Comment réinventer l’autoroute du Soleil à l’heure de la transition écologique ?

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Etienne Faugier, Maître de conférences en histoire, Université Lumière Lyon 2

On l’appelle « autoroute du Soleil », voire « autoroute des vacances ». L’A7, au sud de la France, est un axe touristique emblématique. Retour sur l’histoire de sa construction, indissociable de l’ère des congés payés, et sur les défis environnementaux, sociaux et économiques auxquels elle fait face.


En juillet et août, l’autoroute A7, qui relie Lyon à Marseille, est un axe particulièrement emprunté par les automobilistes, camionneurs, motocyclistes, caravanistes et autres camping-caristes. Habituellement chargée le reste de l’année par les poids lourds, elle fait alors l’objet de chassés-croisés entre juilletistes et aoûtiens.

Il s’agit d’un axe majeur du réseau autoroutier français, qui dit beaucoup de choses sur le passé, le présent et l’avenir de la société française. Sa construction s’inscrit dans un moment bien particulier de l’histoire, et elle fait face aujourd’hui à de nouveaux enjeux environnementaux, économiques et sociaux.

Aux origines des projets d’autoroutes

Les projets autoroutiers remontent au début du XXe siècle. Ils se sont développés avec l’essor de la motorisation dans une volonté d’accélérer les déplacements en séparant les modes de transport motorisés des autres modes. Un premier tronçon d’autoroute est construit aux États-Unis autour de Long Island (dans l’État de New York) en 1907. Mais c’est véritablement de Milan aux lacs de Côme et Majeur (Italie), en 1924, que l’on voit apparaître la première autostrada. Le Reich allemand suivra, en 1935, avec une autoroute de Francfort et Darmstadt (dans le Land de Hesse).

En France, dès les années 1930, des propositions d’autoroute voient le jour et notamment, en 1935, la Société des autostrades françaises (SAF) propose un itinéraire entre Lyon (Rhône) et Saint-Étienne (Loire), abandonné, car non rentable. L’autoroute a pour premier objectif les échanges économiques et commerciaux par camions et automobiles. Des projets d’autoroutes de contournement d’agglomération sont lancés durant les années 1930 dans la région parisienne. Ce n’est véritablement qu’après la Seconde Guerre mondiale qu’un système autoroutier émerge avec la loi de 1955.

L’utilisation de ce réseau à des fins touristiques et récréatives s’accroît au début des années 1960, sous l’impulsion notamment de Georges Pompidou.

Plusieurs éléments y contribuent. D’abord, la possession automobile se démocratise (Renault 4CV en 1946, Citroën 2CV en 1948) et les flottes de camions, camionnettes, motocyclettes augmentent durant la période des Trente Glorieuses. Parallèlement, les Français obtiennent deux semaines de congés payés en 1936, une troisième en 1956, une quatrième en 1969, puis une cinquième en 1982, de quoi partir en vacances.

Les travaux de l’autoroute A7 débutent en 1950 et s’achèvent en 1974 et relient à l’époque le sud de Lyon (Rhône) à Marseille (Bouches-du-Rhône) sur environ 300 km. La construction se fait sous l’autorité de la société d’économie mixte de l’Autoroute de la Vallée du Rhône (SAVR), renommée Autoroutes du sud de la France (ASF) en 1973.

On la qualifie d’« autoroute du Soleil » dès 1974, puisqu’elle emmène les Lyonnais vers la Méditerranée plus rapidement que par la mythique et plus pittoresque route nationale 7, la route des vacances. L’A7 va nourrir l’attrait touristique pour la Côte d’Azur.

Flux autoroutiers et patrimoine

La législation autoroutière permet de se déplacer jusqu’à la vitesse limite de 130 km/h. Plusieurs outils sont progressivement constitués pour gérer, en toute sécurité, les flux autoroutiers.

On peut citer la création en 1966 du Centre national d’information routière (CNIR) de la Gendarmerie à Rosny-sous-Bois et, en 1975, de Bison Futé pour informer sur la circulation routière afin d’éviter les embouteillages et pour proposer les itinéraires bis. Dès 1986, ce sera aussi le minitel avec le 3615 code route, puis dès 1991 la fréquence radio 107.7 avec ses flash-infos, et enfin le site Internet de Bison Futé en 1996 avec désormais toutes applications numériques pour connaître le trafic en temps réel (Waze, Googlemaps…).

La conduite frontale monotone sur autoroute fatigue et peut entraîner des accidents. L’autoroute, c’est aussi des aires pour s’arrêter. Celles-ci se répartissent en deux catégories : les aires de repos, tous les 15 km, avec tables, sanitaires, accès à l’eau et les aires de service, tous les 30-40 km, qui comportent de surcroît une station essence et des commerces. À l’échelle de la France, on dénombre 364 aires de service, 637 aires de repos.

Annonce de l’aire d’autoroute de Montélimar (Drôme) sur l’A7.
BlueBreezeWiki/Wikimedia, CC BY-NC-ND

L’aire de service de Montélimar (Drôme), la plus importante d’Europe (52 hectares) peut aujourd’hui accueillir jusqu’à 60 000 personnes et 40 000 véhicules, et compte entre 180 et 400 employés ! Elle accueille dès 2010 un McDonald’s géré par Autogrill – un des leaders mondiaux de la restauration des voyageurs – et met bien sûr en avant la spécialité locale : le nougat.

Reste que l’autoroute propose à ses usagers un long ruban d’asphalte avec peu d’accès aux patrimoines des territoires traversés. Certaines aires d’autoroute ont entrepris, dès 1965, de les signaler. Ainsi l’aire de service de Saint-Rambert d’Albon (Drôme) intitulée « Isardrôme » (contraction d’Isère, d’Ardèche et de Drôme), expose et vend les produits du terroir – chocolats de la Drôme, fruits de l’Ardèche et de la Drôme, des produits gastronomiques (ravioles de Romans, vins des caves de Chapoutier et Jaboulet, marrons glacés Clément Faugier d’Ardèche, etc.).

Dès 1972, preuve de l’influence du tourisme à cette période, sont également installés les fameux panneaux marron qui indiquent les richesses patrimoniales à proximité de l’autoroute. Jean Widmer, graphiste suisse, s’inspire pour celles-ci des pictogrammes égyptiens.

Dès 2021, de nouveaux dessinateurs sont amenés à retravailler cette signalétique patrimoniale, à travers des images stylisées qui font la promotion des territoires français, récemment mis à l’honneur par une exposition au Musée des Beaux-Arts de Chambéry. Celles-ci permettent aux usagers de l’autoroute d’avoir un « paysage mental » plus élargi du territoire qu’ils parcourent.

Exemple de panneau patrimonial pour autoroute dessiné par Jacques de Loustal.
Jacques de Loustal

Mais le temps, fût-il gagné, c’est de l’argent. Depuis 1961, les autoroutes gérées par des entreprises (Vinci, Eiffage…) sont payantes pour leurs usagers – elles deviennent totalement privées à partir de 2002 en échange de la modernisation et l’entretien des réseaux autoroutiers. Ces concessions arriveront à leur terme durant les années 2030, ce qui pose la question du retour des réseaux autoroutiers dans l’escarcelle de l’État.

L’autoroute du Soleil à l’épreuve de la durabilité

Le principal défi des autoroutes est désormais d’ordre écologique.

En effet, celles-ci affectent la biodiversité : les autoroutes traversent de larges territoires ruraux. Par exemple au col du Grand Bœuf dans la Drôme, à 323 mètres d’altitude, l’autoroute nuit à la faune coupant en deux les écosystèmes.

Pour tenter de pallier les déficiences de l’aménagement du territoire et améliorer la gestion de la biodiversité, un écopont – pont végétalisé aérien – de 15 mètres de large a été construit en 2011 pour permettre la circulation des espèces animales (biches, chevreuils, blaireaux, renards, fouines, etc.). Il a coûté 2,6 millions d’euros.

Aménagement écologique sur l’A7.
Chacal doré photographié sous l’autoroute A7, en novembre 2020.
LPO Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur

Plus au sud, au niveau de Salon-de-Provence (Bouches-du-Rhône), il existe des écoducs – passages souterrains destinés à la petite faune. Sous l’A7, les caméras de surveillance ont pris en photo en 2020 plusieurs chacals dorés.

Les autoroutes telles que l’A7 entraînent diverses sortes de pollution : sonore, visuelle, environnementale. Depuis les années 1990, les préoccupations montent quant à la pollution routière et à ses effets.

L’infrastructure qu’est l’autoroute, pour permettre la vitesse, nécessite d’artificialiser une partie importante de l’environnement. De plus en plus de critiques se font jour depuis le début des années 1990 pour contester l’emprise au sol du système motorisé. Cela amène donc davantage de frictions entre les acteurs du territoire lorsqu’il s’agit de construire un échangeur, une portion d’autoroute ou encore une aire de repos ou de service.

Les accidents, mortels ou non, font eux aussi l’objet de multiples médiations. Il faut toutefois avoir conscience qu’ils sont plus nombreux hors autoroutes. En 2022, la mortalité sur autoroute ne représentait que 9 % des tués, contre 59 % sur les routes hors agglomération (nationales, départementales…) et 32 % en agglomération.

Avec l’essor des véhicules électriques et hybrides et la fin programmée des moteurs thermiques, les bornes électriques se multiplient – depuis 2019, sur l’aire d’autoroute de Montélimar évoquée plus haut.

