Category: Academic Reportage

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Stephen Acabado, Professor of Anthropology, University of California, Los Angeles

Indigenous communities have lived with changes to the climate for centuries. Their adaptations over those many years are based on their close observation of weather, water, soils and seasonal change, and they have been refined through generations of learning.

That knowledge, though developed deep in the past, is increasingly useful in the modern world. As global temperatures rise, climate pressures are intensifying, with longer dry spells, stronger storms and more erratic rainfall. Terrace systems reflect Indigenous peoples’ long experience of living with environmental uncertainty in specific places and historical contexts. They offer ways of thinking about risk and long-term land use based on observation and intergenerational learning.

My research focuses on one particular strategy for adapting to a changing climate: terrace agriculture. It’s found in mountainous regions worldwide, where people have reshaped steep slopes into level steps that slow runoff and allow water to infiltrate the soil.

By slowing water without blocking its flow, terraces reduce erosion, keeping soil where crops can grow and preserving the moisture they need. They require constant maintenance, which leaves traces in the landscape, such as accumulated repair layers and sediment deposits associated with crops. I study those traces to learn how communities responded to environmental stress over time. The walls and soils are not only fertile agricultural land but also archives of adaptation, documenting past decisions about water, labor and crops.

Ifugao terraces and adaptation to wet and dry years

I have worked as an anthropological archaeologist in the Ifugao rice terraces of the northern Philippines for nearly two decades. These landscapes are often described as ancient and unchanging, but archaeological and historical research shows that most were constructed around the 17th century, during a period of political and economic pressure linked to Spanish colonial expansion. Highland communities modified their landscapes, expanded settlement and shifted rice farming to higher elevations, reconfiguring their societies to protect themselves.

Rainfall in the Cordillera, the region where the terraces are located, varies widely. In some valleys, more than 6 feet (2 meters) of rain fall per year, while higher elevations commonly receive closer to 13 feet (4 meters). In both settings, rain comes down in short, intense downpours. Without intervention, water flows off the steep slopes in torrents, rapidly stripping away soil.

Terraces help avoid erosion by capturing rainfall on each level and allowing it to infiltrate gradually. Measurements contrasting terraced fields with nearby nonterraced soils find the terraces retain significantly more moisture – often 15% to 30% higher, and in some cases substantially more – than sloping fields. This increased moisture availability helps crops endure short dry spells between storms.

Crop choice is another example of adaptation. Ifugao farmers maintain multiple rice varieties suited to different microenvironments. One locally recognized group of traditional rice varieties, collectively referred to as Tinawon, is widely cultivated. The different farmer-selected tinawon varieties are adapted to varying elevations, temperatures and moisture conditions. Some perform better in cooler and wetter areas, while others tolerate shallow soils or brief dry periods.

By planting different, locally selected rice varieties on different terraces matched to specific conditions, farmers spread risk rather than relying on a single harvest strategy.

Farmers also read subtle environmental signals. When we talk with farmers, they describe year-to-year changes, such as springs flowing more slowly than usual in late winter and increased earthworm activity before the rains. These observations guide decisions about when to adjust terrace features – such as reinforcing walls, clearing canals or modifying water gates – or when to shift planting dates in response to delayed rains or shorter wet seasons. Over generations, these adaptations have allowed farmers to continue to grow crops despite difficult periods of flooding or drought.

Today, climate stress interacts with economic pressure. Major typhoons in 2018 and 2022 brought intense rainfall that damaged terraces across the Cordillera.

In the past, farmers responded to storm damage by adjusting water flow within irrigation canals and field-to-field outlet channels, and by staggering planting dates so that shared irrigation systems were not stressed all at once.

Today, fewer workers and a modernizing economy mean that government support has become increasingly important to sustain these systems, particularly funding for terrace and irrigation repair and programs that support farmer participation. Even so, these systems continue to show how coordinated water management and crop diversity can reduce risk under variable climates.

