concept for us humans to imagine, but think of it — why shouldn’t they? Mothers and daughters live together for perhaps close to 50 years. They care about one another. They live in a fission-fusion society like ours — going their separate ways on the savannah, and to find one another, they call each other by name.

If they can create and use names for one another, what stops them from creating and using place names, object names, and names for predators? What stops them from creating words or sounds — whatever you want to call them — that help them to navigate their increasingly complex world? Now they are not just living with other wild species on the plains, but are having to navigate an increasingly complex environment in which there are humans.

We know from watching their behavior and also from satellite collar data that they are very finely tuned into our movement. They listen in. They know when people go to sleep. They know when it’s safe to leave the boundaries of the park. They learn really, really quickly. They’re also smart enough to cooperate on crop raiding expeditions, to short electric fences, to avoid the full moon when humans are more active.

In addition to their sizeable brains and complex social behavior, they’re endowed with some talents that we don’t have. For example, with their incredible sense of smell, they know when the onions underground are perfectly ripe. They use all their senses — their extraordinary sense of smell and hearing, and the ability to pick up vibrations through their feet — to monitor us and outsmart us. If we want to live together with them, side by side, it’s probably wise for us to try to understand them.

Chocolate Rebellion: Elevating Historically Oppressed Cacao Farmers and Their Communities

This article was written by Gillian Goddard. Gillian grew up in the Caribbean Island of Trinidad at a time when many local cacao plantations had been abandoned. After studying at Stanford University, she returned to Trinidad and became a community organizer and social entrepreneur focused on circular economy and regenerative farming as ways to elevate rural communities. Goddard developed a cooperative network of small chocolate entrepreneurs sharing skills and working together. That network has spread to 11 nations on multiple continents. This article is an edited version of a talk Gillian gave at a Bioneers Conference. [Note: The cacao plant produces a seed or bean that is processed into cocoa which is the main ingredient in chocolate. However, sometimes cacao and cocoa are used interchangeably.]


The Spanish were the first European colonizers in Trinidad. Under their colonial system, it was illegal to make furniture. Trinidad had to send the wood to Spain where the furniture was made and then shipped back to the Caribbean. For the most part, that model is used today for chocolate in most cacao growing countries. About 75% of cacao is grown by black hands, which means Africans or descendants of Africans, but only 5% of Black people are involved in value-added cocoa production. That’s what colonization looks like.

Colonies were not really encouraged, incentivized or allowed to do anything with their product. That is how Europe got rich. I always tell people I don’t need reparations. Just give me the difference between the price of cacao beans and the price of chocolate that has been produced for 300 years in Switzerland, and I will be satisfied with that.

Decolonizing Chocolate

So in 2014, I co-founded the Alliance of Rural Communities (ARC) that operates in the Caribbean, mainly in Trinidad, but also in Tobago, St. Lucia, and Guyana. ARC supports communities to develop collective chocolate production facilities in their regions so they can earn a much higher income than exporting the raw material, the cocoa beans.

At the time, I had an organic shop and all the cocoa was imported. I asked myself why in a region where cacao beans are grown are we importing cocoa? I, like almost everyone else in Trinidad, had never tasted local chocolate. It would be like an American never having eaten apple pie.

So my partner and I started making chocolate in our rented home. We had a small machine in the bedroom. It was the only room with air conditioning. Within a month we called some friends in a cacao growing village and said to send four young adults to our house to help and learn how to make chocolate.

I say this because people have the idea that there’s some lofty state you have to be in to make major change. But that’s actually when you don’t make change. When people see what I do, they often copy it because it looks so accessible. If you have a grandiose plan that needs hundreds of thousands of dollars, that looks unreachable. Regular people won’t do that. So we started training people from different local communities, and eventually those people started their own small chocolate enterprises.

We realized that you can transfer skills, but if people don’t have a car, if they don’t know anybody in the big stores, if they have the wrong accent, nobody is going to put their chocolates on the shelf. So skills transfer is often useless if you don’t have all those other things. So we now have a car, we have a delivery person, they pick up from the community enterprises, we buy spare parts together, we buy labels together. We do most things together.

It’s kind of a franchise model. Nature does franchises. A forest is a forest is a forest. It has regional variations but there’s a basic framework. Nature is very efficient and replicates things. So, we copy nature as much as we can, and we gradually grew a network.

We started a small marketplace and small innovation centers in the communities. What that looks like is individual chocolate mini-enterprises, a marketplace community, and craft companies. Most Caribbean countries import 90% of their food and drink, but we have a hundred percent local food catering operation. We did about 156 events last year.

We also started a conservation NGO because we wanted to be accountable. It was not some outside enterprise, it’s us local folks. We also have ARC destinations for conservation tourism. With all of this, we have a diversified system. But during COVID the tourism fell to zero because Trinidad closed our borders for two years. Sales for the community chocolate companies dropped. But the marketplace jumped up, and filled the space. That’s why you have to have diversity in a system, just as nature does.

The Network Expands to Africa

During COVID, I went on Instagram to find out who’s growing cacao outside of Trinidad. I reached out to a woman in Malawi who had expressed interest in learning how to make chocolate. And then somebody from Uganda sent me a WhatsApp message saying that a person from Trinidad told him to get in touch with me to learn how to make chocolate. Those were the first two people. Two weeks later, we had people from 14 countries on the phone and a Pan-African movement of chocolate began within two weeks. In October I said, “Let’s do a Christmas box.” We had to send machines to most people, teach them on Zoom how to make chocolate, package the product, create branding and get it to the US.

On Christmas Eve, we sent out 200 boxes with 12 chocolates each from a different country. It was pretty exciting. For the American bar, we mixed all the other bars together and called it the Melting Pot Bar. 

That was an amazing example of how, with almost no money, we could make something like that happen. That network of cooperation is now called The Cross Atlantic Chocolate Collective and is similar to the model of the ARC network. We now have a producer hive, which includes Global North countries that don’t grow cacao. They are setting up cafes and a wholesale network.

Sharing the Culture of Chocolate

Cacao is a crop native to the tropical regions of the American hemisphere that is now grown mainly in Africa. Part of our goal, as people from the place of the origins of cacao, was to ally with Africans and share the culture and process of chocolate making. One of my father’s early memories is grating a hard stick of cocoa and some spices into milk and dipping cassava bread into it, and that was a full meal. Some variation of that drink has been enjoyed for 5000 years by the people of the native cacao growing regions.