En 2024, on dénombrait sur l’A7 plus de 120 points de recharge, certains ultrarapides, répartis sur neuf aires d’autoroute, dont l’aire Latitude 45 de Pont-de-l’Isère (Drôme), la mieux dotée. Le concessionnaire propose en moyenne 10 bornes de recharge et voudrait arriver à 60 par aire d’autoroute à l’horizon 2035.

Les enjeux de réseau, d’alimentation et d’usage autour de la recharge électrique sont encore à affiner. Cet été, le trafic sur l’A7 peut atteindre 180 000 véhicules/jour avec de nombreux poids lourds, automobiles, caravanes et camping-car. Si on souhaite réduire les émissions de gaz à effet de serre et respecter l’accord de Paris, remplacer tous ces véhicules par de l’électrique ne suffit pas : il faut également en passer par une forme de sobriété et réduire le volume des déplacements.

Entre enjeux économiques et frictions sociales

L’A7 fait enfin l’objet d’enjeux politiques. Entre Chanas (Isère) et Tain-L’Hermitage (Drôme) par exemple, soit le tronçon le plus long entre deux sorties d’autoroute, deux demi-échangeurs à Saint-Rambert d’Albon (en direction de Marseille) et à Saint-Barthélémy-de-Vals (tourné vers Lyon) sont en discussion, et devraient aboutir sur la période 2019-2027.

Ces deux infrastructures doivent mieux desservir le territoire d’un point de vue économique et touristique, après concertation entre la communauté de communes Portes de DrômArdèche, de la région Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes (AURA) et de Vinci Autoroute. Toutefois, des associations environnementales et trois municipalités (Peyrins, Chantemerle, Saint-Bardoux) se sont opposées au projet en mai 2025 dans un souci de durabilité (impact pour la faune et flore, pertes de terrains agricoles) et d’augmentation trop importante du trafic routier sur ce territoire.

L’autoroute des vacances n’intéresse donc pas simplement les touristes motorisés qui la traversent. Elle concerne en premier lieu les habitants des territoires desservis et a des impacts sur les territoires environnants.

Durant les années à venir, cette autoroute, comme l’ensemble du réseau autoroutier, va être soumise à des pressions accrues : politiques, économiques, sociales, environnementales. La question de nos modes de vie entre en collision avec la finalité des ressources disponibles, comme l’avait souligné le rapport du club de Rome en 1972. Alors, à terme : parlera-t-on encore d’autoroute des vacances ou d’autoroute vacante ?

The Conversation

Etienne Faugier est président et membre de l’Association Passé-Présent-Mobilité, https://ap2m.hypotheses.org/
Il est aussi membre du Conseil scientifique du CHEDD (Comité d’Histoire de l’Environnement et du Développement Durable), https://chedd.hypotheses.org/

ref. Comment réinventer l’autoroute du Soleil à l’heure de la transition écologique ? – https://theconversation.com/comment-reinventer-lautoroute-du-soleil-a-lheure-de-la-transition-ecologique-261969

La Terre est-elle le berceau de l’humanité ? Quelques réponses en science-fiction

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Gatien Gambin, Doctorant en Études Culturelles / ATER en BUT Métiers du Multimédia et de l’Internet, Université de Lorraine

L’imaginaire spatial, un champ de bataille culturel sur lequel s’opposent diverses représentations de l’aventure spatiale. Shutterstock

L’image de la Terre « berceau » de l’humanité a longtemps nourri l’imaginaire de la colonisation spatiale, de la science-fiction et l’esprit des entrepreneurs de conquêtes spatiales. Elle est aujourd’hui remise en question par une multitude d’œuvres de science-fiction, au cinéma comme en littérature.


« La Terre est le berceau de l’humanité, mais nul n’est destiné à rester dans son berceau tout au long de sa vie. » Cette phrase du père de l’astronautique moderne Constantin Tsiolkovski (1857-1935) a marqué durablement l’astroculture sous toutes ses formes, dans sa Russie natale comme en Occident. Elon Musk, les personnages du film Interstellar (Christopher Nolan, 2014) ou bien ceux du roman Aurora (Kim Stanley Robinson, 2015) citent aisément la métaphore du « berceau » pour justifier la colonisation spatiale, ou au contraire la discuter.

De ses origines jusqu’à son assimilation et son questionnement par la science-fiction (SF) contemporaine, plongeons dans les méandres d’une métaphore qui structure puissamment les imaginaires de l’exploration spatiale.

Une citation aux origines floues devenue un lieu commun

La métaphore du « berceau » est en réalité un amalgame de deux citations. Tsiolkovski était un des fers de lance du cosmisme russe, un courant philosophique, scientifique et spirituel apparu à la fin du XIXe siècle. Selon lui, la destinée humaine est de quitter la Terre pour « contrôler entièrement le système solaire. » Il exprime cette idée dans une lettre, datant de 1911, adressée à un ami ingénieur. Cette correspondance est la source la plus fréquemment utilisée pour référencer la métaphore du berceau, pourtant le mot « berceau » (« cradle » en anglais, « колыбель » en russe) n’y est pas utilisé.

L’image du berceau apparaît en 1912, en conclusion d’un de ses articles pour un magazine d’aéronautique, dans une phrase qui détermine la structure de la métaphore :

« Notre planète est le berceau de la raison, mais personne ne peut vivre éternellement dans un berceau. »

Différents passages de Tsiolkovski semblent donc avoir été amalgamés en une citation dont l’origine exacte fait l’objet de confusions et dont la traduction opère un changement de sens : la « planète » devient la Terre et la « la raison » devient l’humanité. Cette citation controuvée s’est ainsi transformée au fil du temps en un puissant lieu commun souvent mobilisé pour soutenir la colonisation spatiale.

Un lieu commun débattu en science-fiction

Tsiolkovski avait une riche activité d’écrivain-vulgarisateur. Plusieurs de ses nouvelles racontent le futur spatial de l’humanité en décrivant des habitats spatiaux ou l’expérience sensorielle et émotionnelle de la vie en impesanteur. Inspiré par Jules Verne et l’astronome Camille Flammarion, il a contribué comme eux à poser les fondements de ce qu’on nommera plus tard la science-fiction.

La SF est née à la fin des années 1920, dans les pulps magazines américains. Seuls les textes scientifiques sur l’astronautique de Tsiolkovski sont alors connus au-delà de l’Atlantique. Les idées qu’il développe dans ses récits ont participé à bien des égards à l’élaboration de l’imaginaire science-fictionnel, mais sa métaphore reste finalement son héritage le plus perceptible dans le genre.




À lire aussi :
Comment les séries de science-fiction réinventent la narration


L’auteur de SF britannique Brian Aldiss cite Tsiolkovski dans son roman Mars Blanche (2001), l’idée du berceau est employée comme un argument en faveur de la colonisation de Mars, puis critiquée par un personnage qui la range parmi les lieux communs empêchant de renouveler l’imaginaire de l’exploration spatiale.

Kim Stanley Robinson discute également de la sédimentation de la métaphore dans son roman Aurora (2015). L’auteur états-unien affirme avoir voulu « tuer cette idée que l’humanité est vouée à aller dans les étoiles ». Une scène illustre cette intention : lors d’un colloque, les revenants d’une mission de colonisation spatiale se battent avec ceux qui justifient ce projet grâce à l’image du berceau.

Dans ces œuvres, l’usage tel quel de la citation de Tsiolkovski permet le développement d’une double critique : celle de l’image produite par cette métaphore et celle du bien-fondé de la colonisation spatiale. C’est une chose nouvelle dans la SF du XXIe siècle puisqu’avant les années 1990, « être contre l’espace [revenait à] être contre la SF », selon le critique Gary Westfahl.

Un symbole aux enjeux écologiques

L’absence de remise en question de la colonisation spatiale perdure encore dans la SF actuelle. Elle s’observe dans la manière dont la métaphore du berceau se trouve paraphrasée dans certaines œuvres, comme le blockbuster Interstellar (2014). Dans une réplique, le héros du film affirme :

« Ce monde est un trésor […], mais il nous dit que l’on doit le quitter maintenant. L’humanité est née sur Terre, on n’a jamais dit qu’elle devait y mourir. »

L’image du berceau est remplacée par le verbe « naître » (« Mankind was born on Earth »), mais le sens de la métaphore reste bien présent tandis qu’une justification écologique est ajoutée, en écho aux considérations de l’époque. Avec cette paraphrase, c’est davantage un sursaut de conservation de l’humanité que l’idée originelle de son émancipation par l’accès à l’espace qui est mise en avant.

Bande-annonce du film Interstellar (2014), de Christopher Nolan.

Dans le film Passengers (2016), le mot « berceau » est investi du même imaginaire de l’aventure spatiale : quitter la Terre permettrait de sauver l’humanité. Toutefois, des enjeux économiques s’y ajoutent de façon à souligner la dimension astrocapitaliste d’un tel projet d’exode. En guise d’« introduction à la vie coloniale », un hologramme explique au personnage principal :

« La Terre est une planète prospère, le berceau de la civilisation (« the cradle of civilization »). Mais pour beaucoup, elle est aussi surpeuplée, surtaxée, surfaite (« overpopulated, overpriced, overrated »). »

La Terre est ainsi envisagée comme une marchandise par la compagnie privée qui possède le vaisseau. Son fond de commerce n’est pas la survie de l’humanité, mais l’exode vers une planète B édenique à bord de vaisseaux de croisière.