Climate history written into Moroccan terraces

New research in Morocco, which I’m working on with the Université Internationale de Rabat, focuses on terrace systems in the Anti-Atlas Mountains, where intermittent heavy rains and recurring droughts motivated people to build terraces to slow runoff and keep water in the soil.

Many of these terraces remained active from their construction in the late 16th to 17th centuries until the 20th century, when out-migration reduced the local labor force needed for routine maintenance.

Even partially abandoned terraces record past responses to climate changes. Stone walls and leveled platforms demonstrate how people slowed runoff and retained moisture in dry environments. Collapsed edges and eroded channels mark episodes of heavy rainfall. Channel layouts and their alignment with terrace walls and natural terrain indicate how scarce water was directed toward priority fields.

These physical traces correspond with well-documented drought cycles in Morocco, including multiyear dry periods in recent decades that have reduced reservoir levels and lowered groundwater tables. Former terraced landscapes show how earlier communities coped with similar pressures.

Crop selection was central to adaptation throughout the period when terraces were actively maintained, and it continues to shape farming decisions today. Farmers in Morocco relied heavily on drought-tolerant barley, which can germinate with limited moisture and mature before peak summer heat.

Research on barley varieties from North Africa and similar arid environments shows that these traditional variants can still produce a majority of their usual yields during severe droughts, while high-yield modern varieties, bred for irrigated or well-watered conditions and shorter growing cycles, often experience sharp yield declines or crop failure under the same conditions.

In oral histories and interviews, elders in these regions recalled collective maintenance practices, including annual cleaning of channels and coordinated planting after the first dependable rains. Communities adapted to the changing climate together, coordinating efforts and activities.

Lessons across continents

Although the Philippines and Morocco have different climates and histories, their terrace systems demonstrate common principles. In both regions, people focused on capturing water and minimizing the risk of soil loss or crop failure.

Where terraces remain intact, studies show they tend to retain more soil and moisture and produce more consistent harvests than nearby unmodified slopes.

At the same time, terraces show limits. As labor availability declines because younger generations leave rural areas for cities or overseas work, and economic priorities shift toward wage labor and other nonagricultural livelihoods, even basic maintenance becomes difficult.

These cases show that Indigenous strategies for living with climate uncertainty are often shaped by long-term observation and cooperation. They do not provide simple solutions or universal models, but they do demonstrate the value of designing systems that spread risk and prioritize durability over short-term efficiency.

Stephen Acabado receives funding from the Henry Luce Foundation.

– ref. How mountain terraces have helped Indigenous peoples live with climate uncertainty – https://theconversation.com/how-mountain-terraces-have-helped-indigenous-peoples-live-with-climate-uncertainty-271599

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Evelyn Valdez-Ward, Postdoctoral Fellow in Science Communication, University of Rhode Island

Lived experiences shape how science is conducted. This matters because who gets to speak for science steers which problems are prioritized, how evidence is translated into practice and who ultimately benefits from scientific advances. For researchers whose communities have not historically been represented in science – including many people of color, LGBTQ+ and first-generation scientists – identity is intertwined with how they engage in and share their work.

As researchers who ourselves belong to communities that have been underrepresented in science, we work with scientists from marginalized backgrounds to study how they navigate STEM – science, technology, engineering and math – spaces. What happens when sharing science with the public is treated as relationship-building rather than a one-way transfer of information? We want to understand the role that identity plays in building community in science.

We found that broadening the ways scientists work with the public can bolster trust in science, expand who feels they belong in STEM spaces and ensure that science is working in service of community needs.

STEM spaces as an obstacle course

Science communication involves bridging knowledge gaps between scientists and the broader community. Traditionally, researchers do it through public lectures, media interviews, press releases, social media posts or outreach events designed to explain science in simpler terms. The goals of these activities are often to correct misconceptions, increase scientific literacy and encourage the general public to trust scientific institutions.

However, science communication can look different for researchers from marginalized backgrounds. For these scientists, the ways they engage with the public often focus on identity and belonging. The researchers we interviewed spoke about hosting bilingual workshops with local families, creating comics about climate change with Indigenous youth and starting podcasts where scientists of color share their pathways into STEM.

