<p>Describing their experience of the 2015 and 2016 floods in northeastern Tamil Nadu, Priya (sixth grade) said “When the water started entering the house, it was twigs and leaves. As it started rising, it pulled along so much plastic and things stuck to it. It took days to clean all the plastic out when we went to the house again.” I listened as we sat on the cement floor of the craft room of a peri-urban school in the region in 2019. We were sitting in two circles, learning to braid wires into bags. The strands made of sturdy nylon were just “wires” that the girls had witnessed their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers braid into grocery bags for sale, gifts, and family use. I did the braids well, the girls said. I smiled and, encouraged, pursued more questions about their opinions of plastics in their everyday environment.</p><p>The conversation was one of many that I had with schoolchildren during my fieldwork in Tamil Nadu in 2019−2020. This was focused on two cleanliness campaigns—a “plastic ban” emphasizing environmental and ecological health and a contagion-prevention campaign promoting handwashing and other individualized preventative measures for human health. The two campaigns shared a discourse of sanitation to secure the health of future generations, echoing a colonial and caste modality of intimate governance through children. Centering on children as their protagonists—agents, conduits, and beneficiaries—the campaigns evoked parallel discourses of care for human and planetary health as their goals. However, in their everyday lives, schoolchildren had to negotiate the interdiscursive gaps (Silverstein, <span>2005</span>) between the two campaigns and their actionables through the material modality of plastic.</p><p>Plastic, while a threat within the environmental campaigns, acts as a protective shield against contagious diseases. In this essay, I outline some of the questions that children's lifeworlds raised about conflicting material discourses of care work in efforts to secure human and planetary health, dimensions that are portrayed as aligned within environmental discourses relating to childhood.</p><p>Plastic takes many forms in Tamil Nadu, India—from commodities of everyday use and idols of Gods, to medical equipment and food packaging where the signification of its use value subsumes and takes precedence over its material composition (Dey & Michael, <span>2021</span>; Pathak, <span>2020</span>). However, one discourse that marks the material modality as “plastic” is that of waste and pollution (Nagy, <span>2021</span>) alongside concerns about toxicity (Pathak, <span>2020</span>). Litter and garbage in public spaces such as roads, bodies of water, and schoolyards draw attention to plastic's longevity and the obstacles it poses to human, animal, and ecological health. Governmental and nongovernmental campaigns in Tamil Nadu draw public attention to this issue through temporal discourses of securing planetary health for futur
{"title":"Plastics, children, and health—Who cares?","authors":"Smruthi Bala Kannan","doi":"10.1111/aman.28011","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28011","url":null,"abstract":"<p>Describing their experience of the 2015 and 2016 floods in northeastern Tamil Nadu, Priya (sixth grade) said “When the water started entering the house, it was twigs and leaves. As it started rising, it pulled along so much plastic and things stuck to it. It took days to clean all the plastic out when we went to the house again.” I listened as we sat on the cement floor of the craft room of a peri-urban school in the region in 2019. We were sitting in two circles, learning to braid wires into bags. The strands made of sturdy nylon were just “wires” that the girls had witnessed their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers braid into grocery bags for sale, gifts, and family use. I did the braids well, the girls said. I smiled and, encouraged, pursued more questions about their opinions of plastics in their everyday environment.</p><p>The conversation was one of many that I had with schoolchildren during my fieldwork in Tamil Nadu in 2019−2020. This was focused on two cleanliness campaigns—a “plastic ban” emphasizing environmental and ecological health and a contagion-prevention campaign promoting handwashing and other individualized preventative measures for human health. The two campaigns shared a discourse of sanitation to secure the health of future generations, echoing a colonial and caste modality of intimate governance through children. Centering on children as their protagonists—agents, conduits, and beneficiaries—the campaigns evoked parallel discourses of care for human and planetary health as their goals. However, in their everyday lives, schoolchildren had to negotiate the interdiscursive gaps (Silverstein, <span>2005</span>) between the two campaigns and their actionables through the material modality of plastic.