Interplace

Hello Interactors,My daughter in Manhattan's East Village sent me an article about the curated lives of the “West Village girls.” A few days later, I came across a provocative student op-ed from the University of Washington: "Why the hell do we still go to Starbucks?" The parallels stood out.In Manhattan's West Village, a spring weekend unfolds with young women jogging past a pastry shop in matching leggings, iced matcha lattes in hand. Some film it just long enough for TikTok. Across the country, students cycle through Starbucks in Seattle's U-District like clockwork. The drinks are overpriced and underwhelming, but that's not the point. It's familiar. It's part of a habitual loop.Different cities, similar rhythms. One loop is visual, the other habitual. But both show how space and emotion sync. Like an ambient synth track, they layer, drift, and return. If you live in or near a city, you exist in your own looping layers of emotional geography.FLASH FEEDSMy daughter has been deep into modular synthesis lately — both making and listening. It's not just the music that intrigues her, but the way it builds: loops that don't simply repeat, but evolve, bend, and respond. She'll spend hours patching sounds together, adjusting timing and tone until something new emerges. She likens it to painting with sound. Watching her work, it struck me how much her synth music mirrors city life — not in harmony, but in layers. She's helped me hear urban rhythms differently.Like a pop synth hook, the Flash loop is built for attention. It's bright, polished, and impossible to ignore. Synth pop thrives on these quick pulses — hooks that grab you within seconds, loops that deliver dopamine with precision. Urban spaces under this loop do the same. They set a beat others fall in line with, often flattening nuance in exchange for momentum.This isn't just about moving to a beat. It's about becoming part of the beat. When these fast loops dominate, people start adapting to the spaces that reflect them. And those spaces, in turn, evolve based on those very behaviors. It's a feedback loop: movement shaping meaning, and meaning shaping movement. The people become both the input and the output.In this context, the West Village girl isn't just a person — she's a spatial feedback loop. A mashup of Carrie Bradshaw nostalgia, Instagram polish, and soft-lit storefronts optimized for selfies. But she didn't arrive from nowhere. She emerged through a kind of spatial modeling: small choices, like where to brunch, where to pose, where to post are repeated so often they remade a neighborhood.Social psychologist Erving Goffman, writing in the 1950s, called this kind of self-presentation "impression management." He argued that much of everyday life is performance. Not in the theatrical sense, but in how we act in response to what we expect others see. Urban spaces, especially commercial ones, are often the stage. But today, that performance isn't just for others in the room. It's for followers, algorithms, and endless feeds. The “audience” is ambient, but its expectations are precise.As places like the West Village get filtered through lifestyle accounts and recommendation algorithms, their role changes. They no longer just host people, but mirror back a version of identity their occupants expect to see. Sidewalks become catwalks. Coffee shops become backdrops. Apartment windows become curated messes of string lights and tasteful clutter. And increasingly, the distinction between what's lived and what's posted collapses.This fast loop — what we might call spatial virality — doesn't just show us how to act in a place. It scripts the place itself. Stores open where the foot traffic is photogenic. Benches are placed for backdrops, not rest. Even the offerings shift: Aperol spritzes, charm bars, negroni specials sold not for taste but for tagability.These are the high-tempo loops. They grab attention and crowd the mix. But every modular synth set, like a painting, needs contrast.So some people opt out, or imagine doing so. Not necessarily with loud protest, but quiet rejection. They look for something slower. Something that isn't already trending...unless the trend of routine sucks you in.PULSING PATTERNSIf Flash is the pop hook, Pulse is the counter-melody. It could be a bassline or harmony that brings emotional weight and keeps things grounded. In music, you may not always notice it, but you'd miss it if it were gone. In cities, this loop shows up in slow friendships, mutual aid, and cafés that begin to feel like second homes. These are places where regulars greet one another by name. Where where hours melt through conversations. It satisfies a need to be seen, but without needing to perform. It's what holds meaning when spectacle fades.If the fast loop turns space into spectacle, the counter loop tries to slow it down. It lures the space to feel lived in, not just liked. It's not always radical. Sometimes it's just choosing a different coffee shop.Back in Seattle's University District, students do have options. Bulldog News. Café Allegro. George Coffee. These places don't serve drinks meant to be posted. They serve drinks meant to be tasted. They're not aesthetic first. They're relational. These are small gestures that build culture.Social psychologists Susan Andersen and Serena Chen describe this through what they call relational self theory. We don't become ourselves in isolation. We become ourselves with and through others — especially those we repeatedly encounter. Think about the difference between ordering coffee from a stranger versus someone who knows you like sparkling water with your Cortado. It's a different kind of transaction. It eases things. It reinforces your own loop.So why do people routinely return to Starbucks? It isn't just about caffeine addiction. It's about being part of a socially reinforced rhythm — anchored in convenience, recognition, and the illusion of choice.Stores like Starbucks are often strategically located for maximum accessibility and convenience. They're nestled near transit hubs, along commuter corridors, or within high-traffic pedestrian zones. These placements aren't arbitrary. They're optimized to integrate into daily routines. It's less like a countermelody and more like a harmonic parallel melody. As a result, practical considerations like proximity, availability, and reliability often override ideological concerns.People return not because the product is exceptional, but because the store is exactly where and when they need it. The Starbucks habit isn't only about routine, but rhythmic predictability that appears personal. In this sense, it functions as a highly accessible pulse: a loop that's easy to join and hard to break. It's made of proximity, subtle trust, and convenience, but is dressed as choice.My daughter's chosen counter loop lives in the East Village — not far, geographically, from the Instagram inspired brunch queues of Bleecker Street. Her loops are different. She carries conversations across record stores, basement venues, bookstores with hand-scrawled signs, and a few stubborn restaurants.These are Places where the playlists aren't streaming through Spotify. Her city isn't organized around visibility. It's organized around presence. Around being seen to be honored and remembered. Like the bookstore dude who knows the lore on everyone, or the cashier who waves her through without paying, or her Brooklyn bandmate friends who fold her in like family.Sure, this scene intersects with the popular loops — modular synths are having a moment — but it sidesteps the sameness. It stays unpredictable, grounded in curiosity and care rather than clicks. The gear is still patched by hand. The performances are messy and often temporary. And yet, the loops — literal and figurative — keep returning. Not because they're engineered for attention, but because they allow people to build something slowly...together...from the inside. Especially when done in partnership with another synthesist.You might see this in your own city. The quiet transformation of spaces: a café hosting a poetry night; a yoga studio turned warming shelter during the storm; a laundromat that leaves a stack of free books near the dryers. These are not accidents. They are interventions. Sometimes small, sometimes subtle...but always deliberate.They stand in contrast to the churn of the viral. They also offer an alternative to despair. Because the counter loop isn't just critique. It's care enacted. And care takes time.Still, even pulsing care needs structure. It needs floor drains, power outlets, and open hours. It needs a stable substructure.UNDERCURRENT UNDERTONESUndertone is the foundational structure on which other elements are built. It's the core of modular synth music. This isn't just rhythm. It's the subtle, slow, and reactive scaffolding. These core loops evolve and shift setting the timing and emotional tonality for everything else.They don't dominate, but they shape the flow. They respond to what surrounds them to ground the composition. Cities, too, have these base layers. Often imperceptible, they are visceral, ambient, and persistent. They come into focus with the smell of rain on warm pavement. The clink of a key in a front door. These are not songs you hum, they're the ones your heart and lungs make.Long before the influencer run clubs, celebrity shoe stores, and curated stoops, there was the mundane sidewalk. Not the kind tagged on a friend's story or filtered through the latest app. Just concrete. Scuffed by strollers, scooter wheels, boots, and time. The sidewalk doesn't follow trends, but it does remember them.Cities are built on these undertones: habitual routes, early deliveries, overheard exchanges, open signs flipped at the same hour each morning. They aren't glamorous. They don't go viral. But they are what hold everything together.Urban scholar Ash Amin calls this the “infrastructure of belonging.” In his work on ordinary urban life, he writes that much of what connects us isn't spectacular. It's what happens when people brush past one another without ceremony: the steady hum of life happening without the need for headlines. Cities function not just because of design, but because of everyday cooperation — shared rhythms, implicit trust, systems that keep working because people show up.It can seem mundane: a delivery driver making the same drop, a retiree watering the sidewalk garden they planted without permission, the clatter of trash bins returning to their spots. These moments don't make the city famous, but they do make it work.Even the flashiest loops rely on them. The West Village girl's curated brunch only happens because someone sliced lemons before sunrise and wiped the table clean before she sat down. The Starbucks habit loop in the U-District clicks into place because the supply truck showed up at 5 a.m. and the barista clocked in on time. They're the dominant undertone of cities: loops so steady we stop noticing them...until they stop. Like during the pandemic.A synthesist might point to an LFO: Low Frequency Oscillator. These make slow drones that hum under a syncopated rhythm; a pulsing sub-bass holding space while textures come and go. The mundane in a city does the same: it holds the mix together. Without it, the composition falls apart.If you've ever heard a modular synth set, you know it doesn't move like pop music. The loops aren't clean. They evolve, layer, drift in and out of sync. They build tension, release it, then find a new rhythm. Cities work the same way.Their beauty isn't always in sync — it's in polyrhythm. Like when two synth voices loop at slightly different speeds: a saw wave pinging every three beats, a filtered drone stretching over seven. They collide, resolve, then drift again. Like when a car blinker syncs to the beat of a song and then falls out again. In modular music, this dissonance isn't a flaw. It creates a sonic texture.City rhythms don't always align either. A delivery truck pulls up as a barista closes shop; protest chants counter a stump speech; showtimes shift with transit delays. These clashes don't cancel each other out — they deepen the city's texture, giving it groove.Sociologists Scannell and Gifford call this place attachment: the slow accrual of meaning in a space through repetition, emotional memory, and lived interaction. It's not always nostalgic. Sometimes it's forward-looking. The act of building the kind of city you want to live in, one relationship at a time.And beneath all of this, the city continues its own loop: subways running through worn tunnels, trash collected on quiet mornings, someone sweeping a shop floor before the door opens.Both protest and performance rely on this scaffold. The Starbucks picket line doesn't just appear. It's supported by planning, scheduling, and shared labor. The music scene doesn't just materialize. It's shaped by decades of flyers, friendships, and repeat customers.The viral and the intentional both need the mundane.Cities, when they work, are made of all three: the flash of now, the pulse of choice, and the undertone of the necessary. Like springtime flowers, the city creates blooms that emerge at the surface. They draw attention, cameras, and admiration. These blossoms don't just attract the eye, they draw in pollinators who carry influence and energy far beyond the original scene. But none of this happens without the rest of the plant. It's the leaves that capture sunlight day after day, the roots that pulse the unseen through tunnels, the microbes that toil in the grime and dirt to nourish those all around them. Urban life mirrors this looping ecology. Moments that flash brightly, pulses that quietly sustain, and undertones that hold it all together. The bloom is what gets noticed, but it's the layered and syncopated life below — repeating, decomposing, reemerging — that make the next blossom possible. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors, This week, four strange bird encounters landed in my lap — three in real life, one on my screen. First, a crow tore through the bushes in our yard chasing a frantic nuthatch. Moments later, I spotted two more crows feasting on roadkill just outside our house. Then, while walking with my wife, we watched four ducks in hot pursuit of another, flapping furiously down the street — some kind of aerial turf war. And finally, scrolling through my feed, I stumbled on a paper describing a Cooper's Hawk hacking the city's traffic system to hunt smarter. After all that, I tried seeing cities as a bird might. So I wrote as one.HISS, HUM, HUNTI first sense the city as vibration. Before sun rays even breech the branches, a hiss of car tires emerge; street lamps click off; somewhere a garage door rumbles open. Each resonance strikes the hollow chambers of my bones like sonar. It's a sketch of distance, density, and direction. This all makes perfect sense to me even though I am just a kid. A juvenile Cooper's Hawk — Accipiter cooperii — yet the human-made maze below me is as legible to me as the nest I left barely two winters ago. What follows, in human words, is a recount of one day's hunt. I hope to demonstrate what humans regard as intelligence, innovation, and enterprise exists in a single act of predation.DANCING WITH DATA AT DAWNPerched on a gray mast of the Main and Prospect traffic light, I begin to render the scene. My basemap is no pixel grid glowing on some screen across town; it is a topological organ in my scull. Topology matters when a lamppost sits one maneuver away from the porch roof, which is one glide away from the dumpster rim. My so-called ‘bird brain' calculates dynamic flows of probability. One flip of a traffic light, a garbage truck rolls by, and that gust of wind changes direction. My internal map pulses between “larger” when prey likelihood rises and “smaller” when likelihood falls.As I gaze out above the east-west avenue, a slipstream peels off the 7AM wave of commuters. I spot a sparrow in a vortex that spirals from the garbage truck's wake at 07∶13. That acoustic shadow beneath that florist's van is one place I could pass unseen. But is a sparrow worth it?What I am doing — unknown even to myself — is what spatial scientists call real‑time kernel‑density estimation. At any point on a simple 2D path I can plop a small mathematical bump — a kernel. I can then reason about the density mapped below me by stacking up every bump's contribution at a particular spot. That once scatter of points on a map morphs into a smooth curve that shows where meaningful observations truly cluster. I continuously weight a landscape of pigeons, cyclists, and idling SUVs by situational context rather than simple Euclidean distance.Complexity geographer David O'Sullivan calls this kind of adaptive map a narrative model — a story the system tells itself so it can keep acting. My mental basemap obeys what is adjacent to what on this map. After all, a three‑meter hedge is more impenetrable than thirty meters of empty air; therefore straight‑line distances can lie and deceive. When humans try to simplify distances by saying, ‘as the crow flies', they have no idea what they're leaving out.BRAKES BUILD BARRICADESAt 07∶26 a stainless‑steel button is pressed; I hear the relay's metallic click 3.2 seconds before the little white pedestrian blinks alive. I am perched here because I anticipated this poke by pedestrians on their morning commute. Vehicles will now queue as these bi-peds spill into the cross walk. The stacked metal boxes of steel, rubber, and plastic will form a barricade forty meters long…potentially.Brake‑lights align into a pulsing crimson corridor whose half‑life I have calculated and averaged across nineteen previous dawns. Humans call the coming congestion a nuisance, but I call it camouflage. For twenty‑two seconds the asphalt canyon's turbulence drops below an acceptable range. I can now hover as if among cedars.A scientist has been watching from the opposite curb. They will soon begin recording this trick in their field book as so: a hawk anticipates the signal pattern and times its dives to the red‑phase distribution of brake lights.Because most queues are short, but occasionally very long, I have to be careful to time this properly. If I dive for prey based on the overall mean of the lineup, I will arrive while half the cars were still rolling to a stop — dangerous. So instead, I consider just the top-10% longest lines. Scientists marvel that I learned this algorithm in a single winter. I marvel that they need calculators to compute it.ZEBRA STRIPE SLALOM STRIKEI drop. The scent of hot rubber folds swirls with the cedar‑resin on my breast feathers as the warm air fills my plumage. The slowing bumper of a school bus becomes a landing spot — a moving parapet. Fresh into the dive, the thermoplastic zebra stripes flash white‑white‑white like a stroboscopic speedometer. None of this was made for me, yet every dimension matters for my survival. The curb‑to‑planter setback of 0.9 meters sets my glide angle; the bollard spacing — installed last year to calm e‑scooters — creates a slalom that funnels starlings toward an ornamental plum in a front lawn.Urban design handbooks invoke words like livability and placemaking, as if these geometries were some kind of neutral toolkit. But for me, in the instant before impact, this curb‑to‑planter setback, this bollard slalom, adjudicates more than legal fiction — it means life and death.Urban forms may look passive, yet every angle, radius, and dwell time means someone has won and someone has lost — wide curb radii speed cars through a right-turn but lengthen the crossing exposure for a toddler. Urban geometry is power cast in concrete; it never clocks off, and is both political and ecological: a three‑second refuge for a starling is a three‑second targeting solution for me.FORCE AND FEATHERS FACES FEEDBACKImpact. Feathers erupt like dark gray confetti. The starling crumbles under thirty‑four newtons of closing force — about the weight of a brick slammed into its ribcage. While I mantle the prize, a more philosophical bird might wonder: Who authored this death? Was it my neuromuscular burst alone? Or the person whose fingertip initiated a forty‑second cascade of stopped traffic? Or the traffic engineer who — chasing level‑of‑service targets — extended the red phase by six seconds last fiscal year?Philosophy of science warns against naïve linear causation; urban events rarely run in neat A → B lines. Herbert Simon, writing on complex systems, described cities and organisms as “nearly decomposable hierarchies,” where slow, macro‑scale layers — like signal‑cycle regulations, curb geometries, and commuter habits — set the boundary conditions within which rapid micro‑events unfold. My talon snap and a starling's dodge happen inside those higher‑order constraints, even as countless such micro‑acts, in aggregate, keep the larger structure of life humming along.My strike, therefore, is a city‑scale phenomenon folded into tendon and keratin — street grids, signal cycles, and global supply chains compressed into one ballistic gesture. In the metallic tang of blood this mystery unfolds. I taste data: adipose fat tissue infused with fryer grease, feather sheaths dusted in brake dust, hormone ratios ticking through molt stage like seasonal code. Each swallow becomes a lab assessment — an unwitting biopsy of the urban food web — revealing how corn subsidies, restaurant waste, and airborne microplastics percolate up the trophic ladder. To devour a single starling is to audit the metabolic ledger of the Anthropocene, one protein strand at a time.All of which reminds me that agency, mine, yours, the starling, is relational: the prey's demise is over‑determined by a network whose nodes include asphalt viscosity — how a petrochemical blend modulates surface friction, drainage, and midday heat plumes — and municipal bond ratings that decide whether this intersection receives fresh pavement or another crosswalk. Chemistry, finance, and instinct co‑author every kill I make, and every step you take.FIBERS, FOSSILS, AND FIRMWARE REFRESHDusk now drapes the mast in violet. Streetlamps flicker on; LED headlight arrays begin tinting the roadway cyan. Beneath the darkening asphalt, copper once meant for a clicking telegraphs now pipes broadband; beneath that, bricks baked when canals were high‑tech cradle those cables like red‑clay fossils. Media archaeologist Shannon Mattern argues that cities have always computed — tallying grain on cuneiform tablets, ringing bell‑tower hours to synchronize labor, routing mail through pneumatic tubes — only the substrates keep shifting, from clay and bronze to fiber optics and silicon. And trust me, nature was doing math long before humans claimed to invent it.From my perch, epochs overlay transparently: timber palisades, horse drawn carriage tracks, fiber conduits. My hunting tactic is merely firmware patch v.2025 in a 5,000‑year old operating system. Your protocol tomorrow may be Li‑Fi pulses from a smart pole — a future where streetlamps won't just illuminate, they'll whisper streams of data in rapid-fire flashes — or the hiss of an autonomous shuttle that brakes at frequencies human reflexes never reach.And you'll be impressed with yourself. Meanwhile, I listen, map, and adjust — in my world here, survival goes to whoever learns faster, not whoever hits harder. Every fresh tactic buys a heartbeat of advantage, yet it also tightens the ratchet: the prey adapts, signals change, habits shift. Humans follow the same spiral — each smarter signal controller, each app‑driven reroute, plugs one gap while opening two more, slipping us all a step deeper into the city's endless, restless loop.OF DASHBOARDS AND DAGGER-WINGSHumans may obsess over their dashboards and digital twins, yet a hawk that weighs less than a laptop already runs a live cognitive twin of the urban systems you built. Your impressed with monthly model updates while my model is updated at wingbeat resolution. If Homo sapiens hope to build a resilient future they might start where I perch: by listening for weak signals, mapping contingencies as well as coordinates, and recognizing that every curb, click, and feather participates in these nested conversations of forces.The next time you press that crosswalk button and that electromechanical relay inside the signal‑control box snaps the circuit closed, ask not only whether it is safe to cross but what other intelligences have read that clue before you.Meet us in the hush of those red taillights — inhabit that brief, engine‑silent interstitial where the white pedestrian man shines — then test what flickers in your own peripheral “bird brain”. Listen for the thin rustle of variables you once called noise; trace how a single press of that button ripples through nerves, budgets, buildings and beaks. Hold the silence long enough to notice how even I, a vicious dagger‑winged stalker, leave scraps for ground‑feeders and vacate a block after one clean kill so others may eat. If you can rest in that hush without lunging for your phone or some manically measured meaningless metric, you may begin to practice reciprocity — paring appetite to need, letting leftovers seed the next cycle — while stalking your own assumptions with the same taloned precision I bring to feather and flesh. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,I was in Santa Barbara recently having dinner on a friend's deck when a rocket's contrail streaked the sky. “Another one from Vandenberg,” he said. “Wait a couple minutes — you'll hear it.” And we did. “They've gotten really annoying,” he added. He's not wrong. In early 2024, SpaceX launched seven times more tonnage into space than the rest of the world combined, much of it from Vandenberg Space Force Base (renamed from Air Force Base in 2021). They've already been approved to fly 12,000 Starlink satellites, with filings for 30,000 more.This isn't just future space junk — it's infrastructure. And it's not just in orbit. What Musk is doing in the sky is tied to what he's building on the ground. Not in Vandenberg, where regulation still exists, but in Starbase, Texas, where the law doesn't resist — it assists. There, Musk is testing how much sovereignty one man can claim under the banner of “innovation” — and how little we'll do to stop him.TOWNS TO THRUST AND THRONEMusk isn't just defying gravity — he's defying law. In South Texas, a place called Starbase has taken shape along the Gulf Coast, hugging the edge of SpaceX's rocket launch site. What looks like a town is really something else: a launchpad not just for spacecraft, but for a new form of privatized sovereignty.VIDEO: Time compresses at the edge of Starbase: a slow-built frontier where launch infrastructure rises faster than oversight. Source: Google EarthThis isn't unprecedented. The United States has a long lineage of company towns — places where corporations controlled land, housing, labor, and local government. Pullman, Illinois is the most famous. But while labor historians and economic geographers have documented their economic and social impact, few have examined them as legal structures of power.That's the gap legal scholar Brian Highsmith identifies in Governing the Company Town. That omission matters — because these places aren't just undemocratic. They often function as quasi-sovereign legal shells, designed to serve capital, not people.Incorporation is the trick. In Texas, any area with at least 201 residents can petition to become a general-law municipality. That's exactly what Musk has done. In a recent vote (212 to 6) residents approved the creation of an official town — Starbase. Most of those residents are SpaceX employees living on company-owned land…with a Tesla in the driveway. The result is a legally recognized town, politically constructed. SpaceX controls the housing, the workforce, and now, the electorate. Even the mayor is a SpaceX affiliate. With zoning powers and taxing authority, Musk now holds tools usually reserved for public governments — and he's using them to build for rockets, not residents…unless they're employees.VIDEO: Starbase expands frame by frame, not just as a company town, but as a legal experiment — where land, labor, and law are reassembled to serve orbit over ordinance. Source: Google EarthQuinn Slobodian, a historian of neoliberalism and global capitalism, shows how powerful companies and individuals increasingly use legal tools to redesign borders and jurisdictions to their advantage. In his book, Cracked Up Capitalism, he shows how jurisdiction becomes the secret weapon of the capitalist state around the world. I wrote about a techno-optimist fantasy state on the island of Roatán, part of the Bay Islands in Honduras a couple years ago. It isn't new. Disney used the same playbook in 1967 with Florida's Reedy Creek District — deeding slivers of land to employees to meet incorporation rules, then governing without real opposition. Highsmith draws a straight line to Musk: both use municipal law not to serve the public, but to avoid it. In Texas, beach access is often blocked near Starbase — even when rockets aren't launching. A proposed bill would make ignoring an evacuation order a Class B misdemeanor, punishable by jail.Even if Starbase never fully resembles a traditional town, that's beside the point. What Musk is really revealing isn't some urban design oasis but how municipal frameworks can still be weaponized for private control. Through zoning laws, incorporation statutes, and infrastructure deals, corporations can shape legal entities that resemble cities but function more like logistical regimes.And yet, this tactic draws little sustained scrutiny. As Highsmith reminds us, legal scholarship has largely ignored how municipal tools are deployed to consolidate corporate power. That silence matters — because what looks like a sleepy launch site in Texas may be something much larger: a new form of rule disguised as infrastructure.ABOVE THE LAW, BELOW THE LANDElon Musk isn't just shaping towns — he's engineering systems. His tunnels, satellites, and rockets stretch across and beyond traditional borders. These aren't just feats of engineering. They're tools of control designed to bypass civic oversight and relocate governance into private hands. He doesn't need to overthrow the state to escape regulation. He simply builds around it…and in the case of Texas, with it.Architect and theorist Keller Easterling, whose work examines how infrastructure quietly shapes political life, argues that these systems are not just supports for power — they are power. Infrastructure itself is a kind of operating system for shaping the city, states, countries…and now space.Starlink, SpaceX's satellite constellation, provides internet access to users around the world. In Ukraine, it became a vital communications network after Russian attacks on local infrastructure. Musk enabled access — then later restricted it. He made decisions with real geopolitical consequences. No president. No Congress. Just a private executive shaping war from orbit.And it's not just Ukraine. Starlink is now active in dozens of countries, often without formal agreements from national regulators. It bypasses local telecom laws, surveillance rules, and data protections. For authoritarian regimes, that makes it dangerous. But for democracies, it raises a deeper question: who governs the sky?Right now, the answer is: no one. The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 assumes that nation-states, not corporations, are the primary actors in orbit. But Starlink functions in a legal grey zone, using low Earth orbit as a loophole in international law…aided and abetted by the U.S. defense department.VIDEO: Thousands of Starlink satellites, visualized in low Earth orbit, encircle the planet like a privatized exosphere—reshaping global communication while raising questions of governance, visibility, and control. Source: StarlinkThe result is a telecom empire without borders. Musk commands a growing share of orbital infrastructure but answers to no global regulator. The International Telecommunication Union can coordinate satellite spectrum, but it can't enforce ethical or geopolitical standards. Musk alone decides whether Starlink aids governments, rebels, or armies. As Quinn Slobodian might put it, this is exception-making on a planetary scale.Now let's go underground. The Boring Company digs high-speed tunnels beneath cities like Las Vegas, sidestepping standard planning processes. These projects often exclude transit agencies and ignore public engagement. They're built for select users, not the public at large. Local governments, eager for tech-driven investment, offer permits and partnerships — even if it means circumventing democratic procedures.Taken together — Starlink above, Boring Company below, Tesla charging networks on the ground — Musk's empire moves through multiple layers of infrastructure, each reshaping civic life without formal accountability. His systems carry people, data, and energy — but not through the public channels meant to regulate them. They're not overseen by voters. They're not authorized by democratic mandate. Yet they profoundly shape how people move, communicate, and live.Geographer Deborah Cowen, whose research focuses on the global logistics industry, argues that infrastructure like ports, fiber-optic cables, and pipelines have become tools of geopolitical strategy. Logistics as a form of war by other means. Brian Highsmith argues this is a form of “functional fragmentation” — breaking governance into layers and loopholes that allow corporations to sidestep collective control. These aren't mere workarounds. They signal a deeper shift in how power is organized — not just across space, but through it.This kind of sovereignty is easy to miss because it doesn't always resemble government. But when a private actor controls transit systems, communication networks, and even military connectivity — across borders, beneath cities, and in orbit — we're not just dealing with infrastructure. We're dealing with rule.And, just like with company towns, the legal scholarship is struggling to catch up. These layered, mobile, and non-territorial regimes challenge our categories of law and space alike. What these fantastical projects inspire is often awe. But what they should require is law.AMNESIA AIDS THE AMBITIOUSElon Musk may dazzle with dreams full-blown, but the roots of his power are not his own. The United States has a long tradition of private actors ruling like governments — with public blessing. These aren't outliers. They're part of a national pattern, deeply embedded in our legal geography: public authority outsourced to private ambition.The details vary, but the logic repeats. Whether it's early colonial charters, speculative land empires, company towns, or special districts carved for tech campuses, American history is full of projects where law becomes a scaffold for private sovereignty. Rather than recount every episode, let's just say from John Winthrop to George Washington to Walt Disney to Elon Musk, America has always made room for men who rule through charters, not elections.Yet despite the frequency of these arrangements, the scholarship has been oddly selective.According to Highsmith, legal academia has largely ignored the institutional architecture that makes company towns possible in the first place: incorporation laws, zoning frameworks, municipal codes, and districting rules. These aren't neutral bureaucratic instruments. They're jurisdictional design tools, capable of reshaping sovereignty at the micro-scale. And when used strategically, they can be wielded by corporations to create functional states-within-a-state — governing without elections, taxing without consent, and shaping public life through private vision.From a critical geography perspective, the problem is just as stark. Scholars have long studied the uneven production of space — how capital reshapes landscapes to serve accumulation. But here, space isn't just produced — it's governed. And it's governed through techniques of legal enclosure, where a patch of land becomes a jurisdictional exception, and a logistics hub or tech campus becomes a mini-regime.Starbase, Snailbrook, Reedy Creek, and even Google's Sidewalk Labs are not just spatial projects — they're sovereign experiments in spatial governance, where control is layered through contracts, tax breaks, and municipal proxies.But these arrangements don't arise in a vacuum. Cities often aren't choosing between public and private control — they're choosing between austerity and access to cash. In the United States, local governments are revenue-starved by design. Most lack control over income taxes or resource royalties, and depend heavily on sales taxes, property taxes, and development fees. This creates a perverse incentive: to treat corporations not as entities to regulate, but as lifelines to recruit and appease.Desperate for jobs and investment, cities offer zoning concessions, infrastructure deals, and tax abatements, even when they come with little democratic oversight or long-term guarantees. Corporate actors understand this imbalance — and exploit it. The result is a form of urban hostage-taking, where governance is bartered piecemeal in exchange for the promise of economic survival.A more democratized fiscal structure — one that empowers cities through equitable revenue-sharing, progressive taxation, or greater control over land value capture — might reduce this dependency. It would make it possible for municipalities to plan with their citizens instead of negotiating against them. It would weaken the grip of corporate actors who leverage scarcity into sovereignty. But until then, as long as cities are backed into a fiscal corner, we shouldn't be surprised when they sell off their power — one plot or parking lot at a time.Highsmith argues that these structures demand scrutiny — not just for their economic impact, but for their democratic consequences. These aren't just quirks of local law. They are the fault lines of American federalism — where localism becomes a loophole, and fragmentation becomes a formula for private rule.And yet, these systems persist with minimal legal friction and even less public awareness. Because they don't always look like sovereignty. Sometimes they look like a housing deal. A fast-tracked zoning change. A development district with deferred taxes. A campus with private shuttles and subsidized utilities. They don't announce themselves as secessions — but they function that way.We've been trained to see these projects as innovation, not governance. As entrepreneurship, not policy. But when a company owns the homes, builds the roads, controls the data, and sets the rules, it's not just offering services — it's exercising control. As political theorist Wendy Brown has argued, neoliberalism reshapes civic life around the image of the entrepreneur, replacing democratic participation with market performance.That shift plays out everywhere: universities run like corporations, cities managed like startups. Musk isn't the exception — he's the clearest expression of a culture that mistakes private ambition for public good. Musk once tweeted, “If you must know, I am a utopian anarchist of the kind best described by Iain Banks.” In a New York Times article, Jill Lepore quoted Banks as saying his science fiction books were about “'hippy commies with hyper-weapons and a deep distrust of both Marketolatry and Greedism.' He also expressed astonishment that anyone could read his books as promoting free-market libertarianism, asking, ‘Which bit of not having private property and the absence of money in the Culture novels have these people missed?'”The issue isn't just that we've allowed these takeovers — it's that we've ignored the tools enabling them: incorporation, annexation, zoning, and special districts. As Brian Highsmith notes, this quiet shift in power might not have surprised one of our constitution authors, James Madison, but it would have troubled him. In Federalist No. 10, Madison warned not of monarchs, but of factions — small, organized interests capturing government for their own ends. His solution was restraint through scaling oppositional voices. “The inference to which we are brought is, that the causes of faction cannot be removed...and that relief is only to be sought in the means of controlling its effects.”— James Madison, Federalist No. 10 (1787)Today, the structure meant to restrain factions has become their playbook. These actors don't run for office — they arrive with charters, contracts, and capital. They govern not in the name of the people, but of “efficiency” and “innovation.” And they don't need to control a nation when a zoning board will do.Unchecked, we risk mistaking corporate control for civic order — and repeating a pattern we've barely begun to name.We were told, sold, and promised a universe of shared governance — political, spatial, even orbital. But Madison didn't trust promises. He trusted structure. He feared what happens when small governments fall to powerful interests — when law becomes a lever for private gain. That fear now lives in legal districts, rocket towns, and infrastructure built to rule. Thousands of satellites orbit the Earth, not launched by publics, but by one man with tools once reserved for states. What was once called infrastructure now governs. What was once geography now obeys.Our maps may still show roads and rails and pipes and ports — but not the fictions beneath them, or the factions they support.References:Brown, W. (2015). Undoing the demos: Neoliberalism's stealth revolution. Zone Books.Cowen, D. (2014). The deadly life of logistics: Mapping violence in global trade. University of Minnesota Press.Easterling, K. (2014). Extrastatecraft: The power of infrastructure space. Verso Books.Highsmith, B. (2022). Governing the company town: How employers use local government to seize political power. Yale Law Journal.Madison, J. (1787). Federalist No. 10. In A. Hamilton, J. Madison, & J. Jay, The Federalist Papers. Bantam Books (2003 edition).Slobodian, Q. (2023). Crack-Up Capitalism: Market radicals and the dream of a world without democracy. Metropolitan Books. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,This week, I've been reflecting on the themes of my last few essays — along with a pile of research that's been oddly in sync. Transit planning. Neuroscience. Happiness studies. Complexity theory. Strange mix, but it keeps pointing to the same thing: cities aren't just struggling with transportation or housing. They're struggling with connection. With meaning. With the simple question: what kind of happiness should a city make possible? And why don't we ask that more often?STRANGERS SHUNNED, SYSTEMS SIMULATEDThe urban century was supposed to bring us together. Denser cities, faster mobility, more connected lives — these were the promises of global urbanization. Yet in the shadow of those promises, a different kind of city has emerged in America with growing undertones elsewhere: one that increasingly seeks to eliminate the stranger, bypass friction, and privatize interaction.Whether through algorithmically optimized ride-sharing, private tunnels built to evade street life, or digital maps simulating place without presence for autonomous vehicles, a growing set of design logics work to render other people — especially unknown others — invisible, irrelevant, or avoidable.I admit, I too can get seduced by this comfort, technology, and efficiency. But cities aren't just systems of movement — they're systems of meaning. Space is never neutral; it's shaped by power and shapes behavior in return. This isn't new. Ancient cities like Teotihuacan (tay-oh-tee-wah-KAHN) in central Mexico, once one of the largest cities in the world, aligned their streets and pyramids with the stars. Chang'an (chahng-AHN), the capital of Tang Dynasty China, used strict cardinal grids and walled compounds to reflect Confucian ideals of order and hierarchy. And Uruk (OO-rook), in ancient Mesopotamia, organized civic life around temple complexes that stood at the spiritual and administrative heart of the city.These weren't just settlements — they were spatial arguments about how people should live together, and who should lead. Even Middle Eastern souks and hammams were more than markets or baths; they were civic infrastructure. Whether through temples or bus stops, the question is the same: What kind of social behavior is this space asking of us?Neuroscience points to answers. As Shane O'Mara argues, walking is not just transport — it's neurocognitive infrastructure. The hippocampus, which governs memory, orientation, and mood, activates when we move through physical space. Walking among others, perceiving spontaneous interactions, and attending to environmental cues strengthens our cognitive maps and emotional regulation.This makes city oriented around ‘stranger danger' not just unjust — but indeed dangerous. Because to eliminate friction is to undermine emergence — not only in the social sense, but in the economic and cultural ones too. Cities thrive on weak ties, on happenstance, on proximity without intention. Mark Granovetter's landmark paper, The Strength of Weak Ties, showed that it's those looser, peripheral relationships — not our inner circles — that drive opportunity, creativity, and mobility. Karl Polanyi called it embeddedness: the idea that markets don't float in space, they're grounded in the social fabric around them.You see it too in scale theory — in the work of Geoffrey West and Luís Bettencourt — where the productive and innovative energy of cities scales with density, interaction, and diversity. When you flatten all that into private tunnels and algorithmic efficiency, you don't just lose the texture — you lose the conditions for invention.As David Roberts, a climate and policy journalist known for his systems thinking and sharp urban critiques, puts it: this is “the anti-social dream of elite urbanism” — a vision where you never have to share space with anyone not like you. In conversation with him, Jarrett Walker, a transit planner and theorist who's spent decades helping cities design equitable bus networks, also pushes back against this logic. He warns that when cities build transit around avoidance — individualized rides, privatized tunnels, algorithmic sorting — they aren't just solving inefficiencies. They're hollowing out the very thing that makes transit (and cities) valuable and also public: the shared experience of strangers moving together.The question isn't just whether cities are efficient — but what kind of social beings they help us become. If we build cities to avoid each other, we shouldn't be surprised when they crumble as we all forget how to live together.COVERAGE, CARE, AND CIVIC CALMIf you follow urban and transit planning debates long enough, you'll hear the same argument come up again and again: Should we focus on ridership or coverage? High-frequency routes where lots of people travel, or wide access for people who live farther out — even if fewer use the service? For transit nerds, it's a policy question. For everyone else, it's about dignity.As Walker puts it, coverage isn't about efficiency — it's about “a sense of fairness.” It's about living in a place where your city hasn't written you off because you're not profitable to serve. Walker's point is that coverage isn't charity. It's a public good, one that tells people: You belong here.That same logic shows up in more surprising places — like the World Happiness Report. Year after year, Finland lands at the top. But as writer Molly Young found during her visit to Helsinki, Finnish “happiness” isn't about joy or euphoria. It's about something steadier: trust, safety, and institutional calm. What the report measures is evaluative happiness — how satisfied people are with their lives over time — not affective happiness, which is more about momentary joy or emotional highs.There's a Finnish word that captures this. It the feeling you get after a sauna: saunanjälkeinen raukeus (SOW-nahn-yell-kay-nen ROW-keh-oos) — the softened, slowed state of the body and mind. That's what cities like Helsinki seem to deliver: not bliss, but a stable, low-friction kind of contentment. And while that may lack sparkle, it makes people feel held.And infrastructure plays a big role. In Helsinki, the signs in the library don't say “Be Quiet.” They say, “Please let others work in peace.” It's a small thing, but it speaks volumes — less about control, more about shared responsibility. There are saunas in government buildings. Parents leave their babies sleeping in strollers outside cafés. Transit is clean, quiet, and frequent. As Young puts it, these aren't luxuries — they're part of a “bone-deep sense of trust” the city builds and reinforces. Not enforced from above, but sustained by expectation, habit, and care.My family once joined an organized walking tour of Copenhagen. The guide, who was from Spain, pointed to a clock in a town square and said, almost in passing, “The government has always made sure this clock runs on time — even during war.” It wasn't just about punctuality. It was about trust. About the quiet promise that the public realm would still hold, even when everything else felt uncertain. This, our guide noted from his Spanish perspective, is what what make Scandinavians so-called ‘happy'. They feel held.Studies show that most of what boosts long-term happiness isn't about dopamine hits — it's about relational trust. Feeling safe. Feeling seen. Knowing you won't be stranded if you don't have a car or a credit card. Knowing the city works, even if you don't make it work for you.In this way, transit frequency and subtle signs in Helsinki are doing the same thing. They're shaping behavior and reinforcing social norms. They're saying: we share space here. Don't be loud. Don't cut in line. Don't treat public space like it's only for you.That kind of city can't be built on metrics alone. It needs moral imagination — the kind that sees coverage, access, and slowness as features, not bugs. That's not some socialist's idea of utopia. It's just thoughtful. Built into the culture, yes, but also the design.But sometimes we're just stuck with whatever design is already in place. Even if it's not so thoughtful. Economists and social theorists have long used the concept of path dependence to explain why some systems — cities, institutions, even technologies — get stuck. The idea dates back to work in economics and political science in the 1980s, where it was used to show how early decisions, even small ones, can lock in patterns that are hard to reverse.Once you've laid train tracks, built freeways, zoned for single-family homes — you've shaped what comes next. Changing course isn't impossible, but it's costly, slow, and politically messy. The QWERTY keyboard is a textbook example: not the most efficient layout, but one that stuck because switching systems later would be harder than just adapting to what we've got.Urban scholars Michael Storper and Allen Scott brought this thinking into city studies. They've shown how economic geography and institutional inertia shape urban outcomes — how past planning decisions, labor markets, and infrastructure investments limit the options cities have today. If your city bet on car-centric growth decades ago, you're probably still paying for that decision, even if pivoting is palatable to the public.CONNECTIONS, COMPLEXITY, CITIES THAT CAREThere's a quote often attributed to Stephen Hawking that's made the rounds in complexity science circles: “The 21st century will be the century of complexity.” No one's entirely sure where he said it — it shows up in systems theory blogs, talks, and books — but it sticks. Probably because it feels true.If the last century was about physics — closed systems, force, motion, precision — then this one is about what happens when the pieces won't stay still. When the rules change mid-game. When causes ripple back as consequences. In other words: cities.Planners have tried to tame that complexity in all kinds of ways. Grids. Zoning codes. Dashboards. There's long been a kind of “physics envy” in both planning and economics — a belief that if we just had the right model, the right inputs, we could predict and control the city like a closed system. As a result, for much of the 20th century, cities were designed like machines — optimized for flow, separation, and predictability.But even the pushback followed a logic of control — cul-de-sacs and suburban pastoralism — wasn't a turn toward organic life or spontaneity. It was just a softer kind of order: winding roads and whispered rules meant to keep things calm, clean, and contained…and mostly white and moderately wealthy.If you think of cities like machines, it makes sense to want control. More data, tighter optimization, fewer surprises. That's how you'd tune an engine or write software. But cities aren't machines. They're messy, layered, and full of people doing unpredictable things. They're more like ecosystems — or weather patterns — than they are a carburetor. And that's where complexity science becomes useful.People like Paul Cilliers and Brian Castellani have argued for a more critical kind of complexity science — one that sees cities not just as networks or algorithms, but as places shaped by values, power, and conflict. Cilliers emphasized that complex systems, like cities, are open and dynamic: they don't have fixed boundaries, they adapt constantly, and they respond to feedback in ways no planner can fully predict. Castellani extends this by insisting that complexity isn't just technical — it's ethical. It demands we ask: Who benefits from a system's design? Who has room to adapt, and who gets constrained? In this view, small interventions — a zoning tweak, a route change — can set off ripple effects that reshape how people move, connect, and belong. A new path dependence.This is why certainty is dangerous in urban design. It breeds overconfidence. Humility is a better place to start. As Jarrett Walker puts it, “there are all kinds of ways to fake your way through this.” Agencies often adopt feel-good mission statements like “compete with the automobile by providing access for all” — which, he notes, is like “telling your taxi driver to turn left and right at the same time.” You can't do both. Not on a fixed budget.Walker pushes agencies to be honest: if you want to prioritize ridership, say so. If you want to prioritize broad geographic coverage, that's also valid — but know it will mean lower ridership. The key is not pretending you can have both at full strength. He says, “What I want is for board members… to make this decision consciously and not be surprised by the consequences”.These decisions matter. A budget cut can push riders off buses, which then leads to reduced service, which leads to more riders leaving — a feedback loop. On the flip side, small improvements — like better lighting, a public bench, a frequent bus — can set off positive loops too. Change emerges, often sideways.That means thinking about transit not just as a system of movement, but as a relational space. Same with libraries, parks, and sidewalks. These aren't neutral containers. They're environments that either support or suppress human connection. If you design a city to eliminate friction, you eliminate chance encounters — the stuff social trust is made of.I'm an introvert. I like quiet. I recharge alone. But I also live in a city — and I've learned that even for people like me, being around others still matters. Not in the chatty, get-to-know-your-neighbors way. But in the background hum of life around you. Sitting on a bus. Browsing in a bookstore. Walking down a street full of strangers, knowing you don't have to engage — but you're not invisible either.There's a name for this. Psychologists call it public solitude or sometimes energized privacy — the comfort of being alone among others. Not isolated, not exposed. Just held, lightly, in the weave of the crowd. And the research backs it up: introverts often seek out public spaces like cafés, libraries, or parks not to interact, but to feel present — connected without pressure.In the longest-running happiness study ever done, 80 years, Harvard psychologist Robert Waldinger found that strong relationships — not income, not status — were the best predictor of long-term well-being. More recently, studies have shown that even brief interactions with strangers — on a bus, in a coffee shop — can lift mood and reduce loneliness. But here's the catch: cities have to make those interactions possible.Or they don't.And that's the real test of infrastructure. We've spent decades designing systems to move people through. Fast. Clean. Efficient. But we've neglected the quiet spaces that let people just be. Sidewalks you're not rushed off of. Streets where kids can safely bike or play…or simply cross the street.Even pools — maybe especially pools. My wife runs a nonprofit called SplashForward that's working to build more public pools. Not just for fitness, but because pools are public space. You float next to people you may never talk to. And still, you're sharing something. Space. Water. Time.You see this clearly in places like Finland and Iceland, where pools and saunas are built into the rhythms of public life. They're not luxuries — they're civic necessities. People show up quietly, day after day, not to socialize loudly, but to be alone together. As one Finnish local told journalist Molly Young, “During this time, we don't have... colors.” It was about the long gray winter, sure — but also something deeper: a culture that values calm over spectacle. Stability over spark. A kind of contentment that doesn't perform.But cities don't have to choose between quiet and joy. We don't have to model every system on Helsinki in February. There's something beautiful in the American kind of happiness too — the loud, weird, spontaneous moments that erupt in public. The band on the subway. The dance party in the park. The loud kid at the pool. That kind of energy can be a nuisance, but it can also be joyful.Even Jarrett Walker, who's clear-eyed about transit, doesn't pretend it solves everything. Transit isn't always the answer. Sometimes a car is the right tool. What matters is whether everyone has a real choice — not just those with money or proximity or privilege. And he's quick to admit every city with effective transit has its local grievances.So no, I'm not arguing for perfection, or even socialism. I'm arguing for a city that knows how to hold difference. Fast and slow. Dense and quiet. A city that lets you step into the crowd, or sit at its edge, and still feel like you belong. A place to comfortably sit with the uncertainty of this great transformation emerging around us. Alone and together.REFERENCESCastellani, B. (2014). Complexity theory and the social sciences: The state of the art. Routledge.Cilliers, P. (1998). Complexity and postmodernism: Understanding complex systems. Routledge.David, P. A. (1985). Clio and the economics of QWERTY. The American Economic Review.Granovetter, M. (1973). The strength of weak ties. American Journal of Sociology.Hawking, S. (n.d.). The 21st century will be the century of complexity. [Attributed quote; primary source unavailable].O'Mara, S. (2019). In praise of walking: A new scientific exploration. W. W. Norton & Company.Roberts, D. (Host). (2025). Jarrett Walker on what makes good transit [Audio podcast episode]. In Volts.Storper, M., & Scott, A. J. (2016). Current debates in urban theory: A critical assessment. Urban Studies.Waldinger, R., & Schulz, M. (2023). The good life: Lessons from the world's longest scientific study of happiness. Simon & Schuster.Walker, J. (2011). Human transit: How clearer thinking about public transit can enrich our communities and our lives. Island Press.West, G., & Bettencourt, L. M. A. (2010). A unified theory of urban living. Nature.Young, M. (2025). My miserable week in the ‘happiest country on earth'. The New York Times Magazine. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,This week, the European Space Agency launched a satellite to "weigh" Earth's 1.5 trillion trees. It will give scientists deeper insight into forests and their role in the climate — far beyond surface readings. Pretty cool. And it's coming from Europe.Meanwhile, I learned that the U.S. Secretary of Defense — under Trump — had a makeup room installed in the Pentagon to look better on TV. Also pretty cool, I guess. And very American.The contrast was hard to miss. Even with better data, the U.S. shows little appetite for using geographic insight to actually address climate change. Information is growing. Willpower, not so much.So it was oddly clarifying to read a passage Christopher Hobson posted on Imperfect Notes from a book titled America by a French author — a travelogue of softs. Last week I offered new lenses through which to see the world, I figured I'd try this French pair on — to see America, and the world it effects, as he did.PAPER, POWER, AND PROJECTIONI still have a folded paper map of Seattle in the door of my car. It's a remnant of a time when physical maps reflected the reality before us. You unfolded a map and it innocently offered the physical world on a page. The rest was left to you — including knowing how to fold it up again.But even then, not all maps were neutral or necessarily innocent. Sure, they crowned capitals and trimmed borders, but they could also leave things out or would make certain claims. From empire to colony, from mission to market, maps often arrived not to reflect place, but to declare control of it. Still, we trusted it…even if was an illusion.I learned how to interrogate maps in my undergraduate history of cartography class — taught by the legendary cartographer Waldo Tobler. But even with that knowledge, when I was then taught how to make maps, that interrogation was more absent. I confidently believed I was mediating truth. The lines and symbols I used pointed to substance; they signaled a thing. I traced rivers from existing base maps with a pen on vellum and trusted they existed in the world as sure as the ink on the page. I cut out shading for a choropleth map and believed it told a stable story about population, vegetation, or economics. That trust was embodied in representation — the idea that a sign meant something enduring. That we could believe what maps told us.This is the world of semiotics — the study of how signs create meaning. American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce offered a sturdy model: a sign (like a map line) refers to an object (the river), and its meaning emerges in interpretation. Meaning, in this view, is relational — but grounded. A stop sign, a national anthem, a border — they meant something because they pointed beyond themselves, to a world we shared.But there are cracks in this seemingly sturdy model.These cracks pose this question: why do we trust signs in the first place? That trust — in maps, in categories, in data — didn't emerge from neutrality. It was built atop agendas.Take the first U.S. census in 1790. It didn't just count — it defined. Categories like “free white persons,” “all other free persons,” and “slaves” weren't neutral. They were political tools, shaping who mattered and by how much. People became variables. Representation became abstraction.Or Carl Linnaeus, the 18th-century Swedish botanist who built the taxonomies we still use: genus, species, kingdom. His system claimed objectivity but was shaped by distance and empire. Linnaeus never left Sweden. He named what he hadn't seen, classified people he'd never met — sorting humans into racial types based on colonial stereotypes. These weren't observations. They were projections based on stereotypes gathered from travelers, missionaries, and imperial officials.Naming replaced knowing. Life was turned into labels. Biology became filing. And once abstracted, it all became governable, measurable, comparable, and, ultimately, manageable.Maps followed suit.What once lived as a symbolic invitation — a drawing of place — became a system of location. I was studying geography at a time (and place) when Geographic Information Systems (GIS) and GIScience was transforming cartography. Maps weren't just about visual representations; they were spatial databases. Rows, columns, attributes, and calculations took the place of lines and shapes on map. Drawing what we saw turned to abstracting what could then be computed so that it could then be visualized, yes, but also managed.Chris Perkins, writing on the philosophy of mapping, argued that digital cartographies didn't just depict the world — they constituted it. The map was no longer a surface to interpret, but a script to execute. As critical geographers Sam Hind and Alex Gekker argue, the modern “mapping impulse” isn't about understanding space — it's about optimizing behavior through it; in a world of GPS and vehicle automation, the map no longer describes the territory, it becomes it. Laura Roberts, writing on film and geography, showed how maps had fused with cinematic logic — where places aren't shown, but performed. Place and navigation became narrative. New York in cinema isn't a place — it's a performance of ambition, alienation, or energy. Geography as mise-en-scène.In other words, the map's loss of innocence wasn't just technical. It was ontological — a shift in the very nature of what maps are and what kind of reality they claim to represent. Geography itself had entered the domain of simulation — not representing space but staging it. You can simulate traveling anywhere in the world, all staged on Google maps. Last summer my son stepped off the train in Edinburgh, Scotland for the first time in his life but knew exactly where he was. He'd learned it driving on simulated streets in a simulated car on XBox. He walked us straight to our lodging.These shifts in reality over centuries weren't necessarily mistakes. They unfolded, emerged, or evolved through the rational tools of modernity — and for a time, they worked. For many, anyway. Especially for those in power, seeking power, or benefitting from it. They enabled trade, governance, development, and especially warfare. But with every shift came this question: at what cost?FROM SIGNS TO SPECTACLEAs early as the early 1900s, Max Weber warned of a world disenchanted by bureaucracy — a society where rationalization would trap the human spirit in what he called an iron cage. By mid-century, thinkers pushed this further.Michel Foucault revealed how systems of knowledge — from medicine to criminal justice — were entangled with systems of power. To classify was to control. To represent was to discipline. Roland Barthes dissected the semiotics of everyday life — showing how ads, recipes, clothing, even professional wrestling were soaked in signs pretending to be natural.Guy Debord, in the 1967 The Society of the Spectacle, argued that late capitalism had fully replaced lived experience with imagery. “The spectacle,” he wrote, “is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images.”Then came Jean Baudrillard — a French sociologist, media theorist, and provocateur — who pushed the critique of representation to its limit. In the 1980s, where others saw distortion, he saw substitution: signs that no longer referred to anything real. Most vividly, in his surreal, gleaming 1986 travelogue America, he described the U.S. not as a place, but as a performance — a projection without depth, still somehow running.Where Foucault showed that knowledge was power, and Debord showed that images replaced life, Baudrillard argued that signs had broken free altogether. A map might once distort or simplify — but it still referred to something real. By the late 20th century, he argued, signs no longer pointed to anything. They pointed only to each other.You didn't just visit Disneyland. You visited the idea of America — manufactured, rehearsed, rendered. You didn't just use money. You used confidence by handing over a credit card — a symbol of wealth that is lighter and moves faster than any gold.In some ways, he was updating a much older insight by another Frenchman. When Alexis de Tocqueville visited America in the 1830s, he wasn't just studying law or government — he was studying performance. He saw how Americans staged democracy, how rituals of voting and speech created the image of a free society even as inequality and exclusion thrived beneath it. Tocqueville wasn't cynical. He simply understood that America believed in its own image — and that belief gave it a kind of sovereign feedback loop.Baudrillard called this condition simulation — when representation becomes self-contained. When the distinction between real and fake no longer matters because everything is performance. Not deception — orchestration.He mapped four stages of this logic:* Faithful representation – A sign reflects a basic reality. A map mirrors the terrain.