Instead of disseminating science information through traditional methods that leave little room for dialogue, these researchers seek to bring science back to their communities. This is in part because scientists from historically marginalized backgrounds often face hostile environments in STEM, including discrimination, stereotypes about their competence, isolation and a lack of representation in their fields. Many of the researchers we talked to described feeling pressure to hide aspects of their identities, being seen as the token minority, or having to constantly prove they belong. These experiences reflect well-documented structural barriers in STEM that shape who feels welcome and supported in scientific environments.

We wanted to see if a broader definition of science communication that incorporates identity as an asset can expand who feels welcomed in scientific spaces, strengthen trust between scientists and communities, and ensure scientific knowledge is shared in culturally relevant and accessible ways.

Transforming STEM communication

Prior studies have found that scientists tend to prioritize communication focused on conveying information, placing much less emphasis on understanding audiences, building trust or fostering dialogue. Our research, however, suggests that marginalized scientists adopt communication styles that are more inclusive.

Our team set out to create training spaces for researchers from communities that have been historically marginalized in science. Since 2018, we have been facilitating ReclaimingSTEM workshops both in-person and online, where over 700 participants have been encouraged to explore the intersections of their identities and science through interactive modules, small-group activities and community-building discussions.

Expanding what counts as science communication is essential for it to be effective. This is particularly relevant for scientists whose work and identities call for approaches grounded in community connection, cultural relevance and reciprocity. In our workshops, we broadly defined science communication as community engagement about science that could be both formal and informal, including through media, art, music, podcasts and outreach in schools, among others.

While some participants mentioned using traditional science communication approaches – like making topics concise and clear, as well as avoiding jargon – most used communication styles and methods that are more audience-centered, identity-focused and emotion-driven.

Some participants drew on their audience’s cultural backgrounds when sharing their research. One participant described explaining biological pattern formation by connecting it to familiar artistic traditions in her community, such as the geometric and floral designs used in henna. Using imagery that her audience recognized helped make the scientific concepts more relatable and encouraged deeper engagement.

Rather than portray science as something neutral or emotionless, participants infused empathy and feeling into their community engagement. For example, one scientist shared with us that his experiences of exclusion as a multiracial gay man shaped how he approached his interactions. These feelings helped him be more patient, understanding and attentive when others struggled to grasp scientific ideas. By drawing on his own sense of not belonging, he aimed to create an environment where people could connect emotionally to his research and feel supported in the learning process.

Participants found it important to incorporate their identities into their communication styles. For some, this meant not assimilating into the dominant norms of science spaces and instead authentically expressing their identities to be a role model to others. For example, one participant explained that openly identifying as disabled helped normalize that experience for others.

Many felt a deep sense of responsibility to have their science engagement be of service to their communities. One scientist who identified as a Black woman said she often thinks about how her research may affect people of color, and how to communicate her findings in ways that everyone can understand and benefit from.

Making STEM more inclusive

While the participants of our workshop had a variety of goals when it came to science communication, a common thread was their desire to build a sense of belonging in STEM.

We found that marginalized scientists often draw on their lived experiences and community connections when teaching and speaking about their research. Other researchers have also found that these more inclusive approaches to science communication can help build trust, create emotional resonance, improve accessibility and foster a stronger sense of belonging among community members.

Centering the perspectives and identities of marginalized researchers would make science communication training programs more inclusive and responsive to community needs. For example, some participants described tailoring their science outreach to audiences with limited English proficiency, particularly within immigrant communities. Others emphasized communicating science in culturally relevant ways to ensure information is accessible to people in their home communities. Several also expressed a desire to create welcoming and inclusive spaces where their communities could see themselves represented and supported in STEM.

One scientist who identified as a disabled woman shared that accessibility and inclusivity shape her language and the information she communicates. Rather than talking about her research, she said, her goal has been more about sharing the so-called hidden curriculum for success: the unwritten norms, strategies and knowledge key to secure opportunities, and thrive in STEM.