In the first classes we did in the Cross Atlantic Chocolate Collective, it was very clear that not a smidgen of culture had been transferred with the crop.

Many Africans did not know that cocoa turned into chocolate. The people in our network said they had begged commodity traders and chocolate makers who were visiting them to show them some of the process and were repeatedly refused. There was no sharing going on. So we are attempting to do that to make a gesture of connection.

We are creating a model based on the idea that I am going to give you what I have no matter the consequences to me. That is what I call ethics and what I call bravery.

The Cross Atlantic Chocolate Collective is a network of cooperatives. Ghana has an 806-women cooperative. Cameroon has 2000 people in cooperatives who work together. Côte d’Ivoire has a 310-person cooperative. St. Lucia has a women’s collective. The other people involved are generally entrepreneurial individuals of African heritage. We are sharing information and teaching each other. The Chocolate Hive in the US is made up of a group in East Cleveland, a group in Memphis and a group in Chicago. We have a few other places that we’ve started to work with as well.

The goal was to have African-Americans, especially in legacy African-American communities who were not traditionally engaged in the chocolate world, benefit economically by participating in this network.

Hopefully each one will end up with a cafe selling the products and also selling products from their own community following the model that we have in Trinidad. We have branded Cross Atlantic as Chocolate Rebellion and now we are seen as experts because many skill-sharing projects have failed. They don’t usually work for any length of time.

We want to also control distribution transportation. In our experience with ARC, using people who think differently about the world has not worked for us. So, we are building a 300 ton sailboat to move our products around the Atlantic. We’ve tested it by sending cacao beans to Cornwall, England, and chocolate and cocoa butter to Barbados. We are now developing the markets so we can fill the boats.

We did an event in three African countries in Cameroon, Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana; three Caribbean countries: St. Lucia, St. Kit, San Neeva, Trinidad; Columbia; two places in the US: Memphis, East Cleveland; and in Paris, London and Copenhagen. So what we want to do is make sure we have enough product that by the time we build the boat, we can fill it.

A Cultural Movement Using Nature as a Model

I consider this a cultural movement because it’s the culture that has been stolen from us, not just the cargo. And when I say us, I mean regular people who are not big shipping magnates who are billionaires sending stuff all over the world. We are working with a Brazilian woman and a Canadian guy who are doing decarbonized shipping. We are working with two Danish master students who are doing route optimization, a marine architect in the Caribbean, and others.

There are still gaps that have to be addressed, but it was only ten years ago that we started in the Caribbean with ARC and only three years ago in Africa with the Cross Atlantic Chocolate Collective. Currently there are thousands of people involved. I would say the maximum amount of money that has been spent to train all these people and get equipment is not even $70,000.

It’s amazing how much you can do with a little, if you create a model that imitates the efficiencies of the natural world. We do it by moving away from commodity-scale and monoculture thinking to a polyculture way of thinking. By mimicking a forest, we build redundancy  and diversity into the model, and into the funding.  We are creating relationships between people as we shift and dodge and move the same way the natural world moves.

Investing in the Sustainability of Cacao Farmers to Make Distinctive Chocolate

The global chocolate commodity market is tarnished by a history of exploitation of cacao farmers and laborers that persists to this day. The TCHO (pronounced chō) chocolate company opposes exploitative business practices by working directly with global partner farmers and scientists to co-create unique flavored chocolates by investing in the sustainability of cacao-producing communities in South America, the Caribbean and Africa.

This article was written by Laura Sweitzer, Director of Sustainability and Strategic Sourcing for TCHO. Prior to joining TCHO, Sweitzer spent 5 years working on coffee quality improvement projects in Latin America, Africa, and Asia. She has extensive real-world experience internationally in farmer capacity building, developing sustainable supply chains and ethical sourcing. This article is an edited version of a talk Laura gave at a Bioneers Conference. [Note: The cacao plant produces a seed or bean that is processed into cocoa which is the main ingredient in chocolate. However, sometimes the words cacao and cocoa are used interchangeably.]


In the global chocolate industry, there are some contradictions in the way business is done. Some companies have a head of sustainability that does outreach in schools, etc, and talks about their goals for the environment and the community. But the job of the person in charge of sourcing is to purchase cocoa as cheaply as possible. At TCHO our assessment of that structure is that the two positions essentially work against each other. Our main lever for achieving our environmental and sustainable livelihood objectives is our contracts. We not only cover the cost of production for cacao farmers, but offer a price that allows them to invest in their crops and processes enabling them to purchase new drying beds, lab equipment, etc.

The thing I love about my position as the director of sustainability and strategic sourcing is when I sign our contracts for cocoa, sugar, etc., I do that within the framework of TCHO’s sustainability goals.

I grew up on a farm in northeastern Indiana. We grew crops–corn and soy–that are considered commodities. The simplest definition I can give of a commodity is one ton of soybeans is treated as interchangeable with another. The price assigned to commodities does not take into consideration the cost to produce them or any other factors. The price is left to international markets and out of the farmer’s hands. Generally, cacao is also treated as a global commodity.

Cacao grows 20 degrees north and south of the equator. We work with cacao grown in Ecuador, Peru, the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Ghana, Democratic Republic of Congo and Madagascar.

Flower of the Cacao tree

Cacao’s Distinct Flavors

Among TCHO’s products are chocolate from single origin cacao from a cooperative in Ghana, and another from a cooperative in the San Martin region of Peru, as well as a third product that is a blend of the two sources.

TCHO was founded with the intention of offering the distinct flavors intrinsically found in cacao. Different flavors can be found in various genetics of cacao. TCHO began with four single-origin products, each featuring a distinct flavor found in cacao from those regions.

When we started, we did not have the relationships with our supply chain that we have today. The products were launched without fully thinking through the replicability of producing a bar over and over that features a particular flavor. The supply chain, at that time, was not focused on flavor.

As I mentioned, I grew up on a farm that grew soybeans. We didn’t turn the soy into products and taste them first. We sold them specifically based on physical parameters. When TCHO first started, that was also how our supply chain was selling cacao. Even today, most of the world’s cacao is traded solely based on physical characteristics. When we launched a chocolate bar that was supposed to feature fruity notes, we would receive 20 samples and reject 19 until we found ones that tasted fruity. That’s very inefficient.

So an initiative that has been a joy for TCHO is installing mini bean–to-bar chocolate-making labs at cocoa research Institutes as well as in the headquarters of the various cooperatives that we work with.

