Author: Sarah Pusser

When you think of environmental science, what comes to mind? Studies? Analyses? Hypotheses?

What about environmental justice? Clean air? Restoring forests?

Ryan Emanuel, an associate professor of Hydrology in the Nicholas School of the Environment, redefines these two concepts of environmental science — or shall I say, combines these two concepts. He appeared in person and on Zoom in the Trent Center for Bioethics series recently, presenting his new-ish book: “On the Swamp: Fighting for Indigenous Environmental Justice.”

Through three compelling anecdotes, Emanuel showed us how environmental science and environmental justice can be viewed as a bidirectional relationship.

Story one:
After earning his degree in hydrology from Duke in the 90s, Emanuel pursued advanced studies in evaporation and carbon cycling. With an education, Emanuel began fieldwork — conducting studies and climbing tall towers (all the fun sciencey stuff). However, as a person from North Carolina’s Lumbee Tribe, he noticed the disconnect between his work and his community. He was acutely aware of a cultural emphasis on education –the expectation that you will use your education to give back to your community. He didn’t feel his work in hydrology was serving the Lumbee tribe’s interest, so he decided to change that.

Sean Jones from the Lumbee Tribe (photo by News & Record Final)

During his talk, Emanuel emphasized the significance of “accountability” and “motivation.”

“Examining our motivation can allow us to better understand who we are accountable to in our work… We are all accountable somehow, and we can be accountable in different ways to different groups.”

Understanding that his work had to be accountable for the Lumbee tribe, Emanuel became an ambassador for STEM in higher education. This new path enabled him to mentor youth with tribal backgrounds, prepare them for higher education, and even form strong relationships with them.

Story two:

The EPA says environmental justice is “fair treatment and meaningful involvement of all people in environmental decision-making.”

Emanuel recognized that governments should be accountable for including the voices and opinions of marginalized groups — ‘all people’ — within their environmental decision-making. But Emanuel said there was a dissonance between these promises and reality. One example is the placement of Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations (CAFOs) where livestock are raised in confinement for agricultural purposes.

CAFOs in North Carolina are disproportionately located in communities of minority groups. Many issues arise from this, such as the pollution produced from CAFOs (air and water).

I was shocked to see the many ways that smaller, marginalized communities are affected. These issues are often relatively hidden — not surprising given that mainstream media usually focuses on large (easily observable) community-based discrimination.

Map of locations of CAFOs in North Carolina (photo by Jiyoung Son)

Emanuel began to look at the interplay between environmental science (observation, analysis, testing) and environmental justice (lived experience, regulations, fairness). He let go of the previous idea that environmental science only seeks to provide data and support to drive change in environmental justice. He began to ask, “How can environmental justice improve environmental science?”

Story 3:
Combining his accountability for the Lumbee tribe with his hypothesis about the bidirectional relationship of environmental science and environmental justice, Ryan Emanuel began looking into the observably negative impacts of the Atlantic Coast Pipeline (ACP). Spanning over 600 miles, this gas pipeline will provide many benefits for North Carolina communities, such as lower costs, new jobs, and less pollution, according to Duke Energy.

Emanuel saw that the pipeline route went right through Lumbee territory, which could mean devastating effects for the community, such as health impacts and declining property values.

Proposed Atlantic Coast Pipeline route (photo by SAS Blogs)

The crux of the issue lay in the negligence of project developers who failed to connect with the marginalized communities the pipeline would run through (such as the Lumbee). Tribal voices and input were completely ignored.

Emanuel helped prepare tribal leaders for meetings with corporate representatives and wrote a commentary on the need for the federal government to collaborate with the tribes they would be affecting.

Eventually, after years of lawsuits, the companies in charge of the project abandoned the ACP project. When I searched “Why was the Atlantic Coast Pipeline project canceled?” Duke Energy claimed the cancellation was because of “ongoing delays and increasing cost uncertainty, which threaten(ed) the economic viability of the project.” Other sources provide details on the legal challenges and criticism the project faced.

After the companies dropped the plan, they were quick to purchase forest land near the Lumbee tribe and begin the development of natural gas infrastructures that would allow for the storage of gas when the demand was low and the ability to release the gas when prices went up.