Identity for science communication

Identity is central to how scientists navigate STEM spaces and how they communicate science to the audiences and communities they serve.

For many scientists from marginalized backgrounds, the goal of science communication is to advocate, serve and create change in their communities. The participants in our study called for a more inclusive vision of science communication: one grounded in identity, storytelling, community and justice. In the hands of marginalized scientists, science communication becomes a tool for resistance, healing and transformation. These shifts foster belonging, challenge dominant norms and reimagine STEM as a space where everyone can thrive.

Helping scientists bring their whole selves into how they choose to communicate can strengthen trust, improve accessibility and foster belonging. We believe redesigning science communication to reflect the full diversity of those doing science can help build a more just and inclusive scientific future.

Evelyn Valdez-Ward is executive director of ReclaimingSTEM Institute.

Nic Bennett is a volunteer board member of Reclaiming STEM and People’s Science Network.

Robert N. Ulrich is the Associate Director of the ReclaimingSTEM Institute.

– ref. Science is best communicated through identity and culture – how researchers are ensuring STEM serves their communities – https://theconversation.com/science-is-best-communicated-through-identity-and-culture-how-researchers-are-ensuring-stem-serves-their-communities-246475

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Aaron Coy Moulton, Associate Professor of Latin American History, Stephen F. Austin State University

In the aftermath of the U.S. military strike that seized Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro on Jan. 3, 2026, the Trump administration has emphasized its desire for unfettered access to Venezuela’s oil more than conventional foreign policy objectives, such as combating drug trafficking or bolstering democracy and regional stability.

During his first news conference after the operation, President Donald Trump claimed oil companies would play an important role and that the oil revenue would help fund any further intervention in Venezuela.

Soon after, “Fox & Friends” hosts asked Trump about this prediction.

“We have the greatest oil companies in the world,” Trump replied, “the biggest, the greatest, and we’re gonna be very much involved in it.”

As a historian of U.S.-Latin American relations, I’m not surprised that oil or any other commodity is playing a role in U.S. policy toward the region. What has taken me aback, though, is the Trump administration’s openness about how much oil is driving its policies toward Venezuela.

As I’ve detailed in my 2026 book, “Caribbean Blood Pacts: Guatemala and the Cold War Struggle for Freedom,” U.S. military intervention in Latin America has largely been covert. And when the U.S. orchestrated the coup that ousted Guatemala’s democratically elected president in 1954, the U.S. covered up the role that economic considerations played in that operation.

A powerful ‘octopus’

By the early 1950s, Guatemala had become a top source for the bananas Americans consumed, as it remains today.

The United Fruit Company owned over 550,000 acres of Guatemalan land, largely thanks to its deals with previous dictatorships. These holdings required the intense labor of impoverished farmworkers who were often forced from their traditional lands. Their pay was rarely stable, and they faced periodic layoffs and wage cuts.

Based in Boston, the international corporation networked with dictators and local officials in Central America, many Caribbean islands and parts of South America to acquire immense estates for railroads and banana plantations.

The locals called it the “pulpo” – octopus in Spanish – because the company seemingly had a hand in shaping the region’s politics, economies and everyday life. The Colombian government brutally crushed a 1928 strike by United Fruit workers, killing hundreds of people.

That bloody chapter in Colombian history provided a factual basis for a subplot in “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” an epic novel by Gabriel García Márquez, who won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1982.

The company’s seemingly unlimited clout in the countries where it operated gave rise to the stereotype of Central American nations as “banana republics.”

Guatemala’s democratic revolution

In Guatemala, a country historically marked by extreme inequality, a broad coalition formed in 1944 to overthrow its repressive dictatorship in a popular uprising. Inspired by the anti-fascist ideals of World War II, the coalition sought to make the nation more democratic and its economy more fair.