Le nom de Tsiolkovski s’efface dans ces deux films, et avec lui le lien syntaxique entre « Terre » et « berceau » grâce au verbe « être ». Le mot « berceau » devient dès lors un symbole. Sa seule mention dans un contexte astroculturel suffit à évoquer la Terre, et à ouvrir la voie à tous les espoirs d’une vie plus agréable, plus libre et plus abondante sur une autre planète.




À lire aussi :
La croisière ne s’amuse plus : « Avenue 5 », satire du tourisme spatial


Du berceau au foyer

L’imaginaire spatial apparaît aujourd’hui comme un champ de bataille culturel au sein duquel s’opposent diverses représentations de l’aventure spatiale. Aux récits les plus traditionnels – les rêves de conquête et d’utopie spatiales – s’opposent des récits dans lesquels les humains renoncent à la colonisation spatiale comme la publicité satirique de l’association Fridays for Future à propos de l’élitisme de la colonisation spatiale. Elle s’oppose, entre autres, au slogan « Occupy Mars » de SpaceX, l’entreprise astronautique d’Elon Musk, en détournant les codes de leurs supports de communication.

On peut trouver des récits similaires dans la SF, comme la bande dessinée Shangri-La (2016), de Mathieu Bablet, ou le roman l’Incivilité des fantômes (2019), de Rivers Solomon, qui extrapolent les racines capitalistes et colonialistes du rêve d’exode dans l’espace.

À l’interstice de ces deux pôles se trouvent des récits cherchant le pas de côté pour continuer à rêver de voyages spatiaux sans succomber à un récit dominant.

La critique du récit spatial dominant passe fréquemment par l’étude de sa réappropriation du mythe américain de la frontière (la Frontier, le front pionnier de la conquête de l’Ouest), de ses aspects militaires ou de sa dimension astrocapitaliste.

La métaphore du berceau reste trop souvent évacuée lorsqu’il est question de changer nos représentations de l’espace. S’il faut « cesser de parler de l’espace comme d’une frontière », comme l’appelle de ses vœux l’anthropologue Lisa Messeri, sans doute faut-il tout autant cesser de considérer la Terre comme un berceau. Mieux vaudrait la considérer comme un foyer, sans tomber dans la naïveté de croire qu’une telle reformulation permettrait de sortir du paradigme astrocapitaliste.

La stratégie de communication de Blue Origin – entreprise spatiale créée par Jeff Bezos – accapare déjà l’image du foyer pour se différencier de son concurrent SpaceX. Leur slogan tente de nous en convaincre : Blue Origin réalise ses projets spatiaux « pour le bénéfice de la Terre ».

Au moins certaines œuvres permettent un peu de respiration face à cette opération de récupération de la critique inhérente au « nouvel esprit du capitalisme ». À l’instar du roman Aurora (2015), de Kim Stanley Robinson, le Roman de Jeanne (2018), de Lidia Yuknavitch, Apprendre si par bonheur (2019), de Becky Chambers et le film Wall-E (2008), d’Andrew Stanton, sont des œuvres qui expérimentent, dans le fond et dans la forme, un double changement discursif : l’espace y devient au mieux un milieu à explorer avec humilité, au pire un lieu auquel l’humain renonce, mais il n’est plus une frontière à conquérir ; la Terre y est un foyer que l’on retrouve après des années d’absence et que l’on entretient du mieux possible, mais jamais un berceau que l’on veut à tout prix quitter.


L’auteur remercie Célia Mugnier pour son aide sur la traduction de la métaphore du berceau.

The Conversation

Gatien Gambin ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. La Terre est-elle le berceau de l’humanité ? Quelques réponses en science-fiction – https://theconversation.com/la-terre-est-elle-le-berceau-de-lhumanite-quelques-reponses-en-science-fiction-241287

Devenir mère seule par PMA : quand le désir d’enfant s’affranchit du couple

Source: The Conversation – France in French (3) – By Margot Lenouvel, Doctorante en sociologie, Ined (Institut national d’études démographiques)

En France, depuis l’ouverture de la procréation médicalement assistée à toutes les femmes – dans une loi promulguée le 2 août 2021 –, les femmes seules sont nombreuses à s’engager dans une démarche de PMA. Quels sont les profils et les aspirations de ces mères, longtemps restées dans l’ombre ? Portées par un même désir d’enfant, elles livrent des récits qui, sans rejeter la conjugalité, portent un regard critique sur le couple hétéroparental.


Aujourd’hui en France, depuis la révision de la loi bioéthique en 2021, la procréation médicalement assistée (PMA, également appelée assistance médicale à la procréation, AMP) est accessible à toutes les femmes, y compris à celles qui ne sont pas en couple. Auparavant, elle était réservée aux couples hétérosexuels infertiles. Cette ouverture place une figure de mères seules sur le devant de la scène publique : celles qui « font des bébés toutes seules » grâce à la médecine reproductive. Elles passaient auparavant par leurs propres moyens, ou par une PMA à l’étranger pour recevoir un don de sperme.

Bien que les témoignages sur ce type de maternités solo se multiplient (voir ici ou ici), elles échappent encore aux enquêtes statistiques. L’enquête AMP-sans-frontières (Ined, 2021) devrait bientôt pouvoir combler ce manque. À titre d’indication, selon l’Agence de la biomédecine, ces femmes sont, avec les couples lesbiens, en première ligne des demandes de PMA avec don de spermatozoïdes. Au 31 décembre 2023, environ 7 600 femmes étaient en attente d’un don. Parmi elles, 44 % étaient des femmes seules, 38 % en couple avec une femme et 18 % en couple avec un homme.

Alors que ces projets étaient initialement perçus comme un « plan B », porté par des femmes plus âgées n’ayant pas trouvé de partenaire, devenir mère seule grâce à la PMA peut désormais constituer un « plan A », incarné par des femmes plus jeunes qui dissocient clairement maternité et conjugalité. Ces femmes se présentent-elles pour autant comme émancipées des cadres conjugaux ?

Nous nous sommes intéressées à cette question dans le cadre de nos deux recherches combinant 69 entretiens menés entre 2021 et 2023 en France métropolitaine auprès de femmes devenues mères sans être en couple (par un don de sperme, suite à une rencontre occasionnelle ou une séparation). Parmi ces entretiens, 44 sont issues d’une thèse en cours sur les maternités solitaires, et 25 proviennent d’une enquête consacrée au recours à la PMA solo.

Des parcours longtemps occultés

La monoparentalité – le fait pour une famille de compter un seul parent –, le plus souvent perçue comme la conséquence d’une séparation, suppose implicitement la présence initiale de deux parents et un idéal de coparentalité. Devenir parent demeure largement pensé comme une affaire de couple. Cette définition restrictive invisibilise les cas où une femme devient mère sans être en couple, en s’affranchissant de la norme biparentale. Ces « maternités solitaires », peu étudiées en France, sont longtemps restées dans l’ombre, alors qu’elles représentent 5 % des naissances d’après l’enquête nationale périnatale de 2021.

Les trajectoires menant à la naissance hors couple sont diverses et plus ou moins planifiées. Elles se déclinent en trois scénarios : « L’enfant sans le couple », « Quand l’enfant défait le couple », « L’enfant pour s’émanciper du couple et des violences ».

Les femmes ayant recours à la PMA correspondent au premier cas. Sur le plan social, elles se démarquent nettement des autres mères seules. En France et dans d’autres pays d’Europe, comme en Amérique du nord, elles sont principalement âgées de plus de 35 ans et appartiennent aux classes moyennes et supérieures. Elles sont significativement plus âgées que les autres femmes ayant recours à la PMA en couple, qu’il soit lesbien ou hétérosexuel. Après avoir parfois envisagé d’autres options (comme l’adoption, une rencontre d’un soir ou la coparentalité), la médecine reproductive s’avère pour elles la solution la plus « sécurisée », et surtout, la plus « éthique » : elle assure un contrôle médical du donneur et permet de construire une histoire familiale fondée sur le geste du don.

Sur l’ensemble des femmes interrogées, toutes sauf deux s’identifient comme hétérosexuelles. Les plus âgées d’entre elles (35 ans et plus) évoquent un échec de la rencontre parentale ou un manque d’opportunités. Elles n’ont pas trouvé de partenaire pour concrétiser leur désir d’enfant. À titre d’exemples, Roxane évoque un décalage dans les aspirations parentales avec son ancien compagnon qui ne voulait pas d’enfant ; Marie ou Chloé disent avoir eu des histoires « négatives » ou « foireuses », qui les ont amenées à privilégier un projet parental seules. Les plus jeunes (moins de 35 ans) expriment une prise de distance avec l’injonction à « attendre » un futur conjoint pour s’autoriser à devenir mère.

Ces parcours illustrent des asymétries de genre dans les relations hétérosexuelles, avec un fort engagement des femmes dans la parentalité, tandis que les hommes, affichent des intentions de fécondité plus faibles, en particulier lorsqu’ils ont une conception égalitaire des rôles de genre.