</p><p>Plastic, while a threat within the environmental campaigns, acts as a protective shield against contagious diseases. In this essay, I outline some of the questions that children's lifeworlds raised about conflicting material discourses of care work in efforts to secure human and planetary health, dimensions that are portrayed as aligned within environmental discourses relating to childhood.</p><p>Plastic takes many forms in Tamil Nadu, India—from commodities of everyday use and idols of Gods, to medical equipment and food packaging where the signification of its use value subsumes and takes precedence over its material composition (Dey & Michael, <span>2021</span>; Pathak, <span>2020</span>). However, one discourse that marks the material modality as “plastic” is that of waste and pollution (Nagy, <span>2021</span>) alongside concerns about toxicity (Pathak, <span>2020</span>). Litter and garbage in public spaces such as roads, bodies of water, and schoolyards draw attention to plastic's longevity and the obstacles it poses to human, animal, and ecological health. Governmental and nongovernmental campaigns in Tamil Nadu draw public attention to this issue through temporal discourses of securing planetary health for futur","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"703-706"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/aman.28011","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142641247","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Tripping on Utopia: Margaret Mead, the Cold War, and the troubled birth of psychedelic science By Benjamin Breen. New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2024. 384 pp.","authors":"Jim Weil","doi":"10.1111/aman.28009","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28009","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"734-735"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142642444","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>As I was wrapping up fieldwork in Guatemala in late 2021, I encountered and saved an advertisement circulating on Instagram (Figure 1). It displayed a series of images of medications beginning with a box of azithromycin, a broad-spectrum antibiotic used to treat various bacterial infections. The ad was sponsored by Paiz, a Mexican and Central American subsidiary of Walmart, which took advantage of the Instagram Shopping feature: a big red “shop now” button that takes viewers to sites where they can purchase the advertised products. In this post, the price was 15 Guatemalan quetzals (approximately 2 USD) for 30 500-mg tablets of azithromycin. The accompanying caption proclaimed, “Contamos con más surtido para que en tu alacena siempre tengás lo que te gusta” (We offer a greater selection so that you can always have whatever you like in your cupboard). A white label with a red sticker adorned the box. Its small lettering only became legible upon zooming in, reading, “ESTE PRODUCTO SE VENDE SOLO CON RECETA MÉDICA” (This product is sold only with a medical prescription.) Despite the antibiotic's advertised availability, this fine print reflected recent efforts to limit its unrestricted sale in Guatemala. As part of a strategy for combatting rising rates of antibiotic resistance, the Guatemalan Ministry of Public Health and Social Assistance (MSPAS) issued a decree (acuerdo ministerial 145–2019) in June 2019 prohibiting nonprescription sales of antibiotic medications. This was also part of a broader effort among global health institutions and national governments to develop strategic action plans to address antibiotic resistance (Patel et al., <span>2023</span>).</p><p>Months after returning to the United States, I showed the downloaded Instagram advertisement to a group of medical and public health colleagues who regularly encounter antibiotic resistance as an area of research interest and/or of practical concern in clinical contexts. Given their shared understanding that antibiotic overuse and resistance is a serious problem, I was curious to hear their thoughts concerning the clash between governmental policy and corporate agency indexed in this ad. As we spoke, it became an unexpectedly fraught site of ideological work in which “experiences and ideas are swept up—drawn into ideologized interpretations” (Gal & Irvine, <span>2019</span>, 167). A graduate student, whose research training was in toxicology, remarked that the ad equated antibiotics to other medications sold over the counter in the United States, such as Advil or Tylenol. In response, the medical trainees reflected on the gruesome sequelae of chronic Advil and Tylenol use that they witness in clinical settings. That is, antibiotics were not the only medications in which overuse was a problem. They then debated whether solutions to medication overuse should focus more on public education campaigns or physician-prescribing practices, configuring antibiotic resistance into a targeta