After decades of repression, the nation’s new leaders offered many Guatemalans their first taste of democracy. Under Juan José Arévalo, who was democratically elected and held office from 1945-1951, the government established new government benefits and a labor code that made it legal to form and join unions and established eight-hour workdays.

He was succeeded in 1951 by Jacobo Árbenz, another democratically elected president.

Under Árbenz, Guatemala implemented a land reform program in 1952 that gave landless farmworkers their own undeveloped plots. Guatemala’s government asserted that these policies would build a more equitable society for Guatemala’s impoverished, Indigenous majority.

United Fruit denounced Guatemala’s reforms as the result of a global conspiracy. It alleged that most of Guatemala’s unions were controlled by Mexican and Soviet communists and painted the land reform as a ploy to destroy capitalism.

Lobbying Congress to intervene

In Guatemala, United Fruit sought to enlist the U.S. government in its fight against the elected government’s policies. While its executives did complain that Guatemala’s reforms hurt its financial investments and labor costs, they also cast any interference in its operations as part of a broader communist plot.

It did this through an advertising campaign in the U.S. and by taking advantage of the anti-communist paranoia that prevailed at the time.

United Fruit executives began to meet with officials in the Truman administration as early as 1945. Despite the support of sympathetic ambassadors, the U.S. government apparently wouldn’t intervene directly in Guatemala’s affairs.

The company turned to Congress.

It hired the lobbyists Thomas Corcoran and Robert La Follette Jr., a former senator, for their political connections.

Right away, Corcoran and La Follette lobbied Republicans and Democrats in both chambers against Guatemala’s policies – not as threats to United Fruit’s business interests but as part of a communist plot to destroy capitalism and the United States.

The banana company’s efforts bore fruit in February 1949, when multiple members of Congress denounced Guatemala’s labor reforms as communist.

Sen. Claude Pepper called the labor code “obviously intentionally discriminatory against this American company” and “a machine gun aimed at the head of this American company.”

Two days later, Rep. John McCormack echoed that statement, using the exact same words to denounce the reforms.

Sen. Henry Cabot Lodge Jr., Sen. Lister Hill and Rep. Mike Mansfield also went on the record, reciting the talking points outlined in United Fruit memos.

No lawmaker said a word about bananas.

Lobbying and propaganda campaigns

This lobbying and communist talk culminated five years later, when the U.S. government engineered a coup that ousted Árbenz in a covert operation.

That operation began in 1953, when the Eisenhower administration authorized the Central Intelligence Agency to unleash a psychological warfare campaign that manipulated Guatemala’s own military to overthrow its democratically elected government.

CIA agents bribed members of Guatemala’s military. Anti-communist radio broadcasts and religious pronouncements about communist designs to destroy the nation’s Catholic church spread throughout the country.

Meanwhile, the U.S. armed anti-government organizations inside Guatemala and in neighboring countries to further undermine the Árbenz government’s morale.

And United Fruit enlisted public relations pioneer Edward Bernays to spread propaganda, not in Guatemala but in the United States. Bernays provided U.S. journalists with reports and texts that portrayed the Central American nation as a Soviet puppet.

These materials, including a film titled “Why the Kremlin Hates Bananas,” circulated thanks to sympathetic media outlets and members of Congress.

Destroying the revolution

Ultimately, the record shows, the CIA’s efforts prompted military officers to depose their elected leaders and install a more pro-U.S. regime led by Carlos Castillo Armas.

Guatemalans who opposed the reforms slaughtered labor leaders, politicians and others who had supported Árbenz and Arévalo. At least four dozen people died in the immediate aftermath, according to official reports. Local accounts recognized hundreds more deaths.

Military regimes ruled Guatemala for decades after this coup.

One dictator after another brutally repressed their opponents and fostered a climate of fear. Those conditions contributed to waves of emigration, including countless refugees, as well as some members of transnational gangs.

Blowback for bananas

To shore up its claims that what happened in Guatemala had nothing to do with bananas, exactly as the company’s propaganda insisted, the Eisenhower administration authorized an antitrust suit against United Fruit that had been temporarily halted during the operation so as not to cast further attention on the company.