Avoir un enfant seule : un « choix pragmatique »

Dans leurs discours, l’idéal reste néanmoins de devenir mère au sein d’un couple et que l’enfant ait un père plus tard. La force d’imposition de la norme conjugale se cristallise par leur intériorisation du modèle normatif de la famille. Pour quelques-unes, ce choix s’apparente à un « mode de vie » recherché, mais cette situation est minoritaire. Elle concerne des femmes ayant vécu des violences sexuelles par le passé, pour qui la médecine reproductive est un moyen de contourner l’impératif conjugal et d’éviter un rapport sexuel avec un homme.

Pour ces femmes, avoir un enfant seule se dessine davantage comme choix pragmatique, « un choix dans un non-choix », comme le résume Sophie (37 ans, orthophoniste, PMA réalisée en Espagne, un enfant de 2 ans). L’entrée dans la maternité solo s’explique par l’impensé d’une vie sans enfant plus que par un choix délibéré d’avoir un enfant seule. Le réel choix revendiqué est celui de devenir mère.

Contrairement aux idées reçues, ces parcours ne se réduisent ni à des expériences subies ni à des démarches de « célibattantes » affirmées qui souhaiteraient « s’affranchir des hommes ». Leur situation est révélatrice d’aspirations à la libre disposition de leur corps et de leur identité́ genrée, où le désir d’enfant constitue une source d’accomplissement de soi.

« Mieux vaut être seule que mal accompagnée »

Les femmes que nous avons rencontrées ne rejettent pas la vie conjugale (ou les relations sexo-affectives au sens large) : la plupart envisagent d’être en couple plus tard, et certaines sont en relation avec un partenaire qui peut s’impliquer à des degrés divers dans l’éducation de l’enfant.

Néanmoins, leurs récits témoignent d’un regard critique sur le couple hétéroparental, résumé par l’expression : « mieux vaut être seule que mal accompagnée ». C’est ce qu’exprime notamment Clotilde, 38 ans, fonctionnaire territoriale, mère d’un enfant de trois mois issu d’une PMA en Belgique :

« Dans mes couples d’amis, c’est des couples hétérosexuels, la charge mentale – même si je déteste ce mot-là – elle est clairement assumée par les mamans. Aujourd’hui, qu’on soit deux ou toute seule j’ai l’impression que de toute façon c’est majoritairement assumé par les femmes. Surtout qu’on peut être seule en étant deux. »

Elles dénoncent les asymétries de la charge domestique et éducationnelle qui se font au détriment des femmes et au profit des hommes. C’est davantage le désengagement masculin dans la parentalité ordinaire qu’elles déplorent, qu’un rejet de la vie conjugale en elle-même. Elles affichent la maternité solo comme un choix de vie préférable à une parentalité partagée au sein d’un couple qui ne répondrait pas à l’idéal de solidarité et d’équité vis-à-vis de la charge parentale.

La critique du couple hétéroparental par ces femmes passe aussi par une valorisation de leur autonomie en tant qu’unique parent, comme l’exprime Joséphine, 43 ans, juriste, mère d’un enfant de 2 ans né d’un don réalisé en Espagne :

« Sur tous les choix qu’il y a à faire pour un enfant, parfois qu’est-ce que c’est facile d’être seule ! Sur l’éducation, sur le choix du prénom, sur les fringues, sur les sorties, sur tout un tas de choses. Je choisis seule. Je n’ai pas besoin de me battre avec mon compagnon qui ne pense pas comme moi ou me juge. Autour de moi, je le vois, c’est source d’engueulades très fréquentes l’éducation. Moi, je fais comme je pense. Alors parfois, j’aimerais bien partager mon avis, je suis un peu perdue, je ne sais pas comment faire. J’essaie de trouver dans ce cas-là quelqu’un à qui on parler. Mais voilà, il y a des avantages. »

Elles mettent en avant un sentiment d’autonomie et de liberté, une capacité d’improvisation et de spontanéité des choix, comme l’ont déjà souligné d’autres recherches sur la vie hors couple.

Une parentalité pour soi ?

L’apparition dans le débat public des maternités solo soulève une question : ces demandes ont-elles réellement émergé grâce à l’ouverture de la loi, ou reflètent-elles plutôt une prise de conscience collective de trajectoires parentales jusqu’alors invisibles, dont l’accès à la PMA signerait l’acceptation sociale ?

Si répondre à cette question nécessiterait une observation sur le temps long, il n’en demeure pas moins que recourir à la PMA solo est une manière de déployer une parentalité pour soi qui n’est plus subordonnée à la nécessité d’être en couple, et qui témoigne de l’autonomie procréative des femmes et de leur capacité à redéfinir les normes conjugales et parentales.

The Conversation

Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.

ref. Devenir mère seule par PMA : quand le désir d’enfant s’affranchit du couple – https://theconversation.com/devenir-mere-seule-par-pma-quand-le-desir-denfant-saffranchit-du-couple-261722

Light pollution is encroaching on observatories around the globe – making it harder for astronomers to study the cosmos

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Richard Green, Astronomer Emeritus, Steward Observatory, University of Arizona

Light pollution from human activity can threaten radio astronomy – and people’s view of the night sky. Estellez/iStock via Getty Images

Outdoor lighting for buildings, roads and advertising can help people see in the dark of night, but many astronomers are growing increasingly concerned that these lights could be blinding us to the rest of the universe.

An estimate from 2023 showed that the rate of human-produced light is increasing in the night sky by as much as 10% per year.

I’m an astronomer who has chaired a standing commission on astronomical site protection for the International Astronomical Union-sponsored working groups studying ground-based light pollution.

My work with these groups has centered around the idea that lights from human activities are now affecting astronomical observatories on what used to be distant mountaintops.

A map of North America showing light pollution, with almost all the eastern part of the U.S. covered from Maine to North Dakota, and hot spots on the West Coast.
Map of North America’s artificial sky brightness, as a ratio to the natural sky brightness.
Falchi et al., Science Advances (2016), CC BY-NC

Hot science in the cold, dark night

While orbiting telescopes like the Hubble Space Telescope or the James Webb Space Telescope give researchers a unique view of the cosmos – particularly because they can see light blocked by the Earth’s atmosphere – ground-based telescopes also continue to drive cutting-edge discovery.

Telescopes on the ground capture light with gigantic and precise focusing mirrors that can be 20 to 35 feet (6 to 10 meters) wide. Moving all astronomical observations to space to escape light pollution would not be possible, because space missions have a much greater cost and so many large ground-based telescopes are already in operation or under construction.

Around the world, there are 17 ground-based telescopes with primary mirrors as big or bigger than Webb’s 20-foot (6-meter) mirror, and three more under construction with mirrors planned to span 80 to 130 feet (24 to 40 meters).

The newest telescope starting its scientific mission right now, the Vera Rubin Observatory in Chile, has a mirror with a 28-foot diameter and a 3-gigapixel camera. One of its missions is to map the distribution of dark matter in the universe.

To do that, it will collect a sample of 2.6 billion galaxies. The typical galaxy in that sample is 100 times fainter than the natural glow in the nighttime air in the Earth’s atmosphere, so this Rubin Observatory program depends on near-total natural darkness.

Two pictures of the constellation Orion, with one showing many times more stars.
The more light pollution there is, the fewer stars a person can see when looking at the same part of the night sky. The image on the left depicts the constellation Orion in a dark sky, while the image on the right is taken near the city of Orem, Utah, a city of about 100,000 people.
jpstanley/Flickr, CC BY

Any light scattered at night – road lighting, building illumination, billboards – would add glare and noise to the scene, greatly reducing the number of galaxies Rubin can reliably measure in the same time, or greatly increasing the total exposure time required to get the same result.

The LED revolution

Astronomers care specifically about artificial light in the blue-green range of the electromagnetic spectrum, as that used to be the darkest part of the night sky. A decade ago, the most common outdoor lighting was from sodium vapor discharge lamps. They produced an orange-pink glow, which meant that they put out very little blue and green light.

Even observatories relatively close to growing urban areas had skies that were naturally dark in the blue and green part of the spectrum, enabling all kinds of new observations.

Then came the solid-state LED lighting revolution. Those lights put out a broad rainbow of color with very high efficiency – meaning they produce lots of light per watt of electricity. The earliest versions of LEDs put out a large fraction of their energy in the blue and green, but advancing technology now gets the same efficiency with “warmer” lights that have much less blue and green.

Nevertheless, the formerly pristine darkness of the night sky now has much more light, particularly in the blue and green, from LEDs in cities and towns, lighting roads, public spaces and advertising.

The broad output of color from LEDs affects the whole spectrum, from ultraviolet through deep red.

The U.S. Department of Energy commissioned a study in 2019 which predicted that the higher energy efficiency of LEDs would mean that the amount of power used for lights at night would go down, with the amount of light emitted staying roughly the same.

But satellites looking down at the Earth reveal that just isn’t the case. The amount of light is going steadily up, meaning that cities and businesses were willing to keep their electricity bills about the same as energy efficiency improved, and just get more light.

Natural darkness in retreat

As human activity spreads out over time, many of the remote areas that host observatories are becoming less remote. Light domes from large urban areas slightly brighten the dark sky at mountaintop observatories up to 200 miles (320 kilometers) away. When these urban areas are adjacent to an observatory, the addition to the skyglow is much stronger, making detection of the faintest galaxies and stars that much harder.