Economic Justice for Cacao Growers

We provide sensory analysis training so our partner farmers can reach our standard on quality. And when they do, we pay a quality premium over the Fair Trade and the organic premiums. That premium recognizes all of the additional work that’s necessary to produce a flavor-specific cacao consistently. As a result, I’ve not rejected a sample of fruity flavored cacao in over seven years.

Historically the price paid to the cacao farmer is extremely low. The premium TCHO pays recognizes that the commodity market price for cacao is extractive and not sustainable for the farmer. TCHO has also provided premiums for programmatic work. For example, the European Union Deforestation Regulation requires mapping of all cacao farms that sell to EU nations to demonstrate that they are not linked to deforestation. So agronomists, who normally support farmers with crop issues and problems, were spending all their time on mapping. So, we provided a three-year temporary premium for additional agronomy support to farmers.

Awenade Cocoa Farmers Cooperative, Ghana

Working with the same network of people for almost 20 years in mutually beneficial relationships is key to building a strong supply chain for a company located in Berkeley that’s purchasing cacao from farmer-owned cooperatives and roasters in other countries.

Each year we review the prices to our suppliers to keep that discussion at the forefront. Currently the market price of cocoa is at a record high. TCHO still needs cacao that’s organic and Fair Trade with specific flavor profiles. So we continue to pay above-market prices even in a high market.

The Treasured Theobroma Cacao Tree

The cacao tree (Theobroma cacao) is a cauliflory tree. That means the pods grow from all the surfaces, from the trunk and large branches. Where I grew up in the Midwest, I was not used to this style of fruit tree. I was used to trees with apples that just grow at the tips of the branches.

When the cacao tree blooms, the flower is pollinated by a small moth called the coco midge. If the cacao is pollinated, a little pot appears, and if it’s not pollinated, the flower will fall to the ground. There is a lot of diversity in cacao pods even on one farm, and even more so at a regional level. That diversity can affect flavor, as well as resistance to diseases or pests. 

It’s a lot of work to grow and tend the cacao tree to keep it healthy. In the warm, rainy, tropical regions where cacao grows, there are many diseases that can spread from tree to tree. Brazil used to be the world’s largest producer of cacao until they had a major outbreak of a disease called Witches’ broom that devastated hundreds of thousands of hectares of cacao in a relatively short period of time.

That’s just one historic example of how quick diseases that affect cacao trees can spread and how much work it is on behalf of the farmer to address those diseases at the source of the problem and have a resilient farm.

Making Chocolate: It Starts with Fermentation

After the ripe pod is harvested, it is opened and inside are the seeds (also referred to as cocoa beans), which are covered with a fruit pulp.

The seeds are scooped out and, for most cacao (not all), the next step is fermentation. The fermentation process can be done in a few ways. One of the ways is to wrap the cocoa bean in banana leaves or another leaf that’s flavor neutral and occasionally aerate them. Natural yeasts feed on the sugar in the pulp and in five to seven days, depending on your protocol and your climates, the cacao beans will be fermented.

White pulp surrounds the coca beans in cacao pods

The fermented cocoa beans are then dried. All of it is a laborious process, with each step a huge inflection point for flavor. You can change the acidity based on how you ferment and /or how you dry the beans. There are endless combinations of how the work is done and what results you get. Fast drying in the full sun, or slower drying with cover will have two very different flavors. 

Once the beans are dried, and we approve cocoa that is the right flavor profile, it’s time to roast it. One of the things I’m most proud about TCHO’S model is we do not roast cocoa at our headquarters in Berkeley. 90% of our cocoa is roasted in the same country that it is grown in.

The roasted cocoa bean is ground up and turned into cocoa liquor. Cocoa liquor is the term we use for a cocoa bean that’s been roasted and ground. The fat is solid at room temperature. That’s what allows us to have a chocolate bar.

TCHO’s strategy is to partner with strong functional farmer-owned cooperatives who do this labor, who understand the plant, and who are the leaders for all of the steps in the process.

The cocoa liquor, cocoa butter (the fat from the cocoa bean), and cocoa powder are sent to Berkeley where we produce the finished product. We take the cocoa liquor and cocoa butter and grind them down to a very smooth particle, and that is put in various molds depending if the chocolate is going to chefs or made into bars.

An Inclusive Process Driven by Flavor and Relationship

It’s through dark chocolate and fans of chocolate with high cacao content that we find a shared joy for exploring all the different ways cacao can taste.

We use that enthusiasm for offering cacao not as a commodity, but as a product that acknowledges different flavors. It’s not interchangeable. One container or one bag of cacao is very different from the next. TCHO values those differences and rewards the growers for those differences. We have flavor labs in which everyone in the supply chain is tasting the product. We partner with national research institutes in both Ghana and Ecuador for support and leadership in those countries for what cocoa genetics are being shared as options to plants. We emphasize calibration of taste buds as an ongoing learning process. We calibrate our taste buds with our cacao-producing partners and researchers, but if you don’t taste together for a year or so, we will lose that.

Florence Deglo, Flavor Lab Technician at the Cocoa Research Institute of Ghana pours freshly roasted cocoa beans into a bean breaker. One of several steps in the cocoa liquor and chocolate production process.

We learned that flavor is cultural. We had a lot of discussions in the beginning where, for example, I would say this tastes like blueberries and maple syrup. And my partner in San Martin, Peru would say, “We don’t have either of those things here.”

So we talk a lot about flavor families that bring common taste references for the region that the particular cooperatives we’re working with are in.

We’ve had the privilege of hosting several larger tasting summits that bring our whole supply chain together. Our partners from Ghana, from the Caribbean, and from South America, all come together sharing flavor references, sharing tips for tasting, and calibrating our pallets and co-developing tools for tasting. Building those systems in cacao with the same individuals who grow cacao has been a really great way for us to build a shared language around flavor. Each month we have a Zoom call and taste together. It’s a fantastic way to keep the relationships strong.

Protecting Our Blue Planet: Stories of Hope for World Oceans Day

The ocean covers more than 70% of the Earth’s surface and is home to the majority of its wildlife. From jellyfish and giant squid to deep-sea crustaceans, sharks, sea turtles, marine mammals, and tens of thousands of fish species, its biodiversity can mystify and amaze. 