This would be the first in a series of setbacks that would break up United Fruit by the mid-1980s. After a series of mergers, acquisitions and spinoffs, the only constant would be the ubiquitous Miss Chiquita logo stuck to the bananas the company sells.

And, according to many foreign policy experts, Guatemala has never recovered from the destruction of its democratic experiment due to corporate pressure.

Aaron Coy Moulton’s research received funding from the Truman Library Institute, Phi Alpha Theta, the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, the Roosevelt Institute, the Eisenhower Foundation, the Massachusetts Historical Society, the Bentley Historical Library, the American Philosophical Society, the Dirksen Congressional Center, the Hoover Presidential Foundation, and the Frances S. Summersell Center for the Study of the South.

– ref. Before Venezuela’s oil, there were Guatemala’s bananas – https://theconversation.com/before-venezuelas-oil-there-were-guatemalas-bananas-272973

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Michele Patterson Ford, Lecturer in Psychology, Dickinson College

How are your New Year’s resolutions going? If you’ve given up on them, you’re not alone.

Every January, people across the world seek a fresh start and set goals for the year to improve their health and quality of life. Dry January and new gym memberships accompany a desire to shake off the stress and holiday pounds.

But research shows that resolutions typically don’t last. As a practicing psychologist and professor of counseling psychology, I have seen many people start off the new year with lofty self-improvement goals, only to become frustrated and give up early into the new year.

This happens so frequently that popular media has even coined the name “Quitter’s Day” for the second Friday in January –when most people have given up on their resolutions.

However, there is a way to continue your self-improvement goals and find success by making changes that offer incremental rewards instead of frustration. My students and clients are consistently surprised by how small actions and practices bring about big rewards. Below are a few manageable and meaningful practices to adopt that can last well after the new year’s motivation fades.

Why don’t resolutions work?

Most New Year’s resolutions tend to be restrictive or rely on willpower, such as eliminating alcohol and sugar from your diet, or exercising every morning.

The problem is that these types of commitments force us to do something we don’t really want to do. And success takes time: It can take more than six weeks before improvements from exercise become apparent.

It comes as no surprise, then, that these goals are often short-lived and unsuccessful in the long term – it is hard to be successful when we are battling ourselves to do things that don’t come naturally, without immediate rewards. In reality, people prefer immediate gratification and simultaneously tend to downplay the benefit of waiting for longer-term rewards.

Be kind – to yourself

We are often much nicer to our friends, and even to strangers, than we are to ourselves.

Kristin Neff, a psychologist and leader in self-compassion research, teaches that by mindfully quieting our inner critic and being as compassionate to ourselves as we would be to a friend, we can significantly improve our well-being.

Research shows that people who practice being their own partner or teammate – rather than an opponent – feel happier and more confident. The rewards from this type of self-compassion can be seen and felt faster than the results of diet and exercise, and can help us make better choices in multiple aspects of our daily lives.

In my personal and professional life, I have seen people succeed most often when they change how they relate to themselves. In other words, instead of being intensely critical of our emotions and what we are thinking, we are able to be gentler with our experience and be more accepting of our own thoughts and feelings. When we receive these emotional rewards, we feel relief and happiness – payoffs that make it far easier to enthusiastically repeat the pattern.

Engaging in this kind of self-compassion also allows us to better cope with stress and our emotions.

Small shifts in gratitude and outward kindness go a long way

Another evidence-based way to improve overall well-being is to focus on the what’s going well for you and what you are grateful for – in the moment, or more broadly, in your life.

Instead of focusing on whether you succeeded on your initial resolutions, try journaling three good things at the end of each day. In doing so, focus less on the big successes – though they count, too – and instead on the small moments you enjoyed, such as the hug from a friend, the quiet moment with coffee or the smile from a stranger.

Practice random acts of kindness to boost mood and well-being. Reach out to a friend you haven’t talked to in a while or buy coffee for a stranger in the coffee shop. These activities provide an emotional boost that can last for hours, if not days.