I found it quite impressive that Ryan was able to attend many meetings between the Lumbee Tribe and the company, without saying a word. The tribal council had asked him to only observe and not speak. During one meeting, a representative from the company that purchased the forest land said that they wanted to clarify that “pipelines are not disproportionately located in marginalized communities — they are everywhere.”

Emanuel began testing this hypothesis, eventually gathering enough evidence to statistically prove that there is a “spatial correlation between social vulnerability and pipeline density.” His findings gathered significant media attention and have even been expanded on to show the need for change and increased safety within pipeline communities.

Emanuel concluded by explaining that the principles of environmental justice can show us what questions we should be asking, who we should be asking them of, and who we should be keeping in mind when conducting research.

The statement Emanuel made that stuck with me the most was, “If we value examining problems from all angles, we have to pay attention to which perspectives are missing.”

Ryan Emanuel’s book (photo by The Magazine of the Sierra Club)

After Emanuel’s talk, I was surprised that I had never been introduced to this way of thinking before. It seems like common knowledge that focusing on justice and equity can improve how we investigate problems scientifically. However, it is not completely surprising that this information is not common sense, given the systematic issues within our country.

Emanuel’s book, “On the Swamp: Fighting for Indigenous Environmental Justice,” dives deeper into these concepts about the relationship between environmental justice and environmental science. I believe this book would bring nuance to our world today, where there is a clear need for change and the uplifting of voices that have been quieted for so long.

By Sarah Pusser Class of 2028

Nathan Thrall’s “A Day in the Life of Abed Salama”

By Sarah Pusser

On October 30, 2024

In Lecture, Political science, Religion

Nathan Thrall, the 2024 Pulitzer Prize Winner for General Nonfiction, sat with Rebecca Stein, discussing his book, “A Day in the Life of Abed Salama: Anatomy of a Jerusalem Tragedy.” Published October 3, 2023 by Metropolitan Books, Thrall’s book tells the story of the people whose lives became intertwined by a tragic bus accident near Jerusalem 12 years ago, serving as a spotlight that identifies the corrupt powers that Israel has over Palestine.

Author Nathan Thrall and his book “A Day in the Life of Abed Salama.” (Judy Heiblum)

Beginning with a synopsis of the book, Thrall shared the history of the West Bank enclave. Annexed and neglected, 130,000 people live between 26-foot tall concrete walls with only two exits. Within the enclave are no play areas, no sidewalks, and often trash burnings in the middle of the night; on the other side of the wall are rich images of middle-upper class housing and Hebrew University (the most prestigious university in Israel).

An Isreal wall separating Palestine and Jerusalem *The Irish Times* (Atef Safadi/EPA)

Students at a school within the enclave, in hopes of finding an area to play, walked with their teacher along the wall (along the apartheid road) and were devastatingly hit by a quarry semi-trailer. The truck proceeded to flip over and catch fire. The road where the accident took place, though used entirely by Palestinians, is under Israeli control, and therefore Palestinian authority is prohibited. Passerbys stopped and tried to help however they could, but the flames were too big. In the end, it took 30 minutes for Israeli fire trucks to show up to the burning semi-truck. Six children and one teacher died.

The book focuses on Abed Salama, the father of a boy who was involved in the accident, who after hearing about the accident, spent the next 24 hours trying to work his way through the restrictions placed on him as a Palestinian in order to find his son and make sure he was safe and alive. Abed went into the burning bus and rescued children, was rejected at many checkpoints in between hospitals where he thought his son may be–all of which are just a few of the many incommensurably heartwrenching tragedies he went through.

Abed Salama *The New Yok Review* (Ihab Jadallah)

After giving us the synopsis, Thrall then began to read a passage from his book, making it clear why he won a Pulitzer Prize. His writing, not only transformed a world of non-fiction into a very digestible piece of literature, but his ability to extract such emotion through his voice is truly inspiring. Looking around, I could see everyone leaning forward in their chairs–the room, was silent enough for the turning on and off of the air conditioning to turn my head.