A white-domed building on a hilltop among trees.
The Mt. Wilson Observatory in the Angeles National Forest may look remote, but urban sprawl from Los Angeles means that it is much closer to dense human activity today than it was when it was established in 1904.
USDA/USFS, CC BY

When the Mt. Wilson Observatory was constructed in the Angeles National Forest near Pasadena, California, in the early 1900s, it was a very dark site, considerably far from the 500,000 people living in Greater Los Angeles. Today, 18.6 million people live in the LA area, and urban sprawl has brought civilization much closer to Mt. Wilson.

When Kitt Peak National Observatory was first under construction in the late 1950s, it was far from metro Tucson, Arizona, with its population of 230,000. Today, that area houses 1 million people, and Kitt Peak faces much more light pollution.

Even telescopes in darker, more secluded regions – like northern Chile or western Texas – experience light pollution from industrial activities like open-pit mining or oil and gas facilities.

A set of buildings atop a mountain in the desert.
European Southern Observatory’s Very Large Telescope at the Paranal site in the sparsely populated Atacama Desert in northern Chile.
J.L. Dauvergne & G. Hüdepohl/ESO, CC BY-ND

The case of the European Southern Observatory

An interesting modern challenge is facing the European Southern Observatory, which operates four of the world’s largest optical telescopes. Their site in northern Chile is very remote, and it is nominally covered by strict national regulations protecting the dark sky.

AES Chile, an energy provider with strong U.S. investor backing, announced a plan in December 2024 for the development of a large industrial plant and transport hub close to the observatory. The plant would produce liquid hydrogen and ammonia for green energy.

Even though formally compliant with the national lighting norm, the fully built operation could scatter enough artificial light into the night sky to turn the current observatory’s pristine darkness into a state similar to some of the legacy observatories now near large urban areas.

A map showing two industrial sites, one large, marked on a map of Chile. Just a few miles to the north are three telescope sites.
The location of AES Chile’s planned project in relation to the European Southern Observatory’s telescope sites.
European Southern Observatory, CC BY-ND

This light pollution could mean the facility won’t have the same ability to detect and measure the faintest galaxies and stars.

Light pollution doesn’t only affect observatories. Today, around 80% of the world’s population cannot see the Milky Way at night. Some Asian cities are so bright that the eyes of people walking outdoors cannot become visually dark-adapted.

In 2009, the International Astronomical Union declared that there is a universal right to starlight. The dark night sky belongs to all people – its awe-inspiring beauty is something that you don’t have to be an astronomer to appreciate.

The Conversation

Richard Green is affiliated with the International Astronomical Union and the American Astronomical Society, as well as DarkSky International.

ref. Light pollution is encroaching on observatories around the globe – making it harder for astronomers to study the cosmos – https://theconversation.com/light-pollution-is-encroaching-on-observatories-around-the-globe-making-it-harder-for-astronomers-to-study-the-cosmos-260387

‘AI veganism’: Some people’s issues with AI parallel vegans’ concerns about diet

Source: The Conversation – USA – By David Joyner, Associate Dean and Senior Research Associate, College of Computing, Georgia Institute of Technology

Ethical concerns – like the mistreatment of content creators decried by this protester – drive both veganism and resistance to using AI. Mario Tama/Getty Images

New technologies usually follow the technology adoption life cycle. Innovators and early adopters rush to embrace new technologies, while laggards and skeptics jump in much later.

At first glance, it looks like artificial intelligence is following the same pattern, but a new crop of studies suggests that AI might follow a different course – one with significant implications for business, education and society.

This general phenomenon has often been described as “AI hesitancy” or “AI reluctance.” The typical adoption curve assumes a person who is hesitant or reluctant to embrace a technology will eventually do so anyway. This pattern has repeated over and over – why would AI be any different?

Emerging research on the reasons behind AI hesitancy, however, suggests there are different dynamics at play that might alter the traditional adoption cycle. For example, a recent study found that while some causes of this hesitation closely mirror those regarding previous technologies, others are unique to AI.

In many ways, as someone who closely watches the spread of AI, there may be a better analogy: veganism.

AI veganism

The idea of an AI vegan is someone who abstains from using AI, the same way a vegan is someone who abstains from eating products derived from animals. Generally, the reasons people choose veganism do not fade automatically over time. They might be reasons that can be addressed, but they’re not just about getting more comfortable eating animals and animal products. That’s why the analogy in the case of AI is appealing.

Unlike many other technologies, it’s important not to assume that skeptics and laggards will eventually become adopters. Many of those refusing to embrace AI actually fit the traditional archetype of an early adopter. The study on AI hesitation focused on college students who are often among the first demographics to adopt new technologies.

There is some historical precedent for this analogy. Under the hood, AI is just a set of algorithms. Algorithmic aversion is a well-known phenomenon where humans are biased against algorithmic decision-making – even if it is shown to be more effective. For example, people prefer dating advice from humans over advice from algorithms, even when the algorithms perform better.

But the analogy to veganism applies in other ways, providing insights into what to expect in the future. In fact, studies show that three of the main reasons people choose veganism each have a parallel in AI avoidance.

Ethical concerns

One motivation for veganism is concern over the ethical sourcing of animal by-products. Similarly, studies have found that when users are aware that many content creators did not knowingly opt into letting their work be used to train AI, they are more likely to avoid using AI.

a woman in a crowd holds a sign over her head
Many vegans have ethical concerns about the treatment of animals. Some people who avoid using AI have ethical concerns about the treatment of content creators.
Vuk Valcic/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images

These concerns were at the center of the Writers Guild of America and Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists strikes in 2023, where the two unions argued for legal protections against companies using creatives’ works to train AI without consent or compensation. While some creators may be protected by such trade agreements, lots of models are instead trained on the work of amateur, independent or freelance creators without these systematic protections.

Environmental concerns

A second motivation for veganism is concern over the environmental impacts of intensive animal agriculture, from deforestation to methane production. Research has shown that the computing resources needed to support AI are growing exponentially, dramatically increasing demand for electricity and water, and that efficiency improvements are unlikely to lower the overall power usage due to a rebound effect, which is when efficiency gains spur new technologies that consume more energy.

One preliminary study found that increasing users’ awareness of the power demands of AI can affect how they use these systems. Another survey found that concern about water usage to cool AI systems was a factor in students’ refusal to use the technology at Cambridge University.

a woman in a crowd holds a hand-painted sign
Both AI and meat production spark concerns about environmental impact.
Kichul Shin/NurPhoto via Getty Images

Personal wellness

A third motivation for veganism is concern for possible negative health effects of eating animals and animal products. A potential parallel concern could be at work in AI veganism.

A Microsoft Research study found that people who were more confident in using generative AI showed diminished critical thinking. The 2025 Cambridge University survey found some students avoiding AI out of concern that using it could make them lazy.

It is not hard to imagine that the possible negative mental health effects of using AI could drive some AI abstinence in the same way the possible negative physical health effects of an omnivorous diet may drive some to veganism.

How society reacts

Veganism has led to a dedicated industry catering to that diet. Some restaurants feature vegan entrees. Some manufacturers specialize in vegan foods. Could it be the case that some companies will try to use the absence of AI as a selling point for their products and services?

If so, it would be similar to how companies such as DuckDuckGo and the Mozilla Foundation provide alternative search engines and web browsers with enhanced privacy as their main feature.

There are few vegans compared to nonvegans in the U.S. Estimates range as high as 4% of the population. But the persistence of veganism has enabled a niche market to serve them. Time will tell if AI veganism takes hold.

The Conversation

David Joyner 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. ‘AI veganism’: Some people’s issues with AI parallel vegans’ concerns about diet – https://theconversation.com/ai-veganism-some-peoples-issues-with-ai-parallel-vegans-concerns-about-diet-260277

When socialists win Democratic primaries: Will Zohran Mamdani be haunted by the Upton Sinclair effect?

Source: The Conversation – USA – By James N. Gregory, Professor of History, University of Washington

Democratic mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani, right, and Attorney General of New York Letitia James walk in the NYC Pride March on June 29, 2025, in New York. AP Photo/Olga Fedorova

It has happened before: an upset victory by a Democratic Socialist in an important primary election after an extraordinary grassroots campaign.

In the summer of 1934, Upton Sinclair earned the kind of headlines that greeted Zohran Mamdani’s primary victory on June 24, 2025, in the New York City mayoral election.

Mamdani’s win surprised nearly everyone. Not just because he beat the heavily favored former governor Andrew Cuomo, but because he did so by a large margin. Because he did so with a unique coalition, and because his Muslim identity and membership in the Democratic Socialists of America should have, in conventional political thinking, made victory impossible.

This sounds familiar, at least to historians like me. Upton Sinclair, the famous author and a socialist for most of his life, ran for governor in California in 1934 and won the Democratic primary election with a radical plan that he called End Poverty in California, or EPIC.

The news traveled the globe and set off intense speculation about the future of California, where Sinclair was then expected to win the general election. His primary victory also generated theories about the future of the Democratic Party, where this turn toward radicalism might complicate the policies of the Democratic administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

What happened next may concern Mamdani supporters. Business and media elites mounted a campaign of fear that put Sinclair on the defensive. Meanwhile, conservative Democrats defected, and a third candidate split progressive votes.

In the November election, Sinclair lost decisively to incumbent Gov. Frank Merriam, who would have stood less chance against a conventional Democrat.

As a historian of American radicalism, I have written extensively about Sinclair’s EPIC movement, and I direct an online project that includes detailed accounts of the campaign and copies of campaign materials.