The ocean produces at least 50% of the planet’s oxygen, plays a core role in regulating the climatic system, and provides food to more than a billion people while supporting the livelihoods of millions more. We truly do live on a water planet. Yet this vast, life-sustaining ecosystem faces growing threats, including overfishing, climate change, pollution and deep-sea mining. Half of coral reefs have already been destroyed, 90% of big fish populations have been depleted, and an estimated 60% of marine ecosystems have been degraded or are being unsustainably used. 

To protect and restore the ocean, we must consider all its creatures and functions. In this special issue for World Oceans Day on June 8, learn about some of the people and organizations that are working to deepen our understanding of the ocean and its inhabitants, and are using that knowledge to advance conservation. Explore Project CETI’s interdisciplinary work to decode sperm whale calls; how the Safina Center is reenvisioning ocean conservation by incorporating environmental justice, story and relationship lenses; and work by the National Geographic Pristine Seas project to protect the last wild places in the ocean. 


Want more news like this? Sign up for the Bioneers Pulse to receive the latest news from the Bioneers community straight to your inbox.


Can an Ethically Built AI Decode Whale Communications? Project CETI is Here to Find Out

What if we could understand the language of another species—one with its own culture, dialects, and deep intergenerational bonds? David Gruber, founder and President of the Cetacean Translation Initiative, or Project CETI, shares how a world-class team of scientists is using advanced machine learning and state-of-the-art gentle robotics to translate the clicks and codas of sperm whales. Plus, watch a conversation with Gruber and César Rodríguez-Garavito, an Earth Rights scholar, lawyer, and founding Director of the MOTH (More-Than-Human) Rights Program at NYU School of Law, where they discuss the innovative collaboration between the MOTH and Project CETI to establish ethical and legal guardrails that can permit us to harness the potential of these technologies while minimizing their risks. Sperm whales / Photo by Amanda Cotton

Read now


How Understanding What Whales are Saying Can Help Us Protect Oceans

In the late 1960s, scientists, including principal CETI advisor, the late Dr. Roger Payne, discovered that whales sing to one another. His recordings, “Songs of the Humpback Whale,” helped spark the Save the Whales movement, one of the most successful conservation initiatives in history. The campaign eventually led to the Marine Mammal Protection Act that marked the end of large-scale whaling and saved several whale populations from extinction. All this by just hearing the sounds of whales. Imagine what would happen if we could understand them?

In 2020, Project CETI formed as a nonprofit organization with catalyst funding from the TED Audacious Prize. CETI’s science team is made up of some of the world’s leading artificial intelligence and natural language processing experts, cryptographers, linguists, marine biologists, roboticists and underwater acousticians from a network of universities and other partners. The team listens to and translates how other species communicate, starting with the sperm whale. The mission is simple:

  1. Achieve breakthroughs in decoding sperm whale communication
  2. Share CETI’s learnings with the world
  3. Transform human understanding and connectivity
  4. Leverage CETI’s findings to protect our oceans and planet

Learn more


Rewriting the Rules of Ocean Conservation through Justice, Story & Relationship

As the conservation field reckons with ecological breakdown and social inequity, a growing chorus of voices is calling not only for new strategies, but for a transformation in who leads, whose knowledge counts, and how we define care for the natural world. That shift is especially visible in marine conservation, where centuries of exclusion are slowly giving way to more relational, justice-rooted approaches.

In this conversation among three Fellows of the Safina Center, the ocean becomes a lens for examining what conservation can look like when it’s guided by inclusion, storytelling, and deep community ties. Marine biologist and environmental educator Jasmin Graham shares how her work with endangered sharks and rays is shaped by local wisdom and her Gullah Geechee heritage. Danielle Khan Da Silva, a National Geographic Explorer and intersectional conservationist, discusses the power of ethical storytelling and Indigenous relationships with whales. And naturalist and captain Katlyn Taylor reflects on how firsthand experience and curiosity can spark lasting connections between people and the sea.

Read now


Protecting Our Life Support System: Challenges and Opportunities in Marine Conservation

Without the ocean, life would be impossible. It provides food, livelihoods for millions of people and regulates the climate. Yet today, only 8% of the ocean is somehow protected — and less than 3% is fully protected from fishing and other damaging activities. The world-renowned National Geographic Explorer in Residence Enric Sala launched the National Geographic Pristine Seas project in 2008 to explore and help inspire the protection of the last wild places in the ocean. Pristine Seas works with local communities, Indigenous peoples, government and partners to protect the ocean, but also areas that have been somehow degraded by human activities, so they can bounce back. 

Made up of an extraordinary team of scientists, conservationists, filmmakers and policy experts, Pristine Seas has helped protect 6.9 million square kilometers of ocean habitat (more than twice the size of India). Partnering with 122 different organizations and agencies across 23 countries, its work has inspired the establishment of some of the largest marine reserves in the world. In this presentation, Enric discusses the vital importance of healthy oceans to humanity’s future and what Pristine Seas hopes to accomplish in the years ahead.

Watch now


From Bioneers Learning – Rights of Nature 201: Moving Campaigns Forward

Our waters and lands need our help, but how can we work within our communities and beyond to codify the protection of nature? Rights of Nature is not just a philosophy—it’s a growing legal and cultural movement. In this three-hour interactive seminar, instructors Thomas Linzey and Mari Margil return to offer focused guidance on organizing, drafting, and advancing Rights of Nature campaigns in communities across the U.S. and around the world.

This live seminar is a deeper dive for those already familiar with Rights of Nature principles and ready to move from education into action. Designed as a continuation of Bioneers Learning’s four-week Rights of Nature course, this intensive session focuses on developing and advancing effective campaigns that push Rights of Nature laws forward—locally and beyond. Get 20% off with code VISION20 until June 15, 2025, at midnight PT.

Register now

What if We Understood What Animals Are Saying?

Recent advances in technology have made it possible to understand some of the communication of a few animal species. Leading interdisciplinary initiatives such as Project CETI (the Cetacean Translation Initiative) are developing cutting-edge advancements in machine learning, robotics, natural language processing, linguistics, cryptography, complexity science, and marine biology to record and begin to understand the fundamental elements of some nonhuman animal communication, beginning with that of sperm whales.

While these technologies hold significant promise for enhancing the well-being and rights of nonhuman animals, they also present serious risks of further manipulation and exploitation of animals.

This conversation dives into the innovative collaboration between the NYU More-Than-Human Life (MOTH) Program and Project CETI to establish ethical and legal guardrails that can permit us to harness the potential of these technologies while minimizing their risks.

With David Gruber and César Rodríguez-Garavito. Moderated by Teo Grossman, President of Bioneers.