I knew walking into this talk, that this book’s meaning in the world and civil discourse would have more of an impact given the increasingly dire situations in Palestine over the past 12 months. While beginning her questions, Rebecca Stein did not shy away from this topic either.

“It’s a very ordinary event, it’s not like the kind of events that we see splashed across, you know, our television screens or our phones on social media, where we’re looking at tragedies at a much bigger scale…” “…why did you take this intimate incident as a way to try to tell this much bigger story?” she asked.

While I first was a bit taken aback at this question, I realized Rebecca was right. What makes the news is usually what will grab the most attention and the most emotion. And so rarely do we see the “smaller tragedies” (smaller as in fewer casualties).

Thrall answered very calmly, and very methodically.

“I wrote this book out of a sense of, uh, despair,” replied Thrall. “…what I was really aiming to do with this book was to draw, uh, our attention to the situation for Palestinians in their ordinary lives.”

And as Thrall continued to explain why he chose to write about the bus accident, he continued to show us his brilliance as both an author and speaker. For he was able to tell a story that shows readers how something so (unfortunately) common as a car accident, can lead to such heavy consequences when the systems in place are corrupt.

“…the best way to make a systemic critique, I think, is to show the everyday, um, because otherwise, if you choose something exceptional, something that a journalist might be drawn to, it’s easier to dismiss and say, this was the action of one, uh, bad commander.”

I was moved by how open the room was. Everyone was captured by the moment of Thrall spilling truths–some of which we were familiar with and some of which we had never heard before. I could see the weight of the subject, heavy in people’s faces and postures, and yet everyone remained, and many asked more questions. Some asked where Abed Salama is now. Thrall told us how the book was published on October 3rd, four days before the Hamas-led attack on Israel; Abed and Thrall had plans to travel together and tour the book, but after the war began, Abed had to miss many of their destinations. Thrall said that Abed, though he was able to attend some of the destinations for the book tour, is mostly at home mourning for and supporting his community.

There was a sort of ambiguity as the night came to a conclusion. Thrall’s book is living as a teacher and voice for those who don’t get the opportunity to tell their stories in Palestine. Thrall doesn’t know what is next, only that tragedies will continue to be treated as accidents, and systems, unjust as they are, are much easier continued, than broken.

Riots and Reconciliations: Revisiting ‘The Kerner Report’

By Sarah Pusser

On October 14, 2024

In Anthropology, History, Political science

When we think of some of the most important milestones in America’s civil rights movement, rarely do people talk about “The Kerner Report.”

“U.S. Riot Commission Report. REPORT OF THE NATIONAL ADVISORY COMMISSION ON CIVIL DISORDERS” from *Center for Lost Objects*

In a conference room in the John Hope Franklin Center, I sat amidst a gathering of curious people, and at the front of the room was Rick Loessberg, the author of “Two Societies: The Rioting of 1967 and the Writing of the Kerner Report.” If you couldn’t tell from Loessberg’s contagious smile, you could certainly tell from his extensive knowledge that he was excited to be introducing us to this report, which looks at the causes of the 1967 civil rights riots.

Giving us some background history, Loessberg first acknowledged the importance of the very building we were all in. The John Hope Franklin Center, where Dr. John Hope Franklin held an office and worked until he died in 2009, was built in 2001 to create a space for everything Dr. Franklin believed in–a welcoming environment that encouraged considerate debate and discussion. Dr. Franklin was also known for writing the 5th chapter of “The Kerner Report,” which connected African American’s history in the United States and their riots in 1967. As I sat in the conference room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight and proximity of the building’s history emphasizing the importance of Loessberg’s discussion.

Loessberg then began to explain the catalyst for creating “The Kerner Report,” enumerating the tragedies of the riots in 1967. On July 23, 1967, Detroit Police raided an after-hours nightclub. The raid quickly turned violent, and the civilians in the city did not let this go unnoticed. The following five days were marked by extreme violence, with 43 people killed, over 7200 arrests, and 600 fires started. It wasn’t until 5,000 elite paratroopers came into Detroit that the riots finally stopped.