* Perversion of reality – The sign begins to distort. Think colonial maps as logos or exclusionary zoning.* Pretending to represent – The sign no longer refers to anything but performs as if it does. Disneyland isn't America — it's the fantasy of America. (ironically, a car-free America)* Pure simulation – The sign has no origin or anchor. It floats. Zillow heatmaps, Uber surge zones — maps that don't reflect the world, but determine how you move through it.We don't follow maps as they were once known anymore. We follow interfaces.And not just in apps. Cities themselves are in various stages of simulation. New York still sells itself as a global center. But in a distributed globalized and digitized economy, there is no center — only the perversion of an old reality. Paris subsidizes quaint storefronts not to nourish citizens, but to preserve the perceived image of Paris. Paris pretending to be Paris. Every city has its own marketing campaign. They don't manage infrastructure — they manage perception. The skyline is a product shot. The streetscape is marketing collateral and neighborhoods are optimized for search.Even money plays this game.The U.S. dollar wasn't always king. That title once belonged to the British pound — backed by empire, gold, and industry. After World War II, the dollar took over, pegged to gold under the Bretton Woods convention — a symbol of American postwar power stability…and perversion. It was forged in an opulent, exclusive, hotel in the mountains of New Hampshire. But designed in the style of Spanish Renaissance Revival, it was pretending to be in Spain. Then in 1971, Nixon snapped the dollar's gold tether. The ‘Nixon Shock' allowed the dollar to float — its value now based not on metal, but on trust. It became less a store of value than a vessel of belief. A belief that is being challenged today in ways that recall the instability and fragmentation of the pre-WWII era.And this dollar lives in servers, not Industrial Age iron vaults. It circulates as code, not coin. It underwrites markets, wars, and global finance through momentum alone. And when the pandemic hit, there was no digging into reserves.The Federal Reserve expanded its balance sheet with keystrokes — injecting trillions into the economy through bond purchases, emergency loans, and direct payments. But at the same time, Trump 1.0 showed printing presses rolling, stacks of fresh bills bundled and boxed — a spectacle of liquidity. It was monetary policy as theater. A simulation of control, staged in spreadsheets by the Fed and photo ops by the Executive Branch. Not to reflect value, but to project it. To keep liquidity flowing and to keep the belief intact.This is what Baudrillard meant by simulation. The sign doesn't lie — nor does it tell the truth. It just works — as long as we accept it.MOOD OVER MEANINGReality is getting harder to discern. We believe it to be solid — that it imposes friction. A law has consequences. A price reflects value. A city has limits. These things made sense because they resist us. Because they are real.But maybe that was just the story we told. Maybe it was always more mirage than mirror.Now, the signs don't just point to reality — they also replace it. We live in a world where the image outpaces the institution. Where the copy is smoother than the original. Where AI does the typing. Where meaning doesn't emerge — it arrives prepackaged and pre-viral. It's a kind of seductive deception. It's hyperreality where performance supersedes substance. Presence and posture become authority structured in style.Politics is not immune to this — it's become the main attraction.Trump's first 100 days didn't aim to stabilize or legislate but to signal. Deportation as UFC cage match — staged, brutal, and televised. Tariff wars as a way of branding power — chaos with a catchphrase. Climate retreat cast as perverse theater. Gender redefined and confined by executive memo. Birthright citizenship challenged while sedition pardoned. Even the Gulf of Mexico got renamed. These aren't policies, they're productions.Power isn't passing through law. It's passing through the affect of spectacle and a feed refresh.Baudrillard once wrote that America doesn't govern — it narrates. Trump doesn't manage policy, he manages mood. Like an actor. When America's Secretary of Defense, a former TV personality, has a makeup studio installed inside the Pentagon it's not satire. It's just the simulation, doing what it does best: shining under the lights.But this logic runs deeper than any single figure.Culture no longer unfolds. It reloads. We don't listen to the full album — we lift 10 seconds for TikTok. Music is made for algorithms. Fashion is filtered before it's worn. Selfhood is a brand channel. Identity is something to monetize, signal, or defend — often all at once.The economy floats too. Meme stocks. NFTs. Speculative tokens. These aren't based in value — they're based in velocity. Attention becomes the currency.What matters isn't what's true, but what trends. In hyperreality, reference gives way to rhythm. The point isn't to be accurate. The point is to circulate. We're not being lied to.We're being engaged. And this isn't a bug, it's a feature.Which through a Baudrillard lens is why America — the simulation — persists.He saw it early. Describing strip malls, highways, slogans, themed diners he saw an America that wasn't deep. That was its genius he saw. It was light, fast paced, and projected. Like the movies it so famously exports. It didn't need justification — it just needed repetition.And it's still repeating.Las Vegas is the cathedral of the logic of simulation — a city that no longer bothers pretending. But it's not alone. Every city performs, every nation tries to brand itself. Every policy rollout is scored like a product launch. Reality isn't navigated — it's streamed.And yet since his writing, the mood has shifted. The performance continues, but the music underneath it has changed. The techno-optimism of Baudrillard's ‘80s an ‘90s have curdled. What once felt expansive now feels recursive and worn. It's like a show running long after the audience has gone home. The rager has ended, but Spotify is still loudly streaming through the speakers.“The Kids' Guide to the Internet” (1997), produced by Diamond Entertainment and starring the unnervingly wholesome Jamison family. It captures a moment of pure techno-optimism — when the Internet was new, clean, and family-approved. It's not just a tutorial; it's a time capsule of belief, staged before the dream turned into something else. Before the feed began to feed on us.Trumpism thrives on this terrain. And yet the world is changing around it. Climate shocks, mass displacement, spiraling inequality — the polycrisis has a body count. Countries once anchored to American leadership are squinting hard now, trying to see if there's anything left behind the screen. Adjusting the antenna in hopes of getting a clearer signal. From Latin America to Southeast Asia to Europe, the question grows louder: Can you trust a power that no longer refers to anything outside itself?Maybe Baudrillard and Tocqueville are right — America doesn't point to a deeper truth. It points to itself. Again and again and again. It is the loop. And even now, knowing this, we can't quite stop watching. There's a reason we keep refreshing. Keep scrolling. Keep reacting. The performance persists — not necessarily because we believe in it, but because it's the only script still running.And whether we're horrified or entertained, complicit or exhausted, engaged or ghosted, hired or fired, immigrated or deported, one thing remains strangely true: we keep feeding it. That's the strange power of simulation in an attention economy. It doesn't need conviction. It doesn't need conscience. It just needs attention — enough to keep the momentum alive. The simulation doesn't care if the real breaks down. It just keeps rendering — soft, seamless, and impossible to look away from. Like a dream you didn't choose but can't wake up from.REFERENCESBarthes, R. (1972). Mythologies (A. Lavers, Trans.). Hill and Wang. (Original work published 1957)Baudrillard, J. (1986). America (C. Turner, Trans.). Verso.Debord, G. (1994). The Society of the Spectacle (D. Nicholson-Smith, Trans.). Zone Books. (Original work published 1967)Foucault, M. (1977). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (A. Sheridan, Trans.). Vintage Books.Hind, S., & Gekker, A. (2019). On autopilot: Towards a flat ontology of vehicular navigation. In C. Lukinbeal et al. (Eds.), Media's Mapping Impulse. Franz Steiner Verlag.Linnaeus, C. (1735). Systema Naturae (1st ed.). Lugduni Batavorum.Perkins, C. (2009). Philosophy and mapping. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International Encyclopedia of Human Geography. Elsevier.Raaphorst, K., Duchhart, I., & van der Knaap, W. (2017). The semiotics of landscape design communication. Landscape Research.Roberts, L. (2008). Cinematic cartography: Movies, maps and the consumption of place. In R. Koeck & L. Roberts (Eds.), Cities in Film: Architecture, Urban Space and the Moving Image. University of Liverpool.Tocqueville, A. de. (2003). Democracy in America (G. Lawrence, Trans., H. Mansfield & D. Winthrop, Eds.). University of Chicago Press. (Original work published 1835)Weber, M. (1958). The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (T. Parsons, Trans.). Charles Scribner's Sons. (Original work published 1905) This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Every week it seems to get harder to ignore the feeling that we're living through some major turning point — politically, economically, environmentally, and even in how our cities are taking shape around us. Has society seen this movie before? Spoiler: we have, and it has many sequels. History doesn't repeat exactly, but it sure rhymes, especially when competition for power increases, climates collapse, and the urban fabric unravels and rewinds. Today, we'll sift through history's clues, peek through some fresh conceptual lenses, and consider why the way we frame these shifts matters — maybe more now than ever.PRESSURE POINTS AT URBAN JOINTSLet's ground where we all might be historically speaking. Clues from long-term historical patterns suggests social systems go through periodic cycles of integration, expansion, and crisis. Historical quantitative data reveals recurring waves of structural-demographic pressure — moments when inequality, elite overproduction, and resource strain converge to produce instability.By quantitative historian Peter Turchin's account, we are currently drifting through some kind of inflection point. His 2010 essay in Nature anticipated the early 2020s as a period of peak instability that started around 1970. That's when people earning advanced degrees, entering law, finance, media, and politics skyrocketed from the 1970s onward. Meanwhile, the number of elite positions (like Senate seats, Supreme Court clerkships, high level corporate positions) remained fixed or even shrank. This created decades of increased income inequality, elite competition, and declining public trust that created conditions for events like the rise of Trump, polarization, and institutional gridlock.The symptoms are familiar to us now, and they are markers that echo previous systemic ruptures in U.S. history.In the 1770s, colonial grievances and elite competition led to a historic revolutionary realignment. It also coincided with poor harvests and food insecurity that amplified unrest. The 1860s brought civil war driven by slavery and sectional conflict. It too occurred during a period of climate volatility and crop failures. The early 20th century saw the Gilded Age unravel into labor unrest and the Great Depression, following years of drought and economic collapse in the Dust Bowl. The 1960s through 1980s unleashed social protest, stagflation, and the shift toward neoliberal governance amid fears of resource scarcity and rising pollution. In each case, ecological shocks layered onto political and economic pressures — making transformation not only likely, but necessary.Spatial patterns shifted alongside these political ruptures — from rail hubs and company towns to low flung suburban rings and high-rise financialized skylines. Cities can be both staging grounds creating these shifts and mirrors reflecting them. As material and symbolic anchors of society, they reflect where systems are strained — and where new forms may soon take root.Urban transformation today is neither orderly nor speculative — it is reactive. These socio-political, economic, and ecological shifts have fragmented not just the city, but the very frameworks we use to understand it. And with urban scale theory as a measure, change is accelerating exponentially. This means our conceptual tools to understand these shifts best respond just as quickly.Let's dip into the academic world of contemporary urban studies to gauge how scholars are considering these shifts. Here are three lenses that seem well-suited to consider our current landscape…or perhaps those my own biases are attracted to.Urban Political Ecology. This sees the city as a socio-natural process — shaped by uneven flows of energy, capital, and extraction. This approach, developed by critical geographers like Erik Swyngedouw and Maria Kaika, highlights how environmental degradation is often tied to social inequality and political neglect. Matthew Gandy, an urban geographer who blends political theory and environmental history, adds to this view. He shows how infrastructure — from water systems to waste networks — shapes urban nature and power.The Jackson, Mississippi water crisis, for example, revealed how ecological stress and decades of disinvestment resulted in a disheartening breakdown. In 2022, flooding overwhelmed Jackson's aging water system, leaving tens of thousands without safe drinking water — but the failure had been decades in the making. Years of underfunding, political neglect, and systemic racism had hollowed out the city's infrastructure.Or take Musk's AI data center called Colossus in Memphis, Tennessee. It's adjacent to historically Black neighborhoods and uses 35 methane gas-powered turbines that emit harmful nitrogen oxides (NOx) and other pollutants. It's reported to be operating without proper permits and contributes to air quality issues these communities already have long experienced. These crises are vivid cases of what urban political ecologists warn about: how marginalization and disinvestment manifest physically in infrastructure failure, disproportionately affecting already vulnerable populations.Platform Urbanism. This explains much of the growing visible and invisible restructuring of urban space. From delivery networks to sidewalk surveillance, digital platforms now shape land use and behavioral patterns. Urban theorists like Sarah Barns and geographer Agnieszka Leszczynski describe these systems as shadow planners — zoning isn't just on paper anymore; it's encoded in app interfaces and service contracts. Shoshana Zuboff, a social psychologist and scholar of the digital economy, pushes this further. She argues that platforms are not just intermediaries but extractive infrastructures. They're designed to shape behavior and monetize it at scale. As platforms replace institutions, their spatial footprint expands. For example, Amazon has redefined regional land use by building vast fulfillment centers and reshaping delivery logistics across suburbs and exurbs. Or look at Uber and Lyft. They've altered curbside usage and traffic patterns in major cities without ever appearing on official planning documents. These changes demonstrate how digital infrastructure now directs physical development — often faster than public institutions can respond.Neoliberal Urbanism. Though widely critiqued, this remains the dominant lens. Despite growing backlash, deregulated markets, privatized services, and financialized real estate continue to shape planning logic and policy defaults. Urban theorists like Neil Brenner and economic geographer Jamie Peck describe this as a shift from managerial to entrepreneurial cities — where the suburbs sprawl, the towers rise, and exclusion is reproduced not by public design input, but by tax codes, ownership models, and legacy zoning. Like many governing systems, the default is to preserve the status quo. Institutions, once entrenched, tend to perpetuate existing frameworks — even in the face of mounting social or ecological stress.For example, in many U.S. cities, exclusionary zoning laws have long restricted the construction of multi-family housing in favor of single-family homes — limiting supply, reinforcing segregation, and driving up housing costs. Even modest attempts at reform often meet local resistance, revealing how deeply these rules are woven into planning culture.These lenses aren't just theoretical — they are descriptively powerful. They reflect what is, not what could be. But describing the present is only the first step.NEW NOTIONS OF URBAN MOTIONSIt's worth considering alternative conceptual lenses rising in relevance. These are not yet changing the shape of cites at scale, but they are shaping how we think about our urban futures. Historically, new conceptual lenses have often emerged in the wake of the kind of major social and spatial disruptions already covered.For example, the upheavals of the 19th century. This rapid industrialization, urban crowding, and public health crises gave rise to modern, industrial-era city planning. The mid-20th century crises helped institutionalize zoning and modernist design, while the neoliberal turn of the late 20th century elevated market-driven planning models.Emerging conceptual lenses of the 21st century are grounded in complexity, care, informality, and computation. These are responses to the fragmented plurality of our planetary plight — characteristic of the current calamity of our many crises, or polycrisis. Frameworks for thinking and imagining cities gain traction in architecture and planning studios, classrooms, online and physical activist spaces, and experimental design projects. They're not yet dominant, but they are gaining ground. Here are a few I believe to be particularly relevant today.Assemblage Urbanism. This lens views cities not as coherent wholes, but as contingent networks that are always in the making. The term "assemblage" comes from philosophy and anthropology. It refers to how diverse elements — people, materials, policies, and technologies — come together in temporary, evolving configurations. This lens resists top-down models of urban design and instead sees cities as patchworks of relationships and improvisations.Introduced by scholars like Ignacio Farias, an urban anthropologist focused on technological and infrastructural urban change, and AbdouMaliq Simone, a sociologist known for his work on African cities and informality, this approach offers a vocabulary for complexity and contradiction. It examines cities made of sensors and encampments, logistics hubs and wetlands. Colin McFarlane, a geographer who studies how cities function and evolve — especially in places often overlooked in mainstream planning — shows how urban learning spreads through these networks that cross places and scales. As the built environment becomes more fragmented and multi-scalar, this lens offers a way to map the friction and fluidity of emergent urban life.Postcolonial and Feminist Urbanisms. This lens challenges who gets to define the city, and how. Ananya Roy, a scholar of global urbanism and housing justice, Jennifer Robinson, a geographer known for challenging Western-centric urban theory, and Leslie Kern, a feminist urbanist focused on gender and public space, all center the voices and experiences often sidelined by mainstream planning: women, racialized communities, and the so-called Global South. These are regions, not always in the Southern Hemisphere, that have historically been colonized, exploited, or marginalized by dominant empires of the so-called Global North. These frameworks put care, informality, and embodied experience in the foreground — not as soft supplements to be ‘considered', but as central to urban survival. They ask: whose knowledge counts and whose mobility is prioritized? In a world of precarity and patchwork governance, these lenses offer both critique and more fair and balanced paths forward.Typological and Morphological Studies. These older, traditional lenses are reemerging through new tools. Once associated with the static physical form of cities, these traditions are finding renewed relevance through machine learning and spatial data. These approaches originate from architectural history and geography, where typology refers to recurring building patterns, and morphology to the shape and structure of urban space. Scholars like Saverio Muratori and Gianfranco Caniggia, both architects, emphasized interpreting urban fabric as a continuous, evolving record of social life. As mentioned last week, British geographer M. R. G. Conzen introduced town-plan analysis, a method for understanding how plots and street systems change over time. Today, this lineage is extended by Laura Vaughan, an urbanist who studies how spatial form reflects social patterns, and Geoff Boeing, a planning scholar using computational tools to analyze and visualize urban form also mentioned last week. AI models now interpret urban imagery, using historical patterns to predict future trends. This approach is evolving into a kind of algorithmic archaeology. However, unchecked it could reinforce existing spatial norms instead of challenging them. This stresses the importance of reflection, ethics, and debate about the implications and outcomes of these models…and who benefits most.While these lenses don't yet dominate design codes or capital flows, they do shape how we think and talk about our cities. And isn't that where all transformation begins?CHOOSING PATHS IN AFTERMATHSConcepts don't emerge in a vacuum. History shows us how they arise from the anxiety and urgency of uncertainty. As historian Elias Palti reminds us, frameworks gain traction when once dominant and grounding meanings begin crumbling under our feet. That's when we invent or seek new ways to make sense of our shifting ground. Donna Haraway, a pioneering feminist scholar in science and technology studies, urges us to stay with this mess and imagine new futures from within it. She describes these moments as opportunities to 'stay with the trouble' — to resist closure, dwell in complexity, and imagine alternatives from within the uncertainty.Historically, moments of systemic crisis — from the 1770s to the 1840s, the 1930s to the 1960s — have sparked shifts not just in spatial form, but in the conceptual tools used to understand and design it. Revolutionary and reformist movements have often carried with them new ways of seeing: Enlightenment ideals, socialist critiques, environmental consciousness, and decolonial frameworks. We may be living through another such moment now — where the cracks in the old invite us to rethink the categories that built it.In 1960, five years before I was born, British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan gave a speech called “Wind of Change”. It was a public acknowledgement of the decline of British empire and the rise of anti-colonial nationalism around the globe. Delivered in apartheid South Africa, it was a rare moment of elite recognition that a global shift in political and spatial order was already underway. Britain's imperial dominance was fading just as American dominance was solidifying.Today, we see echoes of that moment. The U.S. is facing economic fragmentation, growing inequality, and diminishing global legitimacy, while China asserts itself as a counterweight. Resistance and unrest in places like Palestine, Ukraine, Yemen, Congo, Sudan, Kashmir, (and many more) mirror the turbulence of previous historic transitions. Once again, the global “winds of change” are shifting, strengthening, and unpredictably swirling. It can be disorienting. But the frameworks I've outlined above are more than cold attempts at academic neutral observations, they can serve as lenses of orientation. They help guide what we see, what we measure, and what we ignore. And in doing so, they shape what futures become possible.Some frameworks are widely used but lack ethical depth. Others are less common but are full of imagination and ethical reconfigurations. The lenses we prioritize in public policy, early education, design, and discussion will shape whether our future systems perpetuate existing inequalities or purge them.This is not just an academic choice. It's a civic one.While macro forces of capital or climate are beyond our control, it is possible to shape the narratives that impact our responses. The question remains whether space should continue being optimized for logistics and financial speculation, or if there is potential to focus on ecological repair, historical redress, and spatial justice.Future developments will be influenced by current thoughts. The most impactful decision in urban design may come down to us all being more intentional in selecting the concepts that guide us forward.REFERENCES This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Cities are layered by past priorities. I was just in Overland Park, Kansas, where over the last 25 years I've seen malls rise, fall, and shift outward as stores leave older spaces behind.When urban systems shift — due to climate, capital, codes, or crisis — cities drift. These changes ripple across scales and resemble fractal patterns, repeating yet evolving uniquely.This essay traces these patterns: past regimes, present signals, and competing questions over what's next.URBAN SCRIPTS AND SHIFTING SCALESAs cities grow, they remember.Look at a city's form — the way its streets stretch, how its blocks bend, where its walls break. These are not neutral choices. They are residues of regimes. Spatial decisions shaped by power, fear, belief, or capital.In ancient Rome, cities were laid out in strict grids. Streets ran along two axes: the cardo and decumanus. It made the city legible to the empire — easy to control, supply, and expand. Urban form followed the logic of conquest.As cartography historian, O. A. W. Dilke writes,“One of the main advantages of a detailed map of Rome was to improve the efficiency of the city's administration. Augustus had divided Rome into fourteen districts, each subdivided into vici. These districts were administered by annually elected magistrates, with officials and public slaves under them.”In medieval Europe, cities got messy. Sovereignty was fragmented. Trade replaced tribute. Guilds ran markets as streets tangled around church and square. The result was organic — but not random. It reflected a new mode of life: small-scale, interdependent, locally governed.In 19th-century Paris, the streets changed again. Narrow alleys became wide boulevards. Not just for beauty — for visibility and force. Haussmann's renovations made room for troops, light, and clean air. It was urban form as counter-revolution.Then came modernism. Superblocks, towers, highways. A form that made sense for mass production, cheap land, and the car. Planning became machine logic — form as efficiency.Each of these shifts marked the arrival of a new spatial calculus — ways of organizing the built environment in response to systemic pressures. Over time, these approaches came to be described by urbanists as morphological regimes: durable patterns of urban form shaped not just by architecture, but by ideology, infrastructure, and power. The term “morphology” itself was borrowed from biology, where it described the structure of organisms. In urban studies, it originally referred to the physical anatomy of the city — blocks, plots, grids, and streets. But today the field has broadened. It's evolved into more of a conceptual lens: not just a way of classifying form, but of understanding how ideas sediment into space. Today, morphology tracks how cities are shaped — not only physically, but discursively and increasingly so, computationally. Urban planning scholar Geoff Boeing calls urban form a “spatial script.” It encodes decisions made long ago — about who belongs where, what gets prioritized, and what can be seen or accessed. Other scholars treated cities like palimpsests — a term borrowed from manuscript studies, where old texts were scraped away and overwritten, yet traces remained. In urban form, each layer carries the imprint of a former spatial logic, never fully erased. Michael Robert Günter (M. R. G.) Conzen, a British geographer, pioneered the idea of town plan analysis in the 1960s. He examined how street patterns, plot divisions, and building forms reveal historical shifts. Urban geographer and architect, Anne Vernez Moudon brought these methods into contemporary urbanism. She argued that morphological analysis could serve as a bridge between disciplines, from planning to architecture to geography. Archaeologist Michael E. Smith goes further. Specializing in ancient cities, Smith argues that urban form doesn't just reflect culture — it produces it. In early settlements, the spatial organization of plazas, roads, and monuments actively shaped how people understood power, social hierarchy, and civic identity. Ritual plazas weren't just for ceremony — they structured the cognitive and social experience of space. Urban form, in this sense, is conceptual. It's how a society makes its world visible. And when that society changes — politically, economically, technologically — so does its form. Not immediately. Not neatly. But eventually. Almost always in response to pressure from the outside.INTERVAL AND INFLECTIONUrban morphology used to evolve slowly. But today, it changes faster — and with increasing volatility. Physicist Geoffrey West, and other urban scientists, describes how complex systems like cities exhibit superlinear scaling: as they grow, they generate more innovation, infrastructure, and socio-economic activity at an accelerating pace. But this growth comes with a catch: the system becomes dependent on continuous bursts of innovation to avoid collapse. West compares it to jumping from one treadmill to another — each one running faster than the last. What once took centuries, like the rise of industrial manufacturing, is now compressed into decades or less. The intervals between revolutions — from steam power to electricity to the internet — keep shrinking, and cities must adapt at an ever-faster clip just to maintain stability. But this also breeds instability as the intervals between systemic transformations shrink. Cities that once evolved over centuries can now shift in decades.Consider Rome. Roman grid structure held for centuries. Medieval forms persisted well into the Renaissance. Even Haussmann's Paris boulevards endured through war and modernization. But in the 20th century, urban morphology entered a period of rapid churn. Western urban regions shifted from dense industrial cores to sprawling postwar suburbs to globalized financial districts in under a century — each a distinct regime, unfolding at unprecedented speed.Meanwhile, rural and exurban zones transformed too. Suburbs stretched outward. Logistics corridors carved through farmland. Industrial agriculture consolidated land and labor. The whole urban-rural spectrum was redrawn — not evenly, but thoroughly — over a few decades.Why the speed?It's not just technology. It's the stacking of exogenous shocks. Public health crises. Wars. Economic crashes. Climate shifts. New empires. New markets. New media. These don't just hit policy — they hit form.Despite urbanities adaptability, it resists change. But when enough pressure builds, it breaks and fragments — or bends fast.Quantitative historians like Peter Turchin describe these moments as episodes of structural-demographic pressure. His theory suggests that as societies grow, they cycle through phases of expansion and instability. When rising inequality, elite overproduction, and resource strain coincide, the system enters a period of fragility. The ruling class becomes bloated and competitive, public trust erodes, and the state's ability to mediate conflict weakens. At some point, the social contract fractures — not necessarily through revolution, but through cumulative dysfunction that demands structural transformation.Cities reflect that process spatially. The street doesn't revolt. But it reroutes. The built environment shows where power has snapped or shifted. Consider Industrial Modernity. Assuming we start in 1850, it took roughly 100 years before the next regime took shape — the Fordist-Suburban Expansion starting in roughly 1945. It took around 30-40 years for deregulation to hit in the 80s. By 1995 information, communication, and technology accelerated globalization, financialization, and the urban regime we're currently in — Neoliberal Polycentrism.Neoliberal Polycentricism may sound like a wonky and abstract term, but it reflects a familiar reality: a pattern of decentralized, uneven urban growth shaped by market-driven logics. While some scholars debate the continued utility of the overused term 'neoliberalism' itself, its effects on the built environment remain visible. Market priorities continue to dominate and reshape spatial development and planning norms. It is not a wholly new spatial condition. It's the latest articulation of a longer American tradition of decentralizing people and capital beyond the urban core. In the 19th century, this dynamic took shape through the rise of satellite towns, railroad suburbs, and peripheral manufacturing hubs. These developments were often driven by speculative land ventures, private infrastructure investments, and the desire to escape the regulatory and political constraints of city centers. The result was a form of urban dispersal that created new nodes of growth, frequently insulated from municipal oversight and rooted in socio-economic and racial segregation. This early polycentricism, like fireworks spawning in all directions from the first blast, set the stage for later waves of privatized suburbanization and regional fragmentation. Neoliberalism would come to accelerate and codify this expansion.It came in the form of edge cities, exurbs, and special economic zones that proliferated in the 80s and 90s. They grew not as organic responses to demographic needs, but as spatial products of deregulated markets and speculative capital. Governance fragmented. Infrastructure was often privatized or outsourced. As Joel Garreau's 1991 book Edge City demonstrates, a place like Tysons Corner, Virginia — a highway-bound, developer-led edge city — embodied this shift: planned by commerce, not civic vision. A decade later, planners tried to retrofit that vision — adding transit, density, and walkability — but progress has been uneven, with car infrastructure still shaping much of daily life.This regime aligned with the rise of financial abstraction and logistical optimization. As Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman argue in Underground Empire, digital finance extended global capitalism's reach by creating a networked infrastructure that allowed capital to move seamlessly across borders, largely outside the control of democratic institutions. Cities and regions increasingly contorted themselves to host these flows — rebranding, rezoning, and reconfiguring their form to attract global liquidity.At the same time, as historian Quinn Slobodian notes, globalism was not simply about market liberalization but about insulating capital from democratic constraint. This logic played out spatially through the proliferation of privatized enclaves, special jurisdictions, and free trade zones — spaces engineered to remain separate from public oversight while remaining plugged into global markets.In metro cores, this led to vertical Central Business Districts, securitized plazas, and speculative towers. In the suburbs and exurbs, it encouraged the low-density, car-dependent landscapes that still propagate. It's still packaged as freedom but built on exclusion. In rural zones, the same logic produces logistics hubs, monoculture farms, and fractured small towns caught precariously between extraction and abandonment.SEDIMENT AND SENTIMENTWhat has emerged in the U.S., and many other countries, is a fragmented patchwork: privatized downtowns, disconnected suburbs, branded exurbs, and digitally tethered hinterlands…often with tax advantages. All governed by the same regime, but expressed through vastly different forms.We're in a regime that promised flexibility, innovation, and shared global prosperity — a future shaped by open markets, technological dynamism, and spatial freedom. But that promise is fraying. Ecological and meteorological breakdown, housing instability, and institutional exhaustion are revealing the deep limits of this model.The cracks are widening. The pandemic scrambled commuting rhythms and retail flows that reverberate to this day. Climate stress reshapes assumptions about where and how to build. Platforms restructure access to space as AI wiggles its way into every corner. Through it all, the legitimacy of traditional planning models, even established forms of governing, weakens.Some historians may call this an interregnum — a space between dominant systems, where the old still governs in form, but its power to convince has faded. The term comes from political theory, describing those in-between moments when no single order fully holds. It's a fitting word for times like these, when spatial logic lingers physically but loses meaning conceptually. The dominant spatial logic remains etched in roads, zoning codes, and skylines — but its conceptual scaffolding is weakening. Whether seen as structural-demographic strain or spatial realignment, this is a moment of uncertainty. The systems that once structured urban life — zoning codes, master plans, market forecasts — may no longer provide a stable map. And that's okay. Interregnums, as political theorist Christopher Hobson reminds us, aren't just voids between orders — they are revealing. Moments when the cracks in dominant systems allow us to see what had been taken for granted. They offer space to reflect, to experiment, and to reimagine.Maybe what comes next is less of a plan and more of a posture — an attitude of attentiveness, humility, and care. As they advise when getting sucked out to sea by a rip tide: best remain calm and let it spit you out where it may than try to fight it. Especially given natural laws of scale theory suggests these urban rhythms are accelerating and their transitions are harder to anticipate. Change may not unfold through neat stages, but arrive suddenly, triggered by thresholds and tipping points. Like unsuspectingly floating in the warm waters of a calm slack tide, nothing appears that different until rip tide just below the surface reveals everything is.In that sense, this drifting moment is not just prelude — it is transformation in motion. Cities have always adapted under pressure — sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly. But they rarely begin anew. Roman grids still anchor cities from London to Barcelona. Medieval networks persist beneath tourist maps and tangled streets. Haussmann's boulevards remain etched across Paris, shaping flows of traffic and capital. These aren't ghosts — they're framing. Living sediment.Today's uncertainty is no different. It may feel like a void, but it's not empty. It's layered. Transitions build on remnants, repurposing forms even as their meanings shift. Parcel lines, zoning overlays, server farms, and setback requirements — these are tomorrow's layered manuscripts — palimpsests.But it's not just physical traces we inherit. Cities also carry conceptual ones — ideas like growth, public good, infrastructure, or progress that were forged under earlier regimes. As historian Elias Palti reminds us, concepts are not fixed. They are contingent, born in conflict, and reshaped in uncertainty. In moments like this, even the categories we use to interpret urban life begin to shift. The city, then, is not just a built form — it's a field of meaning. And in the cracks of the old, new frameworks begin to take shape. The work now is not only to build differently, but to think differently too.REFERENCESDilke, O. A. W. (1985). Greek and Roman Maps. Cornell University Press.Boeing, Geoff. (2019). “Spatial Information and the Legibility of Urban Form.” Journal of Planning Education and Research, 39(2), 208–220.Conzen, M. R. G. (1960). “Alnwick, Northumberland: A Study in Town Plan Analysis.” Institute of British Geographers Publication.Moudon, Anne Vernez. (1997). “Urban Morphology as an Emerging Interdisciplinary Field.” Urban Morphology, 1(1), 3–10.Smith, Michael E. (2007). “Form and Meaning in the Earliest Cities: A New Approach to Ancient Urban Planning.” Journal of Planning History, 6(1), 3–47.West, Geoffrey. (2017). Scale: The Universal Laws of Life, Growth, and Death in Organisms, Cities, and Companies. Penguin Press.Turchin, Peter. (2016). Ages of Discord: A Structural-Demographic Analysis of American History. Beresta Books.Garreau, Joel. (1991). Edge City: Life on the New Frontier. Doubleday.Farrell, Henry, & Newman, Abraham. (2023). Underground Empire: How America Weaponized the World Economy. Henry Holt.Slobodian, Quinn. (2023). Crack-Up Capitalism: Market Radicals and the Dream of a World Without Democracy. Metropolitan Books.Hobson, Christopher. (2015). The Rise of Democracy: Revolution, War and Transformations in International Politics since 1776. Edinburgh University Press.Palti, Elias José. (2020). An Archaeology of the Political: Regimes of Power from the Seventeenth Century to the Present. Columbia University Press. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Spring at Interplace brings a shift to mapping, GIS, and urban design. While talk of industrial revival stirs nostalgia — steel mills, union jobs, bustling Main Streets — the reality on the ground is different: warehouses, data centers, vertical suburbs, and last-mile depots. Less Rosy the Riveter, more Ada Lovelace. Our cities are being shaped accordingly — optimized not for community, but for logistics.FROM STOREFRONTS TO STEEL DOORSLet's start with these two charts recently shared by the historian of global finance and power Adam Tooze at Chartbook. One shows Amazon passing Walmart in quarterly sales for the first time. The other shows a steadily declining drop in plans for small business capital expenditure. Confidence shot up upon the election of Trump, but dropped suddenly when tariff talks trumped tax tempering. Together, these charts paint a picture: control over how people buy, build, and shape space is shifting — fast. It all starts quietly. A parking lot gets fenced off. Trucks show up. Maybe the old strip mall disappears overnight. A few months later, there's a low, gray building with no windows. No grand opening. Just a stream of delivery vans pulling in and out.This isn't just a new kind of facility — it's a new kind of urban and suburban logic.Platform logistics has rewritten the rules of space. Where cities were once shaped by factories and storefronts, now they're shaped by fulfillment timelines, routing algorithms, and the need to move goods faster than planning commissions can meet.In the past, small businesses were physical anchors. They invested in place. They influenced how neighborhoods looked, felt, and functioned. But when capital expenditures from local firms drop — as that second chart shows — their power to shape the block goes with it.What fills the vacuum is logistics. And it doesn't negotiate like the actors it replaces.This isn't just a retail story. It's a story about agency — who gets to decide what a place is for. When small businesses cut back on investment, it's not just the storefront that disappears. So does the capacity to influence a block, a street, a community. Local business owners don't just sell goods — they co-create neighborhoods. They choose where to open, how to hire, how to design, and what kind of social space their business offers. All of that is a form of micro-planning — planning from below. France, as one example, subsidizes these co-created neighborhoods in Paris to insure they uphold the romantic image of a Parisian boulevard.But without subsidies, these actors are disappearing. And in the vacuum, big brands and logistics move in. Not softly, either. Amazon alone added hundreds of logistics facilities to U.S. land in the past five years. Data centers compete for this land. Meta recently announced a four million square foot facility in Richland Parish, Louisiana. It will be their largest data center in the world.These buildings are a new kind of mall. They're massive, quiet, windowless buildings that optimize for speed, not presence. This is what researchers call logistics urbanization — a land use logic where space is valued not for what people can do in it, but for how efficiently packages and data can pass through it.The shift is structural. It remakes how land is zoned, how roads are used, and how people move — and it does so at a scale that outpaces most municipal planning timelines. That's not just a market change. It's a change in governance. Because planners? Mayors? Even state reps? They're not steering anymore. They're reacting.City managers once had tools to shape growth — zoning, permitting, community input. But logistics and tech giants don't negotiate like developers. They come with pre-designed footprints and expectations. If a city doesn't offer fast approval, industrial zoning, and tax breaks, they'll skip to the next one. And often, they won't even say why. Economists studying these state and local business tax incentives say these serve as the “primary place-based policy in the United States.”It forces a kind of economic speed dating. I see it in my own area as local governments vie for the attention (and revenue) of would-be high-tech suitors. But it can be quiet, as one report suggests: “This first stage of logistical urbanization goes largely unnoticed insofar as the construction of a warehouse in an existing industrial zone rarely raises significant political issues.”(2)This isn't just in major cities. Across the U.S., cities are bending their long-term plans to chase short-term fulfillment deals. Even rural local governments routinely waive design standards and sidestep public input to accommodate warehouse and tech siting — because saying no can feel like missing out on tax revenue, jobs, or political wins.(2)What was once a dynamic choreography of land use and local voices becomes something flatter: a data pipeline.It isn't all bad. Fulfillment hubs closer to homes mean fewer trucks, shorter trips, and lower emissions. Data centers crunching billions of bits is better than a PC whirring under the desk of every home. There is a scale and sustainability case to be made.But logistic liquidity doesn't equal optimistic livability. It doesn't account for what's lost when civic agency fades, or when a city works better for packages than for people. You can optimize flow — and still degrade life.That's what those two charts at the beginning really show. Not just an economic shift, but a spatial one. From many small decisions to a few massive ones. From storefronts and civic input to corporate site selection and zoning flips. From a lived city to a delivered one.Which brings us to the next shape in this story — not the warehouse, but the mid-rise. Not the loading dock, but the key-fob lobby. Different function. Same logic.HIGH-RISE, LOW TOUCHYou've seen them. The sleek new apartment buildings with names like The Foundry or Parc25. A yoga room, a roof deck, and an app for letting in your dog walker. “Mixed-use,” they say — but it's mostly private use stacked vertically.It's much needed housing, for sure. But these aren't neighborhoods. They're private bunkers with balconies.Yes, they're more dense than suburban cul-de-sacs. Yes, they're more energy-efficient than sprawl. But for all their square footage and amenity spaces, they often feel more like vertical suburbs — inward-facing, highly managed, and oddly disconnected from the street.The ground floors are usually glazed over with placeholder retail: maybe a Starbucks, a Subway, or nothing at all…often vacant with only For Lease signs. Residents rarely linger. Packages arrive faster than neighbors can introduce themselves. There's a gym to bench press, but no public bench or egress. You're close to hundreds of people — and yet rarely bump into anyone you didn't schedule.That's not a design flaw. That's the point.These buildings are part of a new typology — one that synchronizes perfectly with a platform lifestyle. Residents work remote. Order in. Socialize through screens. The architecture doesn't foster interaction because interaction isn't the product. Efficiency is.Call it fulfillment housing — apartments designed to plug into an economy that favors logistics and metrics, not civic social fabrics. They're located near tech centers, distribution hubs, and delivery corridors, and sometimes libraries or parks outdoors. What matters is access to bandwidth and smooth entry for Amazon and Door Dash.And it's not just what you see on the block. Behind the scenes, cities are quietly reengineering themselves to connect these structures to the digital twins — warehouses and data centers. Tucked into nearby low-tax exurbs or industrial zones, together they help reshape land use, strain energy grids, and anchor the platform economy.They're infrastructure for a new kind of urban life — one where presence is optional and connection to the cloud is more important than to the crowd.Even the public spaces inside these buildings — co-working lounges, shared kitchens, “community rooms” — are behind fobs, passwords, and management policies. Sociologists have called this the anticommons: everything looks shared, but very little actually is. It's curated collectivity, not true community.And it's not just isolation — it's predictability. These developments are built to minimize risk, noise, conflict, friction. Which is also to say: they're built to minimize surprise. The kind of surprise that once made cities exciting. The kind that made them social.Some urban scholars describe these spaces as part of a broader “ghost urbanism” — a city where density exists without depth. Where interaction is optional. Where proximity is engineered, but intimacy is not. You can be surrounded by life and still feel like you're buffering.The irony is these buildings often check every sustainability box. They're LEED-certified. Near transit. Built up, not out. From a local emissions standpoint, they beat the ‘burbs'. But their occupant's consumption, waste, and travel habits can create more pollution than homebody suburbanites. And from a civic standpoint — the standpoint of belonging, encounter, spontaneity — they're often just as empty.And so we arrive at a strange truth: a city can be efficient, dense, even walkable — and still feel ghosted. Because what we've optimized for isn't connection. It's delivery — to screens and doorsteps. What gets delivered to fulfillment housing may be frictionless, but it's rarely fulfilling.DRONES, DOMICILES, AND DISCONNECTIONI admit there's a nostalgia for old-world neighborhoods as strong as nostalgia for industrial cities of the past. Neighborhoods where you may run into people at the mailbox. Asking someone in the post office line where they got their haircut. Sitting on the porch, just waitin' on a friend. We used to talk about killing time, now we have apps to optimize it.It's not just because of screens. It's also about what kinds of space we've built — and what kind of social activity they allow or even encourage.In many suburbs and edge cities, the mix of logistics zones, tech centers, and residential enclaves creates what urban theorists might call a fragmented spatial syntax. That means the city no longer “reads” as a continuous experience. Streets don't tell stories.There's no rhythm from house to corner store to café to school. Instead, you get jump cuts — a warehouse here, a cul-de-sac there, a fenced-in apartment complex down the road. These are spaces that serve different logics, designed for speed, security, or seclusion — but rarely for relation. The grammar of the neighborhood breaks down. You don't stroll. You shuttle.You drive past a warehouse. You park in a garage. You enter through a lobby. You take an elevator to your door. There's no in-between space — no casual friction, no civic ambiguity, no shared air.These patterns aren't new. But they're becoming the norm, not the exception. You can end up living in a place but never quite arrive.Watch most anyone under 35. Connection increasingly happens online. Friendships form in Discord servers, not diners. Parties are planned via private stories, not porch swings. You don't run into people. You ping them.Sometimes that online connection does spill back into the real world — meetups, pop-ups, shared hobbies that break into public space. Discord, especially, has become a kind of digital third place, often leading to real-world hangouts. It's social. Even communal. But it's different. Fleeting. Ephemeral. Less rooted in place, more tied to platform and notifications.None of this is inherently bad. But it does change the role of the neighborhood as we once knew it. It's no longer the setting for shared experience — it's just a backdrop for bandwidth. That shift is subtle, but it adds up. Without physical places for civic life, interactions gets offloaded to platforms. Connection becomes mediated, surveilled, and datafied. You don't meet your neighbors. You follow them. You comment on their dog through a Ring alert.This is what some sociologists call networked individualism — where people aren't embedded in shared place-based systems, but orbit through overlapping digital networks. And when digital is the default, the city becomes a logistics problem. Something to move through efficiently…or not. It certainly is not something we're building together. It's imposed upon us.And so we arrive at a kind of paradox:We're more connected than ever. But we're less entangled.We're more visible. But we're less involved.We're living closer. But we don't feel near.The irony is the very platforms that hollow out public space are now where we go looking for belonging. TikTok isn't just where we go to kill time — it's where we go to feel seen. If your neighborhood doesn't give you identity, the algorithm will.Meanwhile, the built environment absorbs the logic of logistics. Warehouses and data centers at the edge. Mid-rises in the core. Streets engineered for the throughput of cars and delivery vans. Housing designed for containment. And social life increasingly routed elsewhere.It all works. Until you want to feel something.We're social creatures, biologically wired for connection. Neuroscience shows that in-person social interactions regulate stress, build emotional resilience, and literally shape how our brains grow and adapt. It's not just emotional. It's neurochemical. Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin — the chemistry of belonging — fire most powerfully through touch, eye contact, shared space. When those rituals shrink, so does our sense of meaning and safety.And that's what this is really about. Historically cities weren't just containers for life. They're catalysts for feeling. Without shared air, shared time, and shared friction, we lose more than convenience. We lose the chance to feel something real — to be part of a place, not just a node in a network.What started with two charts ends here: a world where local agency, social spontaneity, and even emotion itself are being restructured by platform logic. The city still stands. The buildings are there. The people are home. But the feeling of place — the buzz, the bump, the belonging — gets harder to find.That's the cost of efficiency without empathy. Of optimizing everything but meaning.And that's the city we're building. Unless we build something else. We'll need agency. And not just for planners or developers. For people.That's the work ahead. Not to reject the platform city. But to remake it — into something more livable. More legible. More ours. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,It's March Madness time in the states — baskets and brackets. I admit I'd grown a bit skeptical of how basketball evolved since my playing days. As it happens, I played against Caitlin Clark's dad, from nearby Indianola, Iowa! Unlike the more dynamic Brent Clark, I was a small-town six-foot center, taught never to face the basket and dribble. After all, it was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's era of back-to-the-hoop skyhooks. By college, however, I was playing pickup games in California, expected to handle the ball, shoot, dish, or drive. Just like Caitlin! The players around me were from East LA, not Indianola. Jordan was king, and basketball wasn't just evolving — it was about to explode. It's geographic expansion and spatial dynamism has influenced how the game is played and I now know why I can't get enough of it.BOARDS, BOUNDARIES, AND BREAKING FREEThere was one gym in my hometown, Norwalk, Iowa, where I could dunk a basketball. The court was so cramped, there was a wall right behind the backboard. It was padded to ease post layup collisions! But when I timed it right, I could run and jump off the wall launching myself into the air and just high enough to dunk. This old gym, a WPA project, was built in 1936 and was considered large at the time relative to population. It felt tiny by the time I played there during PE as a kid and on weekend pickup games as a teen — though it was still bigger than anything my parents experienced in rural Southern Iowa.Basketball began as a sport of spatial limitation. James Naismith invented the game in 1891 — 45 years prior to my dunk gym's grand opening. The game was invented to be played in a YMCA gym in Springfield, Massachusetts. This building dictated the court's dimensions, movement, and strategy. Naismith's original 13 rules emphasized order—no dribbling or running, only passing to move the ball. Early basketball wasn't about individual drives but about constant movement within a network of passing lanes, with players anticipating and reacting in real time.The original peach baskets were hung ten feet high on a balcony railing, with no backboards to guide shots. Misses bounced unpredictably, adding a vertical challenge and forcing players to think strategically about rebounding. Since the baskets had bottoms, play stopped after every score, giving teams time to reset and rethink.Soon the bottom of the basket was removed, and a backboard was introduced — originally intended to prevent interference from spectators batting opponents shots from the balcony. The backboard fundamentally altered the physics of play. Now a player could more predictably bank shots of the backboard and invent new rebounding strategies.When running while dribbling was introduced in the late 1890s, basketball's rigid spatial structure loosened. No longer confined to static passing formations, the game became a fluid system of movement. These innovations transformed the court into an interactive spatial environment, where angles, trajectories, and rebounds became key tactical elements. According to one theory of spatial reformulation through human behavior, structured spaces like basketball courts evolved not solely through top-down design, but through emergent patterns of use, where movement, interaction, and adaptation shape the space over time.By the 1920s, the court itself expanded—not so much in physical size but in meaning. The game had spread beyond enclosed gymnasiums to urban playgrounds, colleges, and professional teams. Each expansion further evolved basketball's spatial logic. Courts in New York's streetball culture fostered a tight and improvisational style. Players developed elite dribbling skills and isolation plays to navigate crowded urban courts. Meanwhile, Midwestern colleges, like Kansas where Naismith later coached, prioritized structured passing and zone defenses, reflecting the systemic, collective ethos of the game's inventor. This period reflects microcosms of larger social and spatial behaviors. Basketball, shaped by its environment and the players who occupied it, mirrored the broader urbanization process. This set the stage for basketball's transformation and expansion from national leagues to a truly global game.The evolution of basketball, like the natural, constructed, and cultural landscapes surrounding it, was not static. Basketball was manifested through and embedded in cultural geography, where places evolve over time, accumulating layers of meaning and adaptation. The basketball court was no exception. The game burst forth, breaking boundaries. It branched into local leagues, between bustling cities, across regions, and globetrotted around the world.TACTICS, TALENT, AND TRANSNATIONAL TIESThe year my ego-dunk gym was built, basketball debuted in the 1936 Olympics. That introduced the sport to the world. International play revealed contrasting styles, but it wasn't until the 1990s and 2000s that basketball became a truly global game — shaped as much by European and African players as by American traditions.Europe's game focused on tactical structures and spatial awareness. In the U.S., basketball was built within a high school and college system, but European basketball mimicked their club-based soccer academy model. It still does. In countries like Serbia, Spain, and Lithuania, players are taught the game from a tactical perspective first — learning how to read defenses, move without the ball, and make the extra pass. European training emphasizes court vision, spacing, and passing precision, fostering playmakers wise to the spatial dynamics of the game. Geography also plays a role in the development of European basketball. Countries like Serbia and Lithuania, which have a strong history of basketball but relatively smaller populations, could not rely on the sheer athletic depth of players like the U.S. Instead, they had to refine skill-based, systematic approaches to the game. This helped to ensure every player developed what is commonly called a “high basketball IQ”. They also exhibit a high level of adaptability to team-oriented strategies. European basketball exemplifies this, blending the legacy of former socialist sports systems — which prioritized collective success — with contemporary, globalized styles. This structured process explains why European players like Nikola Jokić, Luka Dončić, and Giannis Antetokounmpo often arrive in the NBA with an advanced understanding of spacing, passing, and team concepts. Jokić's story is particularly revealing. Growing up in Serbia, he didn't just play basketball — he played water polo, a sport that demands high-level spatial awareness and precision passing. In water polo, players must make quick decisions without being able to plant their feet or rely on sheer speed. Although, at seven feet tall, Jokić could probably sometimes touch the bottom of the pool! These skills translated perfectly to his basketball game, where his passing ability, patience, and ability to manipulate defenders make him one of the most unique playmakers in NBA history. Unlike the American model, where taller players are often pushed into narrowly defined roles as rebounders and rim protectors (like I was), European training systems emphasize all-around skill development regardless of height.This is why European big men like Jokić, Gasol, and Nowitzki excel both in the post and on the perimeter. Europe's emphasis on technical education and tactical intelligence fosters versatile skill sets before specialization. This adaptability has made fluid, multi-positional play the norm, prioritizing efficiency and team success over individual spectacle.If European basketball emphasizes structure, the African basketball pipeline fosters adaptability and resilience — not as inherent traits, but as responses to developmental conditions. Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu popularized this as habitus, where individuals unconsciously shape their skills based on their social and material environments. With limited formal infrastructure, many African players learn in fluid, improvised settings, refining their game through necessity rather than structured coaching.Unlike U.S. and European players, who train in specialized systems from an early age, African players often develop versatile, positionless skill sets. Their careers frequently involve migrating through different leagues and coaching styles. A great example is Joel Embiid. He didn't start playing basketball until he was 15. Growing up in Cameroon, he initially played soccer and volleyball. These sports both contributed to his basketball development in unexpected ways. Soccer helped him refine elite footwork, now a required trait of the post game, while volleyball sharpened his timing and hand-eye coordination — hence his dominance as a shot-blocker and rebounder. This multi-sport background is common among African players. Many grow up playing soccer first, which explains why so many African-born big men in the NBA — Hakeem Olajuwon, Serge Ibaka, and Pascal Siakam — have exceptional footwork and agility.Like Jokić's water polo background shaped his passing, soccer's fluidity influences how many African players move on the court. Beyond skills, migration plays a key role, as many leave home as teens to develop in European leagues or U.S. schools. Constant adaptation to new environments builds mental resilience, essential for professional sports. (just ask Luka Dončić after suddenly being traded to the Lakers!) Anthropologist Arjun Appadurai describes this as evolving ethnoscapes and how globalization drives global cultural flows. Practices, traditions, and ideas reshape both new destinations and home cultures as identities become blended across cultures and borders. African players embody this, adapting their games across multiple basketball traditions.Look at Embiid moving from Cameroon to the U.S., adapting to American basketball while retaining his cross-sport instincts. Or Giannis Antetokounmpo, he was born in Greece to Nigerian parents, played soccer as a kid, and now blends European teamwork and fancy footwork with NBA strength training and explosiveness. Like the game itself, basketball is shifting as players from diverse domains deliver new directions, playing patterns, and philosophies.CULTURE, COURTS, AND CROSSOVERSThe influx of European and African players has not only changed the NBA, it's also changed how American players play overseas.Sports psychologist Rainer Meisterjahn studied American players in foreign leagues, revealing struggles with structured European play and coaching. Initially frustrated by the lack of individual play and star focus, many later gained a broader understanding of the game. Their experience mirrors that of European and African players in the NBA, proving basketball is now a shared global culture.While the NBA markets itself as an American product, its style, strategies, and talent pool are increasingly internationalized. The dominance of ball movement and tactical discipline coupled with versatility and adaptability have fundamentally reshaped how the game is played.Media has help drive basketball's global expansion. Sports media now amplifies international leagues, exposing fans (like me) to diverse playing styles. Rather than homogenizing, basketball evolves by merging influences, much like cultural exchanges that shaped jazz (another love of mine) or global cuisine (another love of mind) — blending styles while retaining its core. The game is no longer dictated by how one country plays; it is an interwoven, adaptive sport, constantly changing in countless ways. The court's boundaries may be tight, but borderless basketball has taken flight.Basketball has always been a game of spatial negotiation. First confined to a small, hardwood court, it spilled out of walls to playgrounds, across rivalrous cross-town leagues, to the Laker-Celtic coastal battles of the 80s, and onto the global stage. Yet its true complexity is not just where it is played, but how it adapts. The game's larger narrative is informed by the emergent behaviors and real-time spatial recalibration that happens every time it's played. Basketball operates as an interactive system where every movement creates new positional possibilities and reciprocal responses. Player interactions shape the game in real time, influencing both individual possessions—where spacing, passing, and movement constantly evolve — and the global basketball economy, where styles, strategies, and talent migration continuously reshape the sport.On the court, players exist in a constant state of spatial adaptation, moving through a fluid network of shifting gaps, contested lanes, and open spaces. Every pass, cut, and screen forces a reaction, triggering an endless cycle of recalibration and emergence. The most elite players — whether it's Nikola Jokić manipulating defensive rotations with surgical passing or Giannis Antetokounmpo reshaping space in transition — don't just react to the game; they anticipate and reshape the very structure of the court itself. This reflects the idea that space is not just occupied but actively redefined through movement and interaction, continuously shaped by dynamic engagement on and off the court.This logic of adaptation extends to the community level where basketball interacts with urban geography, shaping and being shaped by its environment. Urban basketball courts function as micro-environments, where local styles of play emerge as reflections of city life and its unique spatial dynamics. The compact, improvisational play of street courts in Lagos mirrors the spatial density of urban Africa, just as the systemic, team-first approach of European basketball reflects the structured environments of club academies in Spain, Serbia, and Lithuania. As the game expands, it doesn't erase these identities — it integrates them. New forms of hybrid styles reflect decades-old forces of globalization.Basketball's global expansion mirrors the complex adaptive networks that form during the course of a game. Interconnected systems evolve through emergent interactions. And just as cities develop through shifting flows of people, resources, and ideas, basketball transforms as players, styles, and strategies circulate worldwide, continuously reshaping the game on the court and off. The court may still be measured in feet and lines, but the game it contains — psychologically, socially, and geographically — moves beyond those boundaries. It flows with every fluent pass, each migrating mass, and every vibrant force that fuels its ever-evolving future.REFERENCESHillier, B. (2012). Studying cities to learn about minds: Some possible implications of space syntax for spatial cognition. Environment and Planning B: Planning and Design.Naismith, J. (1941). Basketball: Its Origins and Development. University of Nebraska Press.Baur, J. W. R., & Tynon, J. F. (2010). Small-scale urban nature parks: Why should we care? Leisure Sciences, Taylor & Francis.Callaghan, J., Moore, E., & Simpson, J. (2018). Coordinated action, communication, and creativity in basketball in superdiversity. Language and Intercultural Communication, Taylor & Francis.Meinig, D. W. (1979). The Interpretation of Ordinary Landscapes: Geographical Essays. Oxford University Press.Andrews, D. L. (2018). The (Trans)National Basketball Association: American Commodity-Sign Culture and Global-Local Conjuncturalism.Galeano, E. (2015). The Global Court: The Rise of International Basketball. Verso.Ungruhe, C., & Agergaard, S. (2020). Cultural Transitions in Sport: The Migration of African Basketball Players to Europe. International Review for the Sociology of SportAppadurai, A. (1996). Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. University of Minnesota Press.Meisterjahn, R. J. (2011). Everything Was Different: An Existential Phenomenological Investigation of U.S. Professional Basketball Players' Experiences Overseas.Ramos, J., Lopes, R., & Araújo, D. (2018). Network dynamics in team sports: The influence of space and time in basketball. Journal of Human Kinetics.Ribeiro, J., Silva, P., Duarte, R., Davids, K., & Araújo, D. (2019). Team sports performance analysis: A dynamical system approach. Sports Medicine. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,From election lies to climate denial, misinformation isn't just about deception — it's about making truth feel unknowable. Fact-checking can't keep up, and trust in institutions is fading. If reality is up for debate, where does that leave us?I wanted to explore this idea of “post-truth” and ways to move beyond it — not by enforcing truth from the top down, but by engaging in inquiry and open dialogue. I examine how truth doesn't have to be imposed but continually rediscovered — shaped through questioning, testing, and refining what we know. If nothing feels certain, how do we rebuild trust in the process of knowing something is true?THE SLOW SLIDE OF FACTUAL FOUNDATIONSThe term "post-truth" was first popularized in the 1990s but took off in 2016. That's when Oxford Dictionaries named it their Word of the Year. Defined as “circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief”, the term reflects a shift in how truth functions in public discourse.Though the concept of truth manipulation is not new, post-truth represents a systemic weakening of shared standards for knowledge-making. Sadly, truth in the eyes of most of the public is no longer determined by factual verification but by ideological alignment and emotional resonance.The erosion of truth infrastructure — once upheld by journalism, education, and government — has destabilized knowledge credibility. Mid-20th-century institutions like The New York Times and the National Science Foundation ensured rigorous verification. But with rising political polarization, digital misinformation, and distrust in authority, these institutions have lost their stabilizing role, leaving truth increasingly contested rather than collectively affirmed.The mid-20th century exposed truth's fragility as propaganda reshaped public perception. Nazi ideology co-opted esoteric myths like the Vril Society, a fictitious occult group inspired by the 1871 novel The Coming Race, which depicted a subterranean master race wielding a powerful life force called "Vril." This myth fed into Nazi racial ideology and SS occult research, prioritizing myth over fact. Later, as German aviation advanced, the Vril myth evolved into UFO conspiracies, claiming secret Nazi technologies stemmed from extraterrestrial contact and Vril energy, fueling rumors of hidden Antarctic bases and breakaway civilizations.Distorted truths have long justified extreme political action, demonstrating how knowledge control sustains authoritarianism. Theodor Adorno and Hannah Arendt, Jewish-German intellectuals who fled the Nazis, later warned that even democracies are vulnerable to propaganda. Adorno (1951) analyzed how mass media manufactures consent, while Arendt (1972) showed how totalitarian regimes rewrite reality to maintain control.Postwar skepticism, civil rights movements, and decolonization fueled academic critiques of traditional, biased historical narratives. By the late 20th century, universities embraced theories questioning the stability of truth, labeled postmodernist, critical, and constructivist.Once considered a pillar of civilization, truth was reframed by French postmodernist philosophers Michel Foucault and Jean Baudrillard as a construct of power. Foucault argued institutions define truth to reinforce authority, while Baudrillard claimed modern society had replaced reality with media-driven illusions. While these ideas exposed existing power dynamics in academic institutions, they also fueled skepticism about objective truth — paving the way for today's post-truth crisis. Australian philosophy professor, Catherine (Cathy) Legg highlights how intellectual and cultural shifts led universities to question their neutrality, reinforcing postmodern critiques that foreground subjectivity, discourse, and power in shaping truth. Over time, this skepticism extended beyond academia, challenging whether any authority could claim objectivity without reinforcing existing power structures.These efforts to deconstruct dominant narratives unintentionally legitimized radical relativism — the idea that all truths hold equal weight, regardless of evidence or logic. This opened the door for "alternative facts", now weaponized by propaganda. What began as a challenge to authoritarian knowledge structures within academia escaped its origins, eroding shared standards of truth. In the post-truth era, misinformation, ideological mythmaking, and conspiracy theories thrive by rejecting objective verification altogether.Historian Naomi Oreskes describes "merchants of doubt" as corporate and political actors who manufacture uncertainty to obstruct policy and sustain truth relativism. By falsely equating expertise with opinion, they create the illusion of debate, delaying action on climate change, public health, and social inequities while eroding trust in science. In this landscape, any opinion can masquerade as fact, undermining those who dedicate their lives to truth-seeking.PIXELS AND MYTHOLOGY SHAPE THE GEOGRAPHYThe erosion of truth infrastructures has accelerated with digital media, which both globalizes misinformation and reinforces localized silos of belief. This was evident during COVID-19, where false claims — such as vaccine microchips — spread widely but took deeper root in communities with preexisting distrust in institutions. While research confirms that misinformation spreads faster than facts, it's still unclear if algorithmic amplification or deeper socio-political distrust are root causes.This ideological shift is strongest in Eastern Europe and parts of the U.S., where institutional distrust and digital subcultures fuel esoteric nationalism. Post-Soviet propaganda, economic instability, and geopolitical tensions have revived alternative knowledge systems in Russia, Poland, and the Balkans, from Slavic paganism to the return of the Vril myth, now fused with the Save Europe movement — a digital blend of racial mysticism, ethnic nostalgia, and reactionary politics.Above ☝️is a compilation of TikTok videos currently being pushed to my 21 year old son. They fuse ordinary, common, and recognizable pop culture imagery with Vril imagery (like UFO's and stealth bombers) and esoteric racist nationalism, religious fundamentalism, and hyper-masculine mythologies. A similar trend appears in post-industrial and rural America, where economic decline, government distrust, and cultural divides sustain conspiratorial thinking, religious fundamentalism, and hyper-masculine mythologies. The alt-right manosphere mirrors Eastern Europe's Vril revival, with figures like Zyzz and Bronze Age Pervert offering visions of lost strength. Both Vril and Save Europe frame empowerment as a return to ethnic or esoteric power (Vril) or militant resistance to diversity (Save Europe), turning myth into a tool of political radicalization.Climate change denial follows these localized patterns, where scientific consensus clashes with economic and cultural narratives. While misinformation spreads globally, belief adoption varies, shaped by economic hardship, institutional trust, and political identity.In coal regions like Appalachia and Poland, skepticism stems from economic survival, with climate policies seen as elitist attacks on jobs. In rural Australia, extreme weather fuels conspiracies about government overreach rather than shifting attitudes toward climate action. Meanwhile, in coastal Louisiana and the Netherlands, where climate impacts are immediate and undeniable, denial is rarer, though myths persist, often deflecting blame from human causes.Just as Vril revivalism, Save Europe, and the MAGA manosphere thrive on post-industrial uncertainty, climate misinformation can also flourish in economically vulnerable regions. Digital platforms fuel a worldview skewed, where scrolling myths and beliefs are spatially glued — a twisted take on 'think globally, act locally,' where fantasy folklore becomes fervent ideology.FINDING TRUTH WITH FRACTURED FACTS…AND FRIENDSThe post-truth era has reshaped how we think about knowledge. The challenge isn't just misinformation but growing distrust in expertise, institutions, and shared reality. In classrooms and research, traditional ways of proving truth often fail when personal belief outweighs evidence. Scholars and educators now seek new ways to communicate knowledge, moving beyond rigid certainty or radical relativism.Professor Legg has turned to the work of 19th-century American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce, whose ideas about truth feel surprisingly relevant today. Peirce didn't see truth as something fixed or final but as a process — something we work toward through questioning, testing, and refining our understanding over time.His approach, known as pragmatism, emphasizes collaborative inquiry, self-correction, and fallibilism — the idea that no belief is ever beyond revision. In a time when facts are constantly challenged, Peirce's philosophy offers not just a theory of truth, but a process for rebuilding trust in knowledge itself.For those unfamiliar with Peirce and American pragmatism, a process that requires collaborating with truth deniers may seem not only unfun, but counterproductive. But research on deradicalization strategies suggests that confrontational debunking (a failed strategy Democrats continue to adhere to) often backfires. Lecturing skeptics only reinforces belief entrenchment.In the early 1700's Britain was embroiled in the War of Spanish Succession. Political factions spread blatant falsehoods through partisan newspapers. It prompted Jonathan Swift, the author of Gulliver's Travels, to observe in The Art of Political Lying (1710) that"Reasoning will never make a man correct an ill opinion, which by reasoning he never acquired."This is likely where we get the more familiar saying: you can't argue someone out of a belief they didn't reason themselves into. Swift's critique of propaganda and public gullibility foreshadowed modern research on cognitive bias. People rarely abandon deeply held beliefs when confronted with facts.Traditionally, truth is seen as either objectively discoverable (classical empiricism) — like physics — or constructed by discourse and power (postmodernism) — like the Lost Cause myth, which recast the Confederacy as noble rather than pro-slavery. It should be noted that traditional truth also comes about by paying for it. Scientific funding from private sources often dictates which research is legitimized. As Legg observes,“Ironically, such epistemic assurance perhaps rendered educated folk in the modern era overly gullible to the written word as authority, and the resulting ‘fetishisation' of texts in the education sector has arguably led to some of our current problems.”Peirce, however, offered a different path:truth is not a fixed thing, but an eventual process of consensus reached by a community of inquirers.It turns out open-ended dialogue that challenges inconsistencies within a belief system is shown to be a more effective strategy.This process requires time, scrutiny, and open dialogue. None of which are very popular these days! It should be no surprise that in today's fractured knowledge-making landscape of passive acceptance of authority or unchecked personal belief, ideological silos reinforce institutional dogma or blatant misinformation. But Peirce's ‘community of inquiry' model suggests that truth can't be lectured or bought but strengthened through collective reasoning and self-correction.Legg embraces this model because it directly addresses why knowledge crises emerge and how they can be countered. The digital age has resulted in a world where beliefs are reinforced within isolated networks rather than tested against broader inquiry. Trump or Musk can tweet fake news and it spreads to millions around the world instantaneously.During Trump's 2016 campaign, false claims that Pope Francis endorsed him spread faster than legitimate news. Misinformation, revisionist history, and esoteric nationalism thrive in these unchecked spaces.Legg's approach to critical thinking education follows Peirce's philosophy of inquiry. She helps students see knowledge not as fixed truths but as a network of interwoven, evolving understandings — what Peirce called an epistemic cable made up of many small but interconnected fibers. Rather than viewing the flood of online information as overwhelming or deceptive, she encourages students to see it as a resource to be navigated with the right tools and the right intent.To make this practical, she introduces fact-checking strategies used by professionals, teaching students to ask three key questions when evaluating an online source:* Who is behind this information? (Identifying the author's credibility and possible biases)* What is the evidence for their claims? (Assessing whether their argument is supported by verifiable facts)* What do other sources say about these claims? (Cross-referencing to see if the information holds up in a broader context)By practicing these habits, students learn to engage critically with digital content. It strengthens their ability to distinguish reliable knowledge from misinformation rather than simply memorizing facts. It also meets them where they are without judgement of whatever beliefs they may hold at the time of inquiry.If post-truth misinformation reflects a shift in how we construct knowledge, can we ever return to a shared trust in truth — or even a shared reality? As institutional trust erodes, fueled by academic relativism, digital misinformation, and ideological silos, myths like climate denial and Vril revivalism take hold where skepticism runs deep. Digital platforms don't just spread misinformation; they shape belief systems, reinforcing global echo chambers.But is truth lost, or just contested? Peirce saw truth as a process, built through inquiry and self-correction. Legg extends this, arguing that fact-checking alone won't solve post-truth; instead, we need a culture of questioning — where people test their own beliefs rather than being told what's right or wrong.I won't pretend to have the answer. You can tell by my bibliography that I'm a fan of classical empiricism. But I'm also a pragmatic interactionist who believes knowledge is refined through collaborative inquiry. I believe, as Legg does, that to move beyond post-truth isn't about the impossible mission of defeating misinformation — it's about making truth-seeking more compelling than belief. Maybe even fun.What do you think? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Since his return to office, Trump hasn't just taken power — he's trying to reshape the landscape. From border crackdowns and sick real estate fantasies to federal purges by strongman stooges, his policies don't just enforce control — they seek to redraw the lines of democracy itself.Strongmen don't wait for crises — they create them. They attempt to manipulate institutions, geographies, and public trust until there's so much confusion it makes anything they do to ease it acceptable. I dug into how authoritarianism thrives on instability and contemplate some ways to alter it.DEMAND DOMINATION THROUGH DOUBT AND DISORDER I was once a strongman, or at least I could summon one when needed. I could override the part of my brain that protects me from injury and tap into something primal — something that made me feel invincible. A surge of adrenaline convinced my brain I could not only hurl myself into another person but through them, painlessly.I played rugby. What I experienced is known as Berserker State, or berserkergang—a shift in brain activity and hormone surges that cause extreme arousal and altered perception. Rugby is a sport where people spend over an hour pretending they're not hurt. That's in contrast to soccer, where people spend over an hour pretending they are.

Hello Interactors,The land on which we stand can demand where we politically stand. But what happens when that land shifts, shakes, burns or blows away? Recent Southern U.S. floods displaced thousands. Disasters don't just destroy — they can redraw political lines. With second round of Trumpster fires deepening divides, geography and ideology matter more than ever. As climate crises, economic upheaval, and political struggles intensify, the question isn't just where people live — but what they'll fight for. History shows that when the ground shifts, so does power.SHIFTING LANDS AND LOYALTIESFrom fertile fields to frenzied financial hubs, geography molds the mindset of the masses. Where people live shapes what they fear, fight for, and find familiar. Farmers in the Great Plains worry about wheat yields and water rights, while coastal city dwellers debate rent control and rising tides.But political geography isn't just about climate and crops — it's about power, privilege, and the collective making of place. No space is neutral; as evidenced by the abrupt renaming of an entire gulf. History and the present are filled with examples of territories being carved and controlled, gerrymandered, and gentrified.The recent floods in the South serve as a stark reminder of how geography has historically upended political identity. Especially during Black History Month. The Mississippi River Flood of 1927 was a devastating deluge that displaced thousands of Black sharecroppers, washing away not only homes but also old political loyalties. The Republican-controlled federal government, led by President Calvin Coolidge, took a hands-off approach, refusing to allocate federal aid and instead relying on Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover to coordinate relief efforts through the Red Cross.However, aid distribution was dominated by white Southern landowners, who withheld resources from Black communities. They forced many into quasi-forced labor camps under the guise of relief. Hoover, later touting his role in disaster response to win the 1928 presidency, was ultimately seen by many Black voters as complicit in their mistreatment. This failure accelerated Black voters' gradual shift away from the Republican Party, a realignment that would deepen under FDR's New Deal in the 1930s. The flood was not just a natural disaster — it was a political reckoning. Who received help and who was abandoned shaped party loyalties for generations to come.Yet, history proves that political realignments are rarely one-sided or uniform. While Black voters were shifting toward the Democratic Party, another Southern political identity crisis was brewing. Southern white conservatives — longtime Democrats due to the party's historical ties to segregation — began their own political migration in the mid-to-late 20th century.The Civil Rights Movement and desegregation led many white Southerners to feel alienated from the Democratic Party, pushing them toward what was once unthinkable — the Republican Party. This shift cemented a racialized realignment, with Black voters backing Democrats and Southern white conservatives reshaping the GOP into today's right-wing stronghold.Both political shifts were responses to crisis — one to environmental disaster and racial exclusion, the other to social change and perceived status loss. The fact that geography remained constant but political identities flipped highlights a crucial truth: where people live matters, but how they respond to change depends on identity, history, and power.The political path of any place isn't just shaped by its space — it's who claims the land, who crafts the law, and who casts a crisis as chaos or cause.SORTED, SEPARATED, AND STUCKGeography shapes political identity but doesn't dictate it. Human agency, economics, and psychology influence where people live and how they vote. Over time, self-sorting creates ideological enclaves, deepening polarization instead of fostering realignment.Psychologists Henri Tajfel and John Turner's Social Identity Theory explains why people align with in-groups and see out-groups as threats, as identity shapes self-esteem and belonging. This leads to in-group favoritism, out-group bias, and polarization, especially when power or resources feel like a zero-sum game.But Optimal Distinctiveness Theory (ODT) adds another layer to this understanding. Developed by Marilynn Brewer, building on Social Identity Theory, ODT proposes that people need to feel a sense of belonging to a group while also maintaining individuality within it. This balancing act between assimilation and uniqueness explains why political identities are not just about partisanship — they encompass culture, lifestyle, and even geography. Individuals self-sort both by community and distinction within their chosen political and social environments.Modern political sorting has made partisanship an all-encompassing identity. It aligns with race, religion, and even consumer habits. This process has been amplified by geography, as people increasingly move to communities where they feel they “fit in” while also distinguishing themselves within their political faction. ODT helps explain why urban progressives might distinguish themselves through niche ideological positions (e.g., Socialists in Brooklyn vs. Tech libertarians in San Francisco), while rural conservatives in swing states may lean into Christian nationalism or libertarianism (e.g. Christian nationalists in rural Pennsylvania vs. Tea Party libertarians in rural Wisconsin).American political power is unevenly distributed. The Senate majority can be won with just 17% of the population, and the Electoral College inflates rural influence. The 10 smallest states hold 3% of the population but 20% of Senate seats and 6% of electoral votes. This imbalance amplifies rural conservative power, giving certain regions outsized political sway.ODT also helps explain why political polarization has deepened over time rather than softened with economic shifts. Historically, political realignments occurred when crisis moments forced cross-cutting alliances — like when poor white and Black farmers joined forces during the Populist Movement of the 1890s to challenge banking and railroad monopolies.However, these coalitions often fell apart due to racial and regional pressures. The Populist Party was ultimately absorbed into the Democratic Party's white Southern wing, leaving Black farmers politically stranded. They still are. Around 1890 Black farmers made up an estimated 14% of farmers in America, now it's fewer than 2% due to racist lending practices, discriminatory federal policies, land dispossession, and systemic barriers to credit and resources.Today, realignments are rare because identity-based partisanship satisfies both belonging and distinctiveness (ODT). Rural conservatives see themselves not just as Republicans but as defenders of a distinct way of life, reinforcing identity through regional pride, gun rights, and religion. Urban liberals, meanwhile, develop sub-identities — progressives, moderates, democratic socialists — within the broader Democratic Party. This illusion of uniformity masks deep internal ideological divides.This sorting shapes where people live, what they watch, and which policies they support. The false consensus effect deepens political silos, as rural conservatives and urban progressives assume their views are widely shared. When elections defy expectations, the result is shock, anger, and further retreat into ideological camps.This explains why U.S. political alignments resist economic and geographic shifts that once drove realignments. Where hardship once built coalitions, modern partisanship acts as a psychological refuge. The question is whether climate change, automation, or mass migration will disrupt these patterns — or cement them. Will today's anxieties redraw party lines, or will political sorting persist, turning geography into a fortress for the familiar, deepening division and partisan pride?FROM REALITY TV TO ALTERNATE REALITYIf geography and identity sketch borders of polarization, then media is the Sharpie darkening the divide. The digital age hardens these political divides, where confirmation bias runs rampant and algorithms push people to one side of the ideological line or the other.In a recent interview, political psychologist and polarization expert Liliana Hall Mason, known for her research on identity-based partisanship and rising affective polarization, recalled a 2012 TiVO study that analyzed TV viewing habits of Democrats and Republicans. The study found that among the top 10 most-watched TV shows for each party, there was zero overlap — Democrats and Republicans were consuming completely separate entertainment. Cultural, and presumably geographical, divergence was already well underway in the 2010s.Republicans favored shows like Duck Dynasty while Democrats gravitated toward satirical cartoons like Family Guy​. While it predates TiVO, I was more of a King of Hill fan, myself. I thought Hank Hill humanized conservative rural life without glorifying extremism while critiquing aspects of modernity without being elitist. Hulu has announced its return sometime this year. But Republicans and Democrats today don't even consume the same reality — they don't watch the same news, follow the same influencers, trust the same institutions, or even shop at the same grocery stores. Will both tune into watch Hank Hill walk the tight rope of a pluralistic suburban American existence?This media-driven fragmentation fuels geographic sorting, as political preferences influence where people choose to live. A person might leave a liberal city for a conservative suburb, or vice versa, based on what media tells them about their “kind of people.” Over time, partisan enclaves harden, reducing exposure to opposing viewpoints and making political shifts less likely.When political identities are so deeply entrenched that losing an election feels like an existential crisis, the risk of political violence rises. Mason's research on rising authoritarian attitudes and partisan animosity shows that political opponents aren't just seen as rivals anymore — they're seen as enemies.January 6th, 2021, wasn't an anomaly — it was the inevitable explosion of years of identity-based sorting and status-threat rhetoric. The rioters who stormed the Capitol weren't just protesting an election loss; they saw themselves as defenders of a nation slipping from their grasp, fueled by a deep-seated fear of demographic change, progressive policies, and shifting cultural power.Studies show that people who feel their group is losing influence are more likely to justify violence, particularly when they perceive existential threats to their way of life. Right-wing media reinforced these fears, political leaders legitimized them, and geographic and social sorting further entrenched them. In an era where partisan identity feels like destiny, and grievance is turned into a rallying cry, the potential for future political violence remains dangerously real.History teaches us that political geography isn't destiny — alignments shift when necessity forces cooperation. As the world faces climate crises, economic instability, and mass migration, new political realignments will emerge. The question is whether they will lead to solidarity or further strife.At the end of the Mason interview, she mentions the role anger and enthusiasm play in political motivations. This concept is part of the Norwegian philosopher and social theorist, Jon Elster, who is best known for his work on rational choice theory, emotions in politics, and historical institutionalism. He has written extensively on how emotions like anger, enthusiasm, resentment, and hope shape political behavior and social movements, especially in historical contexts like the French Revolution and modern populist movements.Anger mobilizes movements, making people willing to fight for change or push back against it. The Populist farmers of the 1890s, the labor activists of apartheid South Africa, and the displaced communities of Partition-era India all channeled rage into resistance. At the same time, enthusiasm — a belief in the possibility of transformation — is what sustains coalitions beyond crisis moments. The formation of the EU, the Good Friday Agreement in Northern Ireland, and Brazil's leftist labor movement all survived because hope outlasted grievance.Political movements often begin with anger, but only survive through enthusiasm. This is why some burn out quickly (Occupy Wall Street, the Tea Party) while others reshape history (the Civil Rights Movement, Brexit, Trump's populism). Looking ahead, the political geography of the future will be shaped by whichever emotion proves stronger. Will fear and resentment deepen polarization, or will shared enthusiasm for economic justice, environmental sustainability, and democratic resilience create new cross-cutting alliances? The past suggests both are possible. But if history has one lesson, it's that the lines on the map are never as fixed as they seem — and neither are the people who live within them.Bibliography This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,In 2002, when I was at Microsoft, Bill Gates launched an initiative called Trustworthy Computing (TwC). The internet was fresh, ripe for malicious attacks, and Microsoft was a big target. Memos were issued, posters were printed, teams were formed, and code was fortified. And in the case of hidden Easter Eggs in Windows and Office — removed. Internal hacks weren't a good look.Trust is everywhere these days — politicians vow to restore it, social scientists try to measure it, and brands continue to demand it. U.S. money says to trust God, and it seems we're now asked to trust Musk. Clearly trust isn't universal; it's shaped by our views of and interactions with power, place, and institutions.Lately, trust feels harder to hold onto. It's not just social media, politics, or government failures — the spaces where trust once thrived are disappearing. Town squares, shops, and local newspapers are vanishing, replaced by fragmented digital alternatives. Trust may be declining; but it's mostly shifting, and not always for the better.Trust won't simply "return" with a memo from Bill. Nor from Trump, Zuck, Musk, or Jeff. Even if they did, they'd likely soon be tossed in the Trumpster Fire. These figures make us question who is gaining trust, who is losing it, and what these new patterns mean for democracy and social cohesion?SELF-TRUST LOST TO CIVIC COSTTrust begins with confidence in what we know and perceive. We rely on self-trust to navigate the world — to make decisions, assess risks, and interpret so-called reality. Self-trust relies on the brain's ability to process uncertainty and predict outcomes. The prefrontal cortex (the brain's decision-making hub) assesses risks based on past experiences, while the anterior cingulate cortex (a small but crucial center between hemispheres) detects conflicting information, signaling when to doubt or adjust beliefs. When these systems function well, self-trust remains stable. But in an era of conflicting information, the brain is flooded with competing signals, making it harder to form confident judgments. Chronic exposure to uncertainty and misinformation can overstimulate these networks, leading to decision paralysis or over-reliance on external authorities.Yet self-trust isn't just a cognitive process — it is also shaped by social and epistemic (knowledge-related) factors. Prominent NYU philosopher Miranda Fricker, known for her work on epistemic injustice, argues that trust in one's own knowledge isn't formed in isolation but depends on social reinforcement and being recognized by others as a credible source of knowledge. When individuals experience repeated epistemic injustice — being dismissed, ignored, or denied access to authoritative knowledge — they internalize doubt, weakening their own cognitive autonomy. Without reliable social validation or consistent feedback from their surroundings, self-trust erodes. This is not just a psychological state, but a consequence of power structures that shape who gets to "trust" their own judgment and whose knowledge is devalued.In the past, people validated their understanding through direct experience and social reinforcement. I remember watching TV anchor Walter Cronkite as a kid with my family in Iowa. He was the source of authoritative knowledge for us all. We also learned from trusted local voices and community newspapers. The Des Moines Register was won of the most influential and trusted regional papers in the country. It won 16 Pulitzer Prices from 1924 to 2010 — the first being for the work of syndicated editorial cartoonist “Ding” Darling. Now, those anchors have weakened. These knowledge sources have been replaced by curated digital landscapes, where information is sorted not by credibility, but by engagement metrics and algorithmic amplification. One case study shows that this shift can lead to a growing public reliance on self-reinforcing information bubbles, where trust in knowledge is shaped more by network effects than by institutional credibility. This creates a paradox: people have more access to knowledge than ever before yet feel less certain in what they know and trust.This crisis of self-trust extends beyond information. It is not just about struggling to determine what is true, but also about uncertainty over how to act in response to a changing political and social landscape. Despite declining trust in political leaders, there is evidence public support for democracy remains strong. We may doubt the players, and even the game, but our faith in democracy mostly stays the same.This gap — between distrust in leadership and belief in the system — creates the sense of civic uncertainty we all feel. It's not hard to find those who once trusted their ability to participate meaningfully in democracy but now feel disengaged, disoriented, or discombobulated. They're unsure whether their actions can have any real impact. Voting, town halls, and community groups used to feel like meaningful ways to engage, but when institutions seem distant or unresponsive, they lose their impact. At the same time, digital activism and decentralized movements offer new ways to get involved, but they often lack clear legitimacy, accountability, or real influence on policy.Rising polarization, disinformation, and the decline of local journalism have made it harder for people to trust democratic institutions. Many still believe in democracy but doubt whether their actions make a difference. This uncertainty fuels disengagement, creating a cycle where institutions fail to respond, deepening distrust. The real crisis isn't about rejecting democracy — it's about struggling to find meaningful ways to participate in a system that feels increasingly unresponsive.STRANGERS ONLINE, NEIGHBORS OFFLINEIf trust in ourselves grounds what we know, trust in others helps it grow. We nurture it through everyday interactions — recognizing familiar faces, exchanging small favors, and feeling a shared connection to the places we live. But as communities change and people become more disconnected, those trust-building moments start to wither.Many neighborhoods once relied on deep social networks woven through personal relationships — longstanding ties between neighbors, trust built through shared spaces, and informal support systems that provided stability. Small businesses, community centers, and local institutions weren't just places of commerce or service; they were gathering spots where people formed relationships, exchanged information, and reinforced a sense of belonging. But economic restructuring, gentrification, and urban development have disrupted these networks, dismantling the infrastructure that once sustained social trust.As housing costs rise, longtime residents are pushed out, taking with them the relationships and shared history that held communities together. Gentrification swaps deep local ties for a more transient crowd, while big corporations replace small businesses that once fostered real connections. Where shop owners knew customers by name, now it's all about quick transactions, leaving fewer chances for meaningful interaction.Adding to this shift, the rise of online shopping and door-to-door delivery has further reduced the need for everyday in-person interactions. Where people once ran into neighbors at the local grocery store or chatted with shop owners, now packages arrive with a quick doorstep drop-off, and errands are handled with a few clicks. This convenience comes at a cost, replacing casual, trust-building encounters with isolated transactions, further weakening the social fabric of neighborhoods.Car dependency doesn't help. Car dependence doesn't just reduce social interactions — it reshapes them. As urban sprawl spreads people further apart, longer commutes and car-centric infrastructure leave less time for community engagement, weakening neighborhood ties. Public transit, one of the few remaining shared civic spaces where people of different backgrounds interact, has been deprioritized, reinforcing isolation.Yet, denser urban living isn't necessarily the fix. While some advocate for more compact, walkable communities to counteract social fragmentation, there is research that shows density alone doesn't guarantee stronger social bonds. High-rise developments and mixed-use neighborhoods may put people physically closer together, but without intentional social infrastructure — such as well-designed public spaces, accessible community hubs, and policies that foster local engagement — denser environments can be just as isolating as car-dependent sprawl.At the same time, digital life has transformed how we interact. Social media and online communities have expanded the scope of connection, but often at the cost of place-based relationships. Online, people tend to engage with those who already share their views, reinforcing ideological silos rather than broadening social trust. Meanwhile, interactions with strangers — once the foundation of civic life — become more fraught, as society sorts itself into parallel realities with fewer common reference points.Yet social trust is not entirely collapsing. While some forms of trust — particularly trust in strangers and diverse social networks — are declining, alternative forms of community trust are emerging. Digital spaces, local activism, and mutual aid networks offer new avenues for rebuilding trust, even as traditional community bonds weaken. The question is not whether trust exists, but what kinds of trust are flourishing, and at what cost?CONNECTED OR CONNEDAt the broadest scale, institutional trust is what binds societies together — it's the belief that governments, media, and public institutions operate with some level of fairness, competence, and accountability. But in many places, that trust has been unraveling for decades.This isn't just about political polarization or disinformation. Much of the erosion of trust in institutions comes from lived experience. Local governments used to be the most trusted level of governance, but years of budget cuts and privatization have left them struggling to provide basic services. To stay afloat, many cities have outsourced essential services to private companies, prioritizing short-term cost savings over long-term community needs. As a result, public services have become more uneven, with some neighborhoods getting what they need while others are left behind. Instead of feeling like a reliable support system, local government now often seems distant, underfunded, and unable to truly serve the people who rely on it most.In the United States, "austerity urbanism" has led to mass school closures in cities like Chicago and Philadelphia, cuts to public transportation in Detroit, and the deterioration of water infrastructure in places like Flint and Jackson. Public housing budgets have shrunk, forcing cities to rely on private-public partnerships that often lead to rising rents and displacement.Rather than being experienced as sources of support, local governments are increasingly perceived as punitive forces. In some cities, emergency financial managers — appointed to balance municipal budgets — have slashed services and sold public assets with little public input, reinforcing a sense that government is distant, unaccountable, and incapable of serving its residents. The result is a feedback loop of distrust: as public services decline, citizens disengage, reinforcing the very conditions that make institutions seem ineffective or absent.The decline of trust in representative institutions does not mean trust in governance itself has collapsed. Research shows that while trust in elected officials and legislatures is declining, trust in implementing institutions — such as courts, police, and civil services — has remained relatively stable in many democracies. This suggests that while citizens may distrust politicians and their decision-making, they still believe in the structural functions of governance itself, even if that trust is increasingly conditional and unevenly distributed.However, as local trust declines, people are looking elsewhere for authority. In some cases, this has meant turning to charismatic leaders who position themselves as restorers of stability in response to perceived governmental dysfunction. Right-wing populist movements like Trumpism — with authoritarian-leaning politicians funded by libertarian-leaning capitalists — have capitalized on this distrust, framing themselves as defenders of "the people" against an out-of-touch political elite.Meanwhile, others have sought alternative governance structures to fill the void left by failing institutions. For example, food policy expert Katie Morris highlights how some cities, fed up with national inaction on food insecurity, are taking matters into their own hands. She highlights how “Right to Food Cities” are stepping up to provide food assistance and support local food systems, proving that even when higher levels of government fall short, local action can still make a difference. Seattle's Food Action Plan is one example.While these efforts demonstrate local governments' ability to function as alternative governance models, they also highlight the fragmentation of trust — where some communities invest in grassroots action while others retreat into authoritarian appeals for order.It seems trust isn't disappearing — it's being redistributed. Some find security in bureaucratic institutions like the courts and civil service, while others seek top-down leadership in populist figures or create community-driven governance alternatives. Either way, this redistribution deepens political fragmentation, making it harder to achieve widespread institutional legitimacy.Each of these crises — self-trust, social trust, and institutional trust — feeds into the others. When people struggle to trust their own judgment, they become more hesitant to engage with their communities. When social networks weaken, people feel more isolated and disconnected from larger institutions. And when institutions fail, people turn inward, relying on personal networks or ideological affiliations over collective governance.But just as these crises reinforce each other, so too can their solutions. Restoring trust isn't about recreating an idealized past — it's about understanding how different visions of community shape trust today. Many people look to historical models of social cohesion, whether rooted in low-density suburban stability of the 1950s or high-density, transit-oriented neighborhoods of the late 1800s, as templates for rebuilding trust. These views, rooted in social capital theory — the idea that strong community ties build trust and cooperation — recognize that our surroundings shape how we connect. While social capital can foster civic engagement, it also has a darker side.Political analyst Adam Fefer, who studies democratic resilience, highlights how tight-knit networks have fueled anti-democratic movements in the U.S., spreading misinformation rather than broadening trust. The January 6th attack wasn't spontaneous — it was driven by organized groups leveraging veteran organizations and faith communities to mobilize action. Historically, exclusionary civic groups have also reinforced segregation and voter suppression, showing that not all social capital strengthens democracy.However, these same civic networks can protect democracy, as seen in union-led economic shutdowns and business leaders opposing political extremism. This highlights a crucial fact: the impact of social capital on civic well-being varies based on its structure, who it empowers, and its intended purposes.Rather than looking backward, we need to build trust in ways that fit today's world—both digital and physical. That means strengthening local knowledge networks, rethinking where and how we connect, and recognizing that much of life now happens online, from social interactions to doorstep deliveries. While shared public spaces still matter, we must also find ways to foster trust in a world where community, commerce, and governance are increasingly digital.And it means rethinking governance, not as a distant authority, but as something more active and responsive—an ongoing process that truly gives people a stake in shaping their communities. Perhaps the real challenge isn't in longing for a past version of civic life, but in asking how we can create the conditions today that make people feel connected, capable, and truly invested in the future of their neighborhoods. How do we build a world where trust isn't just a distant trace, but a tangible part of our daily interactions with people and place? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Artificial intelligence divides us. To some, it's a miracle waiting to solve humanity's greatest problems. To others, it's a creeping force, stealing our skills, jobs, and even autonomy. The truth, as always, is more complicated.From sharpened sticks to smartphones, humans have always loved their tools — but at what cost? Plato feared writing would weaken memory; now we worry GPS dulls our sense of direction, calculators erode our math skills, and AI chips away at our ability to think creatively and critically. Are we creating marvels that strengthen us, or are we outsourcing so much that we're making ourselves vulnerable?What if the answer isn't rejection or blind adoption, but finding a smarter balance? Let's dive into what we gain, what we lose, and how interdependence with technology might just be our greatest strength.DEPENDENCY WEAKENS COGNITIVE AGENCYLet's start with Plato. He famously criticized writing for weakening human memory. His complaint, though seemingly dramatic today, nonetheless echoes across centuries. Modern tools like calculators, spellcheckers, and GPS extend our cognitive reach — a concept known as extended cognition, where tools function as external parts of our thought processes.These tools are marvels of convenience, but they come at a cost. As geographer Paul Torrens highlights in his work on behavioral geography, tools like GPS don't just help us — they sideline us. By reducing direct interaction with our environment, they bypass processes like navigating landmarks or forming mental maps. Over time, the skills we've refined for millennia quietly wither under the glow of our devices.But there's more to the story than atrophy. Torrens points out another subtle trap: the loss of what “small geographies” offer when we overly rely on tools like GPS and vehicles, both forms of extended cognition. “Small geographies” — our immediate, lived, day-to-day interactions with space — are rich in sensory details that inform navigation and spatial awareness. Walking through a neighborhood engages embodied perception, helping us notice landmarks, smells, textures, and even microclimates that shape our understanding of place.Yet, when we succumb to technologies that abstract these experiences into rationalized systems of larger geographies — like cities planned for efficiency rather than experience — we sacrifice this richness. GPS reduces navigation to turn-by-turn instructions, while vehicles reduce us to a brain in a box shielded from tactile, sensory feedback. This abstraction reshapes not only how we move through space but also how we sense and value it, distorting our relationship with our surroundings.History has plenty of warnings about over-reliance on rigid, top-down systems. During the Little Ice Age (c. 1300–1850), societies that had shifted to monoculture farming or depended on specific trade routes faced catastrophe when the weather turned erratic. Crops failed, rivers froze, and with them, the mills that powered daily life ground to a halt. Communities that had abandoned adaptive skills like crop diversification or local food storage found themselves particularly vulnerable, left scrambling to cope with nature's prolonged unpredictability.Catastrophes are brutal. Especially when our capacities are brittle. It's the same trap we risk falling into today, as natural disasters increase in intensity and sometimes duration. We are more dependent than ever on our systems, certainly more than the Little Ice Age. We depend on power, electrodes, and grids of digital nodes embedded in a global network of interdependent modes.Unlike in the 19th century, most of us don't have a clue about growing food, let alone storing it. We've increasingly prioritized the efficiencies and abstractions of our institutionally driven lives over a more fundamental biological existence. Are we at risk of losing the cognitive and sensory richness that smaller, localized environments, or “small geographies”, uniquely offer? Would we survive an arid hell scape or another ice age?STRENGTH IN INTERDEPENDENCEDependency is not a weakness — it's indistinguishable from life. Humans exist because we rely on mutually dependent organisms — our gut microbes help us digest food and produce vital nutrients, our skin microbiome protects us from harmful pathogens, and even the mitochondria powering our cells were once independent organisms that became integral to our survival. Together, these partnerships form the foundation of our health and life itself. Our very bodies are home to incredible systems that operate as internal biological technologies, silently and effortlessly aiding our survival and navigation.Take grid cells in the brain, for example. These specialized neurons, part of the brain's spatial navigation system, act like an internal GPS. Grid cells encode distances and directions, enabling us to navigate our environment and construct mental maps of space without conscious effort.Recent studies demonstrate how these grid cells work together in a way that forms a torus-like (donut) structure. The patterns of cognitive activity match up with the animal's movements as its position in the environment gets mapped onto a toroidal shape. Imagine a rat navigating a flat surface. As it moves, this research show its 2D planar coordinates are being translated to and from a 3D toroidal surface mapped on the inside of a gridded donut in its mind. Our neurons interact with sensory inputs, seamlessly guiding us through environments through 3D biolelectric GPS wetware. Sensory modalities like kinesthetic and vestibular senses integrate with our neural systems to inform our perception of space and movement. In essence, our biological organs and limbs come equipped with intricate systems of extended cognition, working in coordinated harmony with the world around us. Just as our plastic and silicon devices extended our biological cognition, our cognition — our bioelectric calculators and wetware GPS — are extended forms of our environment.The study of bioelectromagnetics spans biophysics, cellular biology, neuroscience, and regenerative medicine. It explores how electrical signals within and between cells govern critical processes like neural communication, cell behavior, and tissue regeneration. Biophysics examines the principles of ion flow and membrane potentials, while cellular biology investigates how bioelectric signals guide growth and differentiation. Emerging areas like systems and synthetic biology expand its applications and bioelectricity is key to understanding and engineering life's electrical foundations.These decentralized processes mirror key features of intelligence: sensing, processing information, and acting in a goal-directed manner. From resolving cellular disputes to coordinating regeneration, these bioelectric communication systems demonstrate how interdependence fosters adaptability.Research already shows how synthetic technology can mirror these biological processes. Software acts as an extension of human adaptability rather than an artificial facsimile. Can we depend on this tech to instruct, not corrupt, the systems that make us up?TOWARD ETHICAL TECHNICAL INTEGRATIONElectrobiology and the synthetic merging of technology with biology may seem futuristic, but it's here. Moreover, we humans have a long tradition of infusing technology into the biological systems to sustain life. From vaccines to pacemakers, humanity has a history of cautiously adopting innovations that enhance our biology. While these technologies have saved countless lives, their integration hasn't come without apprehension.Take vaccines, for instance. While vaccines are now widely regarded as one of the greatest public health achievements in history, there have always been skeptics. Even now, after COVID-19 vaccines demonstrated the speed and efficacy of mRNA technology, new waves of fear and misinformation have followed.These concerns echo a broader unease about technological advancements, seen not only with vaccines but also with the rise of AI. Obviously, a system that mimics human cognition raises questions about control, autonomy, and unintended consequences. Especially as it becomes infused with our biology.But this dynamic mirrors the communication and deliberation found at the cellular level. Just as cells exchange bioelectric signals to coordinate action and solve problems, society deliberates at a larger scale, navigating conflicting viewpoints to determine whether and how to adopt new technologies.Scale Theory offers a lens by looking at how systems and processes shift when moving between different scales, from the cellular to the societal. At one scale, bioelectricity reveals cells working collaboratively to heal wounds or regenerate tissue, a process both decentralized and adaptive. At a larger scale, society's responses to new technologies — vaccines, AI, or bioelectric tools — follow a similar pattern of negotiation, fear, and eventual coordination.The Eames Power of Ten explores how perspective shifts across scales—from the subatomic to the cosmic—reveal interconnected systems. Similarly, Scale Theory highlights how changes in scale reshape our understanding, ethics, and interactions, emphasizing the need to navigate complexity at every level. Together, they underscore the web of relationships that define our world.While the scale differs, the core idea remains: complex systems deliberate and act in ways that ripple across their networks, whether they're composed of cells or people. How much of this is metaphorical versus empirical is the work of complexity science.I recently heard this sobering example of a synthetic creation rippling to cells: dating apps. These services use pair matching algorithms, made by an arbitrary human and influenced by networks of arbitrary people, actively manipulate our gene pool when certain biological pairings result in newborns. The same rippling occurs with zoning laws and the design and location of a bar or café…or even a town? My own biology came about when a decision to put a grain elevator in a small Iowa town rippled to my parents being paired resulting in three newborns.Despite fears of these integrations rippling at various scales, history shows they can succeed when grounded in careful research, ethical oversight, and good intentions. Not every actor has good intentions, and not every rippling action is cause for celebration. After all, we can see with X and now Meta how quickly social media algorithms can be weaponized…and let's be honest, that grain elevator in Iowa, while well intentioned, was constructed on stolen land.Still, vaccines efforts can ripple to boost immune systems without fears of replacing or bypassing them; pacemakers can stabilize hearts without fear of replacing them; antibiotics can work with the body to fight infections and then disappear. These are rippling actions filled with good intentions and outcomes.Tools like calculators and devices equipped with AI can also act with good intentions. They extend our cognition, enhance our ability to solve problems, and process information without replacing our underlying cognitive systems. Could bioelectric technologies follow this same path, amplifying natural cellular intelligence without overriding it?Aristotle provides a counterpoint to Plato's skepticism about writing. While Plato worried that writing would erode memory and internal knowledge, Aristotle saw value in external aids to thinking, such as writing and diagrams, as tools to organize and extend thought. In the same way, technologies like AI, GPS, and bioelectric tools have the potential to act as extensions of our cognition rather than replacements — but only if we integrate them thoughtfully.The challenge lies in designing technologies that enhance human intelligence without bypassing the lived, embodied experiences that make us who we are. And even though spell checkers make us lousy our lazy spellers, and GPS lousy or lazy navigators, we are able to regain these skills when need be. We're also able to coexist and even be enhanced by these synthetic extensions.In nature and medicine, we find inspiring examples of how synthetic scaffolding can seamlessly integrate with natural systems. In regenerative medicine biodegradable scaffolds are used to repair damaged bones. These synthetic frameworks made of polylactic acid polymers provide a super structure for bone cells (osteoplasts) to grow into. As they guide the regeneration the scaffold gradually degrades, leaving behind only natural bone.In coral reef restoration, artificial structures made of eco-friendly substances like calcium carbonate attract coral larvae and coastal creatures. Over time, these synthetic reefs become living ecosystems, blending seamlessly with their natural surroundings. If synthetic scaffolds can usher tissue repair and issue biocoenosis, can we align technology with biology? Can we merge artificial minds with organic matter? Can we complement our natural abilities without negating sensibilities? I think we can, because we already are. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,The weight of winter up north can have its cozy comforts, but cold, damp, and dark can take a toll. We also continue to face a convergence of daunting global challenges — climate change, inequality, political instability, and health crises — each amplifying the other straining our ability to find meaningful and sustainable solutions. So much for ‘Happy Holidays'.A recent article on avoiding despair turned to the concept of “tragic optimism.” This can sometimes be offered as a way to avoid our human tendency to seek “doom and gloom” while also not succumbing to “toxic positivity.” These topics struck me as a decent lens to kick off this winter's focus: human behavior. Let's unpack the emotional geographies that shape us. How do spaces and norms influence how we feel, process, and express emotions? SPACES, SMILES, AND SOCIAL SCRIPTSWhen I was in seventh grade, I was the lead in our middle school musical, Bye Bye Birdy. It featured the song, Put on a Happy Face that employed this cheery, but pushy, line: “Spread sunshine, all over the place…just put on a happy face.”Dick van Dyke played the starring role on Broadway from 1960-61 earning him an Tony award. He then appeared in the movie in 1963, launching him to stardom. In that role, many other roles, and in real life, he is a man who appears perpetually happy. Even now at age 98!But under that smile, lurks a darker side. Soon after his early success, Van Dyke became an alcoholic. The alcohol may have helped him put on a happy face society expected, but it came at a price. This insistence on relentless optimism regardless of circumstances is called “toxic positivity” — and it's more than a personal behavior. It reflects societal norms that prioritize surface-level harmony over emotional complexity. These norms shape how we navigate feelings and influence our individual well-being. But shared spaces, like our workplaces or homes also influence these emotional dynamics. Have you ever walked into a place knowing how you were expected to act? At work, you might slap on a smile and say “I'm fine” even when you're not. At home, you might feel the pressure to play the part of the cheerful parent, partner, or roommate. These emotional scripts don't come out of nowhere — they're baked into our cultural expectations about what different spaces are “for”.Geographer Yi-Fu Tuan explains that spaces acquire “moral properties” through societal norms, values, and cultural narratives. Workplaces, seen as sites of productivity, often suppress emotions like frustration, while homes, idealized as places of comfort, pressure individuals to adopt roles like nurturing parent or cheerful partner. These norms shape how people are expected to behave and feel within these spaces.America itself, as a cultural and geographic entity, carries its own "moral properties." These are reinforced by media narratives that frame the nation as a land of optimism, resilience, and emotional stability, projecting these expectations onto its citizens and then exported to the world to consume.Take one of the most-watched television programs in America from 1962 to 1992, Johnny Carson's The Tonight Show. His late-night TV persona was examined in a recent New York Times piece by Jason Zinoman. He described Carson as America's calm, neutral host, soothing the nation with his polite humor. He wasn't just a TV personality; he was part of a larger cultural push for emotional stability, especially during times of uncertainty. His show became a space where people could escape the messiness of real emotions.But these expectations aren't just about comfort — they're about control. By promoting harmony and cheer, society nudges us toward emotional conformity, discouraging anything that might feel too “messy” or unpredictable.This pressure doesn't fall on everyone equally. Women often bear the brunt of emotional labor, expected to keep things “pleasant” for others. Cultural geographer Linda McDowell highlights how professional women are frequently required to maintain an upbeat attitude at work, regardless of personal circumstances. This expectation extends beyond the workplace, shaping how women are perceived and allowed to express themselves.On The Tonight Show, Joan Rivers, a trailblazing comedian, faced this constraint. Despite her sharp, satirical wit, Rivers was often limited to lighthearted banter and self-deprecating humor to align with Johnny Carson's carefully neutral persona. Similarly, Carol Wayne, as the flirtatious “Matinee Lady,” reinforced the idea that women on the show were there to amuse or adorn, not disrupt. These portrayals reflected societal norms that confined women to roles as caretakers or decorative figures, both publicly and privately.SUPPRESSING SORROW WITH A SMILE SUCKSPutting on a happy face might seem harmless, but it can take a toll. When we suppress feelings like sadness, frustration, or anger, they don't just disappear — they build up, creating stress. They can even impact our physical health. Neuroscientists have shown that suppressing emotions can increase activity in the brain's fear center (the amygdala) while dampening the rational, problem-solving parts (like the prefrontal cortex). Basically, pretending you're okay when you're not can mess with your head and your body.James J. Gross, a psychologist and leading researcher in emotion regulation, has shown that suppressing emotions can heighten stress levels, activate the brain's fear center (the amygdala), and disrupt cognitive processes critical for resilience and problem-solving. Recent brain imaging studies by Wang and Zhang (2023) support this, demonstrating that expressive suppression, where feelings are actively withheld, triggers heightened amygdala activity and diminished prefrontal regulation. These findings highlight the significant physiological toll of emotional suppression, further validating Gross's work.Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and existential psychologist, offers a valuable framework for regulating these emotions with his concept of “tragic optimism.” Frankl introduced tragic heroism in his 1978 book, The Unheard Cry for Meaning, drawing on the existential and Greek tragic tradition of resilience in the face of suffering. He later expanded this with tragic optimism in a 1984 essay, emphasizing hope and meaning-making even amidst life's inevitable hardships. Drawing on his experiences from the Holocaust, he explores the human ability to confront inevitable suffering while maintaining hope and finding meaning. For Frankl, this approach was not about denying pain but about embracing life's full spectrum — its joys and its tragedies — as integral to human existence.But his view of suffering has been criticized as overly universal and idealistic, assuming that all individuals can derive purpose from adversity. His emphasis on personal responsibility may inadvertently shift blame onto individuals for not overcoming circumstances beyond their control. Constant pressure by systemic oppression can exist even in a society that claims to be free. Migrant women in caregiving roles, as McDowell highlights, often lack the freedom to balance suffering and hope on their own terms. Instead, they are required to project resilience and positivity, even under exploitative conditions, effectively masking systemic inequities. Similarly, Joan Rivers and Carol Wayne were cast into narrow roles that demanded cheerfulness, ensuring they complemented rather than challenged societal norms. These portrayals reflected the broader expectation that women embody emotional steadiness, regardless of personal circumstances.Frankl's insights remind us that the ability to engage with hardship meaningfully is a privilege that societal expectations often deny to those at the margins. Understanding the toll of suppression and the uneven distribution of emotional freedom is crucial in challenging the norms that perpetuate these dynamics.COMBATING CONFORMITY WITH COMMUNITYThankfully, norms aren't set in stone — they can be, and have been, resisted and redefined. Sara Ahmed, a feminist scholar, critiques what she calls the “happiness duty.” She shows how this duty pressures marginalized groups to appear cheerful, suppressing feelings like anger or pain to uphold the status quo. Movements like Black Lives Matter reject this demand, openly expressing grief and frustration to confront systemic injustice. Through “collective effervescence”, as sociologist Émile Durkheim describes, collective emotions in protests turn individual pain into powerful demands for change. Ahmed and Durkheim offer examples of how breaking free from the pressure to "stay positive" transforms emotions into tools for meaningful resistance.But even this kind of resistance can make those in power uncomfortable, so they demand order, calm, and happiness. When collective effervescence calls people to, as Public Enemy's song decries, ‘fight the powers that be', another collective encourages everyone to spread ‘sunshine all over the place, and just put on a happy face.' But in the face of this “toxic positivity” that Public Enemy mocks as, “'People, people we are the same'”, they respond ‘No, we're not the same / 'Cause we don't know the game'. They can't justify putting on a happy face when most of America refuses to wrestle with poverty and race. Summoning an inner Johnny Carson can be seen by some as not a neutral, but as just another way to paternally placate — to pat down incivility. It can be seen more like Jack Nicholson's infamous “Here's Johnny!” in The Shining — a menacing veneer of cheer masking a deep, dark, and discomforting societal reality.Ananya Roy, a geographer and urban theorist, takes a hard look at this in her work on the “rescue industry.” In Poverty Capital, she critiques how even well-intentioned aid organizations often portray marginalized communities as helpless and in need of saving, while ignoring the structural problems that keep them oppressed. These narratives don't just undermine real change — they also place emotional expectations on those being "rescued." They demand gratitude and resilience while leaving the bigger systems of inequality intact.Roy's work shows how this approach reflects a long history of paternalism and American exceptionalism, where those in power maintain control by shaping how others should act and feel.Geography plays a big part in how these expectations are enforced. Relief camps, aid programs, and even microfinance initiatives often create spaces where people are expected to behave a certain way — thankful, hopeful, and compliant. In the U.S., similar patterns show up in low-income neighborhoods, where anger or frustration is often punished, reinforcing norms that demand harmony and silence over real emotional expression.If we want to resist these dynamics, we need to rethink the spaces where care and support happen. Instead of controlling emotions or enforcing positivity, these spaces should allow for shared agency and the full range of human feelings. By rejecting savior narratives and making room for emotions like grief and anger, communities can start to challenge the systems that hold them back and move toward real change.From Johnny Carson's seemingly cheerful neutrality to the "happiness duty" imposed on marginalized groups, societal norms can slowly prioritize control over connection, faux harmony over brutal honesty. But resistance is possible. Movements like Black Lives Matter, the Women's March, Chile's protests for constitutional reform, and Hong Kong's pro-democracy demonstrations highlight how group effervescence can channel collective emotions into impactful resistance. However, these movements also reveal the limits of protest alone in achieving enduring change. Systemic barriers to change require sustained efforts beyond the initial wave of mobilization.As Ananya Roy reminds us, breaking free from narratives of saviorism and exceptionalism requires not just challenging these norms but rethinking the spaces where they take root. How can we build geographies of care that empower, rather than constrain? Perhaps the answer lies in acknowledging that resistance begins with feeling — and making space for emotions, no matter how “messy” they might seem. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,As the year ends, I reflect on 2024's top five essays and a shared theme emerges: the systems that define our lives. These systems intertwine nature and nurture, machines and morality, and markets and minds.From evolution's harmony to the moral balance of economic power, the co-opting of language to the divides between prosperity and precarity, our journey has revealed deep connections between people, place, and power.Let's rewind and reweave these connections into a broader narrative that sets us on our way to another trip around the sun.NATURE, NURTURE, AND NODAL NETWORKSIn “DEVO, Darwin, and the Evo-Devo Dance,” we explored how evolution reflects the eternal interplay between biology and environment, progress and adaptation. The evolution of synthesizers — as my daughter's playful experiments with sound reminded me — offers a metaphor for humanity's relationship with technology.This relationship echoes the broader theme of systems and evolution. Iterative changes and interactions between tools and users offer the potential to create new possibilities. As noted in the essay,"DEVO's fusion of human and machine echoes these evolutionary dynamics, where both biological and technological systems evolve through reconfiguration and integration, creating emergent complexity that Darwin could not have imagined."Just as synthesizers blend natural sound waves with human creativity, humanity's interaction with technology evolves in cycles of adaptation and transformation, shaping both the tools we use and the societies we build. We shape our tools, and they shape us in return.The blend of nature's design and our technological imprint creates an ecosystem of mutual influence, much like the Evo-Devo theories of biology, where small tweaks in developmental genes lead to dramatic evolutionary outcomes.This interplay of creation and transformation mirrors the cycles of human progress. Just as Hox genes orchestrate body plans, societal changes—spurred by technology or ideology—reshape our collective body. Whether it's the mechanistic choreography of DEVO's performances or the emergence of Evo-Devo in biology, the boundaries between human and machine blur.Are we programming nature, or is nature programming us? Perhaps the answer lies not in drawing distinctions but in understanding common patterns. These questions highlight the complexities of how we, and other organisms and systems, grow, adapt, and evolve in a world increasingly interwoven with introduced technology.From the mechanized rhythms of industrialization to the organic flow of natural systems, human -- and nonhuman -- there exists a tension and balance between stability and change. The teleonomic goal-directed behavior of living systems together with society's driving pulse of technology has fused into an unrecognizable but somehow familiar new existence. Even as we invent tools to navigate this existence, we become part of the systems we create—both shapers and shaped.The orchestration of evolution — like the many-layered songs of a many-player band — shows a world of many, connected, but not always planned.MARKETS, MACHINES, AND MORALITYThe Industrial Revolution brought unparalleled progress but also profound moral dilemmas. In “Markets, Machines, and Morality,” we reflected on Adam Smith's dual identity as both an economist and a moral philosopher. For Smith, markets were not just mechanisms of exchange but reflections of human nature. His “Theory of Moral Sentiments” reminds us that sympathy, justice, and prudence are vital governors of economic power — like James Watt's centrifugal governor, which balanced the speed of steam engines.But history shows us that unchecked systems, whether economic or mechanical, often prioritize efficiency over empathy. From Bentham's utilitarian calculus to the exploitative practices of modern capitalism, we've seen how the quest for profit can erode the moral underpinnings of society. Today's tech-driven economies, much like the Industrial Age's steam engines, require careful regulation to prevent runaway consequences. Smith's ideals of community benevolence and fair markets resonate more than ever.The unchecked growth of industrial power also highlights the tensions between human ingenuity and ethical responsibility. The centrifugal governor's simple elegance stands as a metaphor for our need to impose limits on excess, whether in economic policies, technological innovation, or social systems. Without these balancing mechanisms, we risk spiraling into inequity, instability, and dehumanization — a lesson as relevant today as it was in Smith's time.Moreover, the moral fabric underpinning economic actions — sympathy, justice, prudence — often fades in the shadow of profit-driven systems. Yet, these values remain the quiet governors ensuring that society's engines run not just efficiently but equitably.Smith's vision was never limited to wealth accumulation; it was about creating a society where individual pursuits align with collective well-being. Unlike today's economic practices, which often prioritize short-term profit over long-term societal health, Smith emphasized the importance of moral virtues such as sympathy and justice in guiding market dynamics.His insights are less about the "invisible hand" and more reminders to steer not only by the metrics of progress but also by the compass of morality. Like a finely tuned machine, morality should govern the obscene, in a more steady and fair routine.LANGUAGE, LANDSCAPE, AND LOSSLanguage has the power to shape identities and wield influence. These were the themes in “Woke and Wealth” and “Molding Minds Through the Markets of Material Worlds.” Words like “woke” and “decolonize”—once rooted in justice—have been distorted, co-opted by power to serve as tools of division. Similarly, capitalism's framing of “Homo Economicus”—the rational, self-interested individual—has reshaped not just our identities but the very landscapes we inhabit.These constructed identities reflect the power dynamics embedded in economic and geographic systems. The urban centers that thrive on globalized knowledge economies are mirrored by rural regions left to grapple with stagnation and decline, as explored in “Main Street to Metropolis.” As noted in that essay,“Rural areas have become Republican strongholds, drawn to promises of reversing globalization, reshaping economic policies, and making their communities great again.”These places — shaped by policies, demographics, and technology — become symbols of our collective divisions. Yet even amidst these fractures, alternative identities emerge. “Homo Ecologicus,” focused on environmental stewardship, and “Homo Absurdum,” embracing creativity and imagination, remind us of humanity's potential for resilience, community, and connection.The co-opting of language — turning tools of empowerment into instruments of division — illustrates the ongoing struggle for control over cultural and political narratives. When words like “woke” are weaponized, the original call for awareness and justice is lost in a haze of ideological conflict.Meanwhile, the landscapes shaped by economic systems mirror these distortions, transforming places of shared community into arenas of exclusion and competition. Consider, for example, the gentrification of urban neighborhoods. Once vibrant hubs of diverse community life, these areas often transform into exclusive enclaves where rising costs push out long-time residents, replacing shared culture with economic segregation.Yet, within these landscapes of loss lies the potential for renewal. Rural areas, often overshadowed by urban centers, remain spaces where alternative identities thrive. These identities, rooted in stewardship, creativity, and resilience, offer glimpses of a world where humanity's diversity can flourish.The challenge lies in amplifying these voices, reclaiming the power of language, and reshaping the spaces we inhabit to reflect our shared values. Language shapes, landscapes mold — our shifting sense of self is an ancient story retold.CLOSING THE LOOPLooking back at these essays, a recurring theme emerges: the interplay of systems that define our lives is not a one-way street. Nature and nurture, markets and morality, language and identity are all intertwined, multi- referencial, and dynamic webs with mirroring interdependencies. Progress is not linear; it's a cycle of creation, transformation, and sometimes regression where changes to one aspect ripple through the entire system.This echoes the recurring themes explored earlier — from the evolving interplay between nature and technology to the moral balance necessary in markets and machines. Together, these cycles reveal how change, though uneven, can guide us toward resilience and renewal when approached with awareness and intention. Herein lies hope. We all possess the potential, and these systems the possibility, to recalibrate the systems we control to balance human progress with equity, efficiency with empathy, and innovation with ethics.These systems remind us that resilience lies in adaptability. Fire, when controlled, can foster growth and create fertile soil. Uncontrolled fire destroys. Water can unite by sustaining life, connect ecosystems, and enable communication and trade through rivers and oceans. But it can also erode, rot, create barriers, or flood habitats and communities.As we humans innovate and advance, we can pause to reflect on the systems we create. We can ensure they serve not just the few but the many. Like water and fire, the narratives we construct, whether through language, policy, or technology, have the power to unite or divide.Our collective task is to craft stories that inspire connection and foster growth built on shared values. As we step into a new year, what questions should we ask about the systems we create? How can we ensure they unite rather than divide? What would it take to build systems rooted in equity, empathy, and sustainability? Perhaps, most importantly, how do these systems reflect who we are—and who we aspire to be? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Happy winter solstice!Today, the northern hemisphere experiences its shortest day and longest night, a celestial event rooted in the planet's axial tilt. This seemingly simple astronomical fact has profound implications for economic geography. It influences everything from agricultural productivity to social traditions of sharing and reciprocity.SOLSTICE AND SHARINGI recently visited the Squamish Lil'wat Cultural Centre at Whistler. These two tribes are part of the Squamish River watershed that flows into Howe Sound, a fjord located just around the corner from Vancouver, British Columbia. This watershed is central to their traditional territories and plays a vital role in their culture and economy.From an economic geography perspective, the tilt of the earth underpins the seasons and, by extension, patterns of production and scarcity that shape human economies. In regions where winter brought agricultural dormancy, societies had to develop systems to store, preserve, and share resources to survive until the next growing season.The winter solstice symbolizes the end of this scarcity. It promises returning light, a pivotal moment in the annual cycle for societies historically reliant on natural rhythms. For the Squamish and Lil'wat peoples, this period was a time of reflection, gratitude, and redistribution. Ceremonial gatherings and potlatches reinforced community bonds by ensuring that the resources harvested in times of plenty were shared equitably during the lean winter months.I saw evidence of these community bonds at the cultural center. The five visitors from West Virginia and myself, were the only white folks in the place. I was happy to see and hear a group of teen Squamish or Lil'wat boys gathered, talking, and giggling. There was a table of older Indigenous women sharing tea and treats. I asked one of our guides if she was doing anything special for the upcoming holiday. She said, “Well, I have presents for my mom's side, but not my dad's. And I have presents for half my siblings, but not the other half! So, it looks like that's what I'll be doing!”Practices of reinforced social cohesion and mitigating disparities can be seen in both Indigenous and early European traditions. These lessons of reciprocity and redistribution remain vital amidst the gulf between extreme wealth and pervasive poverty. That too became apparent during my visit.As I was browsing the gift shop, I overheard an Indigenous employee ask a friend, “How has work been?” Her friend responded, “It's ok. This time of year comes with a lot of Christmas clean ups, people getting their Whistler places ready…it's hard work, but good money.”As we mark the winter solstice and conclude this fall series on economic geography, it is worth considering how the natural cycles dictated by the earth's tilt continue to influence modern economies. Even in an age of surplus for some, the rhythms of scarcity and abundance persist, challenging us to find equitable ways to share resources.The traditions of the Squamish, Lil'wat, and countless other cultures remind us that sustainability and justice are not just matters of economic policy but also of values deeply connected to the natural world. This solstice invites us to honor those lessons, seeking balance and light amid the darkest days.The widespread, worldwide post-harvest behavior — like the Squamish and Lil'wat spiritual renewal through prayer and ceremonies; the community bonding with feasts, potlaches, and storytelling; the observance or celestial cycles and gratitude for earth's gifts; and the artistic creations for ceremonial dances and rituals — has been happening for millennia.SATURN AND THE GREEK SAINTI thought I'd reshare a relevant excerpt from a post I did a few years ago that explores the roots of Christmas. It started with a communal approach to abundance with celestial-triggered ancient traditions like Saturnalia in Rome. Saturn, the god of agriculture, inspired events where feasts, gift-giving, and the symbolic inversion of roles served to address the inherent inequalities of agrarian economies.“It was so baked into the fabric of society that even the church began painting it with Christian imagery and metaphor. Because the celebrations occurred on or around the end of November and into December there were many elements of Christianity to which they could attach the events.During Roman times, December 17th marked the day of the Saturnalia – a festival honoring the god of agriculture, Saturn. All work halted for a week as people decorated their homes with wreaths. They shed their togas to dawn festive clothes, and they drank, gambled, sang, played music, socialized and exchanged gifts. It was a celebration of their agrarian bounty and the return of light at Winter solstice. It was also a time to invite their slaves to dinner where their masters would serve them food.One Christian Saint affiliated with early December – and the one most honored today in the form of a plump jolly man wearing a red velvet suit – is Saint Nicholas. December 6th is St. Nicholas Day. For many European countries this marked the official end of the harvest season. And even today it's recognized in some countries as a kind of warm-up act to the more official and accepted Christmas day, December 25th.Nicholas of Bari was a Greek Christian bishop from modern day Turkey. Also known as Nicholas the Wonderworker, he earned a reputation during the Roman Empire for many miracles; all of which, were written centuries after his death and thus prone to exaggeration. But he was most famous for his generosity, charity, and kindness to children, the poor, and the disadvantaged. He was said to have sold his own belongings to get gold coins that he'd then put in the shoes outside people's homes. This is the origin of the tradition of putting shoes or stockings out on Christmas Eve.They say he also saved the lives of three innocent men from execution. He chastised the corrupted judge for accepting a bribe to execute them. And he certainly would have been watching over the peasant farmers and slaves to insure they were treated fairly. He seemed to always have an eye out for inequities and justice for common people. Maybe that's what made him a saint. Or maybe he was just born that way. After all, Nicholas in Greek means “people's victory.”The Puritans obviously lost at their attempts to ban Christmas. Lacking any evidence from the Bible, the Christian powers that be eventually settled on the 25th of December as the day Jesus was born. They most likely picked the 25th because that was the day winter solstice landed on the Roman calendar.”Happy solstice, everyone. Whether from St. Nick or the Squamish ways,let's remember through these darkest days: sustainability and justice aren't just decree, they're rooted in values that connect you and me. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Language shapes power, but it can also obscure and manipulate. Words like woke and decolonize, rooted in justice, are now tools for distortion by figures like Trump and Modi. In this essay, we'll explore how these terms connect to economic and political geography, tracing their co-opting, parallels to colonialism, and the need to reclaim their transformative potential. Let's dig in — and stay woke.STAY WOKE, START TALKINGAre you woke? It's a provocative question these days. Especially since this term was co-opted by the right as a pejorative since the Black Lives Matter uprising of 2020. Even last June Trump said regarding so-called woke military generals, “I would fire them. You can't have woke military.”And then there's Elon Musk. He's been increasingly waging a war on what he calls the ‘woke mind virus'. It seems he started abusing the term in 2021, along with other political rhetoric he's been ramping up in recently. The Economist reports a “leap in 2023 and 2024 in talk of immigration, border control, the integrity of elections and the ‘woke mind virus'.”Folks more on the left are also starting to distance themselves from the term or use it as a pejorative. Including some of my friends. Even self-described leftist and socialist, Susan Neiman criticized "wokeness," in her 2023 book Left Is Not Woke. She argues, as do many, that it has become antithetical to traditional leftist values — especially as it becomes a weapon by the right.According to the definition in the Cambridge dictionary, I am decidedly woke. That means I'm “aware, especially of social problems such as racism and inequality.” It worries me that people are eagerly running from this word. I'd rather they interrogate it. Understand it. Find it's meanings and question the intent behind its use. We should be discussing these nuances, not shushing them.Using the word in a sentence (in an approving manner), Cambridge offers hints at one of the original meanings: “She urged young black people to stay woke.” In 1938 the great blues legend Lead Belly also urged “everybody, be a little careful when they go along through there (Scottsboro, Alabama) – best stay woke, keep their eyes open." Those are spoken words in his song "Scottsboro Boys", about nine young Black men falsely accused of raping two white women in Alabama seven years earlier in 1931.Not a decade before, the Jamaican philosopher and social activist Marcus Garvey wrote in 1923, "Wake up Ethiopia! Wake up Africa!" Fifty years later that inspired playwright and novelist Barry Beckham to write “Garvey Lives!”, a 1972 play that included this line, “I been sleeping all my life. And now that Mr. Garvey done woke me up, I'm gon stay woke.” #StayWoke was trending on Twitter the summer of 2020.In 1962, ten years before Beckham's play, novelist William Melvin Kelley wrote this headline for a piece in the New York Times Magazine: “If You're Woke You Dig It; No mickey mouse can be expected to follow today's Negro idiom without a hip assist. If You're Woke You Dig It.” The article, which is an uneasy glimpse of how mainstream media regarded Black people in 1962, is about how white people co-opt terms from the Black community. His target was white woke Beatniks of the 1960s.Awakening others to injustice in the United States may have originated with white folks inspired by Abraham Lincoln. In the lead up to the his 1860 election, the, then woke, Republican Party helped organize a paramilitary youth movement in the Northern states called the ‘Wide Awakes'. These activists, which included some Black people, were inspired by Lincoln's fight to abolish slavery and promote workers' rights.They took up arms to defend Republican politicians who brazenly awakened others to injustices in America in their campaign speeches. This armed aggression — especially armed Black men — in part is what woke the South to the dawning wokeness across the North. Frightened as they were, they organize their own paramilitary and soon a civil war broke out.RECLAIM, RESIST, REVIVEWords can have unusual lifecycles. The term "queer" evolved from a pejorative label for homosexuals to a term of empowerment. Particularly after the activism of the 1960s and 1970s, including the Stonewall Riots. Its reclamation was reinforced by academic queer theory, which critiques societal norms around sexuality and gender. Today, "queer" is widely embraced as a self-identifier that reflects pride and resistance against stigma.Christopher Hobson, of the Substack Imperfect Notes, suggested in a post about the word polycrisis, this progression of terminology:Proposed — A new word or meaning is introduced through individuals, cultural interactions, academia, or mass media.Adopted — A word or meaning is embraced by a community, shaped by social relevance and media influence.Spread — Diffusion occurs through social networks and media exposure, leading to wider acceptance.Critiqued — As words gain popularity, they face scrutiny from linguistic purists and cultural commentators. The appropriateness of a term can be questioned, highlighting the intent behind its dissemination.Institutionalized — Widely used words become institutionalized, appearing in dictionaries and everyday language as standards.Hobson adds one other stage that is particularly relevant today, ‘pipiked.' It's a term he ‘adopted' as ‘proposed' and I'm now ‘spreading'. It comes from Naomi Klein's book, Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World. Hobson writes:"A useful concept she introduces is ‘pipikism', which she takes from Philip Roth's, Operation Shylock, one of the texts about doppelgangers that Klein engages with. She quote's Roth's description of ‘pipikism' as ‘the antitragic force that inconsequencializes everything—farcicalizes everything, trivializes everything, superficializes everything.' This captures the way in which the concepts and frames we use to help understand our world are rendered useless by bad actors and bad faith, caught in ‘a knot of seriousness and ridiculousness that would never be untangled.'" (3)This lifecycle certainly applies to the word woke, but let's turn to a term more closely related to economic geography that's also in the cross-hairs of being ‘pipiked' — decolonize.Like woke, the term decolonize began as a call to dismantle injustice, exposing the deep roots of exploitation in European colonial systems. It symbolized hope for liberation and justice for the oppressed. Over time, like many critical terms, its meaning shifted. Once radical, decolonize risks becoming performative as its potency weakens through co-optation, especially by bad faith actors.Narendra Modi exemplifies this, using decolonization rhetoric to promote Hindutva, a Hindu nationalist agenda. His government renames cities, revises textbooks to erase Muslim rulers like the Mughals, and marginalizes minorities, particularly Muslims, under the guise of rejecting British colonial legacies. This parallels America's own rewriting of history to reinforce a white Christian narrative. Protestant colonizers replaced Indigenous names and erased Native perspectives, reframing days like Thanksgiving, a time of mourning for many, into celebratory myths.DOCTRINES, DISSENT, AND DOMINIONEarly colonial educational curricula framed colonization as a divine mission to civilize the so-called savages. Native Americans were often depicted as obstacles to progress rather than as sovereign peoples with rich cultures and governance systems. Systems, like the Iroquois League, impressed and inspired the early framers of American government, like Benjamin Franklin.But it was Christian dogma like the Doctrine of Discovery, a theological justification for seizing Indigenous land, that was integrated into educational and legal frameworks. Slavery was sanitized in textbooks to diminish its horrors, portraying it as a benign or even benevolent system. Early 20th-century textbooks referred to enslaved people as “workers” and omitted the violence of chattel slavery.Early colonizers established theological institutions like Harvard University, originally intended to train ministers and propagate Christian doctrine. My own family lineage is culpable. I've already written about Jonas Weed (circa 1610–1676), a Puritan minister who helped colonize Weathersfield, Connecticut. But there's also the brother of my ninth Mother, Jonathan Mitchell (1624–1668). He was a Harvard graduate and Puritan minister who played a pivotal role in shaping the Protestant-oriented writing of American history.He promoted a Christian God-given view of history, framing events as manifestations of God's will. He emphasized covenant theology that cast Puritans as a chosen people. As a fellow at Harvard, he shaped the intellectual environment that influenced figures like Cotton Mather, who's Magnalia Christi Americana (1702) depicted New England as a "city upon a hill" destined to fulfill a divine mission. JFK ripped this quote from history, as did Reagan and Obama to further their campaigns but also to ingrain messages that started with people like Mitchell and Mather.Institutions like the church and universities advanced Christian-nationalist ideologies that justified colonial rule, marginalizing Indigenous, African, and non-European cultures by framing European Christian values as superior. European imperial powers reshaped local economies for their gain, turning colonies into sources of raw materials and markets for goods. Monocultures like sugar and cotton left regions vulnerable, while urban centers prioritized resource export over local needs, fostering uneven development.By the mid-20th century, America had risen to global dominance, cementing its power through institutions like the IMF and World Bank, which reinforced economic dependencies. Decolonization movements emerged in response, with nations in Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean seeking justice and sovereignty. Yet many former colonies remain trapped in systemic inequalities shaped by imperial and American influence. While initiatives like the G-77 — a UN coalition of developing nations promoting collective economic interests and South-South cooperation — aim to reshape global systems, progress remains slow and resistance strong.Today, Project 2025 seeks to revive Christian-nationalist doctrines, echoing colonial practices. Signs of rising authoritarianism, white Christian nationalism, and silencing dissent are evident. The Levant, too, reflects another iteration of the colonial Doctrine of Discovery — seizing land and subjugating oppressed populations under theological justifications.Even in the early days of American colonization, there were woke voices. One of them happened to be another ancestor of mine. My tenth grandfather, Stephen Bachiler (circa 1561–1656) was an English clergyman and an early advocate for the separation of church and state. His life exemplified the struggles for religious autonomy in early American history, but also the importance of sustained critique of power and injustice.Educated at St. John's College, Oxford, he became the vicar of Wherwell but was ousted in 1605 for his Puritan beliefs. At nearly 70, he left to New England in 1632 to establish the First Church of Lynn near Boston. It was there it is assumed he cast the sole vote against the expulsion of Roger Williams — a proponent of equitable treatment of Native Americans and a fellow Separatist.Both men showed a commitment to religious freedom, tolerance, and fair dealings. While they were clearly colonizers and missionaries, each with their own religion, they were also relatively woke. They showed the importance of a sustained quest for liberty and justice amid prevailing authoritarian orthodoxies.Trump wields language as a tool to cement his prevailing authoritarian orthodoxies. He surrounds himself with figures who reduce substantive critical discourse to noise. His media allies, from Fox News to populist voices like Joe Rogan, amplify his rhetoric, diverting attention from systemic injustices. These platforms trivialize urgent issues, overshadowing genuine grievances with performative derision and bad faith gestures.When language meant to confront injustice is co-opted, maligned, or muted, its power is diminished. Performative actions can “pipikize” critical terms, rendering them absurd or hollow while leaving entrenched problems untouched — many rooted in centuries of European colonization. Yet Trump's alignment with a new breed of colonization deepens these issues.Figures like Elon Musk and JD Vance, champions of libertarian techno-optimism, feed into Trump's agenda. Musk dreams of private cities and space colonies free from governmental oversight, while Vance benefits from Silicon Valley backers like Peter Thiel, who pour millions into advancing deregulation and creating self-governing enclaves.These visions are the new face of colonialism — enclaves of privilege where exploitation thrives, disconnected from democratic accountability. They mirror the hierarchies and exclusions of the past, dressed as innovation but steeped in familiar patterns of dominance.In this age of populism — another word twisted and worn thin — vigilance is essential. Language must be scrutinized not just for its use but for its intent. Without this, we risk falling into complacency, lulled by superficial gestures and farcical displays. Stay awake. Words can preserve the power to transform — but only when their intent remains grounded in uprooting injustice and inhumanity.References:* Cambridge Dictionary. Definition of woke. * Economist. (2024). Immigration, border control, and the ‘woke mind virus': Tracking political rhetoric. * Hobson, Christopher. (Sep 13, 2024). Imperfect Notes: In conversation with Pete Chambers. * Klein, Naomi. (2023). Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.* Macmillan Publishers. (2023). Crack-Up Capitalism: Market Radicals and the Dream of a World Without Democracy. * Neiman, Susan. (2023). Left Is Not Woke. Cambridge, MA: Polity Press.* New York Times Magazine. (1962). Kelley, William Melvin. If You're Woke You Dig It; No Mickey Mouse Can Be Expected to Follow Today's Negro Idiom Without a Hip Assist.* Press, Eyal. (2012). Beautiful Souls: Saying No, Breaking Ranks, and Heeding the Voice of Conscience in Dark Times. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.* Roth, Philip. (1993). Operation Shylock: A Confession. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.* Time Magazine. (2023). India's textbook revisions spark controversy over history and ideology. * Walker, Corinne A. (2024). Aeon. What is behind the explosion in talk about decolonisation. * Dull, Jonathan. (2021). Post-Colonialism: Understanding the Past to Change the Future. World History Connected, 18(1), 125–142. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Beneath the surface of election fatigue and endless punditry lies a deeper story — one rooted in the economic geography of this nation. It's a tale of two Americas: the urban hubs thriving on growth and globalization, and the rural heartland struggling to hold on. One of those hubs allowed my career and family to grow and the other allowed me to grow.The outcome of this election is well timed with Interplace's fall theme of economic geography. Let's step back from the noise to explore how decades of policy, technology, and shifting demographics have redrawn the map of opportunity. This isn't just about red versus blue — it's about who we are, how we got here, and where we go next.DIVIDED VOTES, DIVIDED LIVESThe 2024 presidential election highlighted many things, but one that really resonates with me is the growing urban-rural divide in American politics. Trump dominated rural voters and Harris dominated urban centers. This contrast is reminiscent of 2016, but has been building through decades of economic divergence: urban areas thrive on knowledge economies and globalization, while rural regions face stagnation and demographic decline. This enduring divide underscores the differing opportunities and values of urban and rural voters that renders as blue and red election maps.The U.S. operates on division. It's driven by a political and economic duopoly. Two major parties dominate, limiting ideological diversity and reducing complex issues to binary debates. This unfairly ignores the nuanced solutions needed to bridge these yawning economic and human geography gaps. Economically, we can see corporate power's concentrated influence, with dominant industries in technology, finance, and healthcare shaping policy, market dynamics, and communities. Smaller players, including local businesses and alternative voices, are often overshadowed, ignored, or silenced.The effects are visible in places like King County, Washington where I live. Tech giants like Microsoft and Amazon attract and fuel thriving, diverse, and mostly progressive communities. Meanwhile, in rural Adair County, Iowa, where my parents grew up and where I still have relatives, residents rely heavily on government transfers. They're struggling to support growing aging populations and reeling from closures of vital services, including retirement homes. My own uncle faced this fate, forced into a failing trailer home to die after his Baptist church-financed retirement home was sold in 2022 to a private equity firm who promptly and callously shut it down.These rural areas have become Republican strongholds, drawn to promises of reversing globalization, reshaping economic policies, and making their communities great again. With a 75.68% turnout of 5,423 eligible voters in Adair County, Iowa, 71.47% of them went to Trump in 2024. Sadly, their vulnerabilities are exploited by false narratives framing urban elites as adversaries to rural traditions and values. Though, these narratives aren't entirely false. Both parties of our duopoly largely ignore, disregard, or patronize the realities of rural successes, strivings, and struggles — as do most urbanites. ROOTS OF THE RURAL RIFTGrowing up in Warren County, Iowa, in the 1970s and 1980s provided a firsthand view of some of these rural and urban transformations. Suburban to Polk County and Des Moines, Warren County was close to economic growth from finance, insurance, and some manufacturing. My father worked as a financial analyst at Massey Ferguson, while my uncle held a blue-collar factory job, representing the industrial stability of the area at the time.My parents grew up in a far more rural Orient, Iowa, in Adair County where Massey Ferguson tractors had already been hard at work for decades. They shared stories of their little town being a vibrant agricultural hub with a bustling grain elevator next to a train track and a lively Main Street. I saw remnants of this economy as a boy, but by the time I reached high school in the 1980s, it was already in decline. That decline was punctuated on June 10, 2024, when the Orient school board voted to dissolve the school where my parents went and grandmother taught due to ongoing enrollment and financial issues.Orient is not alone; the 1980s marked widespread economic decline across rural America. The so-called "Green Revolution," which introduced advanced agricultural technologies, prioritized efficiency through mechanization and consolidation. While it modernized farming and boosted crop yields, it also drove smaller farms out of business and accelerated rural depopulation as large agribusinesses dominated.Adair County exemplified these changes, losing its economic backbone as family farms were replaced by larger operations, leaving Main Streets struggling. In contrast, Warren County benefited from its proximity to Des Moines' expanding economy and has become one of Iowa's fastest-growing counties in recent years. The disparity between suburban and rural areas continues to grow.I see now how the Reagan era of the 1980s helped to hammer in the political and economic wedge of today's divide.Reagan's economic agenda, focused on deregulation, tax cuts, and free-market principles, favored urban areas that were better equipped to leverage these shifts. Urban centers like Des Moines diversified into finance and insurance, while rural regions like Adair County became vulnerable to agricultural volatility and light-industry manufacturing.This era also saw a transformation in the political alignment of what some call the ‘rural petite bourgeoisie' — also known as ‘small business owners' and local elites rich with real estate capital. These, overwhelmingly men, traditionally held moderate views, blending New Deal liberalism with pragmatic conservatism. Facing economic pressures from rural decline, this group turned towards Reagan's low-tax, deregulatory policies as vital for their small businesses' survival in a challenging economy. Meanwhile, large farm and property owners benefitted from skewed farm bills sponsored by Senator Charles Grassley. “Chuck” was first elected in 1981 and is still in office. He is the longest serving member of congress at age 91. In contrast to urban counterparts who increasingly supported redistributive policies, rural elites opposed government spending and regulations they viewed as threats to their businesses. This shift fostered a rural political identity closely linked to the Republican Party, deepening the divide as local leaders endorsed short-term beneficial policies that often worsened structural challenges in their communities.Reagan's emphasis on reducing government intervention also weakened the social safety net that many rural areas relied on during economic downturns. This period marked significant wealth redistribution away from struggling rural economies, as policies favored global trade and technological advancements benefiting urban industries. Free trade agreements like NAFTA, initiated under Reagan and expanded under Bill Clinton in the 90s, further destabilized rural manufacturing and agriculture.Reagan's rhetoric of self-reliance resonated with rural voters who saw these values reflecting their traditions. However, these policies sowed the seeds of economic decline that later led rural areas to depend on government transfers, especially as populations aged — nearly one quarter of Adair County's residents are over 65. Medicare and Medicaid dominate government transfers in these areas. For those in their prime, the shift towards deregulated markets and globalization has left their economies vulnerable. As the gap between urban and rural widens, questions remain about whether Trump's promise to end NAFTA will improve or worsen their circumstances.PROSPERITY AND PRECARITYThe urban-rural economic and demographic divide was worsened by the "China Shock" of the 2000s, which laid the groundwork for Trump's political strategy. This "China Shock" refers to the economic disruption following China's entry into the World Trade Organization, resulting in a surge of cheap imports and offshoring of manufacturing jobs. Rural communities suffered greatly. They faced accelerated job losses and industries already weakened by NAFTA collapsed. Trump's populist critiques of globalization and free trade, along with his promises to revive manufacturing, resonated with rural voters disillusioned by years of economic decline. His focus on preserving Social Security and Medicare appealed to the swell of aging Baby Boomer populations in rural areas, where government transfers — mostly in the form of medicare and social security — have become vital for personal income.Trump also used immigration as a fear tactic, employing anti-Asian rhetoric to foster suspicion of China and Chinese immigrants while extending this narrative to immigrants from Mexico, and Central and South America. Many of these immigrants fled due to policies supported by Reagan in the 1980s that destabilized their regions. The Reagan administration backed authoritarian regimes and aided military interventions aimed at combating pro-social movements, which led to violence and economic hardship still roiling Central America as effects of climate change ravage.NAFTA further worsened this situation by enabling U.S. companies to exploit workers with low wages and displacing small farmers through large agricultural projects, echoing the impacts of the “Green Revolution.” These policies, together with the effects of a changing climate, have disrupted livelihoods and forced many to migrate north for survival.Trump shifted blame for stagnant wages and reduced opportunities in rural America onto immigrants, claiming they were “stealing” jobs. However, the true issues often stemmed from systemic exploitation and corporate priorities aimed at suppressing wages. Rural workers, predominantly White but also Black and Brown legal immigrants, faced declining opportunities due to U.S. companies' refusal to raise wages. Instead, especially with low-wage agricultural and meat packing jobs, they hired, directly and indirectly, illegal immigrant labor. By framing immigration and globalization as adversaries, Trump obscured the structural causes of economic distress, deepening cultural divides while rallying rural voters with a narrative of racism, grievance, and mistrust.The story of America's divide is not just about economic shifts or political realignments—it's a nation grappling with what it means to belong, prosper, and endure. Beneath the surface lies a deeper truth: the urban-rural rift mirrors our struggles with identity, purpose, and interdependence.I see myself in this divide. Place profoundly shaped my life — not just through opportunities but in the values it instilled and the dreams it inspired. The urban skylines of the Seattle area, driven by innovation, look outward to a globalized future, while the rural landscapes of my childhood, rooted in tradition, look inward to preserve what they hold most dear. These differing perspectives underscore the ugly and unjust tensions and diverse and defining beauty of America's existential, albeit bewildering, struggle.Can we rediscover the common threads that bind us? The prosperity of the metropolis cannot endure without the resilience of Main Street, just as rural values lose meaning without the context of a connected world. Division is not our destiny — its what forces our decisions.But the contours of our physical, human, and economic geographies, though disparate, need not dictate our future.Like Iowa's farmlands, where soil renews through struggle, and Seattle's economy, thriving on adaptability, our future can grow stronger through enduring hardship and embracing a transformative, just, and inclusive tomorrow. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,We often think of the economy as a fixed, objective force, separate from who we are. But what if it actually shapes our identities? Like a DJ mixing a set, economics amplifies certain behaviors and silences others. I saw this firsthand last summer when Calvin Harris performed live in Scotland, dynamically controlling thousands of people with a turn of a dial or push of a button…on tracks he'd already mixed in the studio!Brett Scott, in his recent Substack Remastering Capitalism, uses this music mixing metaphor to show how human nature is molded — elevated or suppressed — by economic systems. His insights remind me of social constructionism, which reveals that what we see as “natural” is often constructed by institutions, including the economy. Our many identities aren't just reacting to the system — they are being shaped by it.But what if Homo Economicus, the rational, self-interested individual, isn't who we truly or solely are? What if these systems are muting our most moral and communal parts? With my last three posts on economics in mind, let's explore how economics and geography construct — and limit — who we become.MARKETS MOLDING MINDSAt the heart of social constructionism is the idea that reality isn't something we passively experience — it's something actively constructed through our social interactions, power dynamics, and the institutions that shape our lives. One of the most powerful institutions in modern society is the economy, which shapes not just markets but the very way we see ourselves and our place in the world. And, as with all social constructs, it is influenced by those who hold power.In Econ 101, we're introduced to Homo Economicus, the rational, self-interested individual who makes perfectly reasoned decisions geared toward maximizing utility without emotional interference. Think Spock from Star Trek. This figure is more than a character or abstract concept; it reflects the values that the market rewards and those in power promote. In environments dominated by capitalist systems — corporate boardrooms, stock exchanges, financial districts — the behavior of Homo Economicus is not just encouraged, it's essential for success. These spaces reinforce particular versions of selves, constructed by the systems that surround them.Critical geographer David Harvey emphasizes how geography and power intersect, asking us to“Imagine, for example, the absolute space of an affluent gated community on the New Jersey shore. Some of the inhabitants move in relative space on a daily basis into and out of the financial district of Manhattan where they set in motion movements of credit and investment moneys that affect social life across the globe...”These elites embody Homo Economicus and reinforce the power dynamics of capitalism, constructing an economic landscape where rational self-interest reigns supreme.But Homo Economicus is not an innate human identity. Like the concept of the “divinely appointed king” in medieval Europe, it is constructed by the economic and social systems around us. Modern capitalism creates and rewards this notion of the self. But this doesn't mean we're trapped in this role — other tracks of human nature are waiting to be heard. The question is, can we turn up the volume on those other selves?MAPPING MONEY'S MIGHTThe dominance of Homo Economicus is not just theoretical — it plays out in real, physical spaces. Economic geography shows us how capitalism manifests in cities, financial hubs, and industrial centers, creating environments that reward certain behaviors while suppressing others. As Doreen Massey, a feminist geographer, notes, social relations are constructed across all spatial scales — from global finance to local communities — and these spaces, in turn, construct us. She writes,“'The spatial' then…can be seen as constructed out of the multiplicity of social relations across all spatial scales, from the global reach of finance and telecommunications, through the geography of the tentacles of national political power, to the social relations within the town, the settlement, the household and the workplace.”Having recently returned from New York and London last summer, I was surrounded by buildings and infrastructure designed to facilitate rapid decision-making and profit maximization. These financial districts are the birthplace of Homo Economicus, where competition, efficiency, and rationality are not only celebrated but engrained in the fabric of the city. But these aren't just neutral places where economic transactions happen — they were actively shaped by human identities to shape other human identities, constructing versions of selves.Yet, capitalism's steady beat doesn't stop at the thumping urban centers. It ripples outward, reshaping rural areas, natural landscapes, and global trade routes. In these spaces, a different identity might have flourished. For example, where I grew up in Iowa, rural areas are shaped by industrial agriculture where economic pressures push farmers to adopt monoculture practices, prioritizing profit over sustainability.My father worked for farm equipment maker, Massey Ferguson in the 1970s and 80s where the company had to respond to John Deere's introduction of industrial-sized articulated tractors sold to increasingly dominant large-scale farmers. Here, the track of Homo Ecologicus — the part of us that values balance and environmental stewardship — was quieted. Meanwhile, the relentless beat of industrial capitalism continues to drown it out.However, these tracks aren't erased. In more peripheral spaces — rural farms, local markets, and environmental movements — Homo Ecologicus still survives, embodying a different approach to the world, one that capitalism often suppresses.A 2023 study showed that if 25% of institutional buyers sourced fresh food from local farms, it could generate an $800 million impact on Iowa's economy, supporting over 4,200 mid-sized farms and creating numerous agricultural jobs. In 2024 alone, Organic Valley, a cooperative that supports organic farmers, brought 40 new family farms in just the first four months of the year and was expected to add 70 more by year-end.The geography of capitalism constructs these different forms of capitalism and the human identities behind them. Where we live and work reminds us that we are shaped by the spaces we occupy. Our identities are far from static — they are deeply influenced by the economic forces, choices, and physical landscapes we inhabit and navigate — the Interplace, if you will, the interaction of people and place.INDUSTRY INFLUENCED IDENTITIESAlthough capitalism has amplified Homo Economicus in both urban and rural spaces, other aspects of human nature persist. Social constructionism teaches us that while dominant systems shape our identities, they can also be resisted. And in moments of rebellion or creativity, tracks like Homo Ecologicus and Homo Absurdum emerge, reminding us of the full spectrum of the human experience.Homo Ecologicus embodies our connection to nature and the desire for harmony with the environment. In communities focused on re-greening — whether through small urban efforts, rural sustainability, or the traditional ecological practices of the Coast Salish, which I've explored previously — these identities resurface. The Coast Salish, like many Indigenous cultures, emphasize balance and stewardship, a mindset echoed in the research of architect and sustainable urbanist, Steffen Lehmann. For example, Lehmann highlights ‘nature-based solutions', as defined by the EU, are “‘inspired and supported by nature, which are cost-effective, simultaneously provide environmental, social and economic benefits and help build resilience (…) and bring more, and more diverse, nature and natural features and processes into cities, landscapes and seascapes, through locally adapted, resource-efficient and systemic interventions'.” Both Lehmann's findings and the Coast Salish practices show that environmental stewardship and economic growth can coexist, challenging the dominance of Homo Economicus.Homo Absurdum, the playful and imaginative side of human nature, similarly pushes back against the rigid logic of capitalism. My recent piece featuring DEVO, for example, showed how embraced absurdity, irony, and satire could form a critique of conformity and dehumanization wrought by modern capitalist society. DEVO's music wasn't just about self-expression — it was an act of resistance. They reminded us that creativity and play are as fundamental to human nature as rationality and profit-seeking. Homo Absurdum thrives in moments of rebellion, where we reject the idea that our worth is tied solely to economic productivity.Even Adam Smith, the so-called father of modern economics, understood that human identity was more complex than the rational self-interest of Homo Economicus. In The Theory of Moral Sentiments, Smith emphasized empathy and care, reminding us that“How selfish soever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature which interest him in the fortune of others, and render their happiness necessary to him.”Smith was also a product of his time, and his economic theories were socially constructed, shaped by the social and political environment of 18th-century Scotland, including the strong influence of Protestant religious values, which emphasized moral responsibility, hard work, and empathy toward others.This brings us to an important realization: Homo Economicus is not the inevitable endpoint of human identity. It's one track, amplified by the systems that hold power today. The human playlist is far more diverse, with room for care, play, connection, and environmental stewardship if we create the conditions to let these tracks play.Economics is more than just markets and numbers — it's a powerful force that shapes who we are. Through the lens of social constructionism, we see how economic systems construct certain identities, amplifying some parts of ourselves while suppressing others. In a world dominated by capitalism, Homo Economicus reigns supreme, but this doesn't mean other tracks of human nature — like Homo Ecologicus, Homo Absurdum, or Homo Communis — are lost. These tracks are still present, waiting to be heard and made part of our collective human experience.Immanuel Wallerstein, in his World-Systems Analysis, reminds us that historical moments like the French Revolution disrupted the structures that had previously determined the dominant identities of the time, legitimizing power in the hands of the people instead of monarchs or legislators.He writes,“The French Revolution propagated two quite revolutionary ideas. One was that political change was not exceptional or bizarre but normal and thus constant. The second was that ‘sovereignty' — the right of the state to make autonomous decisions within its realm — did not reside in (belong to) either a monarch or a legislature but in the ‘people' who, alone, could legitimate a regime.”In the same way, we too can challenge the dominant economic structures of today by reshaping the various ‘selves' that make ‘ourselves.'I agree with Brett Scott when he challenges us to remaster our economic tracks based on these potentialities. To bring forward the voices of care, creativity, and environmental consciousness, and let them play a stronger part of the mix. Homo Economicus may be the dominant track for now, but we have the power to remaster the mix. Let's strive for all the tracks of the human experience to play their part in creating a new, shared, and well-balanced harmony. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,On October 12th, the United States observed Indigenous Peoples' Day, a recognition first proposed in 1977 during a UN conference in Geneva. Indigenous delegates called“to observe October 12, the day of so-called ‘discovery' of America, as an international day of solidarity with the indigenous peoples of the Americas”drawing attention to the broken treaties between Indigenous nations and the U.S. government. Thirty years later, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples affirmed that these treaties are of international concern, though the United States and a few other countries initially refused to endorse the declaration, and the resolution remains non-binding.On Indigenous People's Day, the satirical news outlet, The Onion, used the occasion to post a story with this headline: “Nation's Indigenous People Confirm They Don't Need Special Holiday, Just Large Swaths Of Land Returned Immediately”Today, there are 574 recognized Indigenous nations within the U.S., many of which still struggle for recognition and rights. As trade agreements like NAFTA dominate discussions on labor, immigration, and environmental impact, little attention is paid to the intricate trade systems Indigenous nations developed long before European contact. Here in the Pacific Northwest, societies like the Coast Salish had sophisticated economies driven by geographic access to key resources, especially salmon. Their control over rich fishing sites shaped trade, reinforced social hierarchies, and created territorial dynamics that predated modern trade systems.Yet, colonization disrupted these Indigenous networks, imposing disorienting and often exploitative systems of land ownership and resource extraction. This week, I hope to explore how the adaptive strategies of Indigenous nations—despite the hardships imposed by colonization—can inspire decentralized solutions to today's environmental and socio-economic challenges, just as these nations did for millennia.COASTAL CONTROL AND CULTURAL COMPLEXITYThe Pacific Northwest is one of the most ecologically diverse regions in North America. It was this natural abundance that enabled the Coast Salish peoples to establish rich, complex societies. Unlike the simplistic and often nomadic image of hunter-gatherers, the Coast Salish exhibited a diversity of approaches to resource management that reflect an intimate knowledge of their environment.According to Colin Grier, an anthropologist and archaeologist known for his research on Indigenous societies of the Pacific Northwest, there are expanded and diverse notions of hunter-gatherer strategies. His research demonstrates how the Coast Salish were able to create surplus production, social hierarchies, and sophisticated trade networks due to their advanced understanding of the ecological systems they lived within.At the heart of Coast Salish society was the salmon fishery, a resource so abundant and predictable that it allowed for the development of semi-sedentary communities. Grier emphasizes that their use of ecological niche construction — such as the creation of clam gardens and fish weirs — enabled the Coast Salish to actively shape their environment to increase resource availability.These inventions and engineered environmental modifications were essential for producing the surpluses that underpinned the region's complex social and economic systems. Unlike the traditional view of hunter-gatherers as passive foragers, the Coast Salish were active managers of their environment, designing and building a system that could support a large population through environmental and economically sustainable practices.The abundance of salmon, clams, and other marine resources also enabled the Coast Salish to develop highly stratified societies. Social hierarchies were reinforced by cultural practices such as the potlatch, where surplus wealth was redistributed by elites in ceremonial gatherings that solidified their social status. As Grier points out, the ability to control key resource sites — such as salmon fishing locations — allowed some families to accumulate wealth and power. This led to a clear division between elites, commoners, and slaves.The behavioral ecology of the Coast Salish extended far beyond simple resource extraction, encompassing complex social and economic strategies that allowed them to thrive in a resource-rich environment. Through kinship-based alliances and trade networks, coastal tribes maintained social cohesion and managed environmental variability, including managing large swaths of inland crops. These resources gave coastal tribes a significant advantage over inland freshwater groups, leading to unequal trade exchanges and the subjugation of inland tribes.This dynamic of resource exploitation created internal socio-economic imbalances, as coastal elites reinforced their power and prestige through their dominance over resource-poor inland tribes. While this form of resource-based exploitation was characteristic of the Coast Salish, it foreshadowed the more rigid and racialized systems of chattel slavery that would later be imposed through European colonization, where individuals were commodified as property and permanently stripped of their freedom and rights.SETTLER SYSTEMS AND STOLEN SOVEREIGNTYThe arrival of European settlers in the Pacific Northwest, beginning in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, marked the beginning of a profound transformation in the social, economic, and environmental landscape of the region. As Cole Harris, a renowned historical geographer, details in his book The Resettlement of British Columbia: Essays on Colonialism and Geographical Change, European colonization imposed new systems of land ownership and resource extraction that displaced Indigenous peoples and fundamentally altered their relationship with the land.Harris's work focuses on how colonial forces reshaped the geography and socio-economic structures of Indigenous communities, leading to the dispossession of their traditional territories and resources. Harris's analysis of the colonization of British Columbia reveals how Indigenous resource management systems, which had been developed over millennia, were systematically dismantled and replaced by European notions of private property and capitalist resource exploitation.The Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest, including the Coast Salish, relied on communal access to resources, particularly salmon fishing grounds. Control over these resources was a crucial element of their social and political organization. However, as European settlers arrived, they imposed new territorial boundaries and claimed ownership over key resource areas, such as rivers and forests. The imposition of colonial land policies eroded Indigenous control over their traditional territories, leading to the displacement of Indigenous peoples from the most productive fishing sites and hunting grounds.Harris's work highlights the environmental degradation that came with European settlement. The introduction of intensive logging, fishing, and agricultural practices by settlers led to the over-exploitation of resources that had once been sustainably managed by Indigenous societies. Salmon populations, which had been the lifeblood of Coast Salish society, were drastically reduced by the construction of dams and the depletion of spawning habitats. The environmental changes wrought by European settlers not only disrupted the ecological balance of the region but also undermined the socio-economic systems that had sustained Indigenous peoples for generations.The loss of control over their lands and resources had profound social consequences for the Coast Salish and other Indigenous groups. As Harris notes, the colonial imposition of new economic systems — rooted in the extraction of natural resources for profit — displaced Indigenous peoples from their traditional economies and marginalized them within the emerging capitalist order. This dispossession of Indigenous lands and the environmental destruction that accompanied European settlement prophesied the global dynamics of resource exploitation that would come to define modern systems of trade and capitalism.GLOBAL GREED AND GEOGRAPHIC GRABThe dynamics of resource control and dispossession seen during European colonization are reflected in today's global economic systems. World-Systems Theory, developed by Immanuel Wallerstein, a prominent sociologist and economic historian, explains how wealthier core nations dominate peripheral regions by extracting their resources and labor. This global division of labor, where core nations exploit the natural resources and workforce of less developed regions, perpetuates global inequalities—a system rooted in colonial practices and still evident today.Trade agreements like NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement) highlight these core-periphery dynamics. NAFTA, implemented in 1994, aimed to increase trade between the U.S., Canada, and Mexico by reducing tariffs and promoting economic growth. However, the benefits were unevenly distributed, with the U.S. and Canada, as core nations, reaping most of the profits, while Mexico, a peripheral nation, became vulnerable to economic and environmental exploitation. This mirrors the power imbalances between coastal and inland Indigenous tribes, where coastal elites controlled key resources and exerted dominance over less powerful inland groups.NAFTA's impact on Mexico's agricultural sector illustrates this exploitation. Industrial agriculture, particularly in crops like corn and avocados for export, expanded under NAFTA. U.S. and Canadian corporations capitalized on Mexico's cheap labor and weak environmental regulations, resulting in significant environmental degradation. This includes soil depletion, overuse of water, deforestation, and pollution from pesticides and fertilizers. Large-scale farming operations prioritize profit over sustainability, depleting natural resources and harming local ecosystems.The environmental damage is compounded by severe social consequences. Small-scale Mexican farmers struggle to compete with the rise of large agribusinesses, leading to widespread displacement. Many are forced to abandon their land and migrate to urban areas or across the U.S. border in search of work. This displacement mirrors the historical marginalization of Indigenous peoples during European colonization, where resource loss left communities economically vulnerable and socially marginalized.NAFTA's exploitation of Mexico exemplifies the core-periphery dynamics described by Wallerstein. Core nations extract resources and labor from peripheral regions, reinforcing global inequalities. Mexico, economically marginalized within the global system, provides cheap labor and raw materials to wealthier nations while bearing the brunt of environmental and social costs.Much like Indigenous peoples displaced by European settlers, Mexico remains trapped in a global system of resource extraction and dependency, a legacy of exploitation that continues to shape the world today.The story of the Coast Salish and other Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest reminds us of how deeply we can connect to the land, each other, and the resources that sustain us. For millennia, these societies thrived by adapting to their surroundings, developing diverse ways to live in balance with the environment. Their ability to nurture the land and build lasting communities offers important lessons for the challenges we face today.As we confront climate change, inequality, and environmental collapse, these ancient strategies of cooperation and sustainability offer perspective. The Coast Salish thrived by embracing diversity—in localized resource management, relationship-based trade, and communities rooted in reciprocity. They show us it's possible to prosper without exploiting the earth or one another.Though exploitation existed in these societies, its legacy continues today. Resource monopolies and social hierarchies remain short-sighted responses to complex issues, with global profit-seeking leaving behind destruction — exhausted soils, polluted waters, and displaced people.Still, there is hope. Indigenous strategies — focused on coexistence and sustainability—prove that a different path is possible. We need to stop seeing the earth as something to conquer and start caring for it, as these early societies did. Their adaptability and long-term focus on communal survival offer valuable lessons.The core message is simple: survival is about finding balance — between people, communities, and the earth. By learning from these Indigenous societies, we can build a future that's not just sustainable but flourishing, where diversity is our strength and guide forward. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,We've entered fall here in the northern hemisphere, and you know what that means — pumpkin spice everything, cozy sweaters, and … economics! That's right, as the leaves change color (at least for those above 40°N latitude), it's the perfect time to explore how the changing seasons mirror shifts in human interaction, from the flow of resources to the balance of power and progress. This week, it's time to cozy up with Adam Smith, Jeremy Bentham, and James Watt —three names you probably didn't expect to find together, but trust me, they make quite the trio. So grab your favorite fall beverage and join me on a journey through the Industrial Revolution, steam engines, and the forgotten role of moral feedback loops in economics. Let's find out why balancing wealth and well-being is harder than finding a public restroom in an old university. PURGING THE URGE FOR SYMPATHYI needed to pee. More specifically, the stretch receptors in the walls of my bladder, which monitor the volume of urine inside, became activated. That sent sensory signals to the spinal cord and brain through my pelvic nerves. The pons in the brainstem (which includes a dedicated urination control center) processed this information in coordination with my prefrontal cortex, which allowed for conscious control over my decision to urinate.It was a Sunday, and the campus was dead. Lucky for me a door was open, so I ducked in and began my search for a potty. The hallway was musty and narrow. The walls were old, but not as old as the 250-year-old structure surrounding it. There was no immediately visible sign for a restroom, but there were numerous potential doors and directions for me to attempt. As I approached one of them, the industrial grade door magically opened before I could even touch it. I cautiously inched forward half wondering if it would lock behind me.Now inside another chamber further in the interior, I was met with another set of mysterious doors. I stepped inside another narrower hallway that twisted suddenly to a sign above another door that read WC. Whatever Potter-esque ghosts had guided me here clearly had sympathy. And so did my parasympathetic nervous system. It simultaneously signaled the detrusor muscle of my bladder wall to contract and my urethral sphincter to relax. I stood there in relief wondering if I could find my way out.I was visiting the University of Glasgow, hoping to learn more about its famous figures, especially Adam Smith, whom I see as an important moral philosopher rather than just the “father of economics.” A few days later in Edinburgh, I tortured my family by leading them on a search for his gravestone. I was pleased to find it acknowledged his The Theory of Moral Sentiments, where sympathy balances self-interest, as well as his more popular The Wealth of Nations. Unsurprisingly, the nearby tourist plaque focused only on Wealth of Nations, reflecting the emphasis on economics over his broader moral philosophy.Adam Smith's moral philosophy was central to his life's work, with The Theory of Moral Sentiments being his enduring focus, while The Wealth of Nations but a brief but significant interlude. For Smith, economics was not just about market mechanics, but deeply intertwined with human nature, ethics, and the broader pursuit of communal well-being. He was more concerned with the motivations behind human actions than with the technical details of market forces, which came to dominate modern economics. Smith believed that the drive for self-betterment was not solely about personal wealth but was intrinsically linked to the well-being of communities, where self-interest was balanced by sympathy for others.In Smith's view, economic actions should be guided by moral virtues, such as prudence and justice, ensuring that individual efforts to improve one's own life would ultimately contribute to the greater good of society. His exploration of economics was always part of a larger moral framework, where community engagement and ethical behavior were essential for both individual and societal progress. Today, this broader moral context is often overlooked, but for Smith, economics was inseparable from philosophical inquiry into human behavior. He emphasized how the improvement of human life goes far beyond just the accumulation of material wealth.MORALS MEET MARKET MANIPULATIONMany conservatives today may brush this interpretation as being too ‘woke'. Well, some eventually did back then too. As the British economy was expanding in Smith's later years, he spoke in favor of capping interest rates with usury law. Usury is defined as the practice of making unethical or immoral loans that unfairly enrich the lender, often involving excessive or abusive interest rates. He believed exorbitant rates could lead to preying on the disadvantaged during a time of need resulting in growing disadvantages to the larger community.Historically, many societies including ancient Christian, Jewish, Islamic, and Buddhist communities considered charging interest of any kind as wrong or illegal. Smith was rooted in elements of Christian morals, but critics claimed he was being hypocritical. They pointed to examples in his publications, often out of context, of where he suggested government can't know better than individuals about their own risks, costs, and benefits and thus should not meddle.But even in The Wealth of Nations Smith was clear about three conditions necessary for an effective economy and with each he paired moral values also found in The Theory of Moral Sentiments:* State-Justice: Smith argued, “Commerce and manufacturers…can seldom flourish long in any state which does not enjoy a regular administration of justice,” emphasizing the need for laws that ensure security and regulate excessive accumulation of wealth.* Market-Liberty: He valued the “liberty of trade…notwithstanding some restraints,” while warning that monopolies “hurt…the general interest of the country.”* Community-Benevolence: Rooted in moral sentiments, Smith believed in a shared commitment to community, where “many reputable rules…must have been laid down and approved of by common consent.”Smith's main usury critic was the philosopher Jeremy Bentham, known for developing the philosophy of utilitarianism. A letter written to Smith in 1787 stated:“Should it be my fortune to gain any advantage over you, it must be with weapons which you have taught me to wield, and with which you yourself have furnished me…I can see scarce any other way of convicting you of any error or oversight, than by judging you out of your own mouth.”Bentham is most famous for the idea of “maximizing the greatest happiness for the greatest number” which helped promote legal reforms and social progress including welfare, equal rights for women, the separation of church and state, and the decriminalization of homosexual acts. But his ultimate focus of utilitarianism was on the practical outcomes of policies going so far as to develop mathematical formulas, called felicific calculus, to determine how much pleasure or pain must be inflicted in society to achieve the most happiness for the greatest number.He was also a staunch economic expansionist, believing, as verified in his calculus, that it would expand good for most. It would be his student, John Stuart Mill, who expanded on but also critiqued Bentham's utilitarianism later in the mid 1800s.“I conceive Mr. Bentham's writings to have done and to be doing very serious evil. It is by such things that the more enthusiastic and generous minds are prejudiced against all his other speculations, and against the very attempt to make ethics and politics a subject of precise and philosophical thinking.”Mill too was an expansionist, but acknowledged utilitarian reasoning could be used to defend exploitive and immoral colonial practices, including slavery. Mill believed slavery "effectually brutifies the intellect" of both slave and the enslaver and condemned the notion that certain races were inherently inferior and required subjugation.Nevertheless, early colonizers and imperialists, as well as modern day neo-liberals weaponized elements of utilitarianism much like they did with The Wealth of Nations. They used (and continue to use) select elements to justify laissez-faire economics, deregulation, and the exploitation of labor, often prioritizing economic efficiency over moral considerations such as fairness and social equity.For example, Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan both used utilitarian logic believing their policies would maximize overall economic growth and prosperity, benefiting society as a whole, even at the expense of rising inequality and social welfare. Their consequentialist approach justified market-driven reforms for a perceived greater good. Given today's historic wealth imbalances, the result of that calculus is less than convincing.Bentham also failed to convince Smith in that fateful letter, but to many it marked a notable shift in economic thinking and philosophy. Smith passed away three years after his exchange with Bentham and theoretical mathematical utilitarianism became the ultimate measure of right and wrong in governance and ethics in the UK and the US. Smith's morality, which emphasized moral virtues guiding economic actions, lost out to consequentialisms focus solely on outcomes, often justifying exploitation and suffering if it maximized societal gain and economic expansion for the expansionists — despite John Stuart Mill's, and countless others, objections.ECONOMIC ENGINES IN MORAL MACHINESDuring Adam Smith's lifetime, the Industrial Age rapidly emerged, transforming economies and wealth structures. Technological advancements, like the steam engine, fueled industrial capitalism, driving unprecedented economic growth and wealth accumulation. This focus on efficiency relied on maximizing productivity, whether through steam-powered machines, the exploitation of enslaved people, the working poor, or the displacement of Indigenous populations, prioritizing economic gain over human well-being.In 1783, while Smith and Bentham were debating economic philosophy, James Watt was at the University of Glasgow, focused on regulating unchecked power —specifically the excessive speed of steam engines which he helped to invent. To prevent mechanical failures from fluctuating steam pressure, Watt invented the centrifugal governor. This device used weighted iron balls that spun outward with centrifugal force as the engine's speed increased, raising a spindle that adjusted a valve to control steam flow. By automatically reducing steam when the engine ran too fast and increasing it when it slowed, the governor ensured safe and efficient operation. Watt's invention, introduced in 1788, was in full production by 1790, paving the way for innovations like the first steam locomotive in 1804.Watt's governor symbolized the need to impose limits on unchecked mechanical power, ensuring the engine operated within safe and efficient parameters. This technological innovation mirrored a broader theme of the Industrial Revolution — the balance between harnessing new, powerful technologies for economic growth while recognizing the risks of unregulated force, whether in machines or the rapid, unrestrained accumulation of wealth and resources in society. Watt's governor was an early acknowledgment that unchecked power, whether mechanical or economic, could lead to instability and disaster."I am never content until I have constructed a mechanical model of the subject I am studying. If I succeed in making one, I understand. Otherwise, I do not." – Lord KelvinOur brains also act as a kind of governor on the unchecked power of our kidneys, just as moral feedback loops serve as a governor on unchecked economic ambition. Like the stretch receptors in our bladder sensing when fluid volume builds, moral reasoning, as Smith envisioned, detects the social and ethical consequences of unfettered economic expansion. These signals, akin to the centrifugal force moving the governor's spindle, prompt individuals and society to regulate their actions, guiding decisions based not only on self-interest but on moral duty.In contrast, Bentham's utilitarian calculus, much like a theoretical mathematical model divorced from natural systems, ignores these ethical feedback loops. By relying solely on abstract calculations of happiness and efficiency, Bentham's approach, like a machine operating without awareness of its environment, risks distorting human and social behaviors. Where Smith's model calls for moral constraints on economic behavior, much like the body's signals to prevent overstretching, Bentham's framework lacks the necessary human safeguards, leading to potential exploitation and imbalance in pursuit of theoretical utility maximization.I do wonder what our economic systems would look like if, like our bodies, they were designed to self-regulate, ensuring that the pursuit of wealth doesn't come at the expense of human well-being? Just as our bodily functions rely on natural feedback loops to maintain equilibrium, why have we allowed our economies to run unchecked, often leading to exploitation and inequality? Adam Smith believed in moral constraints on ambition, yet today, much of our economic thinking prioritizes growth without those safeguards.As walked off campus that day, I reflected on Watt's governor regulating the steam engine and the moral feedback loops Smith envisioned. I wondered if Smith and Watt made the metaphoric connection in their encounters with one another, maybe even on their way to relieve themselves in the very building in which I found myself. Perhaps they each happened on this connection in their own thought experiments, which makes me wonder why more don't today? Surely there's a morally sound way to balance personal gain with the greater good — a bit like public restrooms. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,My daughter has developed a keen interest in synthesizers. She has even created illustrated characters named Morg and Snorf, inspired by keyboard brands like Korg and Nord. Recently, she borrowed an old Korg synthesizer and has begun composing her own music during what she calls, “Korg time”. The evolution of electronic music has been remarkable since its inception, with even classical composers now embracing technology in their work. Notably, Ada Lovelace, one of the earliest computer programmers, foresaw in 1842 that computers would eventually be used for music composition — a prediction that has come to fruition.The blending of acoustic music and computer-generated sounds prompts me to reflect on how we shape our environment, which in turn shapes us. This interplay mirrors the story of evolution: nature nurturing nature ad infinitum. However, I wonder if technology as we know it today will ever truly integrate into the fabric of nature. Will we see human-like robots or robot-like humans? What if technology is already embedded within nature, and we are on the brink of learning to program it just as we would a computer?Let's find out…MAN OR MACHINE?“Are we not men?” This was a question presumably posed to and by members of the band DEVO who masquerade as part human and part machine. The answer by the humorous humanoids was “We are Devo!”. This question and answer became the title of their first album in August of 1978. It served as both a declaration of their band name, DEVO, but also as a rhetorical question that questioned humanity during the early rise of digital technology and its perceived, and actualized, dehumanization.DEVO is an abbreviation of the term de-evolution. The band's founding member, lead singer, and keyboardist, Mark Mothersbaugh had come across a 1924 pamphlet produced by Rev. B.H. Shadduck titled “Jocko-Homo Heavenbound” which critiqued, often humorously, Darwinian evolutionary theory.“Jocko-Homo” translates to Ape-Man which refers to human's evolution from apes. The critique is born out of teleology — the belief organisms are the design of a Christian god…and may be subject to evolutionary decay. Some claimed that by not adhering to the moral precepts of strict forms of Christianity, like dancing or drinking alcohol, that you could pass along devolving genes to your children. As a society, it could lead to a backwards slide of humanity, a devolution.As art students at Kent State, Mothersbaugh and co-founding member and friend Gerry Casale were mostly drawn to the satire and comedic illustrations in ‘Jocko-Homo'. But the book's premise came to the fore when they witnessed the killing of student war protesters in 1973. It made them wonder if perhaps humans really were devolving. After all, the Ohio National Guard had acted more like killing machines, not thinking or feeling humans. They seemingly failed to ask themselves, “Are we not men?”Mothersbaugh and Casale had already begun experimenting with guitar laden punk rock when Mothersbaugh saw Brian Eno perform a synthesizer solo with the band Roxy Music. He'd heard plenty of synth solos from other bands of the 1960s and 70s, but no one played it like Eno — bending and twisting electronic knobs and dials like guitarists and singers bend strings and larynx muscles. Eno sounded and dressed like he'd been transported from the future or another planet.Just a few years later, Brian Eno became the producer for DEVO's first album, “Q: Are we not men? A: We are Devo!”. The album included the song “Jock-Homo” which featured short bursts of monkey sounds Eno synchronized with the machine-like beat of the song. Much like acts of the time, like Roxy Music and David Bowie, DEVO leveraged stage theatrics to convey their message. Their performances featured matching futuristic outfits, often with their red signature energy dome hats. Their choreographed robotic movements reinforced a cyborg-like identity serving as a visual critique of modern society's mechanization.As AI and robots of today have captured the attention of a global society seemingly in decay, it may sound cliché to say, but they, and their contemporaries, were ahead of their time. While I don't believe we are devolving, I do think DEVO accurately portrays, both theoretically and practically, a blending of man and machine that may just be part of developmental evolution — though perhaps not exactly as Darwin had envisioned. Interestingly, DEVO could not have known their band name would become part of a branch of evolutionary biology, called Evo-Devo, or evolutionary developmental biology. That abbreviated term emerged in the early 1980s, perhaps inspired by DEVO.GEOGRAPHY GUIDES GROWTHEvo-Devo, which evolved from 19th-century embryology, explores how the development of an organism grows and matures from a single cell into a fully formed adult. It considers how cell division, their differentiated specialization for specific functions, the development of the resultant organism's shape, and body structures and organs shape evolution.Early thinkers like Karl Ernst von Baer and Ernst Haeckel recognized how species shared similar early developmental stages but then differentiated at later stages. The genetic underpinnings of this wouldn't be fully understood until much later. Darwin recognized these genetic developments as potential drivers of evolutionary change, but it took the Modern Synthesis of the 1930s — which focused on genetics and natural selection — to realize these ideas.By the 1970s, the discovery of mutation genes like Hox genes (which control the body plan of animals) reignited interest in the connection between development and evolution. This research demonstrated how small tweaks in developmental processes could lead to dramatic changes in form. In the 1990s, Evo-Devo solidified as a field, with researchers like Sean B. Carroll emphasizing gene regulation's critical role in shaping life's diversity.Today, Evo-Devo has expanded, embracing genomics and epigenetics to explain how organisms evolve through the complex interplay of genetic and environmental factors, reflecting a broader and more dynamic vision of evolution. In a sense, DEVO's fusion of human and machine echoes these evolutionary dynamics, where both biological and technological systems evolve through reconfiguration and integration, creating emergent complexity that Darwin could not have imagined.While Darwin spent years observing the interplay between biology and the physical environments of the Galápagos and beyond, he also could not have fully anticipated the extent to which physical forces directly influence biological development and shape natural selection.Physical forces play a crucial role in shaping the development of complex biological structures. Mechanical stress, for instance, influences how cells behave during growth and regeneration. Cells respond to tension and pressure in their environment through mechanotransduction — where physical signals are converted into biochemical ones — allowing tissues to adapt to their surroundings.This process is essential, for example, for the simple healing of a small cut to the complex formation of organs where precise force patterns ensure proper development. Similarly, physical stressors like fluid dynamics and gravity are critical in determining the structural features of organisms. In mollusks, for example, the formation of their shells is heavily influenced by the mechanical forces exerted by water currents and the mollusk's own movements. These physical inputs guide how calcium carbonate is deposited, shaping the unique curvature and strength of their shells. These examples highlight how environmental forces and biological development are deeply intertwined, driving evolutionary change through the interaction of physical and genetic processes.This view aligns with the work of researchers like Michael Levin, who propose that environmental cues, including bioelectric and biochemical signals, play a crucial role in guiding the development and behavior of organisms. Michael Levin is a pioneering figure in the field of developmental biology and regenerative medicine, where his groundbreaking work explores how organisms use bioelectric signals to guide growth, regeneration, and even behavior.His research has expanded our understanding of how cells communicate beyond traditional biochemical and genetic pathways, showing that electrical signals between cells play a critical role in shaping an organism's development. Levin, and his collaborators, has demonstrated how manipulating these bioelectric signals with computer programs, they can reprogram biological processes — enabling, for example, the regeneration of complex structures like limbs in animals.This represents a major shift in biology, as it challenges the conventional view that genetic blueprints alone dictate development, highlighting instead the role of bioelectricity as an under appreciated but vital component of life's regulatory networks. In other words, genes can be thought of as hardware and they communicate, collaborate, and compete through bioelectronic circuitry, or software.BLURRING BOUNDARIES, REDEFINING LIFEMichael Levin's research, and others, emphasize that biological systems — whether single cells or complex organisms — operate through networks of bioelectrical, biochemical, and biomechanical signals, processing information much like computers. Cells communicate and make decisions through these signals, allowing them to respond to their environments. In this way, living organisms already function as computational entities, capable of performing sophisticated tasks typically associated with artificial systems.Levin's vision extends into synthetic biology, where organisms might be engineered to function like programmable devices. By manipulating bioelectric and cellular signals, scientists could design organisms capable of performing specific tasks, responding to commands, or adapting their behavior, effectively merging biology with computation. This concept could, for example, blur the distinction between biological pets and programmable machines, imagining a future where living systems are fully customizable.This integration of biology and technology is further reflected in the development of soft robotics and biohybrid systems, where machines incorporate biological tissues for enhanced sensory and adaptive functions. Levin's work on bioelectricity supports the idea that these biological machines could operate through naturally occurring computational processes, challenging traditional distinctions between organic life and artificial intelligence.Clearly these developments raise profound ethical questions, and Levin is the first to say it. It poses many questions about the nature of intelligence, the potential for sentient machines, and the rights of biologically-based computing systems. But these developments could also help advance some of our most pressing health problems.Including in the brain. There's already a brain grown in a petri dish that can learn to play Pong. Called organoids, these are lab-grown, miniature models of human organs, developed from stem cells, can replicate structural and functional characteristics of actual organs.Brain organoids, in particular, mimic basic aspects of brain architecture and neural activity, allowing researchers to study development, disease, and neurological functions in controlled environments. These "brains in a dish" have advanced to the point where they can exhibit learning behaviors, like playing Pong.In this experiment, a brain organoid was connected to electrodes, which allowed it to interact with a simplified version of game. Over time, the organoid learned to play the game by modulating its neural activity in response to feedback from the game environment. This groundbreaking demonstration revealed the potential of organoids not only for studying brain function but also for creating neural systems capable of learning and adapting, pushing the boundaries of artificial intelligence and bioengineering.Such advancements highlight the possibilities of merging biological neural systems with computational tasks, a direction that may influence both neuroscience research and the future of AI. I wonder if DEVO ever imagined their man-machine themes and robotic humanoid movements would have emerged, in experimental form, in their lifetime.DEVO and their contemporaries didn't just create music; they engineered an evolutionary shift in sound that mirrored both cultural and biological processes. By blending analog instruments with emerging technologies like synthesizers and drum machines, their work reflected the modularity featured in Evo-Devo, where biological traits evolve through the recombination of existing genetic modules. Just as Evo-Devo shows how small adjustments in developmental pathways lead to novel evolutionary outcomes, DEVO's music was a synthesis of tradition and innovation, where new soundscapes emerged from reconfiguring the familiar all influenced by the culture and environment in which they exist. This creative evolution parallels biological processes, where complexity arises not linearly but through recursive adaptation and innovation often resulting in sudden unexpected leaps.Much like geography's dynamic role in shaping biological evolution, DEVO's sound was also shaped by external forces — cultural, technological, and industrial. In biology, physical environments like mountains, rivers, and urban landscapes impose selective pressures that drive adaptation, and similarly, DEVO's music arose at the intersection of human creativity and technological advancement. These external forces didn't serve merely as a backdrop but as active, reshaping elements, much like how geographic isolation on islands drives rapid speciation. The adaptability of organisms to urban environments mirrors how DEVO adapted the rigid precision of machines into organic, expressive art, blending the mechanical with the human, much like how species blend with their changing habitats.This fusion of man and machine is now emerging in the cutting-edge field of synthetic biology, where organisms are engineered to function like programmable devices. In the same way that DEVO's music blurred the lines between human creativity and machine precision, synthetic biology allows for living systems to be designed with programmable traits, merging the biological with the technological. Maybe Morg and Snorf will not just be 3D models on a 2D screen, but real bio-sythentic musical pets that invent and collaborate on music together — and with us.These biohybrid systems, where living organisms can perform tasks traditionally associated with machines, further illustrate the evolution of complexity through reconfiguration. Whether in music or existence, the distinctions between what is natural and what is artificial are growing more ambiguous, illustrating the continuous evolution driven by adaptation, creativity, and the interaction with outside forces. References: Fortner, Stephen. "Devo: The Masters of Subversive Synth Rock Return." Keyboard, 1 Sept. 2010, https://www.moredarkthanshark.org/eno_int_keyboard-sep10.html.Wanninger, Andreas, and Tim Wollesen. "The Evolution of Molluscs." Frontiers in Ecology and Evolution 6 (2018): 1-22. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6378612/.Conversation with ChatGPT on intersections between Evolution, Geography, and Biological Computing. September, 2024. https://chatgpt.com/. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,It's been awhile. I've been off getting our kids settled at college…including a transfer to Los Angeles. And I may have also been seduced by the lazy days of summer. After dropping our son in LA, my wife and I took some time to return to Santa Barbara where we first met. I was reminded of how uniquely beautiful that place is. It's also host to a unique collection of physical geography. And while it mostly enjoys a cool, calm environment, it can also endure bouts of destruction and renewal. A bit like all of us.Let's reflect, shall we…MIGRATIONS, MOUNTAINS, AND MEMORIESTraversing the globe dropping offspring is as old as humanity. As far as we know, early hominins like Homo erectus first stepped out of Africa two million years ago. The oldest human skeletal remains outside of Africa to date were found in Eurasia (now the country of Georgia) and are 1.8 million years old. These waves of migrations were likely driven by changes in climate, resources, societies, and technologies — the same factors driving migration today.Our oldest kin dispersed widely across Eurasia, reaching as far as Southeast Asia. Some may have even used primitive boats to navigate to and between islands. This all set the stage for later migrations of other hominins, including Homo sapiens, as they spread across globe over the next million years.I was reflecting on this on a hike my wife and I recently took in the foothills of Santa Barbara (where we had our first date 34 years ago!). The Santa Ynez Mountains were uplifted during the late Miocene (23.03 million years ago) to early Pliocene (2.58 million years ago) due to the tectonic interactions between the Pacific and North American plates. This exposed a complex layering of ancient marine and terrestrial sediments that were deposited over millions of years in a marine basin stretching from current day central valley of California to Northern Mexico.These sandstones, shale, and conglomerates are revealed along the trails, cliffs, ridges, and valleys we traversed, all formed by folding, faulting, and fanning of eroded debris. The mountains continue to be pushed upward at a rate of 1 to 4 millimeters per year due to the ongoing compression between the tectonic plates along the dynamic San Andreas Fault — the same fault that originally formed them millions of years ago.The Miocene epoch, with its warmer and more humid climate, supported dense forests of subtropical and temperate species in the Santa Ynez Mountains. As tectonic activity uplifted the region, new habitats emerged, setting the stage for diverse vegetation to develop. This period laid the groundwork for the ecosystems that would later evolve as the landscape continued to change.By the Pliocene, global cooling led to drier conditions, favoring the transition from these lush forests to the more arid-adapted plant communities found today. The chaparral, oak woodlands, and coastal sage scrub we hiked through are products of this shift. These plants adapted to the region's famous Mediterranean climate, characterized by hot, dry summers and mild, wet winters, and further shaped by the ongoing geological forces at work in the area.The resultant Santa Ynez Mountains significantly influence the weather patterns in Santa Barbara by acting as a barrier to the Pacific Ocean's marine air. Unlike much of the California coast, the Santa Barbara area faces south. During the summer, these south facing mountains trap the marine layer — a cool, moist air mass that forms over the ocean—leading to fog and low clouds along the coast. This marine layer helps keep temperatures in Santa Barbara cooler than in areas further inland, providing a mild and comfortable summer climate. Additionally, in winter, the mountains enhance orographic lift, causing moist air blown from the south to rise, cool, and condense, resulting in increased rainfall on the windward side of the range and benefiting the coastal regions. I recall one brisk winter morning in Santa Barbara in 1990 when frost appeared in the shadows on the roads and snow dusted the peaks of the Santa Ynez mountains.However, these mountains also create a rain shadow effect on their leeward side, where descending air becomes warmer and drier, leading to less precipitation. This topographical influence also contributes to the occurrence of sundowner winds—warm, dry winds that descend from the mountains into Santa Barbara. These winds can cause rapid temperature increases and lower humidity levels, sometimes creating critical fire weather conditions. My wife, then girlfriend, and I ran a 5k in 1991 that was overcome with smoke from fire stoked by these sundowner winds.BLAZE, BURST, AND BLOOMSimilar winds, Santa Ana winds, stoked a more and recent severe fire, the Thomas Fire, in 2017. These winds form east of the Sierra Nevada mountains over inland deserts and west towards the coast. Hot and dry winds channel through mountain passes and canyons, gaining speed as they descend across Southern California — and they can amplify even the smallest fire. The Thomas Fire was one of the largest wildfires in California history burning over 280,000 acres of wildlife and more than 1,000 buildings. Firefighters in Montecito, the northern-most destination, battled for days to save homes and lives.This left big chunks of the Montecito foothills charred. As crews worked to clear debris over the next month, the area was hit with a torrent of rain. While rainfall in Montecito was relatively minimal on the morning of January 9th, 2018, rainfall further up the mountain, enhanced by the mountain's orographic lift, was more severe. Residents were caught off guard as waves of water gained speed through canyons and creeks picking up charred debris and uprooting trees loosened by saturated soil.These post-fire debris flows, which included mud, rocks, and tree branches, reached heights of up to 15 feet speeding an estimated 20 miles per hour. The disaster resulted in 21 fatalities, two missing persons, and about 163 people hospitalized. Property damage exceeding $177 million, emergency response hit at least $7 million, and another $43 million was slated for cleanup and restoration.Six years later, hiking in these same hills, we saw evidence of county crews still restoring and re-shoring the foothills. We also saw evidence of plants re-emerging. Some of which are descendants of the same ancient plants that emerged in the Pliocene in the very same soil we were walking on. Hiking, and sometimes running, through the recovering foothills of Montecito, I was struck by how much this landscape mirrors a story of resilience that extends far beyond these hills and long before our time there. Over the previous two weeks my wife and I had crisscrossed the USA, east to NYC and west to LA, dropping our kids far away — modern migration with echoes of long ago, still alive still today. Like other humans that moved across vast distances, we and our kids are adapting to new environments and new stages in life. Just like the chaparral and black sage of these foothills.The plants that now re-emerge from the scorched and scarred earth are descendants of those that first appeared in the Pliocene. They use fire to propagate and regenerate in challenging terrain. Chaparral species, like black sage, evolved to thrive in this fire-prone environment. Fire-stimulated germination allows seeds to lye dormant until they're exposed to heat which triggers germination. Sprouts emerge from underground lignotubers, which are complex energy-storing structures that quickly regenerate new shoots — even amidst scorched soil. Serotiny, another adaptation, turns seed cones into popcorn like capsules that only open when exposed to fire's heat giving them a head start on invasive competition. These strategies enable chaparral plants to not only survive but to capitalize on the aftermath of wildfires and hillside scraping floods.In the charred and healing soil beneath our feet, I saw the enduring connection between past and present, nature and nurture — a reminder that our journeys, like those of the landscapes we inhabit, are shaped by the unyielding push and pull of time — of adaptation, and resilience. Just as the chaparral plants of the Santa Barbara foothills have evolved mechanisms to thrive after fire, our kids, too, will develop new strategies to adapt and flourish in their new environments. In the face of life's inevitable challenges, they will learn to not only survive but to rise stronger, just as the ancient mountains of Santa Barbara continue to do. All the while, the landscapes beneath our feet continue their unbroken cycle of destruction, renewal, and growth amidst ever evolving climates, resources, societies, and technologies. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Flying provides a great opportunity to catch up on books and podcasts, but it also brings feelings of guilt. My recent trip likely contributed about 136 hot air balloons' worth of CO2 to the atmosphere. Should I feel guilty, or should the responsibility lie with airlines, manufacturers, and oil companies? We all contribute to global warming, but at least our destination was experiencing an unusually cool July. However, globally, the situation is very different and worsening faster than expected. What's to be done? Let's dig in.CLIMATE CONUNDRUMS CONFOUND CALCULATIONSThere are two spots on the planet that are not affected by climate change, and I recently flew over one of them. It's a patch in the ocean just off the coast of Greenland that our plane happened to fly over on a family vacation to Scotland. The other is a small band around the Southern Ocean near Antarctica. I likely won't be visiting that one.I learned this on the plane listening to a podcast interview by the physicist Sean Carroll with climate scientist and Director of NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies, Gavin Schmidt. Gavin has been at the forefront of climate science, spearheading efforts to quantify Earth's climatic fluctuations, develop sophisticated models for projecting future climate scenarios, and effectively communicate these findings to the public and policymakers.In this discussion, they talked about the methods currently employed in climate research, while also offering insights into the anticipated climatic shifts and their potential impacts in the coming decades. Gavin is known for bridging gaps between complex science and accessible information. I'm writing this piece to bridge some of my own gaps.For example, there's often mention that climate change has created more extreme swings in temperature — that the weather is increasingly varying from extreme heat to extreme cold. In statistics, this is called variance. Some argue this variance may be hard for us to detect because temperatures have been shifting — a phenomenon known as shifting baseline syndrome.Gavin says there's more to this question than people realize. He notes that it is relatively straightforward to detect changes in the mean temperature because of the law of large numbers. Temperature varies across three dimensions - latitude, longitude, and altitude. We can calculate an average temperature for any two-dimensional slice of this 3D space, resulting in a single representative value for that area.This video is a conceptual simulation showing a 3D volume of temperature readings (warmer toward the ground and cool toward the sky). The 2D plane ‘slices' the cube averaging the values as it encounters them and colors itself accordingly. Source: Author using P5.js with much help from OpenAI.With enough data, it's clear that there has been a significant warming trend almost everywhere on Earth since the 1970s. Approximately 98% of the planet has experienced detectable warming, with a couple exceptions like the ones I mentioned.But determining changes in the variance or spread of temperatures is more complex. Calculating variance requires a comprehensive understanding of the entire distribution of data, which requires a larger dataset to achieve statistical confidence. Schmidt points out that while we have enough data to confirm that the distribution of temperatures has shifted (indicating a change in the mean), we do not yet have sufficient data to conclusively state that the variance has increased.Recent temperature spikes tell this story well. For the last decade or more, many climate scientists have been confident in predicting increased global mean temperatures by looking at past temperatures. The global mean has been predictably increasing within known variances. But in 2023 their confidence was shaken. He said,“Perhaps we get a little bit complacent. Perhaps we then say, 'Okay, well, you know, we know everything.' And for the last 10 years or so, [that's been] on the back of both those long-term trends, which we understand…”He goes on to explain that they've been able to adjust temperature predictions based on past trends and the cyclical variances of El Nino and La Nina. Scientists have boldly claimed,“'Okay, well, it's gonna be a little bit cooler. It's gonna be a little warmer, but the trends are gonna be up. You know, here's the chance of a new record temperature.' And for 10 years that worked out nicely until last year. Last year, it was a total bust, total bust like way outside any of the uncertainties that you would add into such a prediction.”How far outside of known uncertainties? He said,“…we were way off. And we still don't know why. And that's a little disquieting.” He added, “…we ended up with records at the end of last year, August, September, October, November, that were, like they were off the charts, but then they were off the charts in how much they were off the charts. So, they were breaking the records where they were breaking the records by a record-breaking amount as well. So that's record breaking squared, if you like, the second order record breaking. And we don't really have a good answer for that yet.”There is ongoing research into why and some have speculated, but none of them add up.For example, we're currently nearing a solar maximum in the sun's 11-year cycle which increases solar irradiance, but that small increase doesn't fully explain the observed changes. Other factors may be at play. For instance, there have been significant shifts in pollution levels in China, and the shipping industry has transitioned to cleaner fuels, which, as hoped, could be influencing climate patterns.However, Schmidt notes that the quantitative analysis of these factors hasn't yet matched the observed changes. Identifying potential contributors to climate variations is one thing, but precisely quantifying their impacts remains a challenge. Schmidt said climate and planetary scientists hope to convene in December to share and learn more, but the extreme shift remains concerning.CALCULATING CLIMATE'S COUNTLESS COMPONENTSThe amount of data required to model the climate is daunting. In a separate TED talk, Schmidt reveals that understanding climate change requires considering variables that span 14 orders of magnitude, from the microscopic level (e.g., aerosols) to the planetary scale (e.g., atmospheric circulation). These accordingly have their own orders of magnitude on a time scale, from milliseconds of chemical reactions to weather events over days or weeks to long term changes over millennia, like ice ages or long-term carbon cycles.Climate models must integrate processes across these scales to accurately simulate climate dynamics. Early models could only handle a few orders of magnitude, but modern models have significantly expanded this range, incorporating more detailed processes and interactions.Schmidt highlights that climate models reveal emergent properties—patterns that arise from the interactions of smaller-scale processes. For instance, no specific code dictates the formation of cyclones or the wiggles in ocean currents; these phenomena emerge naturally from the model's equations.But there is a staggering amount of data to model. And it all starts with the sun.The sun provides 99% of the Earth's energy, primarily in the visible spectrum, with components in the near-infrared and UV. This energy interacts with the atmosphere, which contains water vapor, greenhouse gases, ozone, clouds, and particles that absorb, reflect, or scatter light.The energy undergoes photolytic reactions. Photolytic reactions are chemical reactions that are initiated or driven by the absorption of light energy which breakdown molecules into smaller units. We couldn't breathe without it. The earth's ozone is decomposed into oxygen in the atmosphere through these reactions, which is initiated by sunlight — especially in the stratosphere. This too must be tracked as the Earth rotates, affecting sunlight exposure.Upon reaching the ground, some sunlight is reflected, by snow for example, or absorbed by oceans and land. This influences temperatures which is then radiated back as infrared energy. This process involves complex interactions with clouds, particles, and greenhouse gases, creating temperature gradients that drive winds and atmospheric motion. These dynamics further affect surface fluxes, water vapor, cloud formation, and associated chemistry, making the entire system highly intricate. And this doesn't even remotely begin to approach the complexity of it all.To simplify Schmidt says they capture what they can in a column roughly 25 kilometers high and wide to study the inherent physics. Most of which he says,“…is just vertical. So, the radiation you can think of as just being a vertical process, to very good order. Convection is also just a vertical process. So, there's a lot of things that you can do in the column that allows you to be quite efficient about how you solve the equations.”  