Making Music with the More-Than-Human World: A Conversation with David Rothenberg

The natural world is alive with sound—birdsong, whale calls, insect rhythms, the quiet pulses of water and wind. These sonic landscapes aren’t just background noise; they’re rich, expressive languages of life. For those who choose to listen, they offer not only beauty, but insight into the deep interconnections that bind all beings.

David Rothenberg, a musician, composer, author, naturalist, philosopher, and independent publisher, has been a unique and fascinating explorer of humanity’s connections to the natural world for more than four decades, widely recognized, among other accomplishments, as a groundbreaking figure in “the joys and mysteries of interspecies music-making.”

He has released some 40 albums under his own name and collaborated with many prominent musicians on countless projects, including such luminaries as Paul Winter, Pauline Oliveros, Marilyn Crispell, Paul McCandless, Glen Moore, Scanner, DJ Spooky, and Jaron Lanier, to name only a few. One of his unique forms of experimentation in his extensive travels over the decades has been not only his recordings of bird and whale and other animal songs but his highly original attempts to engage with other species in musical exchanges, quite a few of which have been captured on film and/or discussed in his many books. Someone recently said of him: “He’s played with everyone from Peter Gabriel to Pauline Oliveros, Suzanne Vega, Scanner, cicadas, humpbacks, frogs, Estonian pond organisms, et al.”

Rothenberg is the author or editor of some 20 books, several of which are accompanied by audio or audio-visual components. His works in print include:

Rothenberg, who has been a professor of philosophy for nearly 35 years, also, among his other contributions, helped make better known in the English-speaking world the work of the important Norwegian philosopher and eco-activist Arne Næss, who coined the term “deep ecology.” 

You can find more comprehensive information about David Rothenberg’s extensive and multi-faceted life and work on his website.

In this recent interview, Bioneers senior producer J.P. Harpignies invited Rothenberg to recount some of the key episodes in his career trajectory, unpack some of his guiding ideals and passions, and regale us with some anecdotes from an extremely full life which has included some surprising encounters with quite a few renowned cultural and scientific figures.   

Rewriting the Rules of Ocean Conservation through Justice, Story & Relationship

As the conservation field reckons with ecological breakdown and social inequity, a growing chorus of voices is calling not only for new strategies but for a transformation in who leads, whose knowledge counts, and how we define care for the natural world. That shift is especially visible in marine conservation, where centuries of extractive practice and exclusion are slowly giving way to more relational, justice-rooted approaches.

In this conversation among three Fellows of the Safina Center, the ocean becomes a lens for examining what conservation can look like when it’s guided by inclusion, storytelling, and deep community ties. Marine biologist and environmental educator Jasmin Graham shares how her work with endangered sharks and rays is shaped by local wisdom and her Gullah Geechee heritage. Danielle Khan Da Silva, a National Geographic Explorer and intersectional conservationist, discusses the power of ethical storytelling and Indigenous relationships with whales. And naturalist and captain Katlyn Taylor reflects on how firsthand experience and curiosity can spark lasting connections between people and the sea.

The following is an excerpted and edited transcript from a conversation originally recorded at Bioneers 2025. 

Jasmin Graham / © National Geographic/Lisa Tanner

JASMIN GRAHAM: I view all my work through an environmental justice lens. In order to address marine conservation issues, people need to be able to communicate with each other, so science communication and education are really important to me. But science education has to be a two-way street: when you’re teaching people and communities how to protect species or ecosystems, you should also always be listening and learning, because folks on the ground often know the most about their environment.

My science basically revolves around endangered species of sharks and rays, so a lot of my work involves animals with weird faces, such as sawfish and hammerheads. One of the animals I study is the smalltooth sawfish, a critically endangered species of ray that used to be present in a lot of places but now is only found regularly in Florida and the Bahamas. I’m working to try to understand the threats these animals are facing, where they move, how they use the coastline, and how they interact with anthropogenic effects, such as bycatch (i.e., the accidental catching of sawfish). Because, you know, when you have a hedge trimmer on your face, it’s very easy to get tangled up in nets, and when you get tangled up, you rarely survive. 

I work with fishing communities to help understand how we can mitigate these bycatch risks. Fishers don’t want to catch them either, because getting one of those caught in your net just means you now have a giant hole in your net. The sawfish don’t want to be there, and the fishers don’t want them to be there. So that’s what I’ve been working on: trying to make them both happy.

One of the social justice components of my work is to try to expand who is involved in marine conservation conversations and decisions, so I’m sort of a marine biologist moonlighting as a social scientist. I want to include far more people in conservation and science. We’ve created too many silos and separations that prevent a lot of people from being involved and engaged.

“If you don’t have that buy-in, you won’t be able to leverage the social capital that’s already in the community.”

A lot of what I do is based on the ICON framework. I added an extra two letters to so I could call it ICONIC: integrated, coordinated, open, networked, inclusive conservation, which is dedicated to making sure all the stakeholders are involved from the beginning, not just brought on at the end. Local and traditional knowledge and values have to be seriously engaged with and respected in science and conservation, because local folks often know their spaces far better than you do. There needs to be clear communication throughout, so they, for example, don’t find out you made a law that stopped them from fishing in their favorite spot after the fact. Policymakers, scientists, and local stakeholders all have to be engaged in the process. If you don’t have that buy-in, you won’t be able to leverage the social capital that’s already in the community.

Part of what inspired me to do the work I do is my Gullah Geechee heritage in South Carolina. My grandma fished her entire life in the same area, and I realized she had 50 years of data on local aquatic life, which we call a long-term data set. But no one had ever asked her anything because she was Black, poor, and illiterate. The people in my family and community knew a whole lot about the local fish and ocean currents, but they had no idea what a marine biologist was. I noticed fast that the scientists in my field didn’t even think about paying attention to all that local wisdom. They thought they knew it all, or only they could figure it out. When you come into a community with an attitude like that, all you get is distrust and hostility.   

Danielle Khan Da Silva

DANIELLE KHAN DA SILVA: I turned from conservation biology to storytelling because the conservation biology world was incredibly toxic, especially as a queer woman of color in science. I didn’t want to leave the field of conservation, but I wanted to see it from a different angle. I’m a National Geographic Explorer, and that has allowed me to work with many brilliant minds and travel the world to see different ways of being through my lens. I’ve worked all over the world, from Mongolia to decolonized anti-poaching projects in South Africa to volcano eruption recovery in Bali to Sumatra to Hawaii to First Nations in Canada. I’ve also done a lot of work on animals and animals in captivity.