2021 年末，当我结束在危地马拉的实地调查时，我发现并保存了 Instagram 上流传的一则广告（图 1）。广告展示了一系列药品图片，从一盒阿奇霉素开始，这是一种用于治疗各种细菌感染的广谱抗生素。该广告由沃尔玛在墨西哥和中美洲的子公司 Paiz 赞助，它利用了 Instagram 的购物功能：一个大红色的 "立即购物 "按钮可将浏览者带到可以购买广告产品的网站。在这篇帖子中，30 片 500 毫克的阿奇霉素售价为 15 危地马拉格查尔（约合 2 美元）。附带的标题宣称："Contamos con más surtido para que en tu alacena siempre tengás lo que te gusta"（我们提供更多选择，让您的橱柜里总有您喜欢的东西）。盒子上贴着一个白色标签，上面贴着红色贴纸。标签上的小字只有放大后才能看清，上面写着："ESTE PRODUCTO SE VENDE SOLO CON RECETA MÉDICA"（本产品仅凭医生处方销售）。尽管抗生素的广告上写着可以买到，但这一细小的文字反映了危地马拉最近为限制其无限制销售所做的努力。作为应对抗生素耐药性上升战略的一部分，危地马拉公共卫生和社会援助部（MSPAS）于 2019 年 6 月颁布了一项法令（acuerdo ministerial 145-2019），禁止非处方销售抗生素药物。这也是全球卫生机构和各国政府为制定应对抗生素耐药性的战略行动计划所做的更广泛努力的一部分（Patel 等人，2023 年）。回到美国几个月后，我向一群医疗和公共卫生领域的同事展示了下载的 Instagram 广告，他们经常遇到抗生素耐药性这一研究兴趣领域和/或临床实际问题。鉴于他们都认为抗生素的过度使用和耐药性是一个严重的问题，我很想听听他们对这则广告所反映的政府政策与企业机构之间冲突的看法。在我们交谈的过程中，这意外地成为了意识形态工作的一个充满争议的场所，"经验和想法被卷入意识形态化的解释中"（Gal & Irvine, 2019, 167）。一位接受过毒理学研究培训的研究生指出，广告将抗生素等同于美国柜台销售的其他药物，如 Advil 或 Tylenol。对此，医学受训人员反思了他们在临床中目睹的长期使用安乃近和泰诺的可怕后遗症。也就是说，抗生素并不是唯一存在过度使用问题的药物。随后，他们讨论了解决药物过度使用的办法是更多地关注公共教育活动还是医生开处方的做法，从而将抗生素耐药性配置成一个可针对的问题。在这里，这位研究生指出，虽然泰诺和安乃近可能会产生不良反应，但这些反应仅限于个人身体的范围内，而抗生素的过度使用则破坏了人类和非人类共享的生态环境。1 在本文中，我将描述形成与抗生素耐药性相关的某些意义和实践的意识形态工作场所。其中包括广告、统计建模、与抗生素和抗生素耐药性的接触以及全球健康干预。近年来，传染病研究人员宣布，抗生素耐药性细菌感染是导致全球死亡的主要原因之一（Murray et al.）在全球范围内统计死亡原因和死亡率需要建模，即利用一系列假设来表示一种现象。2 这些假设包括确定谁在进行统计以及谁在被统计（纳尔逊，2015 年）。虽然这让某些事情变得可见，但也让那些不那么容易被计算的事情黯然失色（Wendland，2016，77）。全球卫生领域的统计建模还鼓励确定性思维，这导致对可识别的问题采取有针对性的解决方案，而不是想象结构性变化的可能性。Yates-Doerr (2020) 指出了健康的社会决定因素（SDOH）框架中的这一悖论，该框架使经济、政治和其他结构性因素在全球健康建模的计算中成为可比因素。
{"title":"Microbial semiotics: Sites of ideological work in antibiotic resistance","authors":"Joyce Lu","doi":"10.1111/aman.28006","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28006","url":null,"abstract":"<p>As I was wrapping up fieldwork in Guatemala in late 2021, I encountered and saved an advertisement circulating on Instagram (Figure 1). It displayed a series of images of medications beginning with a box of azithromycin, a broad-spectrum antibiotic used to treat various bacterial infections. The ad was sponsored by Paiz, a Mexican and Central American subsidiary of Walmart, which took advantage of the Instagram Shopping feature: a big red “shop now” button that takes viewers to sites where they can purchase the advertised products. In this post, the price was 15 Guatemalan quetzals (approximately 2 USD) for 30 500-mg tablets of azithromycin. The accompanying caption proclaimed, “Contamos con más surtido para que en tu alacena siempre tengás lo que te gusta” (We offer a greater selection so that you can always have whatever you like in your cupboard). A white label with a red sticker adorned the box. Its small lettering only became legible upon zooming in, reading, “ESTE PRODUCTO SE VENDE SOLO CON RECETA MÉDICA” (This product is sold only with a medical prescription.) Despite the antibiotic's advertised availability, this fine print reflected recent efforts to limit its unrestricted sale in Guatemala. As part of a strategy for combatting rising rates of antibiotic resistance, the Guatemalan Ministry of Public Health and Social Assistance (MSPAS) issued a decree (acuerdo ministerial 145–2019) in June 2019 prohibiting nonprescription sales of antibiotic medications. This was also part of a broader effort among global health institutions and national governments to develop strategic action plans to address antibiotic resistance (Patel et al., <span>2023</span>).</p><p>Months after returning to the United States, I showed the downloaded Instagram advertisement to a group of medical and public health colleagues who regularly encounter antibiotic resistance as an area of research interest and/or of practical concern in clinical contexts. Given their shared understanding that antibiotic overuse and resistance is a serious problem, I was curious to hear their thoughts concerning the clash between governmental policy and corporate agency indexed in this ad. As we spoke, it became an unexpectedly fraught site of ideological work in which “experiences and ideas are swept up—drawn into ideologized interpretations” (Gal & Irvine, <span>2019</span>, 167). A graduate student, whose research training was in toxicology, remarked that the ad equated antibiotics to other medications sold over the counter in the United States, such as Advil or Tylenol. In response, the medical trainees reflected on the gruesome sequelae of chronic Advil and Tylenol use that they witness in clinical settings. That is, antibiotics were not the only medications in which overuse was a problem. They then debated whether solutions to medication overuse should focus more on public education campaigns or physician-prescribing practices, configuring antibiotic resistance into a targeta","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"694-698"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/aman.28006","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142642447","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>Large-scale agribusiness developments across the Global South are often