Schmidt adds that “each column [can] sit on a different processor, and so you can do lots of things at the same time, and then they interact via the winds and the waves and those kinds of things.”He said most of the calculations come down to these two sets of equations: Euler and Navier-Stokes. Euler equations are a set of partial differential equations in fluid dynamics that describe the flow of non-viscous and fluids, absent heat exchange. Named after the Swiss mathematician and physicist Leonhard Euler in the 18th century, these simplify the analysis of fluid flow by neglecting viscosity and thermal conductivity, focusing instead on the conservation of mass, momentum, and energy.Navier-Stokes, named after the 19th century French civil engineer Claude-Louis Navier and the Irish physicist George Gabriel Stokes, is based on Euler's work but adds viscosity back into the equation. Schmidt says these equations are sometimes used to measure flows closer to the surface of the earth.This video is a conceptual simulation showing a 3D volume of vectors (randomly changing direction and magnitude) with particles entering the field of vectors. Each particle (e.g. dust, rain, aerosol) gets pushed in the direction of the vector each encounters. You can clearly see the emergent swarming behavior complex adaptive systems, like our atmosphere, can yield. Also present are the apparent challenges that come with measuring and predicting these outcomes. Source: Author using P5.js with much help from OpenAI.These complex computational models are inherently approximations. They are validated against observations but remain simplifications of reality. This inherent uncertainty is a critical aspect of climate science, emphasizing the need for continuous refinement and validation of models.And while human-induce climate change denialists like to say the climate models are wrong and not worth considering, Schmidt has a clever retort,“Models are not right or wrong; they are always wrong, but they are useful.”NAVIGATING NATURE'S NEW NORMALMany wish climate change predictions had the kind of certainty that comes with basic laws of physics. While there are indeed efforts in complexity science to identify such laws, we're still in the foothills of discovery on a steep climb to certainty.For example, to even achieve the current level of climate prediction took approximately 30 years of research, involving multiple methods, replication, and more sophisticated physical modeling. This led to accurate calibration techniques for the paleothermometers that measure ice cores which reveal temperatures from around the planet dating back three million years.While there is some empirical certainty in this — derived from the periodic table, fundamental laws of physics, or observed correlations from spatially dispersed ice core samples — recent extreme variations in global temperatures give reason to question this certainty. These relationships were based on spatial variations observable today, but failed to account for change over time, which behave very differently.Schmidt says, “…it turns out that the things that cause things to change in time are not the same things that cause them to change in space. And so empirical relationships that are derived from data that's available rather than the data that you need can indeed lead you astray.”It begs the question: how far astray are we?We know over the last one hundred years or so the planet has warmed roughly an average of 1.5 degrees Celsius. This is a number that has been contorted in the media to mean some kind of threshold after which “something” “might” happen. But Schmidt cautions there is no way to know when we hit this number, exactly, and it's not going to be obvious. Perhaps it already pushed passed this threshold, or it may not for another decade.He says, “we are going to continue to warm on the aggregates because we are continuing to put carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. Until we get effectively to net zero, so no more addition of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere, temperatures will continue to climb. The less we put in, the slower that will be. But effectively, our best estimate of when global warming will stop is when we get to net zero.”Getting to net zero involves significant and radical changes in energy production, industrial processes, and consumption patterns. Moreover, it will require an unprecedented comprehensive and coordinated worldwide effort across all sectors of the economy, institutions, and governments.This is true even for hypothetical and speculative climate engineering solutions like injecting sulfates into the atmosphere in attempts to cool the planet. According to Schmidt, not only would this require cooperation across borders, so long as we keep spewing emissions into the atmosphere, we'd be forever trying to cool the planet…for eternity or at least until we've exhausted all the planet's fossil fuels.It's hard to imagine this happening in my lifetime, if ever. After all, climate change is already disrupting and displacing entire populations and we're seeing governments, and their citizens, becoming increasingly selfish and isolationist, not collaborative.As Schmidt admits, “We're not on the optimum path. We're not on the path that will prevent further damage and prevent the need for further adaptation. So, we're going to have to be building climate resilience, we're going to have to be adapting, we're going to have to be mitigating, and you have to do all three. You can't adapt to an ever-getting-worse situation, it has to at some point stabilize.”Schmidt says he derives no joy in telling people “that the next decade is going to be warmer than the last decade and it was warmer than the decade before that.” He says, “It gives me no joy to tell people that, oh yeah, we're going to have another record-breaking year this year, next year, whenever. Because I'm not a sociopath. I'm a scientist, yes, but I'm also a person.”Schmidt's words resonate deeply, reminding us that behind the data and predictions are real people—scientists, citizens, and future generations—all grappling with the weight of our changing world. As we stand at this critical juncture, we're not just passive observers but active participants in Earth's unfolding story, a story that's leaving its mark on nearly every corner of our planet.The butterfly effect, as meteorologist Edward Lorenz proposed, isn't just about tornados in Texas being set off by a chain of events from the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil; it's a powerful metaphor for our collective impact. Each of us, in our daily choices and actions, creates ripples that extend far beyond our immediate sphere. In a world where only two small patches—one off Greenland's coast and another near Antarctica—remain untouched by climate change, our individual actions carry profound significance.The path to net zero isn't just about grand gestures or technological breakthroughs. It's about millions of small, intentional actions coalescing into a force powerful enough to alter our trajectory. As we face the challenges ahead, let's remember that our individual agency, when combined, has the potential to create tsunamis of change, even in places we may never visit ourselves.In the end, it's not just about preserving a habitable planet — it's about preserving our humanity, our connection to each other and to the Earth that sustains us. As we navigate this critical decade and beyond, let's carry with us the knowledge that every action, no matter how small, contributes to the larger narrative of our planet's future. We are all butterflies, and in a world where climate change-free zones are becoming as rare as a family vacation to Antarctica, our wings have never mattered more. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,I recently read an intriguing article about unexpected forms of life thriving deep within the Earth's crust. These discoveries are revitalizing environmental theories and processes that mainstream science has long tried to dismiss—yet I've been exploring them over the past few summers. While working outside, I realized that some of these processes are unfolding right under my nose...and possibly even inside it!On that note, this might sound a bit awkward, but...Let's dig in!WORLDWIDE WEATHERING WHISPERSI'm behind on my pressure washing. This can have detrimental effects here in the predominantly damp Northwest as moss spores, tiny lightweight travelers, are lifted and lofted by the wind's wings until they land on damp concrete. A new home for moss to roam.Upon contact, the spores absorb moisture and germinate, developing into a protonema — fine lines of sprawling verdant vines. As the structure crawls through the creviced concrete an anchored lace unfolds. Atop it grows a carpet of green and gold, down below tentacles grab hold.The rhizoid roots anchor mounding moss, absorbing food and water nature has tossed. As the concrete crumbles into nutrient stores, the soft moss blossoms with chromophores. Over time, atop the luscious mountains and rocky moistened pours, the wind releases more lofting spores.It turns out the contrasting boundary between soft squishy plants and hard concrete is as pronounced as the divisions between the disciplines of biology and geology. But advances in Earth System Science are starting blur these boundaries, as integrative science tends to do. Like moss softening concrete.My expansive moss colonies, part of the plant kingdom, house communities of tiny microorganisms like bacteria, fungi, and microscopic animals like rotifers and tardigrades. Many of these communities have symbiotic relationships with moss. For example, some bacteria promote moss growth through the production of the plant growth hormone auxin using specific enzymes in plant tissues.As the moss and its associated microbes grow and expand, they can penetrate small cracks or pores in the concrete, potentially widening them and exposing more surface area to weathering processes. This can be accelerated by certain bacteria and fungi that produce organic acids as metabolic byproducts. These acids can slowly dissolve or weaken calcium carbonate and other minerals found in concrete.The biogeochemistry contributing to rock weathering and sediment formation reveals the intricate connections between biological processes and geological phenomena. At massive space and time scales they can not only affect the meteorological conditions above ground, but also the layers of sediment below ground.In a recent New York Times piece, Ferris Jabr, author of “Becoming Earth: How Our Planet Came to Life” reveals how“Within the forest floor [of the Amazon rainforest], vast symbiotic networks of plant roots and filamentous fungi pull water from the soil into trunks, stems and leaves. As the nearly 400 billion trees in the Amazon drink their fill, they release excess moisture, saturating the air with 20 billion tons of water vapor each day. At the same time, plants of all kinds secrete salts and emit bouquets of pungent gaseous compounds. Mushrooms, dainty as paper parasols or squat as door­ knobs, exhale plumes of spores. The wind sweeps bacteria, pollen grains and bits of leaves and bark into the atmosphere. The wet breath of the forest — peppered with microscopic life and organic residues — creates conditions that are highly conducive to rain. With so much water vapor in the air and so many minute particles on which the water can condense, clouds quickly form. In a typical year, the Amazon generates around half of its own rainfall.”Below ground, he describes work by Earth scientist Robert Hazen and colleagues.“When Earth was young, microbes inhabiting the ocean crust were likely dissolving the basalt with acids and enzymes in order to obtain energy and nutrients, producing wet clay minerals. By lubricating the crust with those wet byproducts, the microbes may have accelerated the dissolution of both mantle and crust and their eventual transfiguration into new land. The geophysicists Dennis Höning and Tilman Spohn have published similar ideas.They point out that water trapped in subducting sediments escapes first, whereas water in the crust is typically expelled at greater depths. The thicker the sedimentary layer covering the crust, the more water makes it into the deep mantle, which ultimately enhances the production of granite.In Earth's earliest eons, micro-organisms and, later, fungi and plants dissolved and degraded rock at a rate much greater than what geological processes could accomplish on their own.In doing so, they would have increased the amount of sediment deposited in deep ocean trenches, thereby cloaking subducting plates of ocean crust in thicker protective layers, flushing more water into the mantle and ultimately contributing to the creation of new land.”LOVELOCKS LIVING LOOPSThis kind of Earth System Science has been given a name by one of first contributors, James Lovelock — geophysiology. Lovelock describes geophysiology as a systems approach to Earth sciences, viewing Earth as a self-regulating entity where biological, chemical, and physical processes interact to maintain conditions suitable for life. It integrates various scientific disciplines to understand and predict the behavior of Earth's systems, aiming to diagnose and prevent environmental issues by considering the planet as a cohesive, self-regulating system.This concept, rooted in Lovelock's initial Gaia hypothesis, emphasizes the feedback mechanisms that stabilize Earth's environment, akin to physiological processes in living organisms. Gaia is named after the primordial Greek goddess who personifies the Earth. This naming occurred in the context of Lovelock developing his ideas about Earth as a self-regulating system in the 1960s and early 1970s.Lovelock had been working on methods to detect life on Mars at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory, which led him to consider how life might be detected on a planetary scale. This work eventually evolved into his hypothesis about Earth functioning as a complex, self-regulating system maintained by the community of living organisms.As Lovelock was formulating these ideas, he was looking for a suitable name for his hypothesis. It was during this time that William Golding, Lovelock's neighbor and renowned author of "Lord of the Flies", suggested using the name "Gaia".In Greek mythology, Gaia is considered the ancestral mother of all life and one of the first beings to emerge from earliest chaotic stages of Earth's formation. She is often depicted as a maternal, nurturing figure who gave birth to the Titans, the Cyclopes, and other primordial deities. Gaia is associated with fertility, the earth's abundance, and the cycle of life and death.In ancient Greek religion, Gaia was worshipped as the Great Mother and was sometimes referred to as "Mother Earth." That title, and her influence, extends beyond Greek mythology, perpetuating the concept of Earth as a living, nurturing entity — a concept that has resonated in various cultures for Millenia.Elements of the Greek notion of Gaia likely have roots in earlier Middle Eastern knowledge.  Several ancient cultures had earth goddesses that predate or are contemporaneous with the Greek Gaia. For instance, in Mesopotamia, Sumerian mythology offers Ki is the earth goddess, and in Akkadian mythology, there is Ninhursag.It turns out “Mother Earth” birthed similar concepts all around her. Egypt had Isis, Anatolia (modern-day Turkey) had Cybele, India's Hinduism had Parvati and Durga, Pre-Columbian American cultures featured Pachamama, Celtic cultures had Danu and Brigid, while Norse mythology features Frigg and Freyja.In 1960's and 70's America, “Mother Nature” and “Gaia” emerged among some environmentalists as New Age mystical beliefs associated with alternative spiritualities. Lovelock's decision to use the word “Gaia” thus made him and his ideas a target among many Western trained scientists and his Earth system concepts endured harsh criticisms.It's worth mentioning that when Alexander Humboldt put forth similar ideas in his book "Cosmos" (first published in 1845), taking a holistic view of nature, exploring connections between various Earth systems and life forms, he was heralded as the greatest scientist of his time. Even Charles Darwin took a copy of Cosmos with him on his famous Beagle voyage. Humboldt, like Lovelock, uniquely and successfully integrated knowledge from diverse fields like astronomy, geology, biology, meteorology, and even art and literature.But the specialization, reductionism, and quantification of dominant Western science distanced itself from these holistic approaches viewing them as too spiritual and outdated. By the twentieth century, the growing New Age interpretation of Gaia often personified the Earth as a conscious, living entity, drawing on both Lovelock's scientific hypothesis and ancient mythological concepts. Many modern religions and philosophical concepts about the origin of life still incorporate anthropomorphic elements, such as the idea of a creator with human-like qualities or intentions.These mainstream images can lead to engrained tendencies to see humans and other living organisms as being born:* into a world as separate entities from the world they inhabit* onto a physical plane as a separate, tangible reality* unto which they individually acquire and consume energy to live and grow.This perspective sees living beings as somewhat separate from their environment, rather than as integral parts of a larger system. It's a view consistent with traditional Western science that emphasizes reductionist approaches, breaking systems down into component parts. But it contrasts with more holistic perspectives, such as those found in ecological theories like Geophysiology, other branches of Earth System Science, or Traditional Ecological Knowledge which see earth's components, including humans, as inseparable parts of their environments.This was confirmed at the 2001 Amsterdam Declaration, signed by the Chairs of the International Geosphere-Biosphere Program (IGBP), International Human Dimensions Program (IHDP), World Climate Research Program (WCRP) and DIVERSITAS at the 2001 ‘Challenges of a Changing Earth' conference. The declaration concluded:“The Earth System behaves as a single, self-regulating system comprised of physical, chemical, biological and human components, with complex interactions and feedbacks between the component parts.”Integrative Western scientists have now amassed enough data to recognize that living matter is born:* into a living, interconnected Earth system,* onto a dynamic web of relationships,* unto which we belong as integral participants, exchanging energy and matter in a continuous cycle of life and growth.In this view, my moss colonies and their microbial companions emerge as vital threads, weaving together the living and non-living elements of our planet. These intricate communities, from the tiniest bacteria to the visible expanse of moss, exemplify the self-regulating nature of Earth's systems that Lovelock envisioned.As they slowly transform concrete through their metabolic processes, they participate in the larger process of biogeochemical cycling. They influence not only my cinderblock walls and concrete surfaces, but they also contribute to the broader patterns of weathering, sedimentation, and even microclimate regulation.This interplay between the microscopic and the global, the biological and the geological, embodies the essence of Humboldt's and Lovelock's theory — a planet alive with interconnected processes, where every organism, no matter how small, plays a role in maintaining the delicate balance of life.In this living system, my moss and its microbiome, like me and the symbiotic communities of microorganisms in me and on me, are not mere passive inhabitants, but active agents in the ongoing story of Earth's evolution. Together we demonstrate the profound interconnectedness that defines our planet's unique capacity for self-regulation and adaptation.Now where's my pressure washer? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,We're fully into Summer in the Northern Hemisphere, and as the earth tilts toward the sun, Interplace tilts toward the environment. And what a crucial moment to do so. Just last week, the Supreme Court made sweeping decisions that could unravel over fifty years of environmental legislation, threatening to plunge us into chaos. This upheaval comes precisely when our world's natural boundaries desperately need regulatory stability and security to make any meaningful progress in combating global warming.Let's dig in…POLLEN, POLLUTING, AND POLITICSI recently returned from the Midwest visiting family. I like looking out of the airplane window at the various crop patterns from state to state. Trying to discern which state I was over; I was reminded of a corny Midwest joke.Why do Iowa corn stalks lean to the east? Because Illinois sucks and Nebraska blows. Folks in Illinois tell the same joke, but it's Ohio that sucks and Iowa that blows. You get the idea.The truth is the wind does commonly blow from west to east oblivious to state borders. It sends whatever it wants across the border — clouds, dust, seeds, pollen…pollution. And if there's money to be made, borders become porous or disappear altogether.Those rivalrous corn jokes mirror an economic reality. Bordering states all compete for federal subsidies and access to markets — mostly across international borders. Access to these markets can be impacted by corn pollen drifting from one state to another.With the widespread adoption of genetically modified (GMO) corn varieties, there's potential for contamination of non-GMO corn fields by pollen from GMO corn fields on state lines. One study suggest cross-pollination could be detected up to 600 feet away from the source, although counts dropped off rapidly beyond 150 feet.But the more pressing concern isn't pollen drift, but pollution drift. As part of the Clean Air Act, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has a “Good Neighbor” rule designed to reduce air pollution that crosses state lines. It requires "upwind" states to reduce emissions that affect air quality in "downwind" states which can cause significant health problems.Last week, on June 27, 2024, the Supreme Court's ruling in Ohio v. EPA temporarily blocked this rule.Fossil fuel companies and industry associations celebrated the decision as a win, viewing it as a check on the EPA's regulatory power. Meanwhile humans with a heart and lungs worry the decision leaves upwind states free to contribute to their neighbors' ozone problems for years.It's worth noting that this is a temporary stay, not a final ruling on the merits of the case. The legal challenge will continue in lower courts, with the possibility of oral arguments as soon as this fall. But this ruling can also be seen as part of a pattern of the Supreme Court's conservative majority expressing skepticism towards federal regulatory authority, especially in environmental matters.Take, for example, the ruling that came the very next day on June 28, 2024. The Supreme Court, in a 6-3 decision, curtailed EPA, and other executive agencies', power by overturning the Chevron v. Natural Resources Defense Council precedent. This shift endangers numerous regulations and transfers authority from the executive branch to Congress and the courts. Chevron has been a cornerstone in American law, cited in 70 Supreme Court and 17,000 lower court decisions.The case began with fishermen challenging two similar rulings, Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo and Relentless v. Department of Commerce. These involved a 1976 law requiring herring boats to carry federal observers to prevent overfishing. A 2020 regulation mandated boat owners to pay $700 daily for the observers. Fishermen from New Jersey and Rhode Island, supported by conservative groups opposing the "administrative state," sued, arguing the law didn't authorize the National Marine Fisheries Service to impose the fee.Adam Liptak of the New York Times reported the fisherman case was brought “by Cause of Action Institute, which says its mission is ‘to limit the power of the administrative state,' and the New Civil Liberties Alliance, which says it aims ‘to protect constitutional freedoms from violations from the administrative state.'” Liptak also reports these institutions are funded by Charles Koch, the climate change denying billionaire who has long supported conservative and libertarian causes.It's curious how the Environmental Protection Agency came from a conservative libertarian and the first most dishonest president in my lifetime, Richard Nixon. The EPA will likely be obliterated should the least trusted former president get reelected — Felonious Trump.GORSUCH'S GRIM GREEN GUTTINGI wrote about the formation of the EPA in July of 2021.

Hello Interactors, The lengthening northern days have unleashed verdant chaos in my yard and it's challenging my desire for order. Some unruly growth demands surrendering control, embracing life's rhizomatic entanglements — an invitation to honor multiplicity over singularity, relation over individuality, and emergence over stasis.Let's dig in…FERN FRENZY IN FULL FORCEThose skinny unattractive immigrants are invading. They're nudging their way through every nook and cranny stealing resources and opportunity from those already here. Before long, they'll be taking over the place. I'm talking about Leptinella squalida (Derived from the Greek "leptos" meaning slender and the Latin “squalid” meaning unattractive). That is the scientific name for a New Zealand native ground cover commonly referred to as ‘Brass buttons' and it's taking over my garden.Leptinella squalida is rhizomatous. It sends rootlike horizontal shallow subterranean stems — a rhizome — in a multitude of unpredictable directions. At various intervals in its journey, it progressively produces small nodules that send whisker roots below while sprouting shoots vertically to the surface to form miniature fern-like fronds — sometimes green and other times ‘brass' colored. Once a year it produces a yellow ‘button' blossom that can send seeds aloft leapfrogging the host to colonize another territory.I planted it in a shady moist area of my small backyard after ripping out a grass lawn. Liptinella squalida makes an even carpet that can withstand a fair bit of foot traffic, making it an attractive alternative to grass. Unfortunately, other plants can't withstand is aggressive propagation, starving them of light and nutrients. That's exactly what this exponentially expanding rhizome is doing to the slower growing, less aggressively sprawling Sedum rupestre 'Angelina' — a variety I also helped colonize from Western Europe.I suspect strict immigration laws should be applied to my little rambunctious rhizomatous island ferns. Last week I eradicated an entire section at the border with a shovel and then carefully extracted the spindly rhizomes from the starved roots and foliage of the ‘Angelina.' I'm contemplating building a subterranean Trump-like wall to resist the invaders. I may even perform widespread extirpation and dig it all up — especially given the primary section of Brass buttons have also been colonized. They are slowly being overtaken by another aggressive invasive species — clover.I didn't plan for this, but I did create the conditions for it to occur. In place of a grass lawn — which offers nothing to ecology in any shape or form — I planted a variety of low growing ground covers, sedums, and clumping ornamental grasses. Many of these ground covers have now intermingled. Some are more dominant in areas than others forming a diverse kaleidoscope of height, color, and texture. There's little strict cartesian geometric control I can apply to this tufted tapestry without hard physical barriers. And even then, their airborne spores can gleefully fly where the wind may carry them — oblivious to any tyrannical terrestrial territorial triangulations I may map in my head.Rhizomes are their own kind of experimental map. They randomly route with their roots. Their genes map the way as MicroRNAs modulate their sway. Meanwhile, subterranean phytohormones signal route initiation and elongation in a coordinated but random multi-directional, non-linear physical cartographic network.Rhizomic networks have no real beginning or end. They make connections in a non-hierarchical, decentralized way without a single origin or terminus. It is in a continual emergent state of being in the middle of having been made and becoming something new. There is no dualistic hierarchical parent/child branching that dominates Western mental images of hierarchical networks — like a family tree or even a real tree where a trunk sprouts limbs with branches that terminate with leaves. Rhizomatous networks defy rational Cartesian logic.I've been reflecting on the tension I'm experiencing as I wrestle and reason with my garden. On the one hand, I'm drawn to the top-down control of crafting a particular order and aesthetic as an amateur landscape architect. The same desire explains my affinity for urban and transportation planning and design…and I suppose my three decades of user interface design. I like attempts at bringing clarity to complexity.Modern urban planning tries to achieve the same thing. Urban planning has historically relied on hierarchical models characterized by centralized control and top-down implementation. These traditional approaches often use structural or generative frameworks to shape and represent urban spaces. Emphasizing coherence and order, urban planning typically adheres to mapped zoning regulations and legally controlled growth patterns. The focus is usually on achieving defined end-states or visions, imposing order through marginated space with bordered zones and predetermined paths dictated by urban transportation planning policies.The same can be said for the planning of countries and states. Colonial powers imposed structured urban plans to assert control and organize territories. Their maps, laws, police, and military impose order through variegated spaces at larger scales characterized by bordered zones and throughways. This reflects a continuity in the desire to manage and control urban growth and development of entire regions and even continents.FRICTION FORMS FLUID FRAMEWORKS The rhizome rejects arborescent structures, favoring non-linear, decentralized networks and connections, incompatible with traditional models. The French philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari's influential "A Thousand Plateaus" introduced the "rhizome" philosophical concept - a non-hierarchical, decentralized network characterized by multiplicity, heterogeneity, and non-linearity. Challenging Western metaphysics, it proposed rethinking reality as a dynamic, interconnected assemblage, embracing a rhizomorphic approach of continuous transformation and new connections over linear thinking.Insisting on mapping reality through open-ended experimentation rather than tracing existing structures, the concept embraces spontaneous ruptures forming new connections within emergent cultural networks resembling rhizomes. Having no beginning or end, existing in a constant state of becoming, it resists linear urban narratives and stagnant pure identities. Encouraging "lines of flight," the rhizome breaks from constraints of traditional thinking. The urban as a "smooth space" occupied by the rhizome contrasts sharply with hierarchies of Cartesian power and order.Human cultures also show evidence of embracing this mode of thinking. They too form new connections regardless of imaginary borders.  Jean-Loup Amselle is a French anthropologist known for his studies on African societies, cultural hybridization, and postcolonialism. He introduced the concept of "branchement" (branching) to describe the fluid and interconnected nature of cultures that remind me of what I'm witnessing in my back yard.Amselle's analysis of the N'ko movement in West Africa, which aimed to "debranch" the Manding culture from Arabic and European influences, offers parallels to the Palestinian context and others like Sudan and Ukraine.The Palestinian struggle for self-determination and cultural preservation resists perceived Israeli/Western dominance by asserting Palestinian identity and drawing on global solidarity networks. It shows how local struggles are part of broader global narratives surrounding identities and cultures. This conflict fuels identity-based movements reflecting Amselle's "identity wars" brought on by globalization and strict mapped borders. Amselle's framework rejects fixed identities, emphasizing the interconnections shaping Palestinian, Israeli, Jewish, and Arab identities. The concept of "branchement" highlights the complex entanglements of histories and global forces in the Palestinian conflict, challenging simplistic narratives of cultural purity and separation.The same desire for purity and separation is what led me to ponder border control in my own backyard. I'm even contemplating extermination. All because I saw friction at a border where one plant was not ‘plugging in' to the existing root network, but ‘debranching' another plants by taking over their lives and land.Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing is an anthropologist and professor at the University of California, Santa Cruz. She's known for her interdisciplinary work on globalization, ecology, and the Anthropocene, and for her acclaimed 2005 book "Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection,"She writes, "Cultures are continually co-produced in the interaction I call 'friction': the awkward, unequal, unstable, and creative qualities of interconnection across difference."Tsing argues that global connections and universalizing projects like dominant forms of Western capitalism, science, and politics do not spread seamlessly but encounter friction and resistance when they engage with specific localities and cultures. These interactions produce new articulations and connections that challenge the universalizing claims of global forces. This, like Amselle, emphasizes the entanglement and co-production of cultures through these encounters.These "zones of awkward engagement" or "cultural friction" are sites where universals collide with particular situations, producing unexpected outcomes and articulations. That's what I witnessed between my “brass buttons” and “Angelina”.“Zones of awkward engagement” and “cultural friction” exist at a city level too as immigrant populations integrate (“plug in” or branch) into established neighborhoods. This can create “cultural friction” as neighborhoods become “zones of awkward engagement”. Zoning and racial or socio-economic redlining are attempts at legal, cartographic, and cultural purity and separation that create awkward zones of friction.But Tsing highlights the importance of collaborations and coalitions that emerge from these zones of awkward engagement. She says, "Despite imperial standards for civil society, I have wandered into coalitions built on awkwardly linked incompatibilities." These collaborations create new interests and ways of being, challenging the singularity of global forces and enabling practices of collaborative knowing and working.PLANETARY PATHS, RHIZOME ROUTESI'm starting to see that local urban frictions, be they down the street or in the streets of Cairo, Chicago, Caraco, or Cape Town, are complex entanglements of histories and global forces. They branch like rhizomes in local frictions of awkward engagement, but also branch to entire other parts of the world. My backyard is a reflection of this. I created a ‘branchement' by planting plants native to vastly separated parts of the globe — New Zealand and Western Europe.Neil Brenner is a critical urban theorist at the University of Chicago and Christian Schmid is a sociologist and urban researcher at ETH Zurich. They're known for the influential concept of "planetary urbanization." They claim urbanization processes today are no longer confined to the traditional boundaries of cities, but rather extend across the entire planetary surface.They argue the classic "city-centric" view is inadequate to capture the multiscalar and multiterritorial dynamics of contemporary urbanization.Instead, they propose that urbanization today is a planetary phenomenon that cuts across the urban/rural divide and transcends the boundaries of individual cities or metropolitan regions. Urbanization unfolds through the constant production, transformation, and operation of socio-spatial configurations at multiple geographic scales, from the body to the globe.This includes the urbanization of seemingly "non-urban" zones like oceans, deserts, and wilderness areas being operationalized and transformed through various urbanization processes. While cities remain vital arenas for urbanization processes, they are embedded within and co-constituted by broader planetary urbanization dynamics that extend far beyond their boundaries. They argue urban theory must move beyond the city as its primary unit of analysis and develop new frameworks, methodologies, and cartographies to grasp the multiscalar and multiterritorial nature of planetary urbanization.This starts by recognizing the rhizomatic interconnections and interdependencies shaping urbanization at various scales, from local to global, and the diverse socio-spatial configurations and infrastructures that form the "urbanization fabric" across the planet. They argue that the "urban" is no longer a bounded condition but a generalized, planetary condition of socio-spatial transformation.The rhizomatic approach emphasizes non-linear and decentralized networks. It offers a valuable framework for urban planning, ecological management, and cultural integration. And even my garden. Just as Leptinella squalida defies linear control in my garden, urban spaces and cultural landscapes resist traditional hierarchical planning. This perspective promotes adaptability and inclusivity, fostering environments that evolve organically and embrace multiplicity and spontaneous connections. They reject unfair dominance or ‘debranching' or mechanisms by which dominant cultures or systems attempt to appropriate, assimilate, or subjugate other cultures or elements within their sphere of influence.Deleuze and Guattari's rhizome and plateau concepts critique cultural dominance and embrace multiplicity, diversity, and coexistence without imposing dominant structures. Applying these ideas to urban integration highlights the potential for hybrid solutions and collaborative networks that recognize fluid identities and dynamic cultural interactions. Amselle's "branchement" and Tsing's "cultural friction" emphasize productive tensions from encounters, challenging narratives of purity.Randomly routing rhizomatous roots, their genes mapping the way, are like the informal settlements and migrant networks. Their sways are modulated by global flows of capital with labor signaling route initiation and elongation in random multi-directional, non-linear physical and virtual networks that reject cartographic convention. Ultimately, this rhizomatic approach aligns with Neil Brenner and Christian Schmid's concept of planetary urbanization by acknowledging the interconnected and multiscalar nature of urban and cultural processes. It calls for new frameworks to understand and address the complex socio-spatial transformations shaping our world. How do we move beyond hierarchical, top-down models that use structural frameworks to shape urban spaces through regulated mapped zones, centralized control, and predetermined paths?Instead of aiming to impose order and coherence by striving to achieve defined end-state visions of bordered, marginated spaces, how might we embrace the interconnected rhizomatous roots and vines of the global urban interlacement — without one crowding out another? Maybe it's time we accept the woven flows of cultures, resources, and infrastructures of the past — and the ever-emerging present middle of rhizomatous networks — made from interplace, the interactions of people and place. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,In an era where Western leaders craft policies that oscillate between harsh border controls and selective humanitarian aid, our understanding risks being clouded by data-centric approaches. Through the lens of critical cartography, we see how enhanced data collection can reduce displaced individuals to mere numbers, obscuring their complex human stories behind cold statistics. Insights into the disorienting effects of domineering multinational capitalism further illuminate how these data practices, though aimed at clarity, often mask the real experiences and struggles of those displaced. I explore some contradictions in these policies—how they promise to protect yet perpetuate power imbalances, offering a guise of support while fundamentally failing to address the root causes of displacement.Let's go…DISORIENTED BY DOMINANCEThe Dutch government recently took a giant political step to the right. Some say this is as far right as a democratically elected Dutch government has ever been. It's probably the most intolerant since Hitler installed a Nazi occupation regime from 1940-1945 implementing racist policies which persecuted not just Jews but other minorities as well.The Dutch government leaned right as recent as 2010-2012, when the right-wing politician Geert Wilders was Prime Minister. Wilders is now back in office, though not as Prime Minister, and has formed a coalition government seeking to implement racist immigration policies that echo an ugly past.In one of his campaign speeches he said he desires a strict and harsh Netherlands where "people in Africa and the Middle East will start thinking they might be better off elsewhere".Wilders joins the ranks of intolerant European populists like Le Pen of France, Meloni of Italy, and Hungary's Orban, using anti-immigrant and racist rhetoric as rallying cries. Meanwhile, here in the Americas, Biden and Mexico's López Obrador have deported tens of thousands of migrants to Mexico despite known risks of kidnapping, extortion, and assault. Biden has been silent on the matter while López Obrador erodes democratic institutions by undermining judicial independence, demonizing critics, and shielding the military from accountability for abuses.The EU practices its own repressive transactional diplomacy to evade human rights duties to asylum seekers and migrants — especially from Africa and the Middle East. While numbers fluctuated, there has been a significant overall increase in asylum seeker rates into EU countries since 2010 when Wilders first came to power. That surge was driven by conflicts like the Syrian war, which Western governments were complicit in intensifying, and broader regional instability — including detrimental environmental effects due to climate change.The Syrian conflict triggered a surge in asylum applications to EU countries, peaking at over 1.2 million annually in 2015 and 2016. Following a dip between 2017 and 2020, applications rebounded to 962,160 in 2022, a 20% increase from 2021, with Germany receiving the most (243,800), followed by France, Spain, Austria, and Italy. From 2010 to 2022, EU asylum applications rose from approximately 259,000 to over 962,000, a near fourfold increase. The primary asylum seekers in 2022 were from Syria, Afghanistan, Turkey, Venezuela, and Colombia.It's curious how fear of immigration coincides with declining EU fertility rates. The average number of children per woman in the EU was 1.46 live births in 2022, well below the rate of 2.1 needed to maintain population levels without migration.It could be these politicians, and the populist rhetoric they spew, are suffering from a kind of globalist vertigo. As political theorist and Director of the Institute for Critical Theory at Duke University, Frederic Jameson puts it, “a profound sense of disorientation and inability to cognitively map their position within the larger global system of economic and social relations.”As a Marxist, he pins this dilemma on “the immense complexity and abstraction of multinational capitalism.” A primary historical feature of global capitalism is indeed to offload deleterious effects of human labor exploitation and natural resource extraction to regions far from those privileged enough to enjoy the prosperity capitalism can yield. Pushing unwanted labor and development elsewhere is a kind of global “Not-In-My-Back-Yard.” Out of sight, out of mind.This geographical and cultural distance mirrors the historical migration of freed slaves to the industrial North after the U.S. Civil War. Much like today, these migrants and their descendants faced (and continue to face) a starkly different world of affluence and encountering significant social and economic challenges. History illustrates how geographical and cultural distances can hinder societal understanding and integration, especially when newcomers seek better lives in regions of prosperity.When those ‘distant others' appear at the regional doorstep of relative opulence seeking a better life, it can be uncomfortable and disorienting to those who prefer to keep them ‘distant'. In the words of Jameson, it “transcends the individual's limited experiential sphere.” What may be even harder to imagine is the 'experiential sphere' most of these people inhabit or inhabited. Much attention is given to asylum seekers beyond their own borders, but most of those ‘distant others' are forced or choose to stay within, or nearby, their own regions.A DISPLACEMENT DILEMMA MAPPING THE MASSESThe Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre's latest report reveals an unprecedented 75.9 million people were internally displaced across 116 countries in 2023, a significant increase from 71.1 million the previous year, driven primarily by escalating conflicts, violence, and disasters in various regions.In terms of conflict and violence, the report notes a record high of 68.3 million internally displaced persons (IDPs), with the most affected regions being Sudan, Syria, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Colombia, and Yemen. These countries alone host nearly half of the world's IDPs. The report discusses specific conflicts such as those in Sudan and Palestine, which have led to massive displacement figures due to escalated violence.Regarding disaster-induced displacement, the report records 7.7 million IDPs attributed to disasters by the end of 2023. It mentions that disasters triggered 26.4 million new displacements in 2023, with significant events occurring in China and Turkey due to severe weather events and earthquakes. The shift from La Niña to El Niño has altered global disaster displacement patterns, particularly affecting the number of people displaced by storms and floods across various regions.The 'experiential sphere' is unique as displacement contexts vary in different parts of the world. Sub-Saharan Africa, heavily impacted by both conflicts and natural disasters, remains the most affected region, with increasing frequency and severity of these events. The Middle East and North Africa experienced more displacements, notably from the conflict in Palestine and disasters like earthquakes and floods. Europe and Central Asia saw a significant rise in disaster-related displacements, primarily from earthquakes in Turkey and other natural events, while the conflict between Russia and Ukraine dominated conflict-related displacements. East Asia and the Pacific had the highest global disaster displacements in 2023, with ongoing conflicts like Myanmar exacerbating the situation. South Asia, particularly Afghanistan, faced substantial displacements from both conflicts and natural disasters, with significant impacts on women and girls, highlighting the continuing challenges in the region.The IDMC report emphasizes the complexity of displacement, where many individuals face multiple displacements due to recurring or simultaneous occurrences of conflict and disasters. It highlights the need for durable solutions and calls for improved data collection to better address needs and facilitate more effective response and recovery efforts. The report concludes with a call for increased visibility and support for IDPs to ensure more sustainable solutions to displacement, stressing the critical role of international cooperation and national governance in mitigating the impact of displacement.Through a critical cartography lens the call for enhanced data collection risks reducing displaced people to mere data points, stripping them of their individuality and complexities. This data-centric approach, while valuable in assessing the scale and magnitude of suffering (including for essays like this), can lead to surveillance and control, masking the human experience behind numbers and charts.Frederic Jameson's critique of the modern world's disorientation in the face of the negative effects of multinational capitalism also reflects how such data practices might obscure the truth more than illuminate. Jameson might contend that these efforts, while well-intentioned, still fail to construct an accurate mental map of those displaced. Without being on the ground with them, technologies like remote sensing, GIS, mapping, and imaging alone can't represent an experience that can be cruelly embedded within larger socio-economic systems that contribute to their plight. Instead of offering clarity, the accumulation of data might reinforce the power imbalances between those with power and money and those without.GLOBAL GOVERNANCE: GUIDING OR GOVERNING?The push for international cooperation and governance, as advocated in the IDMC report, could be seen as a continuation of Western dominance under the guise of humanitarian aid. This can perpetuate a form of moral superiority, fostering dependency rather than empowerment, and embodying cultural imperialism that imposes Western values on diverse cultures.Such humanitarian efforts are frequently designed to align more with the interests and visions of donors from those in wealthier countries, rather than addressing the actual needs of communities in poorer countries and regions. Furthermore, these aid practices can economically benefit the donor countries more than the recipients, sometimes tying aid to the purchase of goods and services from the donor country or using it as leverage to open markets in recipient countries.The portrayal of aid in media typically emphasizes the generosity and heroism of donors while depicting recipients as passive and helpless. This only further distorts and perverts the complex socio-economic dynamics while undermining the agency of local communities.These structures often propose top-down solutions that do not align with the needs or the agency of the displaced. They perpetuate a cycle where the root causes of displacement—often tied to the actions and policies of powerful nations—are inadequately addressed. This critique aligns with Jameson's observation of a global system where the affluent West remains disconnected from the repercussions of its policies on ‘distant others', who are left to navigate the dire consequences of conflicts and climate change that are disproportionately caused by those in distant lands of prosperity.It seems the challenges of addressing global displacement are not merely logistical or political but deeply ideological. What's needed is a fundamental shift in how data is perceived and used and how international cooperation is structured, executed, and monitored. Only through transformative approaches can we hope to genuinely address the root causes and complex realities of displacement, ensuring solutions that are both just and effective.Geert Wilders' resurgence signals a concerning trend where Western leaders adopt harsh anti-immigration and asylum policies, paradoxically coupled with a 'white savior complex' towards displaced people within their borders. They assert repressive border control, blocking humanitarian aid while projecting a narrative of benevolence through selective aid packages to 'distant others'. Ironically, their military interventions, sanctions, and outsized climate change contributions exacerbate displacement crises, yet they deny resultant asylum seekers protection, claiming to 'save' their nations from this self-inflicted burden. Leaders across the spectrum from Biden to Wilders promote a narrative of moral superiority by mapping and surveilling the very displacement their policies precipitate.This dual approach lays bare a profound hypocrisy at the heart of the Western response to global migration and displacement crises. It illustrates a cavernous disconnect between the root causes we perpetuate and the public stances of moral righteousness we profess on asylum and humanitarian issues.In confronting this contradiction, we are called to a deeper reckoning — to evolve beyond paternalistic narratives and embrace an ethics of humility, context, and care. True progress demands forging genuine partnerships that respect local cultures, knowledge systems and self-determined priorities. It compels us to support sustainable, community-led development rather than perpetuating cycles of upheaval through military adventurism and plundering the planet's resources. Only through such a reorientation — by taking full accountability for our complicity while deferring to the resilience and wisdom of those we have displaced — can we hope to transcend the white savior paradigm. In its place, we must cultivate an ethos of global solidarity, one which honors our shared humanity and the inherent dignity of all people, regardless of borders. For it is in this spirit of radical empathy that the path to lasting justice and healing can be found. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Biden's recent reflective quip got me thinking about how European colonial doctrines like the "Doctrine of Discovery" and the "civilizing mission," continue to justify the dominance over Indigenous peoples, including those in Papua New Guinea. These lingering narratives not only influence contemporary struggles for self-determination, they also impact global politics and economic globalism. Join me as I unpack the complex interplay of decolonization, sovereignty, and the roles international actors, and their maps, play(ed) in shaping these dynamics.Let's go…MAPS MARK MYTHSBiden recently suggested his uncle was eaten by "cannibals". Reflecting on World War II war veterans, he said, "He got shot down in New Guinea, and they never found the body because there used to be — there were a lot of cannibals, for real, in that part of New Guinea."Military records show that his uncle's plane crashed off the coast of New Guinea for reasons unknown and his remains were never recovered.Papua New Guinea's (PNG) Prime Minister James Marape didn't take kindly to Biden's remarks, stating that "President Biden's remarks may have been a slip of the tongue; however, my country does not deserve to be labeled as such." Marape reminded Biden that Papua New Guinea was an unwilling participant in World War II. He urged the U.S. to help locate and recover the remains of American servicemen still scattered across the country.President Biden is a victim of depictions of "cannibals" in Papua New Guinea that are part of a deeply problematic colonial and post-colonial narrative still debated among anthropologists. These often exaggerated or fabricated historical portrayals of Indigenous peoples as "savage" or "primitive" were used to justify colonial domination and the imposition of Western control under the guise of bringing "civilization" to these societies.During the age of exploration and colonial expansion, European explorers and colonists frequently labeled various Indigenous groups around the world as “cannibals.” These claims proliferated in PNG by early explorers, missionaries, and colonial administrators to shock audiences and underscore the perceived necessity of the "civilizing mission" — a form of expansionist propaganda.European colonial maps like these served as vital weapons. They defined and controlled space to legitimize territorial claims and the governance of their occupants. In the late 19th century, German commercial interests led by the German New Guinea Company, expanded into the Pacific, annexing northeastern New Guinea and nearby islands as Kaiser-Wilhelmsland. In response, Britain established control over southern New Guinea, later transferring it to Australia. After World War I, Australia captured the remaining German territories, which the League of Nations mandated it to govern as the Territory of New Guinea. Following World War II, the two territories, under UN trusteeship, moved towards unification as the Independent State of Papua New Guinea in 1975.Today, Papua New Guinea is central to Pacific geopolitics, especially with China's growing influence through efforts like the Belt and Road initiative. This is impacting regional dynamics and power relationships involving major nations like Australia, the US, and China resulting in challenges related to debt, environmental concerns, and shifts in power balances. The Porgera gold mine, now managed by a joint venture with majority PNG stakeholders, had been halted in 2020 due to human rights and environmental violations but is resuming under new management. While the extractive industries are largely foreign-owned, the government is trying to shift the revenue balance toward local ownership and lure investors away from exploitative practices. Meanwhile, Indigenous tribes remain critical of the government's complicity in the social, environmental, and economic disruption caused by centuries of capitalism and foreign intrusion.SUPREMACY SUBVERTS SOVEREIGNTYEarly Western explorers used a Christian religious rationale, rooted in the "Doctrine of Discovery" and the "civilizing mission" concept, to justify the subjugation and "taming" of Indigenous peoples in lands like Papua New Guinea. This doctrine deemed non-Christian peoples as lacking rights to their land and sovereignty, positioning European powers as having a divine mandate to take control.The "civilizing mission" substantiated a European moral and religious obligation to convert Indigenous populations to Christianity, underpinned by a profound sense of racial and cultural superiority. Terms like "savages," "beasts," and "cannibals" were used to dehumanize Indigenous peoples and justify their harsh treatment, with the belief that this would elevate them from their perceived primitive state and save their souls, legitimizing the colonization process and stripping them of autonomy.Indigenous peoples around the world continue to fight for their autonomy and right to self-determination. Papua New Guinea's path to self-determination has been fraught with the complexities of defining "peoples" and their rights to form a sovereign state. The concepts of state sovereignty and the rights of Indigenous peoples, particularly in the context of decolonization, were significantly influenced by international leaders like Woodrow Wilson. (for more on how the U.S. was instrumental in drawing the boundaries for Ukraine and other European states, check out my 2022 post on how maps are make to persuade

Hello Interactors,The horrific acts of violence in Palestine have prompted acts of violence on university campuses around the world. This post is about one thing they have in common — maps. Maps legally define territory, the rights of those who occupy it, and the rights of those in power to silence them, displace them, or ‘invisible' them. A pattern we also see with America's unhoused.Let me try to map this out…CAMPUS CONFRONTATIONS ECHOCiting "clear and present danger," Columbia University recently called for the New York Police to intervene. On April 18th, students had set up tents on a small patch of grass on campus — a form of protest calling for the university to divest from Israel due to the violence in Palestine. Despite the peaceful nature of the protest, the President of the school claimed their presence was menacing and that they were trespassing. Evidently, parts of campus are closed to students during certain hours. The incident resulted in the arrest of 108 students. But many returned and were joined by more upon their release.Nearly a week passed before House Speaker Mike Johnson called on the school's President to resign if she can't suppress the war protests at her school. He went on to threaten federal funding for colleges that he sees are creating unsafe environments for Jewish students. Many equate opposition to the state of Israel as opposition of Jewish people.Meanwhile, the Jewish Voice for Peace is claiming the university is making it unsafe for both Jewish and non-Jewish students in their actions. Of the 85 students suspended for protesting the actions of the Israeli state, 15 are Jewish. The Jewish Voice for Peace writes,“Yesterday's statement by the White House, like the administrators of Columbia University, dangerously and inaccurately presumes that all Jewish students support the Israeli government's genocide of Palestinians. This assumption is actively harming Palestinian and Jewish students.”Restrictions on student rights have also led to Jewish students being obstructed from observing their religious events and blocking access to their Jewish community.Columbia University, named after Christopher Columbus and echoing his legacy of exploration and exploitation, has experienced similar conflicts before. In 1968, protests erupted over the university's plan to build a segregated gym, viewed as oppressive by Harlem residents. There was also significant discontent with Columbia's involvement with the Institute for Defense Analyses (IDA), a center providing support to the U.S. Department of Defense during the Vietnam War.Columbia's recent protests spawned more across the country. The National Guard have been called to many campuses to sweep protesters away echoing the deadly protests at Kent State 54 years ago. Or Yale in 1986 when police extracted a student who had erected a replica structure found in South Africa's shantytowns protesting apartheid. One student protester said at the time, “We find the Administrations actions highly ironic in light of the continuing efforts of the South African Government to remove the squatter committees with which our shanties expressed solidarity.” In defense of the school, a spokesman said of the protesters, “No group is permitted to have a monopoly on the space.”No group except, perhaps, the administration.These university confrontations are part of a larger pattern of forceful takeovers and displacement evident in various forms, including the routine 'sweeps' of homeless encampments in cities across America. These sweeps often involve the removal of homeless individuals from public or private spaces, displacing them without providing long-term solutions to homelessness. Critics argue that such actions not only fail to address the underlying issues of poverty and housing insecurity but also perpetuate a cycle of displacement and marginalization.Similar critiques are leveled against these universities who in many cases have been pressured by powerful donors and alumni to silence voices speaking out against the ongoing violence in Palestine. A pattern consistent with conservative efforts to squelch diversity, equity, and inclusion programs and the teaching of alternative views of history and race. Such actions also serve to perpetuate, and propagate, cycles of protest against oppression.This practice highlights how power dynamics continue to affect those with less power. From students choosing to sleep outside in solidarity to the most vulnerable populations sleeping outside in poverty. It's a self-enforcing system where those without property and/or rights are subjected to repeated eviction from their makeshift homes. In the case of those unhoused, it only serves to further entrench the disparities and social stigmas associated with homelessness. In this broader context, both the struggle over property at a university or an urban park reflect the ongoing contention over who has the right to occupy and claim space within our communities.MAPPING AUTHORITARIAN DISPLACEMENTThese relatively small local campus disputes over territory and legality mirror the larger geopolitical conflicts over land, territory, and displacement they are protesting.In the Levant or Ash-Shaam (ٱلشَّام ) region of the Middle East, the 1948 establishment of the state of Israel led to the first Arab-Israeli War. In the period from 1948 to 1951, approximately 688,000 Jewish people immigrated to Israel. Many of these were survivors of the Holocaust and from refugee camps across Europe, as well as Jewish refugees from Arab countries.This period is known as the "mass immigration period" in Israeli telling of history. In Palestinian Arabic history this period is called "Nakba" meaning "catastrophe" or "disaster" referring to the mass displacement of Palestinian Arabs.Here's a short video from the Jewish Voice for Peace explaining how this early history has led to current events…including the role of maps.