Upton’s 1934 campaign initiated the on-again, off-again influence of radicals in the Democratic Party and illustrates some of the potential dynamics of that relationship, which, almost 100 years later, may be relevant to Mamdani in the coming months.

A man waves through the window of a black car.
Upton Sinclair is seen in September 1934 in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., following a conference with President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Bettmann/Contributor/Getty Images

California, 1934

Sinclair launched his gubernatorial campaign in late 1933, hoping to make a difference but not expecting to win. California remained mired in the Great Depression. The unemployment rate had been estimated at 29% when Roosevelt took office in March and had improved only slightly since then.

Sinclair’s Socialist Party had failed badly in the 1932 presidential election as Democrat Roosevelt swept to victory. Those poor results included California, where the Democratic Party had been an afterthought for more than three decades.

Sinclair decided that it was time to see what could be accomplished by radicals working within that party.

Reregistering as a Democrat, he dashed off a 64-page pamphlet with the futuristic title I, Governor of California and How I Ended Poverty. It detailed his plan to solve California’s massive unemployment crisis by having the state take over idle farms and factories and turn them into cooperatives dedicated to “production for use” instead of “production for profit.”

A black and white photo shows a man on a stage, the American flag behind him, speaking to a crowd.
Sinclair speaks to a group in his campaign headquarters in Los Angeles, Calif., in September 1934.
Bettmann/ Contributor/Getty Images

Sinclair soon found himself presiding over an explosively popular campaign, as thousands of volunteers across the state set up EPIC clubs – numbering more than 800 by election time – and sold the weekly EPIC News to raise campaign funds.

Mainstream Democrats waited too long to worry about Sinclair and then failed to unite behind an alternative candidate. But it would not have mattered. Sinclair celebrated a massive primary victory, gaining more votes than all of his opponents combined.

Newspapers around the world told the story.

“What is the matter with California?” The Boston Globe asked, according to author Greg Mitchell. “That is the farthest shift to the left ever made by voters of a major party in this country.”

Building fear

Primaries are one thing. But in 1934, the November general election turned in a different direction.

Terrified by Sinclair’s plan, business leaders mobilized to defeat EPIC, forming the kind of cross-party coalition that is rare in America except when radicals pose an electoral threat. Sinclair described the effort in a book he wrote shortly after the November election: “I, Candidate for Governor: And How I Got Licked.”

Nearly every major newspaper in the state, including the five Democratic-leaning Hearst papers, joined the effort to stop Sinclair. Meanwhile, a high-priced advertising agency set up bipartisan groups with names like California League Against Sinclairism and Democrats for Merriam, trumpeting the names of prominent Democrats who refused to support Sinclair.

Few people of any party were enthusiastic about Merriam, who had recently angered many Californians by sending the National Guard to break a Longshore strike in San Francisco, only to trigger a general strike that shut down the city.

A black and white photo depicts a billboard criticizing Democrat Upton Sinclair.
A billboard supports Republican Frank Merriam and opposes Democrat Upton Sinclair for governor of California in January 1934.
Bettmann /Contributor/Getty Images

The campaign against Sinclair attacked him with billboards, radio and newsreel programming, and relentless newspaper stories about his radical past and supposedly dangerous plans for California.

EPIC faced another challenge, candidate Raymond Haight, running on the Progressive Party label. Haight threatened to divide left-leaning voters.

Sinclair tried to defend himself, energetically denouncing what he called the “Lie Factory” and offering revised, more moderate versions of some elements of the EPIC plan. But the Red Scare campaign worked. Merriam easily outdistanced Sinclair, winning by a plurality in the three-way race.

New York, 2025

Will a Democratic Socialist running for mayor in New York face anything similar in the months ahead?

A movement to stop Mamdani is coming together, and some of what they are saying resonates with the 1934 campaign to stop Sinclair.

The Guardian newspaper has quoted “loquacious billionaire hedge funder Bill Ackman, who said he and others in the finance industry are ready to commit ‘hundreds of millions of dollars’ into an opposing campaign.”

In 1934, newspapers publicized threats by major companies, most famously Hollywood studios, to leave California in the event of a Sinclair victory. The Wall Street Journal, Fortune magazine and other media outlets have recently warned of similar threats.

And there may be something similar about the political dynamics.

Sinclair’s opponents could offer only a weak alternative candidate. Merriam had few friends and many critics.

In 2025, New York City Mayor Eric Adams, who abandoned the primary when he was running as a Democrat and is now running as an independent, is arguably weaker still, having been rescued by President Donald Trump from a corruption indictment that might have sent him to prison. If he is the best hope to stop Mamdani, the campaign strategy will likely parallel 1934. All attack ads – little effort to promote Adams.

But there is an important difference in the way the New York contest is setting up. Andrew Cuomo remains on the ballot as an independent, and his name could draw votes that might otherwise go to Adams.

Curtis Sliwa, the Republican candidate, will also be on the ballot. Whereas in 1934 two candidates divided progressive votes, in 2025 three candidates are going to divide the stop-Mamdani votes.

Religion also looms large in the campaign ahead. The New York City metro area’s U.S. Muslim population is said to be at least 600,000, compared to an estimated 1.6 million Jewish residents. Adams has announced that the threat of antisemitism will be the major theme of his campaign.

The stop-Sinclair campaign also relied on religion, focusing on his professed atheism and pulling quotations from books he had written denouncing organized religion. However, a statistical analysis of voting demographics suggests that this effort proved unimportant.

The Conversation

James N. Gregory 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. When socialists win Democratic primaries: Will Zohran Mamdani be haunted by the Upton Sinclair effect? – https://theconversation.com/when-socialists-win-democratic-primaries-will-zohran-mamdani-be-haunted-by-the-upton-sinclair-effect-260168

Unpacking Florida’s immigration trends − demographers take a closer look at the legal and undocumented population

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Matt Brooks, Assistant Professor of Sociology, Florida State University

Immigration has dominated recent public discourse about Florida, whether it be the opening of Alligator Alcatraz, a migrant detention facility in the middle of the Everglades, or Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis declaring an “immigration emergency” for the state that has lasted more than two years.

As demographers – that is, people who count people – we’ve noticed that this conversation has proceeded largely without the benefit of a clear description of Florida’s immigrant population.

Here’s a snapshot.

How many immigrants are in Florida?

We used data from the Office of Homeland Security Statistics and the American Community Survey, conducted annually by the U.S. Census Bureau. Homeland Security provides estimates of the state’s undocumented population and annual counts of authorized arrivals. Census data allow us to describe the social and economic characteristics of Florida’s immigrant population.

In 2023, the most recent year for which the Department of Homeland Security provides publicly available data, an estimated 590,000 immigrants without legal status were living in Florida. This is the third-largest population of immigrants without legal status in the U.S., behind California and Texas. But in contrast to those two states, the number of immigrants entering Florida illegally has been shrinking since 2018.

On the other hand, DHS data points to recent growth in Florida’s population of immigrants with legal status. This represents a rebound from declines between 2016 and 2020.

In 2023, Florida welcomed 72,850 residents from outside the country. This is just 0.3% of Florida’s population that year. About 95% of these new Florida residents were admitted as lawful permanent residents, or green card holders. The remainder entered as refugees (3%) and people granted asylum (2%).

For comparison, U.S. Census Bureau estimates suggest roughly 640,000 people moved to Florida in 2023 from other states.

Who makes up Florida’s immigrant population?

The American Community Survey data tells us even more about Florida’s immigrant population. The survey estimates that 4,996,874 foreign-born individuals lived in Florida in 2023, up from 3,798,062 in 2013. These numbers include those who are in the U.S. legally and illegally and encompass both recent arrivals and long-term residents.

In 2023, about 22% of Florida residents – and nearly 7% of Florida children – were immigrants. An additional 29% of Florida children have at least one immigrant parent.

According to the American Community Survey, nearly half of Florida’s immigrants were born in Cuba, Haiti, Venezuela, Colombia or Mexico. Despite being born elsewhere, Florida’s immigrants in many ways resemble other Floridians: About 20% hold a bachelor’s degree, compared to 22% of nonimmigrant Floridians, and 13% of both groups have a graduate degree. Nearly all Florida immigrants, 89%, speak English, and the majority, 57%, are naturalized citizens.

Immigrants make up a disproportionate share of Florida’s workforce, particularly in essential sectors of the state’s economy. They account for more than 47% of Florida’s agricultural workers, 41% of hotel workers and 35% of construction workers.

Florida immigrants also work in sectors that many might not consider to be “immigrant jobs.” They constitute 33% of child care workers, 21% of school and university employees and 27% of the health care workers.

Across all sectors, immigrants have lower unemployment rates than nonimmigrants. Although available data cannot tell us the extent to which these numbers are bolstered by undocumented immigrants, the importance of Florida’s immigrants for the state’s economy is undeniable.

Florida’s population is growing at a faster rate than any other state in the country, boosted by people moving in from abroad and from other states. This growth both reflects and feeds the state’s economic vitality. Between 2019 and 2024, Florida’s GDP grew twice as fast as the nation’s as a whole.

Is Florida experiencing an “immigration emergency”? That’s for politicians to decide. Our research suggests that policies that discourage new arrivals or encourage – or force – migrants to leave could jeopardize Florida’s robust economy and the well-being of its population.