“Burning Buildings in Detroit after Riots” from *Getty Images*

In response to this, Lyndon B. Johnson created a commission of 11 members, which examined FBI reports, studied the attitudes of 13,000 people who had been arrested, and looked at U.S. Census data to discover why the riots were happening. The Census concluded that the rioting was not the fault of what the majority of Americans believed–the rioters were “losers,” “communists,” you get the point–but instead, the riots were a reaction to the years of discrimination and racism that Black people had been facing throughout their lives (which though not surprising to many today, was an incredibly progressive conclusion for the 1960s).

“Chair of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, Otto Kerner with President Lyndon Johnson” from *LBJ Presidential Library*

Additionally, “The Kerner Report” found that most of the people rioting had gone to school, had jobs, and did not have arrest records–findings that went against the stereotypes white people assigned to the rioters. The bravery of these successful people willing to risk everything in order to riot against what they knew was wrong stood out to me (however, not to say that violence should ever be encouraged). I also found it quite surprising how successful “The Kerner Report” was, given the lack of knowledge on it today, with over 1 million copies being sold in the first week.

Here are five key points “The Kerner Report” can teach us if implemented in today’s time, Loessberg said:

Be courteous: During the creation of “The Kerner Report,” the commission always made sure to have appropriate discussions, never name-calling or blaming, similar to what we see in politics today.
Focus on what everyone has in common: The commission worked hard to make sure that everyone’s voice was heard. They addressed everyone’s concerns, and even if they couldn’t explicitly “fix” their concern, by holding a space where people could voice their upset, the commission was more successful at creating a report most approved of.
Know how to read the room and when to temporarily regroup: The commission was very aware of when they would get stuck in arguments rather than discussions, and because of this, they were able to acknowledge that they needed to regroup and try to tackle the issue again.
You don’t have to win every argument: Being successful alone doesn’t make a group or society successful. The Kerner Commission knew this and always kept this in mind when researching and writing the report. Because of that, not one person was in charge of the narrative, allowing for the narrative to be a collection of ideas.
“The Kerner Report” can apply to all work settings and relationships: By observing how to tackle systemic issues and address the country about such things, we can learn about how to approach this issue today, both at large and in smaller settings. Every relationship needs respect and a facilitation of conversation to be successful.

Moving forward, Loessberg said that we must have proper education about the impacts of systemic racism on the Black community. Additionally, and something I found quite interesting because I have never heard before, Loessberg said that there is a need for a wider variety of terms that mean racist–arguing that the fact that KKK members in white sheets are called racists just as the white cashier who has inherently racist actions is racist does not allow for a deeper understanding of systematic racism.

As I looked around during the final Q&A, I saw people from all different backgrounds facilitating respectful discourse–something I can’t say I see often. When I asked if Loessberg believed this text should be taught in schools if allowed, he answered, agreeing that (absolutely) “The Kerner Report” should be in schools today, but unfortunately “…it would be accepted as critical race theory,” meaning it would not be allowed in schools today. As others asked questions, I began to put into words what I had been observing throughout this entire presentation and discussion; even when opposing opinions were shared, everyone could eventually come together to agree on one thing–How the United States is today is in need of fixing, and “The Kerner Report” can provide insightful and guiding information if implemented correctly.

Art in the Anthropocene: A New Lens on Life

By Sarah Pusser

On October 2, 2024

In Anthropology, Art, Climate/Global Change, Environment/Sustainability, History

In a world shaped by our destructive actions, art emerges as a voice, warning us of the consequences that lie ahead.

We live in a constantly evolving world. Looking at the geologic time scale, we can see the Earth’s changes that have marked new eras all the way from the Archean epoch, 2.5 billion years ago, to today, the Holocene epoch. But how do we know when we are transitioning into a new epoch? And what kinds of changes in our world would lead to this geologic time-scale transition? The exhibition Second Nature: Photography in the Age of the Anthropocene at the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University offers us answers to these questions with its four thematic sections, “Reconfiguring Nature,” “Toxic Sublime,” “Inhumane Geographies,” and “Envisioning Tomorrow.’