I view my storytelling as a form of activism. Since this conversation is mostly about ocean issues, I’ll share two amazing experiences I had with whales and coastal people. Work with marine life is new for me. Diving and all the expensive gear required weren’t accessible to me in my youth, so it took me a while to get into the field of marine conservation. My work in Polynesia has taken me into a very esoteric feeling space where I’m trying to understand more about the things that we don’t know, the things in that liminal space, including interspecies communication.

I have had the honor and privilege of working with Ismael Huukena, who is well-known throughout Polynesia as being a sort of ocean whisperer, somebody who can speak to whales and other marine creatures. I come to these things with a healthy skepticism, but I’ve seen many incredible things this man has done. He was asked to help rescue a beaked whale that had crossed the coral reef and was trapped in a marina. It was exhausted, and a team of about ten people was trying to keep this beaked whale afloat so that it wouldn’t drown.

Huukena came from Tahiti, and I happened to be with him. As soon as he got there, he jumped in the water and started talking to the whale in Tahitian, and she started moving. As we stood on the reef, kind of just sending her off, Huukena instructed all of us to get in the water and give her a goodbye. She was able to leave successfully. 

Another project I’ve been working on is with the Coast Salish matriarchs, such as Kayah George, a young matriarch-in-training, taught by her mother, Deborah Parker, who is Tulalip, and her Auntie Charlene, who is Tsleil-Waututh. Their people have many stories that relate them back to orcas and wolves. They see the orcas as transformational beings that can transform into wolves, and some humans as capable of transforming into orcas.

Kayah’s great-grandfather was Chief Dan George. He was taken as a child and forced to go to one of those infamous, brutal, repressive residential schools where so many kids died. When he came back all the totems that had lined the beaches were gone. A number of the surviving tribal reservations are surrounded by toxic industries, including oil pipelines and refineries. One major spill could doom the remaining local orca population. The ongoing onslaught of colonization is never-ending for these folks, but they’re still constantly fighting for their orca kin and themselves.

“We feel a responsibility to capture their stories and messages because so many elders are dying without being able to transfer their knowledge, and so much is being lost.”

We’re doing a four-part series with National Geographic that tries to show the deep relationships between orcas and the Coast Salish people. We feel a responsibility to capture their stories and messages because so many elders are dying without being able to transfer their knowledge, and so much is being lost.

For Tsleil-Waututh and all Coast Salish people, paddling is an important part of their lives and culture. When they have their canoe races, the orcas sometimes come and swim alongside their boats. They have an orca song, and when they sing it, the orcas will often come and visit them. There is a really long-standing relationship between the orcas and people in that culture.

Orcas are some of the most intelligent beings on this planet. They have a proven capacity for empathy, and they have language, which is being studied. I think we’re really close to being able to have conversations with orcas, just as we are with sperm whales and humpbacks, but there’s so much there that we just don’t know, and, tragically, we are destroying so much before we’re able to find these things out.

Katlyn Taylor

KATLYN TAYLOR: I’m a marine biologist, but I didn’t really know how cool whales were until I got to university. I didn’t grow up on the ocean but along rivers in the Pacific Northwest in Oregon. I went to Oregon State and got a degree in marine biology, and I figured out that whales were way cooler than everybody was giving them credit for at the time. I wanted to share that with as many people as possible in a powerful way, to get them to love whales and to spread awareness and knowledge about our oceans. So I’ve spent the last ten years working in the eco-tourism space, starting in the amazing waters of Monterey, California.

My time in Monterey deeply informed my naturalist and guiding career. It’s a uniquely rich bay, and for a budding naturalist to try to guide and educate people about an ocean ecosystem, Monterey is a beast. You have to be prepared to explain 30 to 40 different species in the span of three hours, and not just identify them but explain how they’re all interconnected and how it all works together.

“The ecosystem literally hit rock bottom before we figured out how to start to fix it.”

Monterey Bay has a really interesting history. People like to call it the poster child for our modern-day definition of conservation success, but it also comes with a history of extraction and colonization. The ecosystem literally hit rock bottom before we figured out how to start to fix it. The Bay was so full of sludge and effluent from industry and commercial fishing that people didn’t want to be there anymore. We came close to absolutely destroying it, and it’s still got challenges, but it’s starting to recover. There’s still lots of work to do, but it’s a really unique place for interspecies interactions, especially with whales. Humpback whales don’t generally feed or cooperate with any other species, but in Monterey Bay, they have now started to feed with California sea lions on the same prey patches of anchovies. That’s something that’s new and cutting edge, and really interesting.

My day job is working as a naturalist and a guide, and now also for the last few years as a captain. Monterey’s an incredible place, but once I started to seasonally move around and follow the whales, I got a larger perspective. I observed them in different places, engaging in different behaviors at different stages of life. Getting a vaster sense of how they interact throughout their entire ranges has really helped me hone my skills as a guide, and it’s helped me up my game in sharing information and connecting with people. A conservative estimate of how many people I’ve talked to on whale watches and cruises around the world at this point is around 400,000 people in 10 years.

Shifting to the captain role over the last few years has presented a new challenge. I have to be in charge of where we’ll go, what animals we look at, and how long we stay in a place. Working on boats is not easy. A lot of my day is spent on checklists, protocols, safety management, guest relations, and managing the crew. On a whale watch, sometimes you see things such as a whale getting trapped in crab or lobster gear, or killer whales hunting a baby gray whale, or you see an actual still-existing whaling station. Some guests will say: “You’ve got to intervene; you’ve got to do something.” And you have to figure out how to have these tricky conversations on the fly, and still keep it a positive learning experience for people.

I have to face certain paradoxes. It’s not lost on me that we burn fossil fuel to go out and look at whales, so I have to believe the impact I’m having on people and the actions they take as a result of what they’ve seen will outweigh that harm. It’s really important to me that I be able to communicate with them in a way that will lead to their caring about the ocean enough to want to protect it, but I have to meet people where they are.

Given that these are people who can afford to go on an ecotourism trip, it’s perhaps surprising, but some of them think whales are fish and that the ocean is just water with salt in it. So I have to basically offer crash courses reteaching biology and ecology so these people who live lives so separate from the natural world can understand how everything is connected.

“I’m trying to get people to fall back in love with nature and realize we’re all connected.”