The Conversation

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Unpacking Florida’s immigration trends − demographers take a closer look at the legal and undocumented population – https://theconversation.com/unpacking-floridas-immigration-trends-demographers-take-a-closer-look-at-the-legal-and-undocumented-population-261425

Great Lakes offshore wind could power the region and beyond

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Cora Sutherland, Interim Assistant Director, Center for Water Policy, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

The United States’ offshore wind potential isn’t just in the ocean, where these turbines are located, off Rhode Island. John Moore/Getty Images

Offshore wind power could provide far more electricity than the U.S. uses for residential, commercial and industrial purposes. But the federal government has recently stopped approving offshore projects in the ocean.

Another option is available, though: the Great Lakes, where we are based as water policy researchers, and where state agencies rather than federal officials are the trustees of the lakes. A January 2025 executive order from President Donald Trump attempts to stop all federal permits for offshore and onshore wind power pending a review of federal wind leasing and permitting practices.

But the states, not the federal government, handle leases and permits for wind power on the Great Lakes, though federal agencies are involved in the overall process. It is unclear how this executive order might impede federal action, but at the very least states could lay the groundwork now to be prepared to act when the next shift in federal priorities arrives.

A 2023 analysis from the National Renewable Energy Laboratory found that the Great Lakes states have enough offshore wind power potential to provide three times as much electricity as all eight Great Lakes states use currently, which would mean plenty left over to meet increasing demand or send power elsewhere in the country.

States are looking for opportunities

States have been forging their own paths separate from federal clean energy policy for decades. All eight Great Lakes states have state clean energy goals, and five of them – Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota, New York and Wisconsin – have a goal to achieve 100% clean or renewable energy by 2040 or 2050.

The challenge is not just to transform the current energy supply. As transportation and other sectors electrify, that increases electricity demand. As artificial intelligence proliferates, tech companies need more and more electricity and water for their data centers. By 2028, data centers are projected to consume nearly 12% of the country’s total usage, which requires massive increases in production in the Great Lakes and other key locations.

Companies and states are looking high and low to find enough electricity to meet the rising demand. They are extending the lives of coal-fired power plants and building new gas-fired power plants. Elon Musk’s xAI company has even been powering an artificial intelligence data center in Tennessee with massive generators that add air pollution without permits.

Government and industry are also looking to other sources, such as investing in nuclear fusion advancement and building geothermal plants.

A brief history

In the 2000s and 2010s, the Great Lakes Commission Wind Collaborative, Wisconsin Public Service Commission and the Michigan Great Lakes Wind Council began to sketch out regulations for offshore wind in the Great Lakes and to identify locations that might be suitable for the turbines.

In 2012, the Obama administration agreed to collaborate with five Great Lakes states – Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota, New York and Pennsylvania – to streamline a permitting process for offshore wind development. Multiple projects were proposed off the shores of Michigan, Ohio and Ontario, Canada, though Ontario banned offshore wind projects in 2011.

Since then, momentum has stalled. One effort, the Icebreaker project off Cleveland, was approved and survived various legal challenges, but the project backers paused it indefinitely in 2023 due to the economic impacts of the legal delays.

Community activists are split, with some embracing offshore wind in the Great Lakes as part of a clean energy future and others vocally opposing it, citing environmental, health and economic concerns.

As of mid-2025, the Great Lakes were home to no offshore wind turbines.

A map shows relatively high wind speeds across much of the Great Lakes.
Wind speeds at the altitude of 460 feet (140 meters) above the surface of the Great Lakes are high enough to drive turbines that generate wind power.
National Renewable Energy Laboratory, U.S. Department of Energy

Big potential, big unknowns

States continue to explore the possibility of offshore wind power in the Great Lakes. In early 2025, Illinois legislators again introduced a bill to create a pilot wind project off Chicago in Lake Michigan.

Also in 2025, Pennsylvania legislators introduced a bill to facilitate offshore wind power in Lake Erie. If adopted, the law would map which areas are fit to be leased for development by avoiding nearshore areas, shipping lanes and migration pathways. The Ontario Clean Air Alliance is pushing the province to lift its moratorium and reconsider offshore wind in Canadian waters.

A lot of details remain unknown. New York state supports offshore wind in the ocean but says “Great Lakes Wind does not provide the same electric and reliability benefits” by comparison. Ocean wind tends to be closer to areas where electricity demand is high, which can make those projects more cost-effective.

New York also concluded in 2022 that despite the combined 144.5 terawatt-hours of annual technical potential in state waters in Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, “numerous practical considerations … would need to be addressed before such projects can be successfully commercialized.”

To further explore the concerns New York’s report and others have raised, in 2024, with National Science Foundation funding, we collaborated with a team of researchers looking at a wide range of issues, including engineering, environmental effects and law. That effort resulted in articulating research questions whose answers would clarify how realistic different aspects of offshore wind could be in the Great Lakes, such as:

People sit on a concrete pier sticking out over an area of water, with tall buildings in the background.
The Great Lakes deliver beautiful views, recreation opportunities and commercial activity to a large area of the U.S. – and could supply renewable electricity too.
Kamil Krzaczynski/AFP via Getty Images

State jurisdiction is an opportunity

In the oceans, U.S. states have jurisdiction from shore out three miles, with the federal government’s jurisdiction continuing out for hundreds of miles beyond that. So offshore project sites in the oceans are leased by the federal government.

The Great Lakes are different. The state governments hold the lakes’ waters and submerged lands in trust for the public. And state jurisdiction extends from shore all the way out to the boundary of a neighboring state’s jurisdiction or the international boundary with Canada.

Regulation of planning, site selection, leasing and other elements of offshore wind projects in the Great Lakes are the responsibility of one or another U.S. state. The federal government’s role is secondary, conducting environmental reviews and protecting navigation, but could still result in slowing state-led projects.

In research we published in 2024 and 2025, we explain that states could evaluate and select offshore wind projects based on a range of social and environmental benefits, in addition to financial considerations. For instance, they could look for designs that provide fish habitat or seek corporate partners that agree to train local workers, manufacture turbines and ships near the lakes, and provide cheaper electricity to local consumers.

Despite all the unknowns, we encourage greater support for research to harness the potential of offshore wind energy in the Great Lakes to be a renewable resource for states, the region and the nation as a whole.

The Conversation

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Great Lakes offshore wind could power the region and beyond – https://theconversation.com/great-lakes-offshore-wind-could-power-the-region-and-beyond-261311

Parents don’t need to try harder – to ease parenting stress, forget self-reliance and look for ways to share the care

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Elizabeth Sharda, Associate Professor of Social Work, Hope College

Modern parents experience many demands, with little support. Abraham Gonzalez Fernandez/Moment via Getty Images

I wrap up my workday and head for home, making a quick stop to grab the supplies my sixth grader needs for a project due this week and some ingredients for a quick dinner.

Once home, I check the sixth grader’s school website and discover a missing assignment. Bringing this up sparks a minor meltdown. I summon the emotional energy to help her calm down and problem-solve. My husband arrives home with our high schooler, who’s discouraged by something that happened at soccer practice. We’ll have to process that later.

Around the dinner table, we realize that both kids have sports practices Thursday, on opposite ends of town, at the same time as a mandatory parent meeting at school. And now I’m ready for my own meltdown.

On this particular evening, my family wasn’t navigating anything unique or especially catastrophic. Scenes like this play out nightly in homes across the United States. In fact, my family’s circumstances offer the protections of multiple forms of privilege. Certainly others have more difficult circumstances.

Why is it still so hard?

For a long time, I felt ashamed for being overwhelmed by parenthood. How do others seem to have it all together? Of course, the highlight reel of social media only fueled this comparison game. I often felt that I was falling short, missing some hack that others had found for not feeling constantly exhausted.

The reality is I’m far from alone in experiencing what social scientists term parenting stress. Defined as the negative psychological reaction to a mismatch between the demands of parenting and the resources available, parenting stress has become increasingly prevalent over the past five decades. In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, nearly half of all parents in the U.S. said their stress was completely overwhelming on most days.

Stress like this has an impact: Parents who experience high levels of parenting stress have decreased mental health and feel less close with their children.

I began researching parental stress and well-being when, several years after becoming a parent, I left my job as a social worker and entered a Ph.D. program. Through this process, I learned something that changed my perspective entirely: Parents today experience such high levels of stress because people have never traditionally raised children in isolation. And yet, we are more isolated than ever.

It clicked: Parents don’t need to do more or try harder. We need connection. We don’t need more social media posts on the “top three ways to keep your family organized.” We need a paradigm shift.

small boy runs away from camera toward extended family at a party
In the age of the nuclear family, it’s common for multiple generations to come together only on special occasions.
Maskot/DigitalVision via Getty Images

The myth of family self-reliance

Throughout human history, people primarily lived in multigenerational, multifamily arrangements. Out of necessity, our hunter-gatherer ancestors relied upon their clan-mates to help meet the needs of their families, including child-rearing. Research over time and across cultures suggests that parents are psychologically primed to raise children in community – not in isolated nuclear family units.

Anthropologists use the term alloparents – derived from the Greek “allo,” meaning “other” – to describe nonparent adults who provide care alongside that provided by parents.

Research suggests that alloparenting contributes to child well-being and even child survival in populations with high rates of child mortality. A 2021 study of a present-day foraging population in the Philippines found that alloparents provided an astounding three-quarters of the care for infants and an even greater proportion of the care for children ages 2 to 6.