Making these small shifts can help stave off the stress and guilt that can thwart your self-improvement goals.

Mindful eating

The well-known practice of mindfulness encourages paying attention – without judgment – to the present moment.

Research shows that taking time to slow down and savor the moment has substantial physical and psychological benefits, such as lowering stress and improving focus, among others. In fact, mindfulness even has the power to change brain connections, leading to greater control over our emotions.

This approach can also be applied to meal-time and diet, a popular focus of New Year’s resolutions. Using the practice of mindfulness can also help us shift from a judgmental and restrictive view of food to a focus on enjoyment and savoring.

So instead of eliminating certain foods or thinking of foods as either good or bad, slow down and savor your food. This can look like taking a moment to take in what your food looks and smells like, and chewing your food slowly, noticing the taste and texture – like a wine-tasting experience but with your meal.

My clients often tell me how eating more mindfully helped change their relationship with food. One client said that instead of thinking about how much she was eating, she instead experienced how much she liked the taste of her meal and the sense of fullness when she felt she had eaten enough.

So perhaps this year, instead of focusing on willpower or restriction, choose connection with yourself and others instead.

Doing so will improve your happiness and your overall well-being, long after the New Year’s resolutions fade.

Michele Patterson Ford does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. New Year’s resolutions usually fall by the wayside, but there is a better approach to making real changes – https://theconversation.com/new-years-resolutions-usually-fall-by-the-wayside-but-there-is-a-better-approach-to-making-real-changes-272319

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Claire White, Professor of Religious Studies, California State University, Northridge

In Tana Toraja, a mountainous region of Sulawesi, Indonesia, villagers pour massive resources into funeral rituals: lavish feasts, ornate effigies and prized water buffaloes for sacrifice.

I witnessed this funeral ritual in 2024 while accompanying scholar Melanie Nyhof on her fieldwork. Families were expected to stage funerals that matched the social standing of the dead, even if it meant selling land, taking out loans or calling on distant kin for help.

In my own work of studying communal mourning rituals, I take part in ceremonies to see how they unfold.
At one of the ceremonies I attended in Tana Toraja, hundreds gathered as gongs echoed through the valley. Guests were served meals over several days, dancers in bright headdresses performed for the crowd, and water buffalo – the most valuable gift a family can give – were led into the courtyard for sacrifice. Mourners described these acts as ways of honoring the deceased.

It wasn’t just in the villages of Tana Toraja that families and clans used rituals to express loyalty for people they knew personally. I saw the same dynamics in cities, where national funerals can draw millions of strangers into a shared experience of unity and loss for a person they never met.

As a scholar who also studies the psychology of rituals, I found that rituals can be one of the most powerful ways humans bond with one other.

How rituals unite

In 2022, my colleagues and I surveyed more than 1,600 members of the British public a few days after Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral – both those who had traveled to London to be part of the crowds, and others who had watched the ceremony live on television.

Spectators reported intense grief and a connection with fellow mourners when they viewed the ceremony. On average, they described their sadness as intense. Most also said they felt a strong sense of unity – not only with people standing alongside them, but even with strangers across the nation who shared in the moment.

The effects were especially pronounced for those who had attended in person.

To see whether that sense of unity translated into action, we also used a behavioral measure using a mild deception task. All participants would receive a digital £15 (US$20) voucher for completing the survey, which would be emailed to them 48 hours later.

Toward the end of the survey, however, participants were asked whether they would be willing to donate money from their voucher for taking part in the survey. They indicated this via a sliding scale, from £0-£15 ($0 to $20.25) in £1 ($1.35) increments. Participants were led to believe that the funds would go to a new U.K. charity designed to educate future generations about the importance of the monarchy.

At the end of the study, participants were debriefed: The charity was fictional, and no money was actually taken; so regardless of how much they thought they were donating, all participants received the full compensation.