Ecotourism can do harm when it isn’t done with a lot of conscious thought, and there are places it has done quite a bit of damage. But I think people need to see things for themselves to connect with nature. I always advise them at the end of each trip to put the environment in their decision-making process in whatever way they can, whether it’s in voting, donating to organizations, shopping, etc. I’m trying to get people to fall back in love with nature and realize we’re all connected.

DANIELLE: One thing that’s important to acknowledge is that we wouldn’t even need conservation if there hadn’t been colonialism and extractive capitalism ravaging ecosystems. There’s often a well-intended eagerness to jump to the whole unity part without doing the work necessary to face what’s happened and continues to happen around the world. Colonialism is not a thing of the past, it’s ongoing. It shows up in so many ways in conservation, in storytelling. I am actually in the middle of writing a book about it.

“If we don’t have a clear-eyed understanding of our history, we are likely to do more harm than good…”

If we don’t have a clear-eyed understanding of our history, we are likely to do more harm than good, and that has happened a lot in conservation movements, whether intentionally or unintentionally. To cite just one example, as most of us know, several of North America’s first national parks were created by evicting their Indigenous inhabitants. But it’s become ever more obvious in recent decades with tons of data that, globally, Indigenous peoples are usually the best stewards of ecosystems. We need to learn from those cultures and elevate Indigenous science so it carries equal weight with Western science and support rematriation and land-back initiatives. We need to rethink conservation from the foundations and to be really intentional in the solutions we support so we don’t repeat the errors of the past.

JASMIN: I definitely agree with that. In my work, rethinking conservation is thinking about not only what we are protecting, but why and for whom. We tend to forget that we’re all part of the ecosystem, but we are all different parts. We have learned that when you take out a part of the ecosystem, it collapses. And, yes, that means plants and animals, but it also means that if you have a coastal community that can’t live and survive and thrive, your ecosystem will be damaged. We have to include people in the conservation equation. We have to understand how humans fit into the ecosystem in the same way that we study coral reefs, which form the base of the trophic levels of the food chain, because the conditions of people and human communities have a huge effect on the ecosystem. If they’re not on board, your solutions will fail.

“Those folks have to be part of the conversation and help design the solutions.”

It’s easy to tell people to stop eating fish because species are endangered or the water is too polluted, but if fishing is a poor coastal community’s only source of income and protein, that isn’t possible. Those folks have to be part of the conversation and help design the solutions.

The Struggle for Justice in Colombia’s Oil Wars: Climate Organizer Abby Reyes on Love, Loss and Resilience 

In 1999, three land rights defenders were kidnapped after they left Indigenous U’wa territory in Colombia. Multinational oil interests seeking the massive reserves beneath the region were attacking U’wa lifeways — and those who accompanied them in resistance. The bodies of Terence Freitas, Ingrid Washinawatok El-Issa (Menominee) and Lahe’ena’e Gay (Hawaiian) were eventually found bound and bullet-riddled in a cow pasture. The murders were part of a struggle that would continue for decades, bringing about both setbacks and victories for the U’wa. 

Twenty years after the murders, Terence’s partner, Abby Reyes, finds herself a party in Case 001 of Colombia’s truth and recognition process, which is investigating the causes and consequences of Colombia’s internal armed conflict. After years without answers, they want to know her questions about what happened, her “truth demands.” In “Truth Demands: A Memoir of Murder, Oil Wars, and the Rise of Climate Justice,” Reyes confronts these questions, navigating her own grief and the fight for accountability for the murders of Terence and his colleagues. In the below conversation, Reyes, a lawyer, environmental organizer and Director of Community Resilience Projects at University of California, Irvine, discusses land rights advocacy, entrenched oil interests, resistance and resilience, and what she hopes her book offers climate activists. For a deeper look, read this moving excerpt from “Truth Demands.”

This conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity.


Bioneers: The book chronicles your personal journey of grief and environmental organizing in the wake of the murders of Terence and his colleagues. What moved you to write this story now, and what do you hope it offers to emerging climate activists?

Abby Reyes: To me, their murders were a harbinger of the climate chaos that we are grappling with now. At the same time, the way they lived their lives set an example that helped usher in the rise of climate justice. The land rights defenders who were killed with Terence were beloved native North American women leaders who were ahead of their time. Lahe’ena’e Gay, from Hawai’i, was a traditional Indigenous knowledge educator and educational systems designer, and Ingrid Washinawatok was a Menominee leader from Wisconsin who was key to what eventually, after her death, became the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. The rights the U’wa community asserted before their deaths and have continued to advocate for at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights draw on this United Nations declaration that Ingrid worked tirelessly to put in place.

“I wrote with the hope that the practices that helped me come back home to my body and voice might help others as we navigate the climate disasters already underway, do all we can to prevent further harm, and work together to build the climate future we know is still possible.”

I came into adulthood through the gates of these murders, with this paradox lodged in my throat, and I needed to clear my throat. Writing was one way that I did that. It’s this very specific story, yes, but it’s also a universal one — about how we navigate grief and the efforts we make to reestablish connection with the people, animals, plants and minerals that make up this earth. Above all, it’s a story about the power of collective action. I wrote with the hope that the practices that helped me come back home to my body and voice might help others as we navigate the climate disasters already underway, do all we can to prevent further harm, and work together to build the climate future we know is still possible.

These murders took place near U’wa land, a known mother load of oil in that country. It’s a place where oil pipelines have always been a magnet for armed violence. When the internal armed conflict in Colombia shifted and the country entered a transitional justice process, I was invited, along with Terence’s mom and the families of the others who were killed, to be recognized as victims in Case 001 of the Truth and Recognition process. Terence’s mom and I opted in. The first requests from this tribunal included: What are your stories? What questions have you been holding about what happened? What do you want to see happen now? The requests felt enormous to me, and they felt impossible. For decades, figuring out how to live in the world in relation to these unanswered questions was a feat of survival. So having these questions presented to me again in earnest took a reorganization of my relationship to the events. 

What I knew to be true was that for me to be able to move through this process, I needed witness of what was happening. I wrote in order to have that witness. That’s why the timeline is now. But what emerged, unexpectedly, was that some of the legal claims the community had filed at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, even before the murders, began to move forward. After years of dormancy, we worked underground to create the conditions for emerging U’wa leaders to pick up the baton and carry it to victory, which came about just a few months ago. So the timing also feels right to share my part of this story, because it is important for all of us, globally, to draw inspiration from the U’wa community’s recent victory. This victory establishes Colombia’s accountability for human rights violations against the U’wa people and sets the stage for strengthened protections of Indigenous peoples across Latin America. We need those victories now. 