As we begin the exhibition tour, our well-spoken gallery guide, Ruth Caccavale, asks if any of us has ever heard the word “Anthropocene” before. After a short silence, she tells us the literal translation for Anthropocene is “the human epoch,” an appropriate word to describe the geological era we are in right now. Ruth continues to explain that, though not agreed upon when the Anthropocene epoch began (the main arguments being since the Industrial Revolution and since nuclear warfare), people believe the Earth is in a new era, one established by the fact that human impact is the greatest factor in determining the way the world is.

When the Anthropocene epoch was brought to the attention of the geological society, and after more than a decade of debate, they eventually declared that we were not in a new age, keeping us in the Holocene epoch. However, many still accept the term “Anthropocene” and explore what it means to be living in it. Among those exploring the implications of the Anthropocene epoch are the forty-five artists from around the world featured in Second Nature, who, through their photography-based art, expose the complex relationship of beauty and horror in our evolving world and show us how our world is truly controlled by our human impact.

Walking into the exhibit, I first notice the dismal yet meditative music playing quietly overhead. Ruth guides us through the galleries and stops us a considerable distance away from a black-and-white print. “What do you see when you look at this photograph?” she asks. “I see a mountain,” says someone in the crowd. “It looks overwhelming,” I add, noticing the heaviness of the mountain juxtaposed with the brittle buildings in front of it.

*Travelers among Mountains and Streams* from afar

Ruth then asks us to come closer to the photograph, and we all quickly notice that the mountain is not a mountain but instead a structure composed of skyscrapers and architecture.

*Travelers among Mountains and Streams* up close

Based on Fan Kuan’s famous painting from the Song Dynasty, Yang Yongliang, an alumnus of the China Academy of Art, created Travelers Among Mountains and Streams as a warning of what our world could look like if our need to urbanize and develop continued without governing. Yongliang is known for his dystopian recreations of traditional Chinese art, leaving his audience feeling both eerie and in awe. For me, the symbolism of having to step closer to the art to see the true meaning spoke to how it’s easier for people in power to overlook the environmental dangers of development, whereas once we stepped closer and could see each building in detail, we were put in the shoes of those living in urban areas who suffer the most from pollution and overcrowding.

We then made our way through the second section, “Toxic Sublime,” a collection of pieces that show how sometimes the most hazardous areas in the world can be the most beautiful. On the wall is a photo of the remains of a Russian church, buildings next to a nuclear testing site, and a crater from nuclear bomb testing made green to show residual radioactivity.

Danila Tkachenko’s *Radioactive City*, *Contaminated Church*, and *Crater Formed after Nuclear Bomb Test*

Next to it, is the photo of colorful ponds near a lithium mine in Chile. While the composition and colors scream “toxic,” I can’t help but admire the lure of it as well–an invitation to debate the ethics of turning tragedy into something tasteful.

Edward Burtynsky’s *Lithium Mines #1, Salt Flats, Atacama Desert, Chile*

Upon entering the third section, “Inhumane Geographies” (the theme I personally found most captivating), we are greeted by a somewhat overstimulating gallery of an orange and red island scene, with a singular purple and blue photo plastered in front of them. Sanne De Wilde’s Island of the Colorblind, told the story of a Micronesian community, who in the 18th century were devastated by a typhoon, leaving only 20 people alive. Among those left was the King, who began repopulating the Pingelap community. The King, however, carried the gene for color blindness, causing more than 10% of the Pingelap population today to be colorblind. Island of the Colorblind not only shows me how our environment and climate can truly change who we are, but it also gives voice to the Pingelap’s unique perspective on how color for them means something truly different–thus why Wilde chose to edit the photo in a way where chlorophyll (what makes trees green) creates a pink color in the photo.

As Ruth brings us to the final section, “Envisioning Tomorrow,” I am immediately drawn in by Aïda Muluneh’s collection of four photographs depicting women dressed in lavish blue and red clothing against the arid landscape behind them. As part of Afrofuturism, a form of science fiction art that explores the history and future of Africa and its people, Muluneh’s pieces challenge the stereotypes surrounding women gathering water in Africa. The pieces bring attention to the implications of women’s role in getting water, as it requires an immense amount of time and makes them vulnerable to sexual violence. Ruth also informs us that the artist grew up in Ethiopia and uses her art to emphasize the issue of water scarcity there. As my peers and I look at Muluneh’s colorfully piercing and empowering art, we can’t help but be speechless.