The results were striking. Those who felt the strongest grief also reported greater connection to both fellow mourners and fellow citizens; they were more likely to pledge to the monarchist cause. We later tested whether these effects fade quickly or leave a lasting imprint.

In a forthcoming study, we followed British spectators for up to eight months after Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral. Those who experienced the most sadness during the ceremony formed especially vivid emotional memories, which prompted months of reflection. That reflection, in turn, reshaped how people saw themselves – a personal identity shift that predicted enduring feelings of unity with others who had shared the experience.

Crucially, this sense of “we-ness” was strongest among those who had been physically present together and continued to predict willingness to volunteer long after the funeral ended.

In other words, grief didn’t just wash over people passively; it mobilized them toward concrete acts of loyalty and generosity. And importantly, this wasn’t limited to those who had traveled to London. Even people who only watched the funeral on television still showed some of the same effects, though less strongly.

Anthropologists have long reported that funerals and other rituals can create a profound sense of bonding that can outlive the ceremony itself. Our research suggests that shared rituals of mourning can foster unity at scale, reaching far beyond those physically present.

Furthermore, shared suffering forges identity and binds people together long after the ritual itself has passed.

Anthropologist Harvey Whitehouse’s research shows that when people endure intense suffering together, they don’t just feel closer – they come to see one another as if they were family. This kinlike bond helps explain why groups who undergo hardship together often display extreme loyalty and self-sacrifice. This is true even for strangers.

When rituals divide

But are those bonds always open-ended? Or do they sometimes channel generosity inward, toward one’s own group?

At Pope Francis’ funeral in 2025, we surveyed 146 people immediately after they had viewed his body lying in state in St. Peter’s Basilica. We asked them to rate the extent of their discomfort waiting in line.

Some had waited overnight without food or water, and all had queued for hours in the unrelenting Roman sun. At the end of the survey, participants were invited to donate to one of two charities: a new Catholic aid organization or the International Red Cross.

As we predicted, the people who rated their experience waiting in line as the most uncomfortable also pledged the most money. But there was a twist. Almost all of that generosity flowed to the Catholic charity. Donations to the Red Cross were strikingly low, even though Red Cross volunteers had been circulating through the crowd, offering water and assistance. The difference in giving was not due to a difference in awareness or salience. What mattered was whether the cause felt part of the shared experience people had just endured.

This finding aligns with the work of my collaborator, anthropologist Dimitris Xygalatas, who has demonstrated that group rituals both “bind and blind.” These ceremonial rituals blind by narrowing generosity, channeling it mainly toward one’s own group, such as through the funerary ritual studies we conducted.

When shared suffering bridges divides

But shared suffering can sometimes do the opposite – not narrowing solidarity, but expanding it.

In other research I conducted after the catastrophic earthquakes in Turkey in 2023, with my colleague, anthropologist Sevgi Demiroglu, we surveyed 120 survivors across some of the most heavily impacted regions. Nearly half had lost a loved one, a third had lost their homes, and the vast majority showed signs of post-traumatic stress.

Participants were asked how intensely they had felt negative emotions such as fear and anxiety during the quakes; crucially, how much they believed those emotions were shared by others – whether family members, other Turkish survivors or Syrian refugees who were also affected.

Survivors who felt their suffering was shared reported a stronger sense of oneness, with those groups. And that sense of bonding predicted action. Even after losing nearly everything, many said they were just as willing to volunteer time to help fellow Turkish survivors as if they were their own families. Strikingly, this willingness extended even to ethnic communities often regarded with suspicion, suggesting that shared suffering can temporarily override social and political divides.

In this case, there were no collective grief rituals to help process loss. Yet the same underlying mechanism was visible: Shared suffering brought people together like kin. Grief rituals can take this raw bond and stabilize it – giving shared loss a durable social form.

Perhaps, grief rituals remind us that in grief, as in life, we are not alone.

Claire White receives funding from Templeton Religion Trust TRT-2021-10490.

– ref. The hidden power of grief rituals – https://theconversation.com/the-hidden-power-of-grief-rituals-260393