In contrast, the ideal of the nuclear family is incredibly recent. It developed with industrialization, peaking in the 1950s and 1960s. Despite the significant changes in family structure – such as an increase in single-parent households – since that period, the paragon of the self-reliant nuclear family persists.

And yet, support from others is a key factor in family resilience. The familiar adage “It takes a village to raise a child” is, in fact, bolstered by social support research among parents in general, as well as those of children with special needs.

Parenting with collective care

Social support, while often viewed as a singular phenomenon, is actually a constellation of actions, each with its own unique function. Social scientists specify at least three types of support:

  • Tangible: Material or financial resources or assistance
  • Emotional: Expressions of care, empathy and love
  • Informational: Provision of information, advice or guidance

Different parenting challenges call for different types of support. When my husband and I realized we had three commitments in a single evening, we didn’t need advice on managing our family’s calendar; we needed someone to take our kid to practice – that’s tangible support. When my tween was blowing up over homework, I didn’t need someone to bring us dinner; I needed to remember what I learned from a book on parenting adolescent girls – that’s informational support.

To move away from the myth of family self-reliance and back toward an ideal of collective care would take a paradigm shift, requiring intervention at every level, from federal to state to family. A 2024 Surgeon General’s Advisory on parenting stress called it an urgent public health issue and provided recommendations for government leaders, service systems and communities. Systemic strategies like providing access to high-quality mental health care, expanding programs like Head Start that support parents and caregivers, and investing in social infrastructure like public libraries and parks could all help reduce parenting stress in the U.S.

three adults hold four toddlers on their laps outside
Finding other families at the same stage you’re in can be one way to fill out your village.
VIJ/iStock via Getty Images Plus

Personal steps toward a paradigm shift

Parenting stress is not a problem that can be solved solely by the individuals experiencing it. But here are five ways you can start making the shift toward collective care in your own life:

  1. Take stock of your network. Assess not only in terms of the number of supporters, but what types of support they offer. Do you have plenty of people to talk to, but no one who would bring you a meal or give your kid a ride? Identify gaps and consider ways to round out your “village.”
  2. Start small. Introduce yourself to your retired neighbor. Sit next to another parent at your kid’s sporting event. Talk to the babysitter you regularly see at the playground. Supportive relationships don’t just happen; they are grown.
  3. Offer help to others. While it seems counterintuitive, people who give support to others experience greater well-being and even longevity compared with those who don’t. Helping others also creates the opportunity for reciprocity. Those you support may be more likely to return the favor in the future.
  4. Normalize asking for help and taking it when offered. For many people, asking for support is hard. It requires dropping the facade and letting people in on your struggles. However, people are often more willing to help than you might assume. Further, allowing others to help you gives them permission to voice their own needs in the future.
  5. Consider your caregiving expectations. The way others care for your children may not mirror your way entirely. Consider what are nonnegotiable practices for your family – such as limits on screen time – and what is worth loosening up on – like veggies at every meal – if it means you have more alloparents helping you out.

None of these suggestions are easy. They take time, vulnerability and courage. In our society of rugged individualism and nuclear family self-reliance, parenting through a lens of collective care is downright countercultural. But perhaps it’s closer to how we, as humans, have raised children throughout the millennia.

The Conversation

Elizabeth Sharda has received research funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Faculty Development Fund. She serves on the board of directors for Michigan Fosters, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing support to families involved in the child welfare system.

ref. Parents don’t need to try harder – to ease parenting stress, forget self-reliance and look for ways to share the care – https://theconversation.com/parents-dont-need-to-try-harder-to-ease-parenting-stress-forget-self-reliance-and-look-for-ways-to-share-the-care-253076

It is becoming easier to create AI avatars of the deceased − here is why Buddhism would caution against it

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Elaine Lai, Lecturer in Civic, Liberal, and Global Education, Stanford University

A grief-stricken woman, Kisa Gautami, pleads with the Buddha to resurrect her dead child. Anandajoti Bhikkhu via Flickr

In a story in the Buddhist canon, a grief-stricken mother named Kisa Gautami loses her only child and carries the body around town, searching for some way to resurrect the child.

When she encounters the Buddha, he asks her to collect several mustard seeds from a family that has never experienced death. Not surprisingly, Kisa Gautami is unable to find a single such family. She buries her child and decides to cultivate a spiritual life.

I thought of Kisa Gautami’s story when I first encountered the 2020 Korean documentary “Meeting You,” in which virtual reality technology is used to reunite a grieving mother, Jang Ji-sung, with her deceased 7-year-old daughter, Nayeon. While the virtual reunion was moving to witness, I wondered whether it was truly helping the mother to heal, or whether it was deepening an avoidance of grief and of the truth.

Since the documentary first aired, the business of digitally resurrecting the deceased has grown significantly. People are now using AI to create “grief bots,” which are simulations of deceased loved ones that the living can converse with. There has even been a case where an AI-rendered video of a deceased victim has appeared to deliver a court statement asking for the maximum sentence for the person who took their life.

A person holding a phone with the face of a young man wearing a baseball cap on its screen.
A video created with artificial intelligence shows the face and voice of a young man who died at 22 while attending Exeter University in Britain.
Hector Retamal/AFP via Getty Images

As a Buddhist studies scholar who has experienced several bereavements this year, I have turned to Buddhist teachings to reflect on how creating a digital afterlife for loved ones may inadvertently enhance our suffering, and what alternative ways of grieving Buddhism might offer.

Buddhism’s view on suffering

According to Buddhist thought, the root of all suffering is clinging to illusions. This clinging creates karma that perpetuates negative cycles – for oneself and others – which endure lifetimes. In Mahayana Buddhism, the path to liberate oneself from this suffering begins by becoming a bodhisattva, someone who devotes their life to the liberation of self and others. Mahayana Buddhism, which introduced the idea of celestial bodhisattvas, is the most widely practiced form of Buddhism, particularly in East Asia and the Tibetan Himalayan regions.

In the “37 Practices of All the Bodhisattvas,” the 14th-century author Gyelse Tokme Zangpo wrote:

The practice of all the bodhisattvas is to let go of grasping
When encountering things one finds pleasant or attractive,
Consider them to be like rainbows in the summer skies –
Beautiful in appearance, yet in truth, devoid of any substance.

A digital avatar of the deceased may provide temporary comfort, but it may distort reality in an unhealthy way and intensify our attachment to an illusion. Interactions with a griefbot that responds to our every request may also diminish our memories of the deceased by creating an inauthentic version of who they were.

Grief as a catalyst for compassion

In the tradition of Buddhism that I specialize in, called the Great Perfection – a tradition of Vajrayana Buddhism, which is a branch of Mahayana – uncomfortable feelings such as grief are considered precious opportunities to cultivate spiritual insight.

In a text called Self-liberating Meditation, a 19th century mendicant teacher of the Great Perfection known as Patrul Rinpoche wrote: “No matter what kind of thoughts arise – be they good or bad, positive or negative, happy or sad – don’t indulge them or reject them, but settle, without altering, in the very mind that thinks.”

The Great Perfection contends that all of our emotions are like temporary clouds, and that our true nature is awareness, like the blue sky behind the clouds. Grief and other challenging emotions should not be altered or suppressed but allowed to transform in their own time.

In a culture where we are taught that negative emotions should be eliminated or pushed aside, not pushing away grief becomes a practice of great kindness toward oneself. By cultivating this awareness of our emotions, grief becomes a catalyst for compassion toward others. In Buddhism, compassion is the seed of awakening to the truth of interdependence – the fact that none of us exist as discreet beings but are deeply interconnected with all other beings and life forms.

Communal rituals

A young man, holding incense sticks, stands with an elderly person while they both fold their hands in prayer at an altar, with several others behind them.
Funeral ceremony in a Buddhist family in Vietnam.
Godong/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

Compassion manifests outwardly in community rituals that process grief, such as the 49-day Buddhist service, common to the Great Perfection and other Buddhist traditions.

Many Buddhists believe that it takes 49 days for the consciousness of the deceased to transition into their next life. During this time, the family sets up a special altar and recites prayers for the deceased, often with the support of ordained monks and nuns. Practicing generosity toward others is also recommended to accumulate merit for the deceased.

These communal rituals provide much-needed outlets, time and support for processing grief and having it witnessed by others. The time and attention given to the grief process sharply contrasts to the situation in the United States, where bereavement leave is often limited to three to five days.

Deepening relationship with impermanence

In opting for digital avatars, we may undermine what Buddhism would consider to be critical moments for genuine transformation and connection.

When I think of the family and friends who have passed away this year, I empathize with the desire to hear their voices again, or to have conversations that provide closure where there was none. Rather than turning to a technological fix that promises a reunion with the deceased, I choose to deepen my relationship with impermanence and to savor the fleeting moments that I have with those I love now.

As Kisa Gautami’s story shows, the desire to bring back the dead is not new, but there is great benefit in allowing grief to run its course, including a felt sense of compassion for oneself and all others who have ever experienced similar forms of grief.

The Conversation

Elaine Lai 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. It is becoming easier to create AI avatars of the deceased − here is why Buddhism would caution against it – https://theconversation.com/it-is-becoming-easier-to-create-ai-avatars-of-the-deceased-here-is-why-buddhism-would-caution-against-it-261445