Bioneers: Land rights advocacy has only gotten more dangerous in recent years. What do you believe needs to shift—politically, legally, or within movements themselves—to better protect those doing this work? 

Reyes: It is way worse than when I was a young person starting out in the rural southern Philippines. In the mid-90s, my mentors, Jesuit lawyers who were working in the countryside, were already facing lethal threats to their personal safety. But what was merely anecdotal then is very well documented now. Structurally, the answers are what you would expect from me: demilitarize and uncouple our militarization from our dead-end commitment to fossil fuel extraction. 

The other shift that we’re seeing more is a move toward operationalizing our commitment to taking cues from grassroots leaders. We need to follow the leaders of Indigenous, Brown and Black communities who are closest to the harms, because the solutions are there. When we combine the wisdom and lived experience of the frontlines with the brawn and resources of allies who are in right relationship, we have a chance at using the dominant culture’s forums — legal, cultural or structural — to embed frontline vision, principles, stories, and strategies into more mainstream forums (where, in our current systems, decisions are largely still made). We have a chance at it — if we can figure out how to listen in a way that is operationalized. 

“Social movements aren’t just banners and narratives; they’re made up of people, and those people must seek right relationship.”

Pueblo U’wa offers a good example of long-term accompaniment, which looks like decades of support from people across society in response to the Pueblo’s requests. At the social-movement level, people need real relationships with each other across organizations and frontline communities. Social movements aren’t just banners and narratives; they’re made up of people, and those people must seek right relationship. Growing into right relationship depends on our ability to hold both the past and the future while being rooted in the present. Moving backwards, there are often measures of repair, accountability and reset that need to be made. It also means looking laterally and forward in a way that lets us stand in our interdependence. It’s never been a case of helping. It’s always been the case of mutual liberation. 

Bioneers: Environmentalists have spent the last 25 years struggling to deal with super entrenched oil interests, and that struggle has only become more heightened recently as political winds have shifted. What can the environmental movement do, strategically and tactically, as political momentum favors oil and gas development?

Reyes: This is happening in our political discourse as we speak. Yet there are indications that our legal systems are currently holding — against all odds and despite the shock that our democratic institutions could be pushed this far. I would answer your question in part by pointing to the need to hold carbon majors accountable for climate damages. Those are strategies that have been tried in forums all over the world for the last 15 years or so, with varying degrees of success in moving forward judicial analysis and procedure.

“So even in this moment where use of the courts feels like a weak muscle, we know it is a muscle that strengthens with use.”

Just recently, scientists from Dartmouth published an article in Nature illustrating the trillions in economic losses attributable to the extreme heat caused by emissions from individual carbon major companies. In many cases, it has been challenging to convince courts that we could crack that nut. Courts might say, How could you tell if one company was responsible for emissions in Boulder, Colorado, versus Vanuatu? Therefore, the liability has seemed obscure and unattainable. Now, the premier scientific publication has said, “Wait, wait, wait, that’s actually not true, and here’s how we do it scientifically.” So even in this moment where use of the courts feels like a weak muscle, we know it is a muscle that strengthens with use. Right now, we are seeing scholars and scientists be more willing to be in right relationship with cities, counties, states and communities that have been asking the bar to take action.

Bioneers: You’ve worked across continents and contexts — from rural Philippines to Colombia to California. What threads of resistance or resilience have felt universal across those places? 

Reyes: One common thread that stands out is that communities know what they need. Communities are living the consequences of our dominant economic system, and disinvested communities know that the solutions to environmental mitigation or adaptation issues are linked to economic justice and building the human infrastructure for deep democracy. These solutions cannot be untied from each other. Over time and across geographies, I’ve also seen disenfranchised communities call for those walking alongside them to put bodies on the line. 

In the U’wa territory, for example, especially in the period immediately following the 1999 murders, the violence against the community by public and other forces was acute, armed and lethal. That action was in response to the U’wa people literally placing their bodies on the road to block Occidental Petroleum trucks from reaching a sacred site where the company wanted to drill another exploratory well. The call for bodies on the line was well received in the countryside in that period. Indigenous folks were joined by non-Indigenous farmers, students, clergy, legal witnesses, and others. And it mattered — it deterred the violence for some duration. So when we’re working with communities where we need remedies beyond legal and policy intervention because those methods aren’t working fast enough to prevent harm, there are also these “meta-legal remedies,” as my mentors in the Philippines would call them.

“Building the new can feel removed from the struggle, but it is every bit as much a practice of bodies on the line.”

A thread of resistance that feels universal is that work is often happening not only to block the bad in all the ways that we just said, but also to build the new. Building the new systems, structures, and cultures we need is a significant part of the social movement framework often called Just Transition. Building the new can feel removed from the struggle, but it is every bit as much a practice of bodies on the line. In the communities I work with here in California, in particular the Mexican majority city of Santa Ana, building the new looks like worker-owned cooperatives, community land trusts, regenerative agriculture, cleaning the soil, and mutual aid infrastructure to face climate disaster and achieve health equity.

In places where it has long been clear that the dominant systems weren’t set up to facilitate thriving for all, communities are looking to each other and themselves to create community owned systems of regeneration, resilience and interdependence. That, too, is a form of bodies on the line — one that excites me because it gives us something to rally around. 

Bioneers: In your view, what would a truly just legal framework for climate resilience look like?

Reyes: There are community stewards across the country pioneering and articulating practices of community-driven climate resilience planning and action. Many of those stewards are organized into the National Association of Climate Resilience Planners. The association started out in part as a way for community stewards to assert their place at the table when local governments, whose hands were often forced, realized the need for environmental justice analyses in climate planning. When governments hire consultants to talk to the community, these community stewards were saying, “Hey, we’re right here, and we’ll help you shift.” Now many community stewards have turned more directly to creating the “just enough” infrastructure needed for community ownership and sacred governance for the whole.

Supporting these forms of deeper public participation requires all sorts of legal apparatus. And that lawyering is happening. We created the Just Transition Lawyering Institute in recognition of the skilling up that lawyers everywhere, especially lawyers serving Brown, Black and Indigenous communities, are doing right now to meet this need. It’s an enormous question. Even just this one slice requires transformations at every level. But it’s an instructive lens that reveals the road maps that are right in front of us for where we need to go.