Hello Interactors,Behind every map is intent. When it comes to making plans for a city, streets are more than mere passageways; they are the cartography of power, exacting politics and ideology for the unfolding of urbanity. Paris is the blueprint of social order and control portrayed as a symbol of beauty and progress. I wanted to unravel the threads of intent, from communal aspirations to the heavy hand of authoritarianism — a kind of narrative map of a city renowned as much for its revolutions as for its romance.Let's go.COMMON ROOTS, CONTRASTING COMMUNITIESI'll offer a word and you examine your emotional reaction to it. Communism. If you're like me, you've been trained to have negative thoughts. Maybe even stop reading. Communism has been associated with authoritarian, repressive regimes that denied basic freedoms and human rights. Ask anyone who lived under these conditions and you can see why it's been ideologically blackballed in America.Now I'll offer another word. Community. Ah, yes, good vibes. Who could possibly be against community? It's strange how two words with common origins can differ so much by changing two letters.The word Communism comes from Karl Marx and Friedrich Engel's Kommunismus as early as 1847 and is derived from the French word communisme which first appeared three years earlier in 1843. This word comes from the Old French word comun meaning "common, general, free, open, public."A group of people in common, “the common people” who are not rulers of property, clergy, or monarchy, is from the 14th century French word comunité meaning "commonness, everybody" or community.I had the experience of checking my own reaction to the word communist while reading about how communist ideals helped a politician in Paris help his community.The French Communist senator, Ian Brossat, lead housing policy in Paris for a decade. He said his “guiding philosophy is that those who produce the riches of the city must have the right to live in it.” He and the local government under Mayor Hildago are doing their best to live up to this. Over the past decade, the French Communist Party has emphasized social justice and economic equality, advocating for stronger public services, wealth redistribution, and workers' rights. They've also focused on environmental sustainability, aligning with broader movements to address climate change and social disparities.People from all over the world are drawn to Paris for its diverse array of small shops, cafes, expansive boulevards, monuments, and museums. It exudes old-world charm complete with cobblers, tailors, jewelers, and luthiers tucked in and among various neighborhoods — some more manicured than others. It's a dappled array of diverse color and verdant softscapes that when viewed from afar offers an impression of a picture-perfect pointillist painting.  Paris exists as a seemingly organic and emergent unfolding of placemaking complete with public spaces and parks for the taking — by all walks of life. For many, it's a composite of ideals that harken back to romantic images of a fashionable and stylistic ‘pick your favorite' century in Europe making it a perennial favorite destination for tourists.But surrounding the parks where healthy blossoms glow are stealthy property plots where wealthy funds grow. Amidst the green where healthy plants are planted longtime residents squirm as their neighbors are supplanted. Despite the city building or renovating “more than 82,000 apartments over the past three decades for families with children”, 2.4 million people are on the waiting list for affordable housing.(1)This isn't the first time economically disadvantaged people have been displaced from Paris. In 1853, one year after Napoleon Bonaparte's nephew Napoleon III declared himself emperor in a successful coup d'état, he wasted no time embarking on what many believe to be the biggest ‘urban renewal' project in history. It was famously led by a former prefect administrator, Georges-Eugène Haussmann. His swift and heavy hand pushed powerless Parisians to the periphery to build the Paris so many adore, only to have them return. A pattern that exists today.Napoleon III, exiled in England, was reluctant to return to a France in decline, marred by unemployment and poverty. By 1848, a massive influx of laborers had swollen Paris's population to over a million. Despite its picturesque image today, 19th-century Paris was a labyrinth of dilapidated buildings and narrow streets, lacking modern infrastructure, and grappling with increasing crime and deadly outbreaks, including a cholera epidemic that claimed 20,000 lives in 1832.The French author Honoré de Balzac wrote of Paris at the time, “'Look around you' as you ‘make your way through that huge stucco cage, that human beehive with black runnels marking its sections, and follow the ramifications of the idea which moves, stirs and ferments inside it.'”By 1848, France was besieged by societal strife as the monarchy's resurgence fueled public outrage, contrary to the Republic's ideals of liberty. Mass protests and strikes became common, culminating in a tragic clash at the Foreign Ministry where troops fired on protestors, killing 50. The slain were symbolically paraded through Paris, highlighting the oppressive turn of events. This ignited the Revolution of 1848; a diverse coalition, from students to disillusioned aristocrats, took to the streets, overwhelming the army and storming the King's palace. This mass uprising prompted the formation of a provisional government while monarchist officials, including Haussmann, fled the turmoil.In the power struggles of post-revolutionary France, neither Socialists nor Republicans could stabilize the economy or improve living conditions. As a result, calls for Napoleon III's return gained traction. He pledged to serve if elected, mirroring the American democratic elections model. He won a four-year term by a wide margin, but he did not have dominant support within the Assembly. Facing political opposition and public discontent as his term ended, Napoleon III dissolved the Assembly, fired his adversaries, and named himself emperor. A government for the people and by the people was attempted and failed. Long live the King. Authoritarianism was back to the cheers of many in the streets as Napoleon was pulled through the streets by carriage for three hours amidst roars of support.PARIS: FROM SIEGE TO CHICBy 1848, Parisians had erected numerous barricades, limiting Napoleon's access through the city. Originating in 1588 as a defense against soldiers, these barricades evolved from rudimentary stone walls into complex structures capable of withstanding cannon fire, serving both practical and symbolic roles in the city's history of civil resistance.Amidst the dawn of the Industrial Age in 1848, Napoleon III aimed to modernize Paris, differentiating it from the neo-gothic style of London's "Albertropolis." Preferring the era's new materials like iron and glass. Dismissing the gothic aesthetics, Napoleon, with Haussmann—a disciplined administrator with similar architectural sensibilities—set out to reshape Paris into a contemporary urban jewel.In the words of Hausmann reflecting in his memoir, “We ripped open the belly of old Paris, the neighborhood of revolt and barricades, and cut a large opening through the most impenetrable maze of alleys, piece by piece.”In Balzac's 1843 book Lost Illusions he captures the contrasting existence of society revealing the class Hausmann sought to favor at the expense of the other.The proletariat “live in insalubrious offices, pestilential courtrooms, small chambers with barred windows, spend their day weighed down by the weight of their affairs.” While the bourgeoisie enjoy “the great, airy, gilded salons, the mansions enclosed in gardens, the world of the rich, leisured, happy, moneyed people.”(2)Haussmann, satirically termed the "Artiste Démolisseur," enacted a policy akin to 'creative destruction' to achieve it. This is a concept Karl Marx alluded to and the Austrian Economist Joseph Schumpeter later popularized. In Marx and Friedrich Engels popular 1848 book “The Communist Manifesto” they used the term Vernichtung which describes the continuous devaluation of existing wealth to pave the way for the creation of new wealth.During the 1830s and '40s, monumental ‘devaluations' came at the expense of land and rivers paving the way for infrastructure like railroads and canals. Including other parts of the world. Americans, Indigenous and colonized, saw over 3000 miles of canals being dug by 1840 and 9,000 miles of railroad by 1850. We can all think of examples of ‘creative destruction' today — be it from bombs that fall or a wrecking ball.This 19th century period of transformation also saw France's first passenger train and the spread of a national railway network, all under Napoleon III's ambition to fortify France's economic stature. He promoted and founded new national banks to fund these transformations, fueling Marx's view that economic efficiencies could be gained through improved transportation.The rise of capitalism and the concept of 'the world market,' as Marx termed it, pushed for more efficient movement of people and goods, a task complicated by Paris's antiquated layout. Although Napoleon and Haussmann are credited with modernizing Paris, initiatives to improve urban circulation were already underway. Prior to 1833, significant canals, roads, and railways were constructed, and post-1832 cholera outbreak, efforts were made to expand the city and reduce congestion.Architectural and urban planning, including the design of the Place de la Concorde by Jacques Hittorff, aimed to push the city's boundaries. In 1843, Hippolyte Meynadier proposed major urban changes to improve air quality and circulation. Haussmann later embraced and amplified these existing plans with and without Napoleon's support. For example, Napoleon did not see the need to bringing running water to Paris, but Hausmann did it anyway.Hausmann was fond of expanding. Whereas these earlier plans were certainly grander than any in Paris, or possibly the world, Hausmann multiplied dimensions. Hittorf had drawn plans for some streets be obesely wide, even by today's standards, but Haussmann tripled the dimensions. For example, the road leading to the Arc de Triomphe, known now as the Champs-Élysées, was first drawn to be 120 feet wide. But Hausmann insisted it be 360 feet wide with an additional 40 feet of sidewalks on each side. He tripled the scale of a project that had already been tripled.What resulted was a diagonally criss-crossing web of stick straight boulevards with massive monuments strategically placed at nodes and termini. The Arc de Triomphe from above looks like a shining star with roads and boulevards as glimmering spires. Some scholars believe Hausmann, and his coconspirators, were the first to view the city as a technical problem to be solved from the top down. It was a civic product to be worked on with little regard for the people who were working within. This view of a city may have been influenced by the aerial photographer Nadar who from 1855 to 1858 perfected aerial photography in France. He patented the use of aerial photography for mapmaking and surveying in 1855. A WHOPPER OF A TRANSFORMATIONSoon after Hausmann finished the complete remaking of Paris in 1870, Friederic Engels published his 1872 book The Housing Question where he explored the housing crisis facing industrial workers of the 19th century. He criticized what became known as the Hausmannization of cities, writing,“By ‘Haussmann' I mean the practice which has now become general of making breaches in the working class quarters of our big towns, and particularly in those which are centrally situated, quite apart from whether this is done from considerations of public health and for beautifying the town, or owing to the demand for big centrally situated business premises, or owing to traffic requirements, such as the laying down of railways, streets, etc. No matter how different the reasons may be, the result is everywhere the same: the scandalous alleys and lanes disappear to the accompaniment of lavish self-praise from the bourgeoisie on account of this tremendous success, but they appear again immediately somewhere else and often in the immediate neighbourhood”Groups of people struggling to live in a city, “the common people”, those who were not rulers of property, clergy, or monarchy, began organizing as a community. Property owners spared by Hausmann's utter destruction saw their applications for building improvement permits rejected. In the years leading up to 1871, tensions were once again mounting in a city that had yet to form a municipal government.Meanwhile the Francho-Prussian War erupted in July of 1870 as France sought to assert its dominance in Europe fearing a pending alliance between Prussia and Spain. During the war, the French National Guard defended Paris. Given their proximity to growing working-class radicalism, sentiments began to be shared among soldiers.After a significant defeat of the French Army by the Germans, National Guard soldiers seized control of the city on March 18, killing two French army generals and refusing to accept the authority of the French national government. The community became a commune — common, general, free, open, and public.The commune governed Paris for two months, establishing policies that tended toward a progressive, anti-religious system of their own self-styled socialism. These policies included the separation of church and state, self-policing, the remission of rent, the abolition of child labor, and the right of employees to take over an enterprise deserted by its owner.Predictably, the Commune was ultimately suppressed by the national French Army at the end of May during "The Bloody Week” when an estimated 10-15,000 Communards were killed in battle or executed.The Commune's policies and outcome had a significant influence on the ideas of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, who described it as the first example of the dictatorship of the proletariat. Without it, it's unlikely Ian Brossat would have a Communist party fighting for fair living conditions. A modern day nod to those Communards slaughtered in 1871.Meanwhile, today's City Hall also ensures the persistence of the bucolic, romantic, idealistic — and perhaps classist — proprietors who help to sustain the manicured experience Hausmann set out to achieve nearly 200 years ago. Just as the government plays a role in controlling rent so less financially privileged can live and work there, so too does the government subsidize select city shops and restaurants that attract the well heeled. But they have their limits.The counselor in charge of managing commercial holdings said, “We don't rent to McDonald's, we don't rent to Burger King and we don't rent to Sephora.”These stores obviously exist, so clearly landlords across the city have long sold out to ‘world market' chains even Hausmann may frown upon. Even as the city take steps to ensure curated theme shops continue to exist. Hausmann may not have planned for this, but Paris did become a kind of a public theme park to the world.Given the history of radicals and conservatives toiling in a tug of war for centuries over what exactly the city should be and for whom, perhaps the conservative former housing minister now commercial developer, Benoist Apparu, put it best — “A city, if it's only made up of poor people, is a disaster. And if it's only made up of rich people, it's not much better.” (1)I, for one, was pleased to find a Burger King on the Champs-Élysées during my first trip to Paris as a teenager in 1984. After a few days of European food, I was ready for a Whopper. Of course, I was unaware of any of the socio-political or psychogeographical implications and ramifications of all this — both historically and in that moment. I was a middle-class mini-bougie white American eating comfort food while obliviously participating in the exploitive world of ‘rich, leisured, happy, and moneyed people' on a boulevard designed for it. But I was also in city that birthed liberty, the potential for revolutionary change, and the promise and struggle of egalitarian policies. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,We are fully into spring and that means a shift toward cartography. I'll be exploring how abstract symbols, lines, and colors can both represent and misrepresent people, politics, and the physical environment. Maps are tools of power and persuasion, which can shape perceptions of space and reality, influence behavior, and maintain or challenge social norms and power structures.Today's post bridges Winter's focus on human behavior with the maps, plans, and politics of cities. In this case, Los Angeles and their attempts at curbing rising traffic related fatalities through safer forms of transportation infrastructure…but not without a fight from some unlikely foes.Let's go…CURBSIDE CASUALTIES LEAD TO ASPHALT ACTIVISMAngelinos recently passed a controversial measure intended to save lives. It won 63 percent in favor to 37 percent opposed. Maybe it wasn't so controversial after all. Why should helping save children from being violently killed be controversial in the first place? And why were firefighters leading the charge to kill a measure that saves lives.Car collisions were the leading cause of death for children in Los Angeles County in 2022. Drug overdose and homicide have been in competition with ‘motor vehicle collisions' for the top kid-killer spot over the last few years. Drowning, another preventable killer my wife is focused on eradicating, was the number three killer in 2021.In January, the hyperlocal newsletter Crosstown reported data from the Los Angeles Police Department that 2023 was the “deadliest year on the roads in at least a decade, with 337 fatalities.”More than half of these were pedestrians. In 2022, 160 pedestrians died from being struck by a motor vehicle. It's been getting worse for some time.If you're not already depressed, this might push you over the edge. Hit and runs are also climbing.In October of 2022, the County of Los Angeles Public Health Department published the “Leading Causes of Death and Mortality Rates (per 100,000) by Age Group” in Los Angeles County from January to June for 2019 to 2022. During these years, of those aged 0-17, 73 have been killed by motor vehicles. In 2022, it was the number one killer.Alarmed by the trend, former Mayor Eric Garcetti formulated a “Mobility Plan 2035” in 2015 that “incorporates ‘complete streets' principles and lays the policy foundation for how future generations of Angelenos interact with their streets.” This follows California state's 2008 Complete Streets Act (AB 1358), which requires local jurisdictions to “plan for a balanced, multimodal transportation network that meets the needs of all users of streets, roads, and highways, defined to include motorists, pedestrians, bicyclists, children, persons with disabilities, seniors, movers of commercial goods, and users of public transportation, in a manner that is suitable to the rural, suburban or urban context.”The rise in traffic deaths reveals that the aspirational goals set in various levels of government often represent legal fictions—idealized plans that simplify complex issues, but don't always lead to action. These legal frameworks, while not intentionally misleading, can result in a disconnect between policy intentions and outcomes, promoting a status quo bias due to the complexities of change, systemic inertia, and established interests — including those of firefighters.But a group of citizen activists organized to bring action to the fiction and gain traction amidst the friction. They drew attention to the fact that although L.A. had laid out a progressive ‘complete streets' plan, they had only executed 5% since its inception nearly a decade ago. At that rate they calculated it would take 160 years to build a minimum network of safe streets. All the while hundreds upon thousands would die while the legal fiction would continued to paint a different picture.So, they devised Measure HLA, the Healthy Streets L.A. initiative, inspired by other cities to bring action to ‘complete streets' fiction. The measure states every time a street is resurfaced, any corresponding Network Mobility Plan improvements must be implemented. For example, if a street has been designated as a segment of a bike network and is due to be resurfaced, the city must install the protected bike lane (or other complete street infrastructure) needed to fulfill the city's Mobility Plan 2050. Common sense exceptions are included to ensure public works could still fix things like potholes, utility cuts, or emergency repairs.But installing 560 miles of pedestrian paths, 300 miles of enhanced transit lanes, 520 miles of bike lanes safe enough for an eight-year-old, 830 miles of neighborhood enhancements, and 800 miles of bike networks for all levels of cycling requires some sacrifices. Motorists will have to sacrifice space on roadways to accommodate these changes. In doing so many roads will be narrowed and speeds lowered thus sacrificing speed of vehicles.And this is where the firefighters come in. There's a common misperception among many firefighters and emergency responders that safe streets, that is slow streets, lead to slower response times resulting in people dying. The hundreds of people, including young people, they scrape off the pavement or extract from a car after being obliterated by a ton of metal charging at excessive speeds seem to be excluded from this calculus.It is true there was a time when speed bumps were added to slow speeding vehicles that also slowed first responders. But civil engineers and urban planners worked through these challenges and now speed cushions can be installed that permit fire trucks (and other large vehicles) to proceed through gaps in the speed bumps. There are also ways to design safe street networks in ways that allow speeding emergency vehicles to move quickly through road networks protected from or free of pedestrians and cyclists…and clogged traffic. In many cases, it's the same paths carved out of stalled traffic for buses.FIRST RESPONSE AND EMERGENCY OBJECTIONSThe Los Angeles Fire Department (LAFD) seemingly haven't gotten the memo from the Federal Highway Administration on how to calm traffic while not reducing response times. One LAFD Captain, Frank Lima, was quoted as saying “Firefighters are opposed to Measure HLA…[because] response times from 911 resources will increase…Every second in our profession means [life or death].” But Mr. Lima then exposes what is perhaps the true source of his opposition which is not related at all to his expertise or profession but likely a personal conviction.“It's going to hurt small businesses and it's going to take away parking spaces,” he said. “It's one of those projects that sounds good on paper, but when you put it in reality, it's going to have a negative impact.”He is right that legal fiction does sound good on paper, and on-street parking spaces may be taken away on some streets, but if done well other cities have shown small business improves as does property value. It turns out everybody wants to live on a safe and quiet street, expect maybe this LAFD Captain.Mr. Lima is also a member of the International Association of Firefighters and presumably the United Firefighters of Los Angeles City Local 112 (UFLAC) who claim they spent $100,000 fighting this measure. Their president, Freddy Escobar, said Measure HLA “is full of lies…all these confusing lanes, dangerous bike lanes, pedestrian medians, and all the chaos - and nobody is using 'em." If that was extreme enough in his attempt to scare voters, he added, “If we pass HLA we're going to see chaos all over the city.”Not to be out done, the president of the California Professional Firefighters, Brian Rice, also revealed his personal convictions while presumably speaking on behalf of all California firefighters stating,"I hate to tell you men and women, California - and Los Angeles in particular - this is a car community. You may not like it, but it is."He then took a shot at bus drivers and riders who are stuck in traffic today but will benefit from bus priority signaling and bus only lanes as part of the complete streets plan. He asked,"Do you really think you're going to see buses go faster than 12 miles an hour?"And then, he fully exposed his motivations for wanting to deny Angelinos safe streets. Dog whistling conservatives across L.A., he claimed the initiative came from “a small group of elite...Democratic Socialists.”It might seem unusual for firefighters to be so misaligned with most people they serve (the measure passed by a 2 to 1 margin) or for their personal convictions or biases to seemingly conflict with their egalitarian duty to serve all members of the community, but it's not.Firefighters are unique. They're the only profession that attracts people who need to be trained NOT to immediately run into a burning building. As one fire chief said to his trainees,“Risk a lot to save a lot. Risk a little to save a little. Risk nothing to save nothing. We're all here to help people... but you need to have your priorities straight: life safety first, incident stabilization second, and property conservation last.”These people must not only endure and survive extreme physical conditions, but they are also exposed to human pain and suffering, mutilations, and death. All of which require a healthy support network and relationships to maintain their mental health. This is why their training and work environment also includes indoctrination an institutional culture that instills comradeship, respect, and devotion to service — for each other and the communities they serve.But within any group of people each individual member shows up with their own implicit or explicit biases toward minority members of any community they may serve, be it class, race, ethnicity, gender, or apparently pedestrians, cyclists, transit riders, and those with opposing political views. How might these biases interfere with their duty to serve all community members?Much of our behavior is subtly influenced by unconscious biases, deep-seated preferences we're often unaware of. These hidden biases can significantly impact daily decisions and societal dynamics, especially in critical areas like healthcare, where they contribute to disparities in patient treatment and outcomes.Similarly, in the criminal justice system, implicit biases affect law enforcement actions, with studies indicating varying responses based on race. However, the connection between these unconscious biases and actual discriminatory behavior remains a topic of debate, with some research suggesting the link is weaker than previously thought, emphasizing the complexity of addressing such ingrained biases.One researcher embedded himself in a fire crew in a small town in the southern United States to explore these complex behaviors. To be accepted as ‘one of the guys' the researcher went through training and served on calls with the crew. It took weeks, but he eventually earned his insider status where he felt everyone was acting normally should he not be observing them. It wasn't pretty.AMIDST FLAMES OF PREJUDICE, A BROTHERHOOD IN THE BALANCEAs a member of a white crew serving a racially and ethnically diverse community, he indeed uncovered some alarming and explicit individual biases. In a banter of stories about various calls, he observed a trend in one-upmanship among story tellers. “Tall tales” is a form of bonding among groups of humans that have existed across time and culture. Each story becomes increasingly exaggerated and in the case of the culture of this group of firefighters, explicitly racist, sexist, and/or classist. One such crescendo culminated with this alarming tale (trigger warning, some nasty and disturbing language in here),“Green Village is the worst because you've got all those Mexicans who don't f*****g speak English. At least at Friendship Haven, you can say, ‘Listen, bro, I'm gonna call the f*****g cops,' and they scurry off. [He simulates running, while holding up pants] These f*****g Mexicans don't speak English, so they're a pain in the ass. Those Jose Cuervos think they are doctors. There was that one call at Green Village, where there was this woman. It was toned out [dispatched] as a cardiac arrest, but we got there and the woman was having a seizure.Anyway, it was me and Kelly and we pulled her out of the bed to this little spot on the floor between the bed and dresser and her two sons were like standing over her. One was flashing a light in her face, like a flashlight. And she was fat, obviously. And the other one was pulling her shirt down to cover up her fat, while yelling, “She dead. She dead.” The woman was fine. I walked out and called police on that f*****g Beaner. If I would have had a gun, I would have shot those two Speedy Gonzalezes.”In another story, a Black woman in a hijab arrived at a residence where the crew was cleaning up after a call. Laughing, one of the firefighters asked his crew, “Did you see what they were cooking? There were bones in that pot.” His colleague responded, “What was it? A cat? Rats? Hamsters?”Amidst the laughter another story was shared.“Remember we were at that fire last weekend, over in Africa, and that woman slapped the s**t out of that guy?” One of the Lieutenants replied how hilarious it was while stomping his foot performing a racist caricature and mimicking an African language saying “…she was yelling and really going off on him in Black.”Upon hearing this, the researcher reported, one of the firefighters laughed so hard he lost his breath. As the laughter subsided another firefighter said of the neighborhood they were serving, “Friendship Haven can burn down and I wouldn't give a f**k. F**k. That. Hellhole.”It's hard to read this and imagine why these bigoted firefighters bother even showing up to help these people. But according to the researcher, this is how a fraction of these “white, male, working-class firefighters cope with stress and forge solidarity” while most of the others passively laugh and follow along.He claims these individual beliefs don't interfere with their duty to serve because the one thing that would exclude a firefighter from the ‘brotherhood' is allowing a human to suffer or die — regardless of how they may personally feel about them. He said that while this Southern white “working-class, locally raised, politically conservative peer culture dominates the social space…prejudiced beliefs take a back seat to enacting excellence on the fireground.”He says because these extremely discriminatory words and actions are portrayed in private and only among other firefighters they entrust, and issued by those in command, there is little opportunity for disciplinary action. He also believes “it is a tall order to exorcise prejudice from individuals.”  The best remedy to counter these individual beliefs, the researcher writes, is to start by “educating staff about the populations they serve and teaching nonviolent approaches to conflict resolution.” He also believes “organizational incentives that encourage grassroots competition to provide optimal service or community engagement can stymie discriminatory behavior.”In the case of the LA firefighters, they are clearly more ethnically and racially diverse than those this researcher observed in the South, so attacks on minority races is unlikely happening in the open. And what discriminatory prejudices these L.A. firefighters do have are clearly not just private. After all, they just spent $100,000 to make them public.Should a social psychological researcher embed themselves in any number of these L.A. squads, I'm sure they'd reveal disparaging language there too. Their quasi-militaristic allegiance to the ‘brotherhood' is evidently forged in a shared disdain for ‘cyclists', ‘pedestrians', liberal ‘elite social democrats', and/or some ‘others' outside their tribe.As for those firefighters who may be partial to, or members of, these ‘other' tribes, and perhaps even chided for being one of ‘them', the group likely accepts them because even if they're a negatively branded a ‘liberal socialist' they'd still risk their life to save another crew member or community member.American firefighters are portrayed as heroes in America. Movies like Backdraft or television shows like 9-1-1 portray firefighters as tough, rugged, fearless public saviors. The heroic narrative can attract those seeking action, adventure, and camaraderie awash in a glamorous glow of danger. But perhaps society's hero worship can also insulate those with hateful and bigoted views from public scrutiny. They will perform heroic acts to society's benefit, but perhaps with a bit more education, less bravado, and more tolerance they could become better firefighters and heroes.One veteran of emergency services, fire marshal, and U.S. Marine Desert Storm war veteran, Daniel Byne, made a plea in 2007 to,“Take off the macho T-shirts. Take down the pictures and posters that paint our profession in an unrealistic light and encourage our firefighters to take unwarranted chances in the pursuit of living up to an unrealistic image.”He is echoing criticisms from a Swedish firefighter Dr. Stefan Svensson, a PhD in fire engineering. He says in many countries the ‘heroic deeds' many American firefighters are lauded for “would probably had led to inquiries, changes in training manuals, the dismissal of the fire fighter and probably even prosecution of the fire fighter for causing immediate danger to others.” Perhaps the bigoted attitudes may also. Curiously, some of these other countries happen to be social democracies like Sweden. After this country of nearly 10 million people instituted similar ‘complete streets' initiatives in 1997, their pedestrian deaths dropped from 134 in 1990 to 25 in 2020. Sweden and Norway have the smallest numbers of traffic related deaths per 100,000 inhabitants in the world, thanks to Vision Zero and ‘complete streets' initiatives.Sweden's Svensson's message for American firefighters is this: “Bravery and heroic deeds must result from knowledge, not from illusions.” Perhaps it's time more firefighters get educated on the negative effects of outwardly expressing hatred toward others, trust their fellow public service colleagues like city planners and engineers, and learn to operate their equipment on streets designed for all — even if that means learning it from people they disparage as ‘social democrats.' After all, as that fire chief in the South said, “We're all here to help people... but you need to have your priorities straight.” This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors, Continuing on the theme of the brain being embedded in the world in which ‘we' interact, I explore how the brain is also embodied in a biological system with which ‘it' interacts. The brain conjures this sense of itself inside this thing called ‘me'. How do these illusions come to be inside a tangible body?Let's find out…Thank you for reading Interplace. This post is public so please do something for my brain… Share it's thoughts with people you trust.CONSTRUCTING BRADI read a passage in a book a few years ago that fundamentally changed how I think about myself. We were fully into the pandemic, and I had started walking…a lot. I would pick a green patch on Google Maps, put my earplugs in, launch a book, and walk to my little green polygon. Some journeys stretched to 15 miles roundtrip.So, when I was browsing one of my favorite little independent bookstores, you can imagine my attraction to a book positioned to get my attention called, “In Praise of Walking”. It's a book on the neuroscience behind walking by the experimental brain researcher at Trinity College, Shane O'Mara. I also recommend his Brain Pizza Substack.Walking, for me (and him), is a treat. For anyone able to walk, it should be considered a treat.I learn a lot by walking. But walking is no longer something I need to learn. I already learned how to walk. We are not born knowing how to walk, we must be taught. We are not born knowing much at all. That includes who we are.I was born Brad. Had I popped out with internal plumbing, I learned I would be named Becky. Here is something else I learned: I was born with a body that had already learned how to pee. That's what I apparently did in the face of the doctor who pulled me out of the womb.I am half constructed out of the same DNA that built that womb. Though every cell that constructed that baby Brad are long gone. The body I have today is made of different cells — a result of continuous cell division and renewal processes. Something cells have they already learned to do. I was born a unique self only in that those cells remembered how to recombine genetically out of DNA passed down for generations. My uniqueness over my life arises out of mutations — random events in the sequencing of my own DNA. Other outside events, like what was in my Mom and Dad's blood stream just prior to conception, can also randomly cause one gene to turn on and another to turn off.  Those random mutations, some stemming from other random events, continued as I went from being enveloped in a warm viscous fluid shielded from light to my blinding, cold, stark reality. I was so happy or angry I peed on a human urinal. Every planned or random event that happened after that continued to shape my biological makeup — including the arranging, refining, and pruning of the 86 billion neurons in my little brain.I can't remember any of this. I can't even remember learning to walk. But I apparently did. Once out of the womb, the world around us continues to shape us. Like those early moments of DNA expression, some genetic expression is baked into our physical genes. But the constructions of those genes are influenced through biochemical reactions which are influenced by our environment. This can lead cells to communicate and conspire to create unique and differentiating genetic expressions. Even genetically identical twins evolve to have differentiated biology — including physical skills, health outcomes, and the development of ‘self.'Early brain development is a particularly sensitive period to environmental influences. The brain undergoes development, with processes that move neurons from their place of origin to their final position in the brain, guided by molecular signals. The formation of synapses between neurons allows for the transmission of electrical and chemical signals across the brain, enabling learning and memory​.Our neurons are then wrapped in long slender microscopic tubes made of a fatty substance that helps neurons communicate with other neurons, muscles, and glands. They can be an inch long or several feet with tiny junctions that branch off laying the groundwork for cognitive and socioemotional functions…and how to walk.As we grow and engage with our environment, our brains evolve the ability to control our body's movements accurately and adaptively well into our adolescence. Learning to walk, we're not just building muscle strength and balance, but creating and reinforcing the neural pathways that make walking a fluid, automatic process. These processes also underlie the brain's ability to adapt and learn from experience. Each successful step taken strengthens the neural pathways associated with walking.As adults, the neural pathways we associate with walking become so well-trodden that they are almost automatic, requiring minimal conscious thought for each step we take. This allows the brain to shift its focus from the mechanics of walking to the navigation of the path ahead. What concerns us most these days isn't the act of walking itself but where our feet are taking us.BIOLOGICAL RUBE GOLDBERGThe brain uses sensory information—sights, sounds, and the feel of the ground beneath us—to map out our environment, guide us around obstacles, and towards our intended destination in life and in the world.And this is where Shane O'Mara formed an image in my brain that changed how I think about my brain and myself. I, like most in the West, was raised being exposed to Christian traditions and philosophies that teach the ‘self' is an immutable soul that is unique. Christians believe the soul is God-given, inherently present from birth or even conception and this belief guides much of our social norms and laws. Many people thus grow up believing we possess some essence that makes up our identity. Lady Gaga's 2011 hit might sum it up best in that people tend to have an oversized belief that they were ‘Born This Way.'Another view is that the ‘self' is continually constructed to form an overlapping Venn diagram of many ‘selves'. For me, oneself is a son, oneself is a brother, a friend, a husband, a father, a former employee, a member of a community, a nation, a society, and any other ‘oneselves' that any given situation demands. Together, they make ‘oneself'. These have all been developed, like my genes, through socialization, communication, and cultural and environmental context — through inter-place, if you will, the interaction of people and place.More broadly, think of a human as a system of assembled biological parts, each with its distinct function yet systematically interdependent. We have a bony skeleton that supports and protects a complex array of organs. These organs include a powerful cardiac muscle—the heart—that pumps blood infused with oxygen and nutrients through a vast fractal-like network of vessels, reaching to the very edge of existence.This circulatory system not only delivers life-sustaining substances but also carries away the metabolic byproducts with clever ways for them to be expelled. It's coordinated with specialized systems for intake and digestion of nutrients, transforming food into fuel. The gastrointestinal tract is a winding pathway designed for the efficient processing of food, extracting vital nutrients, and compacting waste for disposal.Containing all these gooey bits is a bag of skin. It's the largest organ and much more than a bag. It is a reactive, dynamic interface that interacts with the world through touch, temperature sensation, and protection against environmental threats. It also plays a role in thermoregulation, maintaining internal climate through sweat and the subtleties of blood flow.The muscular system is a Rube Goldberg web of fibers capable of delicate manipulation of tweezers to the powerful thrusts for jumping. It all remains suspended with tissue connecting muscles to bones and to each other enabling both movement and stability.At the core is another set of muscles that operate the respiratory system, expanding and contracting to draw in air rich in oxygen and expel air laden with carbon dioxide. Lungs, nestled within the ribcage, serve as the sites of this gaseous exchange that literally breathe life into us.Skin allows for the injection of sensory organs without springing a leak. Eyes capture light and render vision, ears detect vibrations and translate them into sound, and olfactory receptors decode molecular messages into scents and tastes.The nervous system is an internal communication network, a lightning-fast array of signals that governs everything from the reflexive yank or a staggering reel to a cognitive think or emotional feel. It is the electrical wiring that animates our being, rooted in the brain, an organ of such complexity that it conjures consciousness itself.When I look at these systems together, they make ‘me'. They sustain the biological necessities that enable what we call the human experience. I am a being of both strength and vulnerability, an assemblage of interdependent systems I call 'self'.This image of myself came into focus with a simple passage from Shane O'Mara:"As far as your brain is concerned, your body hangs down from your head, until it makes contact with the ground through your feet. You're not built from the soles of your feet up - it's more like your head is a 'castle in the air', with scaffolding reaching down to the ground."I imagine my brain being the one going on a walk by coordinating with my body to make sure it survives the journey. This ‘castle in the air' takes input from the world and prunes its own neural network. In the walk of life, the brain conjures an image and belief that ‘I' exist by enacting and interacting in ways that serve changing social contexts unfolding in front of me. Part of this image of myself leads me to imagine I exist so the brain itself can survive.‘I' am more like an evolutionary experiment conjured in a brain working on behalf of, and in coordination with, a biological system within which it is embodied. And ‘I' exist in a world in which my brain is embedded, attached to scaffolding that touches the ground on which it walks. Sometimes, in search of little green patches on a map waiting to be visited. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,All the talk and evidence of AI, chips in the brain, and robotic overlords has created emotions ranging from hysteria to malaise to clinical depression. How much of this is caused or influenced by narratives spun by favored voices telling tall tales of proximal parables and are there other ways to think about our brain than just a processor? Let's find out…THE MENTAL MYTHS OF SILICON AND SYNAPSESOur brain is an energy intense organ. It consumes 20% of our energy but accounts for just 2% of our body weight. To manage this high demand for energy, the brain employs various strategies to simplify tasks and processes. One of those is to simplify how the world works. Like dividing it into discernable individual component parts.In a world increasingly seduced by these crisp edges of in groups and out groups, there exists a tribe of techno-optimists, guardians of an old tale, who look to the brain as humanity's ultimate processor and a promise and desire for digital immortality. This romanticized notion of the “mind as computer” is facing competition as feats of AI reveal a seemingly superior capability to their own self-assuming super-intelligence. So, they want their outdated hardware upgraded. It's all positioned as cutting edge and futuristic but harks back to the clockwork dualistic and mechanistic universe of the Enlightenment.We've been preached a digital gospel that suggests the warm wetware within our skulls operates like baked silicon chips, crunching data of daily existence with the cold precision of a CPU. Yet, simmering in the biochemistry that hosts these digital dreams are ripples of evidence captured and crunched by computers and displayed in the form of MRI's, fMRI's, PET scans, SPECT scans, NIRS, and MEG's. These images lead some cognitive scientists, with the help of various forms of AI, to slowly dismantle the mechanistic metaphor of ‘the brain as CPU', piece by intricate piece.The metaphor of the brain functioning as a processor is as old as Alan Turing and the mid-20th century computational theories that birthed computer science. These ideas and experiments propagated as mass media proliferated and now serve as common conceptions of how the mind works. Other historical and cultural factors contribute to the persistence of this metaphor and perpetuated among teachers, scientists, and attention seeking tech moguls.But it was centuries before, during the Enlightenment and the scientific revolution, that a significant shift towards rationalist, determinist, and mechanistic views of nature were put forth by figures like René Descartes and Isaac Newton. The world and its phenomena, including human beings and human thought, began to be understood in terms of mechanical laws and principles, laying the groundwork for comparing the brain to a machine.The advancements in machinery and technology during the Industrial Revolution further reinforced the mechanistic view of life processes, including human cognition, making it easier to draw parallels between the operations of machines and the functions of the human brain. I recently wrote about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein as a prime example from that period.Fast forwarding a century later, to the 1970s, I remember watching the “Six Million Dollar Man” on TV as a kid. This show was based on a Martin Caidin novel called Cyborg depicting an astronaut who survives a plane crash and is brought to life by replacing body parts with robotics. The “Six Million Dollar Man” was soon joined by “The Bionic Woman” and episodes that featured the faces of human robots being ripped off to reveal a computer inside. Naturally, these two computer-powered bionic superpowers worked as secret agents in U.S. Office of…wait for it…“Scientific Intelligence.”Source: YouTubeThis was all occurring alongside emerging discoveries in artificial intelligence and cognitive science, further cementing the brain-CPU analogy. Like science fiction writers and directors, early AI researchers and scientists aimed to replicate human cognitive processes in computers, leading to conceptual overlaps between how brains and computers function in science and society.The CPU metaphor provides a simplified way to understand the complex workings of the brain, making it accessible to people without specialized knowledge in neuroscience or cognitive science. This metaphor continues to be used in educational contexts to teach basic concepts about brain functions, reinforcing its prevalence.The tendency toward reductionism — to reduce complex phenomena to their simplest components — is present in many scientific and engineering disciplines and has long contributed to the organ-as-part metaphor. Viewing the brain as akin to a computer's CPU aligns with reductionist approaches reminiscent of those early Enlightenment thinkers seeking to understand biological systems by dissecting their individual parts and drawing useful, but also isolated and simplified conclusions.While the brain-CPU metaphor has historical roots and provides a convenient framework for understanding some aspects of cognitive function, many believe it is ultimately flawed. It can overlook the brain's integrated and dynamic nature, its entanglement within a larger biological organism, and its continuous interaction with a complex environment. These are themes under exposed and under explained in popular science, media, and most of the tech industry.The growing recognition of these limitations, particularly within fields like 4E cognitive science (embodied, embedded, enactive, and extended cognition), is leading to the development of more nuanced and holistic models of cognition that transcend simplistic mechanical analogies.Do we have the energy to spare our brain so we may better understand it?EMBODIED MINDS EMBEDDED, EXTENDED, AND ENACTIVE The 4E framework in cognitive science highlights the brain's integrated and dynamic nature. Advances in neuroscience have shown that the brain is not a static organ with fixed functions but is highly malleable, capable of reorganizing itself in response to learning and experience. This plasticity allows for adaptability and resilience necessary for its survival, characteristics not accounted for in the rigid structure of a CPU.The brain's structure is composed of complex, interconnected networks that support a wide range of functions, from basic sensory processing to higher-order cognitive tasks. These networks do not operate in isolation but are dynamically interacting and reconfiguring based on internal and external demands.The brain's function is also modulated by a variety of neurotransmitters that influence mood, cognition, and behavior. This biochemical layer adds a level of complexity to brain function that is absent in computer CPUs today. This means the brain is intimately connected to the biology of the body, receiving continuous sensory inputs and sending commands to our organs and limbs. This sensory-motor coupling is foundational to cognition, emphasizing the role of bodily interactions with the world and how our brain processes it.Research supports this concept. Cognition is something that is embodied in us, where cognitive processes are grounded in sensory and motor systems. For example, studies on mirror neurons suggest that understanding others' actions involves simulating these actions in our own sensory-motor systems.For instance, when a child observes an adult using a tool, such as a hammer, the mirror neurons associated with the motion of hammering may fire in the child's brain, despite the child not physically performing the action. This neural activity can help the child understand the action and later replicate it, contributing to the learning process.Another example is in the understanding of emotions. When we see someone smiling or frowning, our mirror neuron system may activate the same facial muscles involved in smiling or frowning, contributing to an empathetic response. This internal mimicry can help us to 'feel' what the other person is feeling and develop a better understanding of their emotional state.The brain is in continuous interaction with the complex environment in which we exist. It is embedded in an environment that it continuously interacts with, influencing and being influenced by it. This interaction is not merely passive; the brain actively constructs perceptions and meanings based on environmental inputs.This enactive perspective posits cognition arises through a dynamic interplay between an organism and its environment. Cognitive processes such as perception and action are therefore inseparable and co-determined. In the example of a child learning to use a hammer, they learn to grasp the handle not just by observing but through a process of trial and error. This involves actively engaging with the object and learning from the outcomes of these interactions thus enacting cognition through interactive processes.These dynamic interactions are extended beyond the brain and body to include tools, like a hammer, but also computers, mobile phones, and automobiles. These tools become part of the mind's cognitive architecture. This perspective challenges traditional notions of cognition as being confined within the boundaries of the individual, proposing instead that objects and devices in our environment can function as extensions of our cognitive system when they are deeply integrated into our mental activities.As the brains of neuroscientists interact with each other, their embedded and embodied brains are synthesizing an ever-evolving understanding of cognition that is more integral than dichotomous, more holistic than dualistic. Even as the brain employs cost-cutting simplification strategies, a rich emergent complexity emerges that further defines our cognitive reality.The old metaphor of the brain as a CPU, once a middle 20th-century marvel, is gradually yielding to a perspective that sees the brain not as a solitary processor but as part of a dynamic, integrated system of organism and environment. As techno-optimists laud AI and digital immortality, praying to dualistic gods, the minds of some neuroscientists are extended by imaging tools powered by CPUs, presenting a model of cognition far from the mechanistic. Instead, they argue our brains are enmeshed in a dynamic and fluid biological existence.It is here, in the flowing network of neurons and scientific narratives, that the future of understanding the human mind is taking shape. Even as I write this and you read it, we are moving our brain from the rigidly digital dualistic understanding to the fluidly enactive. In doing so, our brains are redefining our place within this emergent organism-environment system we call life using as little energy as necessary.References:Knyazev, G. G. (2023). A Paradigm Shift in Cognitive Sciences. Neuroscience and Behavioral Physiology. DOI: 10.1007/s11055-023-01483-9Newen, A., De Bruin, L., & Gallagher, S. (Eds.). (2018). The Oxford handbook of 4E cognition. Oxford University Press.Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). Enactivism. In Wikipedia. Retrieved February 2024, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enactivism This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,A Frankenstein announcement from Musk this week punctuated my recent fascination with the author of that popular novel, Mary Shelley. Her isolated lived experience in a time of intense technological discovery, social and geo-political unrest, AND a climate crisis rings true today more than ever.But she also was subtlety representing a scientific movement that is largely ignored today, but just may be experiencing a bit of a resurgence in areas like biology and neuroscience.Let's dig in…FRANKEN-MUSK“It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”Mary Shelley was intrigued, and maybe a little scared, by the idea of electrifying organs. She admits as much in her 1831 forward of her famous novel, “Frankenstein”, first published January 1, 1818. She wrote,"Perhaps a corpse would be re-animated; galvanism had given token of such things: perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought together, and endued with vital warmth."Bioelectrical experimentation had been happening for nearly 40 years by the time Shelley wrote this book. Luigi Galvani, an Italian physician, physicist, and philosopher demonstrated the existence of electricity in living tissue in the late 1780s. He called it ‘animal electricity'. Many repeated his experiments over the years and ‘galvanism' remained hotly debated well into the 1800s.I've been thinking a lot about Shelley and her “Frankenstein” lately. The hype and hysteria surrounding AI, human-like robots, and biocomputing make it easy to imagine. Just last week Elon Musk tweeted that his company, Neuralink, implanted its brain chip in a human for the first time. He wants to make ‘The Matrix' a reality. Here we are some 200 years later, wanting to believe ‘perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought together, and endued with vital warmth.'‘Vital warmth' seems a borrowed phrase from another scientific movement of the time, ‘vitalism'. Vitalism is the belief that living organisms are fundamentally different from non-living entities, like computer chips, because they are governed by a unique, non-physical force or "vital spark" that animates life. A kind of teleology for which some contemporary biologists now have empirical evidence.One prominent vitalist of the 18th and 19th century, the German physician, physiologist, and anthropologist, Johann Friedrich Blumenbach, is best known for his contributions to the study of human biology. He developed the concept of the "Bildungstrieb" or "formative drive," which he proposed as an inherent force guiding the growth and development of organisms. Contemporary science explains these processes through a combination of genetic, biochemical, and physical principles like encoded DNA, gene expression networks, and morphogenesis — the interactions between cells and their responses to various chemical and mechanical forces.THE INDUSTRIALIST'S VITAL SPARK‘Formative drive' was a vitalist response to the mechanistic explanations of life that were prevalent in the Enlightenment period. The same mechanistic fervor that endues so many technologists today, like Musk, with vital warmth. Blumenbach argued that physical and chemical processes alone could not account for the organization and complexity of living beings. Instead, he suggested that some other vital force was responsible for the development and function of organic forms.Vitalists had their skeptics. Chiefly among them was Alessandro Volta. He was critical of Galvani's ‘vital spark'. In Galvani's frog leg experiments, he discovered that when two different metals (e.g., copper and zinc) were connected and then touched to a frog's nerve and muscle, the muscle would contract even without any external electrical source. Galvani concluded that this was due to an electrical force inherent in the nerves of the frog, a concept that challenged the prevailing views of the time and eventually laid the groundwork for the field of electrophysiology.Volta, however, believed the electrical effects were due to the metals used in Galvani's experiments. Volta's work eventually led to the development of the Voltaic Pile, an early form of a battery. Hence the term ‘volt'. The Voltaic Pile enabled a more systematic and controlled study of electricity, which was a relatively little-understood phenomenon at the time. It provided scientists and inventors with a consistent and reliable source of electrical energy for experiments, leading to a deeper understanding of electrical principles and the discovery of new technologies.One such technology was the invention of the telegraph in the 1830s. The availability of electric batteries as power sources is what made it possible for Samuel Morse to revolutionize long-distance communication, profoundly effecting commerce, governance, and daily life. As he wrote in his first public demonstration, “What hath God wrought?”The mechanists gained further favor as more and more scientists, inventors, and eventually economists succumbed to the allure of reductionism. They believed understanding complex phenomena could be done by studying their simplest, most fundamental, and mechanistic parts. Including body parts.ECHOES OF THE INDUSTRIAL AGEIt was around the time of Morse's tinkering that Mary Shelley reissued ‘Frankenstein'. She revealed in her 1831 forward how she was influenced by the scientific and philosophical ideas of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. This included galvanism, the debates around vitalism, and the Romantic movement's reaction to the Enlightenment's emphasis on reason and science.This was also a period marked by significant political, social, and technological upheavals. The consolidation of nation-states and the expansion of political power were central themes of this era, leading to debates over government intervention and the balance between order and liberty. Shelley's narrative, set against this backdrop, can be seen as a reflection on the consequences of unchecked ambition and the ethical responsibilities of creators, themes that are increasingly relevant in today's discussions about artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, and other forms of technological innovation.Moreover, Shelley's personal history and the socio-political context of her time deeply informed the themes of her novel. As the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft, a pioneering feminist thinker, Shelley was exposed from an early age to, what were then, radical ideas about gender, society, and individual rights. Her own experiences of loss, isolation, and vulnerability were compounded by the societal upheavals of the Little Ice Age and the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. "Frankenstein" is imbued with a profound sense of existential questioning. It critiques the dehumanizing aspects of technological and industrial progress — themes that resonate with many today.Like the early parts of the Industrial Revolution, we are living in a period of transforming economies, social structures, and daily life, ushering in new forms of labor, consumption, and environmental impact. The creation of Shelley's ‘Creature' can be seen as a metaphor for the unforeseen consequences of industrialization, including the alienation of individuals from their labor, from nature, and from each other.Shelley's narrative warns of the dangers of valuing power and progress over empathy and ethical consideration, a warning that remains pertinent as society grapples with the implications of rapid technological advancement and environmental degradation. Mechanistic reductionism, with its emphasis on dissecting complex phenomena into their most basic parts, undeniably continues to dominate much of science, technology, and conventional thought.Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein," while serving as a cautionary tale about the hubris and potential perils of unchecked scientific and technological ambition, has paradoxically also fueled the collective imagination, inspiring generations to dream of creating a human-like entity from disparate parts and mechanisms.Yet, there is an emerging renaissance that harks back to the holistic perspectives reminiscent of early vitalism. As scientists increasingly traverse interdisciplinary boundaries, embracing the principles of holism and complexity science, they are uncovering new patterns, principles, and laws that echo the intuitions of early vitalists.The groundbreaking research of Michael Levin at Tufts University, with its focus on bioelectric patterns and their role in development and regeneration, offers a compelling empirical bridge to Blumenbach's ‘formative drive'. While Levin's work eschews the metaphysical aspects of a "life force," it uncovers the intricate bioelectric networks that guide the form and function of organisms, echoing vitalism's fascination with the organizing principles of life.This shift acknowledges that life's essence may not be fully captured by reductionist views alone. Levin shows how it's not the mechanisms of DNA that unlock the mysteries of biological organization but the communication between cells and their environment. It points towards a more integrated understanding of the natural world that respects the intricate interplay of its myriad components.Shelley's pondering remains relevant today, “perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought together, and endued with vital warmth." Either way, "Frankenstein" continues to remind us of the need for humility and ethical consideration. After all, as we navigate the complex frontier between mechanistic ambition and our fragile, emergent, and interconnected life neurobiology tells us our own neural connections are being reshaped by both environmental interactions and cognitive activity, reflecting principles of embedded cognition those early vitalists would surely endorse. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,It's been a while since we've been together. I took some time over the holiday break. We often think of parents spoiling kids upon their return from college, but I'm the one who feels spoiled.We're squarely in the winter season up north and that means I'll be exploring human behavior. With all the talk of AI, I thought I'd start with its root inspiration — the neuron. How did these come to be?Let's find out.As I stand here today, the earth's declination angle is slowly inching toward zero as its orbital tilt brings us closer to spring. This will trigger a host of biological and biochemical chain reactions. Plants awake, buds break, birds migrate, insects propagate, amphibians' mate, seeds germinate, furs abate, and soils emanate. Algae plumes bloom, and our own metabolism's resume.This shared sensing of environmental change makes common sense because we can sense it with our own senses. Less common is making sense of what we can't sense. That's what I'm trying to make sense of. Let's start with cells.Cells can also make sense of their environment, and of each other. Consensus belief says cellular life emerged nearly 3.7 billion years ago on a rotating and orbiting earth that had already been oscillating in a predictable pattern for 750 million years. Early cellular organisms learned to predict these patterns, as the theory goes, getting an evolutionary leg up on the competition. This knowledge was then stored in the cell. I was surprised to learn a cell can store information.Ricard Solé is a prominent researcher who applies complex systems concepts to biology. He explained in a recent podcast how cells perform associative learning through reactions to different external stimuli — a process fundamental to the evolution of cognition. This learning involves associating a specific signal with a stressor in a cell's environment. Over time, they learn to respond to the signal, even in the absence of the original stressor. A bit like a Pavlovian response.This information is then stored within the cell. Cells have complex signaling networks that gather information from the cell membrane and transmit it internally from the membrane to the genome or nucleus. These signals act as boolean "genetic switches." The switch involves pairs of genes that negatively regulate each other, creating a kind of memory storage system. As one gene tries to regulate the other, that gene is trying to do the same. Like two magnets competing to repel or attract. This leads to a binary outcome — the conflict produces a specific protein, or it does not. This process is akin to the binary electronic circuitry found in signaling networks used to process and store information on a computer. (more on that in future posts on this topic)Cells that can respond to the environment, or conditions within itself, can secrete something into their environment. But if there are no other cells to receive them as signals or with the intention to propagate their stored information, this operation serves no function. Over evolutionary time, however, cells began to form functionalities. For example, through expressions formed from their genetic circuitry, the cells that make up your liver and kidney evolved to conduct basic metabolic functions. Meanwhile, the cells that make up neurons in your brain evolved to send and receive information — to communicate with each other. A major step in evolution.Another major evolutionary step, according to Solé, came with interneurons. These are neurons that form connections between sensory neurons to process information between them. Many neurons connected by many interneurons form arrays of neural circuits capable of more complex information processing. Organisms that don't have interneurons, like plants, pose a real biological and evolutionary disadvantage among energy competing biological organisms. Though, they created their own biological functions that are so wondrous they induce jealousy, like photosynthesis. Imagine getting fed by lying in the sun with your feet in the sand. Did I mention it's winter in the gloomy northwest?Solé believes the invention of interneurons provided the critical step toward a key component in the evolution of complex organisms like us, but also organisms that came before us like jellyfish. Jellyfish are made of a distributed ‘nerve net' composed of sensory neurons, motor neurons, and interneurons similar to ours. This network conducts basic processing for various sensory and motor functions. For example, it can sense elements of its environment, like water currents and temperatures, which then trigger responses like swimming or eating.Directed locomotion in response to sensory information processing serves as another critical step on the path of evolution — predation. Not only is the jellyfish sensing the water around them, but they're also sensing the presence of predators and their nervous system conspires to act accordingly. As remarkable and complex a jellyfish is at storing information that allows it to predict and act to internal and external stimuli, it took another evolutionary leap to yield the kind of complex neural networks and biological systems we humans rely on.In the words of Ricard Solé, “we tend to think [we humans], unfortunately for our planet, [] have been very, very successful.” He considers humans ‘ecological engineers' because we can “transform the planet by changing flows of energy and matter at massive scales.” The question remains (as we transform the planet in ways that make it harder for us and the organisms we rely on to survive) is our evolutionary journey entering a phase transition? Are we teaching our cells a new lesson to be stored away for future generations, or another failed biological experiment nearing the end of the relentless and brutal path of evolutionary trial and error?Paraphrasing the esteemed biologist E. O. Wilson, Solé offers that “if humans were not here, there would be the planet of the ants”. Ants have a form of collective intelligence that also allow them to transform the planet at massive scales, but to also survive seemingly insurmountable odds. Is there something to be learned from ants? An ant, on its own, is as unremarkable as it is doomed. Can the same be said for us? Who are we without other humans? And even when we're alone, are we really? We host an entire ecosystem of microorganisms for which we are mutually dependent for survival. Some feed on us, some try to kill us, while others conspire with our cells in competition and collaboration to make sense of each other — including the cells that make neurons. What kind of intelligence will they we need to survive another trip around the sun? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,It's been a great year hear at Interplace with subscriptions hitting (and hovering) around 1000 subscribers! Thank you! And thanks to Substack's recommendation engine, the vast majority of those came from Steven Sinofsky's Hardcore Software newsletter. Thank you!Sadly, the utility of this recommendation engine also means those Nazi newsletters Substack chooses to sponsor will also spread. It's their choice of free speech as a publisher and seller. Just like this 1930s Aryan bookstore who was fine attracting Nazi customers because, like Substack, they believed select, uncensored ‘truth brings liberation'.I'm not thrilled to be sorted alongside such publications, but I'm also not thrilled to be embedded among local and national right wing extremists in a country that has yet to fully come to terms with it's own racial ideology. An ideology that intermingles jingoism and militarism propped up with related economic policies. Yes, I have the choice (and privilege) to move, but finding places void of right-wing extremism and zombie neoliberalism is getting harder and harder these days.2024 is a big election year in the U.S. One that will surely influence this course and our nation's discourse. Abusive forms of AI is sure to play a role in it. So, I was curious what would happen if I took my top five most viewed posts of 2023 and ask ChatGPT to provide connections between them and summarize a conclusion. I'm impressed. Not only with the how Large Language Models (LLMs) emulate perceived human intelligence, but with the consistency with which my own convictions and intentions emerge throughout these five posts. ChatGPT, like a good LLM, is providing an illusion of consistency and coherency in my writing! It's a reflection of external linguistic patterns arranged in a literary image of my internal goals for Interplace — an emulation of perceived intelligence! Be careful out there.I hope everyone has a healthy and happy 2024. Please remember this interpretation of my own intention as you set your new year's resolutions: “our collective actions contribute to the fabric of our environments, and through awareness and choice, we have the power to reshape them for the better.”And now, ChatGPT's Interplace summary of 2023.The five blocks of text you provided seem to be excerpts from different discussions or articles that, although varied in focus, share common themes about the intersection of human behavior, spatial cognition, and the environment, whether it be through the lens of a television show, research in geography, urban planning, psychological studies, or societal needs.* Clarkson's Farm: The Grand Tour of the Rural-Urban Divide: This text illustrates how a TV show can provide a microcosm of the broader societal issues, including the divide between rural and urban life, environmental impact, and social stratification. It suggests that the antics of the show's host, Jeremy Clarkson, inadvertently reveal the interconnectedness of society and the environment.* A Geography Revolution: Complexity and Connection in Successor Evolution: This section discusses the advancement in cognitive geography, moving away from traditional, rigid spatial models to those that account for the complex, iterative interactions between people and their environments. It challenges conventional Euclidean views and advocates for a more dynamic, holistic approach to spatial cognition.* The Universal Uniformity of Urban Mobility: Here, the focus is on urban mobility and how patterns of movement within cities are universally similar, as demonstrated by visitation power laws. The text raises concerns about equity and inclusivity in urban planning, suggesting that current models serve those with resources while potentially neglecting others. It also touches on how legislative changes can influence urban structure and the potential for creating more walkable neighborhoods.* Will Work for Food. A Quirk or Accrued?: This text compares human behavior with that of rats in a study about driving and satisfaction. It draws parallels between the cognitive benefits of novel experiences and the laborious nature of maintaining a car, suggesting that there may be more rewarding alternatives to driving, such as walking, which provide more cognitive stimulation and a sense of agency.* Hierarchy of Needs or Just More Greed?: The final text reflects on the individual's power to enact change within large-scale systems, as evidenced by shifts in behavior during the pandemic. It questions whether adherence to traditional socio-economic constructs serves our needs and posits that conscious, alternative choices could lead to significant societal transformations.Summary:The amalgamation of these texts presents a nuanced examination of human-environment interactions. At the core is an understanding that our spaces, whether physical like farms and cities or conceptual like cognitive maps, are not static but are shaped by our interactions, decisions, and movements. From Clarkson's representation of rural life to the universal patterns of urban mobility, we see a pattern of uniformity in our behaviors that transcends geography and culture.The discussion on cognitive geography suggests that embracing complexity in our understanding of space can lead to more equitable and representative models of human-environment interaction. This is echoed in the exploration of urban mobility, where data reflects not just how we move, but also the socio-economic hierarchies that dictate our movement. The potential for change is highlighted by the example of legislation affecting urban density, indicating a path towards more sustainable and equitable urban living.The comparison of human behavior to that of rats reveals a deeper commentary on our choices and their psychological impacts. The reward system driving both rats and humans to undertake certain tasks like driving is complex and influenced by our environment. This complexity is further unpacked in the final text, which suggests that individual choices can lead to macro-scale changes in society. This ties back to the first text, where a television show, through its portrayal of the rural-urban divide, unintentionally showcases the interconnectivity of our choices and their impact on the world.In essence, these texts argue for a more conscious and nuanced approach to how we view and shape our environments. They call for a departure from reductionist thinking, advocating for a recognition of the complex, interconnected nature of our world, and a reevaluation of our choices and their ramifications. Whether through the lens of a TV show, urban planning, geography, psychology, or societal behavior, the message is clear: our collective actions contribute to the fabric of our environments, and through awareness and choice, we have the power to reshape them for the better.Thank you for reading Interplace. Feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,On the day before many around the world pull out ‘T'was the Night Before Christmas' to read to their kids, maybe drop a little context to the origins of this tale. This is an excerpt from a longer post I did in 2021 on Black Friday. It touches on how the rising wealth in New York leading up to 1900 brought about shifts in attitudes around how the powerful elite should deal with ‘the masses' of poor, and increasingly urban, immigrants. Included are themes emerging today like immigration, laws outlawing voting to non-property owners, and even calls for an end to democracy.‘T'was the Night Before Christmas' was intended for the elite literate ruling class. It can be interpreted as a nostalgic romantic tale about how Christmas should be less about sharing with ‘the unruly masses' — communally seeking good tidings — and more about barricading private homes from potential invasion and keeping your wealth to yourself. It's a fantasy about letting a poor, kind peddler in a red tattered coat labor to bring gifts to affluent kids, quietly and calmly through the chimney of a fancy New York apartment.Merry Christmas!CLOTHES WERE ALL TARNISHED WITH ASHES AND SOOTBut the dawn of a new century, and the industrial age, brought a shift in attitudes around Christmas. The elite, like in centuries past, distanced themselves from the occasion. As urban cities grew and jobs shifted from the farm to the factory, winter brought new dynamics to the onset of the season. Some factories closed in the cold months as did shipyards along frozen waters.This brought unemployment and idle time to laborers. Whereas historically wealthy farm owners were willing to amuse the working class in a societal roll reversal – through transient and theatrical wassailing – the urban elite power structures were unwilling to participate. But it didn't stop the working class from venting.The once faint mockery of their employers – imbued with subtle hints of revenge should they not offer them gifts, food, or alcohol – turned fierce and riotous in the 1800s. Papers in both England and the United States barely mention Christmas at all between 1800 and 1820. But that was about to change.In the first decade of 1800, one of New York's most influential men, John Pintard, became particularly peeved by the seasonal banditti. He reminisced on ‘better days' when the rich and the poor got drunk together. And while he wished his wealthy friends reveled more among themselves, he grew concerned that “the beastly vice of drunkenness among the lower laboring classes is growing to a frightful excess…”And in a familiar tone, echoed to this day by many, he feared “thefts, incendiaries, and murders—which prevail—all arise from this source.”  Which is why he helped create the Society for the Prevention of Pauperism. This was an organization that sought to curb money directed at care for the poor, but to also stop them from begging and drinking. The white elite ruling class of the 1820s –- as well as many in the 2020s – complained of what one New York paper described as, “[t]he assembling of Negroes, servants, boys and other disorderly persons, in noisy companies in the streets, where they spend the time in gaming, drunkenness, quarreling, swearing, etc., to the great disturbance of the neighborhood.”Pintard was also hopelessly nostalgic. He founded the New York Historical Society in 1804 and was instrumental in establishing Washington's Birthday, the Fourth of July, and Columbus Day as national holidays. Pintard also introduced America's icon of nostalgia, Santa Claus. Seeking a patron saint for the New York Historical Society, and for all of New York City, he commissioned an illustration to be painted of St. Nicholas giving presents to children. While the icon was not intended to be seasonal, it was nonetheless printed on December 6th, St. Nicholas Day, in 1810.He pined for the days when the rich and powerful could rule over what was becoming a burgeoning working class. In 1822, as Jefferson had just passed a law allowing non-property owners to vote, Pintard wrote to his daughter,“All power is to be given, by the right of universal suffrage, to a mass of people, especially in this city, which has no stake in society. It is easier to raise a mob than to quell it, and we shall hereafter be governed by rank democracy.… Alas that the proud state of New York should be engulfed in the abyss of ruin.”WHAT TO MY WONDERING EYES SHOULD APPEAR1822 was also the year his friend, and wealthy land owner, Clement Clark Moore, wrote what was to become the most influential Christmas poem ever: “A Visit from St. Nicholas” or as it is known today, “T'was The Night Before Christmas.”This single poem, written for the elite upper class, encapsulates the nostalgia of wassailing Pintard and his friends pined for, while self-indulgently feeling good about themselves for ‘giving to the needy.' Moore did this by substituting the unruly lower working class, begging for gifts from their master, with children expecting presents on Christmas morning.He kept the gift giving mysticism of the centuries old St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, but removed the judgmental elements of a Bishop who may make them feel guilty for maintaining class divide by making him “merry”, “droll”, “rosy”, and “plump.” He also made him a lower class “peddler”. And while Santa made a loud noise “on the lawn” with a “clatter”, just as a lower class wassailer would have, he was but a small and unthreatening “right jolly old elf” who kindly left toys he had labored over for the children.And he asked nothing in return. With a “wink of his eye” and a “finger aside his nose” (a gesture meaning “just between you and me”) Moore gave the privileged class, who were fearful of home invasions at Christmas time, assurance they “had nothing to dread.” All they needed to do, was keep their wealth within the family and buy their kids and friends gifts at Christmas time. Forget the poor, they thought, they're as hopeless as democracy.The vision and version of Christmas and Santa Claus that Moore provided his haughty affluent peers, in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, was soon to be read by a growing middle class and an increasingly literate lower class. That's as true then as it is today.And while Moore was a country squire who never worked a day in his life, and hated the gridding up of property in a growing New York City, he grew to love the money he earned selling off family property he inherited. Geographer Simeon DeWitt was chopping Manhattan into a Roman style grid to make room for a population that grew from 33,000 in 1790 to nearly 200,000 by the time Moore's poem was written in 1822. He even included a chimney in his poem for Santa to climb down as a way for city folk to better relate to a scene he'd rather have happened in his bucolic hills of a New York of yore – an area today we call Chelsea.Reference:The Battle for Christmas. A Social and Cultural History of Our Most Cherished Holiday. Stephen Nissenbaum. 1997 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,This is the last post on economics for 2023. Next up for winter is human behavior. This post bridges where we left off with traditional colonial nation-states by talking about how similar philosophies are motivating the formation of neocolonial micro-states. What causes people to seek freedom in new places by limiting the freedom of those found in such places?Let's dig in…THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESSIn 2009 the venture capitalist, techno-optimist, and libertarian political activist Peter Thiel ‘reasoned'. “[he] no longer believes freedom and democracy are compatible.” He said, “The great task for libertarians is to find an escape from politics in all its forms.” Back then Thiel was introducing his ‘seasteading' project — building or repurposing platforms in ocean waters not covered by international law as micro-nations. He continues to lead his friends and followers, like tech mogul Marc Andreessen, toward these promised lands. They seek sophisticated legal spaces opportunistically drawn inside pre-existing territories with curious jurisdictions, legal structures, and rights. They take on names like ‘innovation hubs' or ‘high-tech parks' — techno-libertarian utopian ‘enclaves' and ‘havens' for those willing to adopt and adhere to their techno-optimist religion.My last two posts talked about the creation of nation-states by powerful governments over the centuries and how they contributed to the current wars in Ukraine and Palestine. But there are also battles in the courtroom between these neocolonial libertarian venture capitalists and the people resisting colonization. This is why, as The Economist says, these libertarian colonies “will have their own government, write their own laws, manage their own currency and, eventually, hold their own elections.” And they have the backing of powerful European and U.S. governments. Sound familiar? The original European colonial nation-states were qausi-governmental entities conceived by rich and powerful private entities to further enrich themselves — often at the expense of local people and land. It's a concept that emerged out the European Enlightenment boosted by new scientific discoveries, technologies, and philosophies.Thinkers like John Locke advocated for the concept of natural rights, including life, liberty, and property, which belonged inherently to individuals. These ideas inspired people to seek places where they could express personal autonomy and the freedom to pursue one's own goals and desires free of rule. This contrasted with long held beliefs that placed collective or communal goals above individual aspirations.The Enlightenment is also often associated with the Age of Reason. Influential philosophers like René Descartes and Immanuel Kant emphasized the role of reason in understanding the world and making decisions. They argued that individuals should use their capacity for rational thought to question traditional authorities and beliefs, thus promoting a more individualistic approach to knowledge and truth. Reason is the hallmark of libertarian political philosophy today.But they're not alone. Rationalism has long been a cornerstone of human understanding, though faces many challenges today. Advances in neuroscience, cognitive psychology, and philosophy reveal that rationality is not a neutral tool but is often influenced by power structures, cultural biases, and subjective experiences. What is considered 'rational' can vary across different cultural and social contexts.For example, the ‘rational actor' theory on which mainstream economics rests doesn't factor in confirmation bias — favoring information that confirms preexisting beliefs. A growing number of neuroscientists are revealing confirmation bias triggers activity in brain regions involved in reward processing, suggesting some biases may be rooted in fundamental neural mechanisms.One of the preexisting beliefs of early Enlightenment thinkers, theologians, and colonial settlers is the idea that morality and ethics are not solely dictated by external authorities (like the church or state) but can be discerned through personal reasoning and rational introspection. This led to a more personal and individualistic approach to moral decisions. This may a form of confirmation bias suggesting moral principles should be followed out of a sense of personal duty over a duty to the community.This shift played a crucial role in shaping modern Western societies, influencing everything from political theory to personal identity.These ideas are intermingled in European colonialism and state-making. European powers, perceiving themselves as more 'civilized' and 'rational', used these beliefs to legitimize the domination of other peoples, whom they considered less enlightened or rational. This paternalistic view was used to rationalize the spread of European control and influence across the globe, often disregarding the autonomy and cultural values of colonized peoples.While Enlightenment thinkers championed personal freedom and autonomy, these ideals were selectively applied. Colonial powers often deny these rights to the people in their newly formed colonies, leading to a glaring contradiction between Enlightenment ideals and colonial practices. This paradox is what fuels anti-colonial movements to argue for independence and self-determination just as colonizers did against their religious, feudal, and imperial tyrants.The individualistic approach to morality and ethics of the Enlightenment era led to significant debates and critiques regarding the moral implications of colonialism that are alive today. Some Enlightenment thinkers, like Denis Diderot, Rousseau, and Voltaire and later the abolitionists, criticized colonialism and slavery on moral grounds. Even early American colonizers like Roger Williams, John Woolman, and Thomas Paine criticized the inhumane treatment of Native Americans and the unjust rights of exploitation of land and labor. However, the cloak of moral and civilizational superiority ultimately justified colonial practices then and now.LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALLAre these neocolonial ‘zones of opportunity' just another cloak of moral and civilizational superiority that ultimately justifies total disregard for the autonomy and cultural values of the local people and land? And like other attempts to support colonization, are they endorsed by powerful governments and Western financial institutions? Yes, they are.In 2013, the Honduran government under President Juan Orland Hernández, after controversially reconstituting its Supreme Court, passed the "ZEDEs law" to create "Zones for Employment and Economic Development." These zones, inspired by former World Bank Economist Paul Romer's Charter City concept, involved selling Honduran territory to foreign investors at low costs. The Society for the Socioeconomic Development of Honduras, later known as Honduras Próspera LLC, was established in Biden's home Company State and tax haven, Delaware.Próspera is funded by Peter Thiel and Marc Andreesen and was envisioned as a libertarian utopia. They want to develop a ‘zone' in Crawfish Rock, a small, historically significant community located on the island of Roatán, part of the Bay Islands in Honduras. Its English-speaking origins can be traced back to the early 19th century when the British Empire exerted influence over the region, leading to a significant influx of English-speaking Black Caribbean descendants. Over the years, Crawfish Rock has maintained its unique cultural and linguistic identity, with English remaining the primary language, a testament to its historical ties to the British colonial era and the diverse migration patterns in the Caribbean. An organization has formed to protect these people, their homes, and their heritage — as well as other areas like it in Honduras from ‘neocolonial invasion'.The Vice President of the Crawfish Rock governing council Venessa Cardenas Woods put it plainly, “If you take away our land, if you take away our cultural heritage, our way of living, you take away everything, the entire identity of the group as English-speaking blacks, then you would be eliminating an entire people.”Meanwhile, Prospera's President, Joel Bomgar, who also happens to be a member of the Mississippi House of Representatives, believes, “The concept of free private cities and charter cities, specifically what Próspera is trying to do, is the most transformative project in the world.” Bomgar previously started and then sold a remote access software company for support technicians.Lest you think this is purely a conservative GOP libertarian affair, it was the Obama administration that created a “U.S. Strategy for Engagement in Central America.” Optimistically stating, “While the United States will need to invest significant resources in such an effort, the success of the strategy will depend far more on the readiness of Central American governments to continue to demonstrate political will and undertake substantial political and economic commitments to bring about positive change in the region.”Their efforts and dollars instead supported a government coup and the rise of Hernández which ultimately reshaped the Honduras constitution, reassembled the supreme court, and forced the formation of U.S. backed ‘zones' into law. The coup was unanimously condemned by the UN General Assembly.   In a made-for-tv twist, fast forward to 2022, Honduran President Juan Orland Hernández was arrested, detained, and then extradited at the request of the United States government on drug and arms charges. The Hondurans then elected Xiomar Castro as the country's first female president. She is also the wife of Manuel Zelaya who was ousted in the coup. Her mandate is political platform, social justice, poverty reduction, and opposition to neoliberal policies.She wasted no time. The Honduran Congress voted unanimously to repeal ‘zone' laws and appointed a committee to oversee their elimination. Próspera also wasted no time. Months later the corporation filed a $10.7 billion dollar claim against the Honduran government. This equates to 80% of the Honduran total governmental expenditures. They claim it's a violation of the U.S. Central American Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA-DR).Members of the U.S. Congress and Biden administration sought to defend and expand CAFTA provisions to further protect U.S. investments. This system of public-private strong-arming of weaker countries is embedded in U.S. bilateral investment treaties. It can create legal and power imbalances that allow corporations to sue governments for regulations affecting profits without reciprocal accountability for corporate crimes — including violations of the very labor laws and environmental protections Libertarians seek to avoid in the creation of their so-called ‘havens'.The Biden administration's approach to international trade law and the ongoing case of Honduras challenges existing trade norms. Honduras is actively resisting this system, with President Castro's government seeking to reform the international trade system and restrict corporate power from neocolonial expansion.As Honduras prepares to lead the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) in 2024, this issue is set to become a central topic in hemispheric discussions. The case underscores the importance of eliminating unfair provisions from U.S. trade agreements to safeguard democracy against corporate interventions. The stakes are high, not just financially but also in terms of the autonomy of cultural values, community identity, and environmental protections. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,Part 2 talks about the failures of borders, some recent alarming and revealing data about America's ‘shared identity', and some potential paths toward embracing the shaky state of states.Let's get into it…NEWLY PROMISED LANDSPart 1 left us at the Paris Peace Conference and Western-style cartographic geo-political mandates. Amidst these mandates was an admission by one leader that these arrangements would need subsequent alterations. Take this quote, for example:“There are many complicated questions connected with the present settlements which perhaps can not be successfully worked out to an ultimate issue by the decisions we shall arrive at here. I can easily conceive that many of these settlements will need subsequent reconsideration, that many of the decisions we make shall need subsequent alteration in some degree; for, if I may judge by my own study of some of these questions, they are not susceptible of confident judgments at present.”These are the words of U.S. President Woodrow Wilson in January of 1919 at the Paris Peace Conference. Sadly, ‘subsequent alterations' over the last century have proven a tougher challenge than Wilson may have fully appreciated. Whether his intentions were noble or not, rigidly draw borders on maps are obviously failing to truly encapsulate and represent the diverse and multifaceted spectrum of human communities — especially in a world where the negative effects of climate change know no such borders. Could it be that identities and experiences resist being neatly delineated by Cartesian maps inherently based on political philosophies steeped in Cartesian dualities? Is it conceivable that nations and nation-states should not be confined to a singular, homogeneous identity? Perhaps they are incapable of such definition. It may be these concepts have reached their limits. A suggestion that can compound feelings of uncertainty about what lies ahead in tumultuous times. This discomfort drives many to search for past eras that seemed more safe and certain — a time when there appeared to be a common shared national identity. The Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) seeks such shared identities among those living in the United States in their annual ‘American Values Survey.' It's one of the more respected surveys offering a pulse on American views of religion, culture, and politics. They recently released their 2023 results which can serve as one pulse on national identity. They project, based on their statistically valid sample, that“Three in ten Americans (31%) agree that ‘God intended America to be a new promised land where European Christians could create a society that could be an example to the rest of the world. Just less than half of Republicans (49%) agree with this, compared with 26% of independents and only 18% of Democrats.”PRRI data also reveals,“Those who most trust conservative media (66%) and Fox News (54%) among television news sources are much more likely than those who choose no television source (29%) or mainstream media sources (24%) to agree that God intended America to be a new promised land.” “Two-thirds of Republicans (66%) believe things have changed for the worse since the 1950s, compared with half of independents (50%) and only 30% of Democrats.”The 1950s are often remembered as a time of economic prosperity, cultural growth, and the rise of the middle class in America. This era is seen as the embodiment of the 'American Dream,' with a booming post-World War II economy, expanding consumer culture, and significant advancements in technology and suburban living. The period is characterized by strong family values, community cohesion, and distinct gender roles, often contrasted with the rapid social changes and complexities of modern life. Television, automobiles, and household appliances symbolize this era's progress and American ingenuity, reflecting a sense of unity and optimism about the United States' role in the world.However, this romanticized view of the 1950s overlooks many critical social and political issues of the time, including racial segregation, gender inequality, and the fear and paranoia of McCarthyism. The decade, while remembered for its strong leadership and perceived lack of political division, also faced significant challenges. The popular nostalgia for this era often represents a simplified and selective interpretation, failing to fully recognize the complexities and struggles that defined the 1950s, and inadvertently promoting a cartoonish, oversimplified version of history.This difference in opinion is increasingly leading more Americans to embrace violence as a means of establishing a ‘shared identity.'“Americans who believe that the country has changed for the worse since the 1950s are more than twice as likely as those who say that it has changed for the better to agree that true American patriots may have to resort to violence to save the country (30% vs. 14%).”MAPPING THE AMORPHOUSThe idea “that God intended America to be a new promised land” is what many believe is the ‘shared identity' representing the nation-state of America. It's derivative of visions across centuries of European expansionism and colonialism prior to dominance of the United States of America as a nation and economic juggernaut.Just as feudalism marked the beginning of a new social order and the political-economic apparatus of the nation-state, I wonder if our modern-day lords of geopolitical economic power are similarly controlling the toiling vassals and serfs — especially in regions with particularly low-wage labor. The modern-day dynamics between the economically dominant Western and Northern Hemispheres offer metaphors to feudalism. Much like the concentration of wealth among feudal lords, powerful nations hold a significant portion of global wealth and resources, leading to pronounced economic disparities with less developed areas. This situation mirrors the decentralized power structure of feudal times, where today's global landscape is fragmented, with Western and Northern countries wielding substantial influence, creating varying levels of power and development worldwide.The strong economic and political alliances within these hemispheres, akin to feudal loyalties to local lords, often exacerbate global divisions leading to patterns of regional allegiances and wider communal divides.Furthermore, the influence exerted by these dominant regions over global policies, economic trends, and cultural norms is reminiscent of the control feudal lords had over their territories. They shape international trade, governance, and cultural exchanges in ways that echo the hierarchical and power-centric nature of feudal societies. This power and dominance, under the guise of a ‘shared identity' is then used as leverage in exchange for military and monetary protection for survival.Survival was very much on the minds of those living through the 15th-17th centuries. Generation after generation witnessed catastrophic meteorological events brought on by the Little Ice Age. This had devastating impacts on people around the world and played a significant role in shaping the social, political, and economic structures that followed. Might we be on the verge of a new world order?Survival is also on the minds of those suffering the travesties of wars nation-state border disputes create. Including those living the through the lead up to and aftermath of World War I and World War II. I wonder how those feelings of uncertainty compare to feelings of uncertainty today. Scholar, podcaster, and fellow Substack writer Christopher Hobson recently reflected on quotes from intellectuals struggling to make sense of the aftermath of World War I and II. Here's a quote from the 1922 Austrian writer, Robert Musil, in his book ‘Helpless Europe: A Digressive Journey' that could just as easily be written today.“And so we arrive at the present day. The life that surrounds us is devoid of ordering concepts.”Cartesian maps of nation-states are politically charged, legally binding ordering concepts, but their certainty is imagined. When Woodrow Wilson cautioned the agreements at the Paris Peace Conference are "not susceptible of confident judgments" he was suggesting the matters in question were too intricate, uncertain, or evolving to allow for definitive, confident decisions. Wilson is indicating that, due to the complexity and fluidity of the issues, any judgments or decisions made during the conference might be provisional and subject to change.Let's consider some alternatives traditional mapping of nation-states.* Could psychogeographic maps, reflecting the emotional landscapes of diverse groups, provide a more nuanced understanding of human geography? * Perhaps powerful nations and states should be leading exercises in participatory mapping offering communities themselves more accurate and meaningful representations of their own spaces and identities. * Maybe counter-mapping or decolonial mapping practices that challenge the established narratives and power structures inherent in traditional cartography could offer new perspectives to those so sure of a ‘shared identity'? * Critical Geographic Information Science can reveal underlying patterns of inequality and socio-political dynamics commonly overlooked, shifting conceptions of what could be? * And in a world increasingly influenced by feminist perspectives, how might feminist cartography reshape our understanding of spaces and places, especially in relation to gender dynamics?These questions, rooted in the alternatives to Cartesian cartography, invite us to consider new paradigms in mapping and understanding of human geography. They are emerging as new tools just as anthropography was emerging at the time of the Paris Peace Agreements.We are clearly in need of a new shared understanding that could offer new directions in our politics, economics, and global societies, but we should heed the advice of Woodrow Wilson and be cautious of our confidence.Christopher Hobson encourages mindfulness and carefulness as we attempt to make sense of what comes next. He suggests we “…resist the lure of comfortable frames and easy explanations, and instead to fully reckon with ‘the brittleness of the world' and what potentialities might be present in these conditions.”Perhaps it's best to embrace the shaky state of states and the ambiguity of the unknown as we try to make sense of the state of our world. As Hobson offers,“The post-Cold War era has passed, (hyper)globalization has peaked, the unipolar moment has finished, neoliberalism has perhaps entered its zombie phase.”We live in…“A time defined by what it is no longer, what is ‘not quite here, but yet at hand'.” This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,There's a lot of talk of states these days. Palestine and Israel, one state or two? Ukraine and Russia. One state or two? The United States. E pluribus unum. Out of many, one…right? What about that one D.C. federal district, or those five territories, and a bunch of ‘minor' islands? And don't forget the many tribal nations within the nation-state of the United States which can often spread across many state borders!  I started writing about all this and it got long, so I'm broke it two. Ex uno plures, from one, many. I suppose there's a lesson in all this. No matter how fixed a given state of affairs may appear, we have to be prepared for bifurcations and reconfigurations.Let's dig in!THE RISE OF STATESI easily confuse states with nations. Nations are loosely defined as a group of people with a shared identity. A nation-state is a political structure represented by a territorial boundary claiming to contain a common identity. I used the words ‘loosely' and ‘claim' because so many territorially bounded areas or nations contain a multitude of identities. The United States, a notoriously diverse country, is a great example.Nations and nation-states seem to have chicken-and-egg origin story. I believe those who claim the nation-state rose out of folks like those early European colonizers. Fueled by the thought of amassing wealth, land, and power once only believed to be wrangled by feudal lords and monarchs, influential and enterprising European intellectually ‘entlightened' elites pooled their resources and got to work.The idea of a nation-state, and their bordered geographic territories, began to take shape through 14th-17th century Europe. The late Middle Ages and the rising Renaissance witnessed a gradual decline of feudalism and the rise of centralized monarchies who were incented to consolidate power within defined territorial boundaries. The Peace of Westphalia in 1648, which ended the Thirty Years' War in Europe, is often cited as a key moment in the history of nations as it established the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity fundamental to the nation-state concept.The 18th and 19th centuries saw the rise of nationalism, a significant driving force behind the nation-state concept. Nationalism emphasized a shared identity based on language, culture, and ethnicity, often aligned with a specific geographic territory. The French Revolution (1789–1799) and the subsequent Napoleonic Wars accelerated the spread of these ideas across Europe.Language invention and reconstitution burgeoned across Europe. One example is from 1820 Finland. Born out of an interest in Finnish tradition and culture a groundswell of nationalism by Finnish writers, teachers, pastors, and attorneys took hold. They stitched together their collective past stories and dialects and published dictionaries and grammar guides that differentiated them from the Swedes. This forged a more confident and self-determined government and national identity defined by their borders and their language.In 1819 the first publication of Ukrainian grammar was printed. Russian grammar was defined just 17 years prior. By 1830 more Ukrainian writers were published in their native language. This is the date that established the language as a bonding element of Ukrainian nationalism. In 1846 the first Ukrainian nationalist organization was founded. And not by a politician with a sovereign agenda, but by a historian.The 19th century also saw the unification of various nation-states. Notable examples include the unification of Italy in the 1860s and Germany in the 1870s. These unifications were driven by shared cultural, linguistic, and ethnic identities, as well as by political and economic interests.It took Germany just 40 years to rise as a dominant and powerful nation-state in Europe. This led to tensions around Europe, especially with France and Britain. But it was a Serbian nationalist group and their assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary in 1914 that triggered war. Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia and Europe erupted into World War I.  The United States entered the war in 1917, in part fearing a potential alliance between neighboring Mexico and Germany. This was also the same year they began preparing for peace agreements and the redistricting of territories of nation-states.In 1918 U.S. President Woodrow Wilson boarded a ship for Paris bringing with him a team of cartographers to create materials for the Paris Peace Conference. This included chief cartographer Mark Sylvester William Jefferson who had invented a form of thematic mapping based on ethnography, demography, and population distribution called anthropography.Comfortable with nearly thirteen languages, he and a team of ethnographers, linguists, and anthropologists set up offices in a Paris hotel. They drew convincing maps used by Wilson and his allies to sell other world leaders on the formation of nation-states that would best serve their interests. U.S. interest in one of those nation-states invented in Paris remains today — Ukraine.DIVIDE AND CONQUER, ALLIED BY RANCOROut of this conference emerged the first worldwide intergovernmental organization, the League of Nations. With it came a set of treaties that shifted power principally to the United States, Great Britain, and France while mandating political power to newly drawn, U.S. directed, and ethnically and linguistically determined nation-state maps.Just four years after the formation of the League of Nations, in 1923, the League of Nations turned their attention to the Middle East declaring Palestine a state. A British mandate, it was based on a cartographic line originally drawn in 1906 by the British and the French between Palestine and Egypt. This was the first internationally recognized boundary in the Middle East.Having already colonized Egypt as part of their growing empire, England then wanted control of the Suez Canal. So they invented another border that awarded them the Sinai Peninsula. Then, in 1916, the English and French met in secret to create a dividing line between Egypt and Turkey. They decided Egypt would go to England and Turkey would go to France. Four years later they determined Lebanon and Syria would go to France, and Palestine and Mesopotamia to England.It took the end of the second World War in 1947 for the League of Nations, now rebranded the United Nations, to recommend a plan to divide Palestine into two “independent Jewish and Arab states.”The Jewish organization that had long been helping resettle the area begrudgingly accepted the proposal, but most of the Arab contingent did not. In 1948 the British mandate expired, hundreds of Palestinians were expelled, 78% of the land was handed to Israel, and before the year was up the region had their first Arab-Israeli war. And here, again, like in Ukraine, today we have borders and states defined by the West roiled in controversy and war.History reveals how European and American colonialism spread the concept of the nation-state globally. And economics were a central theme. Local and regional agrarian and mercantile economies of the 17th century led to regional specialization, with certain areas developing specific industries based on their geographic advantages. This specialization then influenced economic structures within nation-states and their interactions with other states. Those with common religion, language, or cultures conspired against the ‘others'.Natural resource acquisition, deprivation, and distribution brought needs for trade routes and resource accessibility at a time when the world was being both mapped and explored by Europeans. Geographic features that facilitated or hindered trade, such as rivers, seas, mountains, and plains, all impact the development and power of nation-states. For example, access to trade routes along the Dnieper River has played a critical role in trade and distribution from Greece to Kiev dating all the way back to the first millennium BC.The Suez Canal was built it in the late 1800s by the French and remains an important international trade route to this day. The industrial revolution and subsequent urbanization and modernization that followed all hinge on economic geography. And its nation-state status that awards a nation's entry into competing and cooperating or demoralizing and destroying.I'd like to think cartographers like Jefferson, and social scientists like him, were well-intentioned and hopeful they could use human identities forged from language, culture, ethnicity, race, creed, or tribes to empower and protect vulnerable peoples politically and socially. Perhaps they believed these cartographic mandates, sensitive to human geography, could lead to peaceful and eternal coexistence.But it seems fictitious fixed borders drawn on a map fail to convey, capture, and contain the amorphous and pluralistic panoply of peoples. Maybe identities can't be drawn by a Cartesian map using political philosophies rooted in Cartesian dualities. Maybe nations and nation-states shouldn't be defined by one common shared identity. Maybe they can't. Maybe these concepts have run their course and we don't yet know what comes next. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

Hello Interactors,A series of U.S. federal legislation under the Biden administration has spawned a manufacturing boom at a scale not seen in decades. Unfortunately, the country is repeating the same socio-economic, land use, and transportation policy mistakes that have lead to many of the ills we're seeking to remedy. Are we missing an opportunity to build back better?A MANUFACTURING RENAISSANCEClearcut a forest and build a factory. Now build an even bigger parking lot around the factory for workers and make them drive from miles around to work. Parts and supplies? Yeah, those will have to be trucked in too. Now, stand here in front of the camera and wave this earth flag alongside a U.S. flag and brag about job growth and how EV's are going to re-green the earth.This scene captures what's currently unfolding across the United States. Legislation such as the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act, CHIPS and Science Act, and the Inflation Reduction Act, alongside increased Department of Defense spending, is catalyzing a 'manufacturing renaissance' in the United States with a supposed emphasis on infrastructure improvement, clean energy, and national security.Paradoxically, this familiar pattern in economic geography is partially responsible for the historical socio-economic inequities and environmental destruction the U.S. is struggling to remedy. Research by Drexel University's Nowak Metro Finance Lab, in cooperation with the Aspen Institute's Latinos and Society Program, is investigating the spatial dimensions of this shift, seeking to enhance opportunities for minority-owned businesses within this new economic landscape.They've uncovered how the burgeoning manufacturing boom in the United States is showcasing a remarkable geographic distribution of investment and industry specialization significantly benefiting a diverse array of states and metropolitan areas. A substantial portion of funding aimed at bolstering the semiconductor supply chain is pouring into states like Arizona, Texas, New York, Ohio, and Indiana.Additionally, to streamline supply chain efficiencies, battery plants are emerging alongside automotive factories in a vertical alignment from Michigan to Georgia. On the energy front, the Eastern seaboard is focusing on offshore wind power, while states such as California, Arizona, and Texas lead in solar panel production. This broad dispersion of high-tech manufacturing indicates a shift towards a more equitable distribution of economic growth across the nation.This industrial transformation is not only geographically dispersed across many states and regions, but also spread to the outskirts of metropolitan areas. This raises challenges in harnessing this growth for the benefit of all, particularly Black- and Latino-owned firms and workers. It's shaping into another form of ‘white flight' where firms seek the cheapest land away from populated areas, which typically are exurban and rural farmland and forests, toward smaller cities and towns which are predominantly white. And mostly poor, offering a needed economic boost.However, these regions, cities, and towns have also historically deprioritized public transit alongside decades of car dependent land use policies. So whatever jobs and growth these new manufacturing facilities bring, they're destined to also bring more cars, which means more traffic, more pollution, and more time alone in cars isolated from interactions with community members. Meanwhile, the decades of neglect and decay of our rail network also means more truck traffic.I'm reminded of geographer David Harvey's concept of the 'spatial fix'. It suggests capital movement, including the re-shoring of manufacturing, seeks new low-cost geographical frontiers to overcome drains on profit and expansion. This exploitation of geographical ‘space' through industrial policy and investment reflects a 'fix' for capital investments and investors. By now, however, the meaning of the word 'fix' has less to do with a correction and more to do with an addiction.There's an addiction to a dynamic complex interplay of local and global economic geographies — a form of economic development and spatial restructuring that has shown to bring about both positive and negative outcomes. Parking lots and roads may have paved the way for many to cruise to a better quality of life, but the quality of the paradise we call home — our communities, cities, health, and environments — are suffering, if not lost, from decades of addiction.This boom, while creating opportunities for some, may continue to be a bust for many. They may also spawn new forms of social stratification. The concentration of certain industries in specific regions, for example, could lead to a polarization of skill sets and economic opportunities. This, in turn, may result in localized booms benefiting a segment of society while leaving others behind, thereby reinforcing regional disparities rather than truly leveling the playing field and remedy the disparities that already plague this country.Furthermore, the inter-regional competition for investment can spark a race to the bottom in terms of labor standards and environmental regulations. The suburbanization of industry, while beneficial for regional decentralization, often neglects urban cores leaving central areas, and underprivileged members of society, to grapple with the growing donut hole of decay from decades of lack of investment and attention.This shift raises questions about the urban-rural divide, land use, and environmental sustainability. The dispersion of these new manufacturing initiatives does indeed offer opportunities for restructuring regional economies. There is potential for the country to move towards a multi-nodal metropolitan model where economic activities are spread across a wider area, including existing urban centers. Provided it is managed with an eye towards sustainability and inclusivity…and today it is not.POWER, PEOPLE, AND PLACENow would be an ideal time to update and expand transportation infrastructure like rail and public transit to address decades of decay and neglect. By enhancing connectivity, metropolitan areas and their cities can become more resilient and inclusive, enabling a diverse workforce to access employment opportunities. This would help mitigate socio-economic inequities while reducing car dependencies and the country's outsized contribution to local, regional, and worldwide transportation related pollution. While renewable energy investments are worthy, as are roads, bridges, pipes, and electrical grids, most federal, state, and local transportation dollars are spent bolstering car sales and car dependency and all the physical, psychological, social, economic, and environmental health declines it's shown to contribute to.These infrastructure deficiencies underscore a more profound need for more adaptive strategies that align with principles found in complexity science, like resiliency. The resilience of these increasingly brittle social systems is tested not only by burgeoning demands but also by the unpredictable shocks like those experienced during the pandemic. Increasing frequency and amplitude of weather shocks also reveal the fragility of underinvested frameworks. The capacity to adapt to emerging needs and stresses — be it climate change impacts, congestion, or energy supply — requires a systemic rethinking that transcends traditional silos of urban planning and regional economic development.Moreover, the underrepresentation of minority-owned firms in strategic sectors, as still found in federal spending patterns, hints at an oversight resulting in an exasperation of existing inequalities and social tensions. As the report demonstrates, these will likely persist unless addressed through targeted interventions. As we learned with the BLM movement, and similar social movements in the past, interventions must start by understanding lived experiences and power relationships on the ground, locally and regionally. This is essential to building the socio-economic political systems that enable or disempower them.Space and place are often viewed by the powerful and by policy makers as neutral, abstracted points, polygons, and numbers on a map or spreadsheet. But they're more than that.The work of geographer Doreen Massey reminds us space is a product of interrelations and interactions at all scales across institutions and individuals and therefore can't be regarded as neutral. In her influential book “Space, Place and Gender” she reveals how space is politically and socially charged — imbued with power relations. She introduced the idea of "power geometry" to describe the complex and dynamic ways in which different social groups and individuals are positioned within the "flows" of the globalized world.Recent global events and current local investments across the country are examples of power geometry. We can see how different social and political groups have distinct relationships with these new flows and movements — how they are able to command space and assert influence over it. Some have the power to shape networks and connections across space, which includes the ability to accelerate the pace of movement and interaction for themselves, while others are placed in positions where they are restricted or excluded. This can be true even for those who can afford to own cars and those who cannot.Owning a car, while a necessity for most, is still a form of power that when asserted only serves to diminish the power of those who do not. Many of these new manufacturing hubs are being built to build more cars and computer chips for them by people who need cars to get to work. This reveals the powerful influence the federal government has over the global geographic geometry required to build cars, and their parts, the local geometries needed to build the plants, and the car dependent network of roads needed for employees. Cars are miraculous modern appliances until they are concentrated within clustered collections of cities which then become problem areas for which firms seek a spatial fix.Even as federal investment feeds the manufacturing of more cars, along with more regional development that requires more roads and maintenance, society laments climbing car related deaths, worry about the effects of social isolation that can lead to decreased physical and mental health, stress over income disparities, all while watching a polluted planet burn. It all seems as counter intuitive as it does counterproductive. The more we invest in perpetuating car dependency the less money and attention is put toward more healthy and resilient alternatives.As this new industrial sprawl unfolds, sustainable transportation becomes increasingly vital for connecting industrial zones with urban centers, addressing the dislocation of workspaces, and fostering economic and social robustness and resiliency. We need to urge policymakers to consider the broader implications of the current manufacturing boom on the social fabric of the nation. If we don't take a comprehensive, diversified, and integrative approach to planning our regions and economies we not only risk perpetuating existing social and environmental woes, but also suffering collapse from another unforeseen emergent disaster. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io