Regardless of whether or not the geological society accepts the Anthropocene as an epoch, we as humans need to open our eyes and understand that our actions have consequences, even if they may not affect us personally. We are changing the world… a lot. But if we can break it apart, we can also build it back up. Leaving the exhibit, I feel heartbroken for the ways we have torn apart our world, unsettled in the ways our destruction can still be beautiful, curious in how my environment has shaped me, and yet hopeful that we as humans can come together, acknowledge the wrong we have done, and begin to undo the damage. For those who may not understand how dire our situation is, studying the work of the 45 artists featured in Second Nature might be a good start.

By Sarah Pusser, Class of 2028

New Blogger Sarah Pusser Has Been Reading and Writing for Pleasure Ever Since She Can Remember

By Sarah Pusser

On September 24, 2024

In Students

I find it easier to explain myself through my experiences with others’ writing.

If you were to peer into my soul, you would see a display of my late-night highlighted sentences and the pen’s ink bruising my favorite words. And if you were to peer into my brain, you would see what happens when a reader of fiction and non-fiction and poetry and everything in between falls in love and decides (or more accurately, realizes) that these are who will teach her.

However, this isn’t true for all of me. For example, my name is Sarah Suzanne Pusser. Though I would like to say my parents named me after their favorite heroine in a book, I hate to inform you that my name is a medley of my family’s names before me — Sarah, being my mother’s middle name, Suzanne, being my aunt’s middle name, and Pusser, being the last name my father brought to the family that either people can’t pronounce or are too scared to try to.

But who am I if only the attributes I never got to choose for myself?

Sarah and her friend Kristina, both reading on their vacation to Mexico.

I grew up being told that knowledge is power. And while this is true, knowledge can also be “silly.” On my seventh birthday, I was gifted Judy Blume’s “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing,” along with the rest of the “Fudge” series. It was my treat after what felt like a lifetime of farm chores (I had to pick blueberries). Curled up in a ball on my bed, I just remember laughing, and laughing, and laughing. And in the moments of silence, I remember learning that it wasn’t just me who thought being an older sibling was hard.

I am someone who finds both purpose and joy in learning. I am a proud older sister to the most wonderful younger brother.

In eighth grade, I wanted to challenge myself by reading a “really difficult book.” So, of course, I chose John Bunyan’s “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” and boy did I hate it. I spent weeks forcing myself to “just get to the next page.” But eventually, I was done with the book, and with the feeling of pride for keeping my promise to finish the book came another feeling that something else had to be done; every piece of information I’d just read deserved to continue living. I talked to everyone I could. I asked my friends what they thought happened when they died (I know, what a mood killer), I asked my parents if they believed in religion, and through this relationship of telling and questioning, I taught those around me a single perspective (John Bunyan’s), and in return gained the perspective of dozens of others.

Sarah on the farm in western North Carolina where she grew up

I am someone who keeps a promise (no matter how indigestible the writing is). I am someone who asks questions. I am someone who believes that curiosity and teaching should be paired together.

I picked up Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch” because I loved the cover, and you can imagine my excitement when I figured out that the story was even better. I found myself sneaking a headlamp into my room on school nights so I could learn more about the life of Theodore Decker; simply put, this was my first instance of being emotionally attached to a book. I just needed to read it. Writing this now, I can’t really put into words why I loved this book—all I know is that this was the book that revealed my love of writing. I saw how language changed my perception of the world, and I wanted to be the creator of that for others.

I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer.

Now, as a member of Duke’s class of 2028 and the Duke Research Blog, I am excited to introduce my curiosity to the infinite realms of research at Duke and let my love for writing curate the questions and answers into something you will look forward to reading.

Following the people and events that make up the research community at Duke

Author: Sarah Pusser

Rethinking the Mutual Relationship Between Science and Justice

Nathan Thrall’s “A Day in the Life of Abed Salama”

Riots and Reconciliations: Revisiting ‘The Kerner Report’

Art in the Anthropocene: A New Lens on Life

New Blogger Sarah Pusser Has Been Reading and Writing for Pleasure Ever Since She Can Remember