framed in state and corporate discourse as necessary to meet the food and fuel needs of the world's growing population. In response to this rising demand, monocrop plantations—a hallmark of the Anthropocene—are spreading relentlessly across the tropics, wreaking havoc on native ecosystems and exacerbating climate change through soaring rates of greenhouse gas emissions. Rampant biodiversity loss and environmental pollution in these zones of capitalist extraction are often accompanied by the forced relocation of Indigenous and other local communities from their customary lands and territories, who become deprived of the vital natural resources that they depend upon for their economic livelihoods, cultural continuance, and collective physical and psychological well-being. State and corporate rhetorics of development, modernization, and progress thus obscure the systemic and violent forms of dispossession, displacement, and disempowerment experienced by Indigenous peoples on the ground. They also communicate a deficit-based narrative of Indigenous peoples and foodways as backward and in need of advancement and transformation. In the process, such top-down narratives efface the diverse local modalities through which Indigenous people communicate the effects of capitalist violence on their more-than-human relations, ecologies, and communities.</p><p>Indigenous communicative modalities of hunger among Marind in West Papua offer a powerful example of the human and more-than-human idioms through which peoples inhabiting the shadow places of capitalism understand and articulate the form and effects of agro-industrial expansion. In rural Merauke, a district located in the Indonesian-controlled in West Papua province where I have been conducting fieldwork since 2011, Indigenous Marind communities have seen some 1 million hectares of their customary forests razed and converted to monocrop oil palm plantations in the last decade (Chao, <span>2022</span>). These agro-industrial developments are promoted by the Indonesian government in the name of achieving national food sovereignty, meeting renewable energy targets, and transforming Merauke, as the slogan goes, into the “nation's rice bowl” that will “feed Indonesia and then the world” (Awas MIFEE, <span>2012</span>; Jong, <span>2020</span>). On the ground, however, rampant deforestation to make way for oil palm plantations has resulted in unprecedented rates of food insecurity among Marind, who traditionally depend on the forest for their subsistence. Stunting, wasting, and chronic protein-energy malnutrition are particularly high among women and children, rendering them vulnerable to pneumonia, parasitism, bronchitis, and a range of gastrointestinal and musculoskeletal diseases. As native ecosystems give way to monocrop plantations, nutritionally diverse foodways composed of game, fish, fruits, sago starch, and tubers are being substi
{"title":"Hunger as more-than-human communicative modality on the West Papuan oil palm frontier","authors":"Sophie Chao","doi":"10.1111/aman.28001","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28001","url":null,"abstract":"<p>Large-scale agribusiness developments across the Global South are often framed in state and corporate discourse as necessary to meet the food and fuel needs of the world's growing population. In response to this rising demand, monocrop plantations—a hallmark of the Anthropocene—are spreading relentlessly across the tropics, wreaking havoc on native ecosystems and exacerbating climate change through soaring rates of greenhouse gas emissions. Rampant biodiversity loss and environmental pollution in these zones of capitalist extraction are often accompanied by the forced relocation of Indigenous and other local communities from their customary lands and territories, who become deprived of the vital natural resources that they depend upon for their economic livelihoods, cultural continuance, and collective physical and psychological well-being. State and corporate rhetorics of development, modernization, and progress thus obscure the systemic and violent forms of dispossession, displacement, and disempowerment experienced by Indigenous peoples on the ground. They also communicate a deficit-based narrative of Indigenous peoples and foodways as backward and in need of advancement and transformation. In the process, such top-down narratives efface the diverse local modalities through which Indigenous people communicate the effects of capitalist violence on their more-than-human relations, ecologies, and communities.</p><p>Indigenous communicative modalities of hunger among Marind in West Papua offer a powerful example of the human and more-than-human idioms through which peoples inhabiting the shadow places of capitalism understand and articulate the form and effects of agro-industrial expansion. In rural Merauke, a district located in the Indonesian-controlled in West Papua province where I have been conducting fieldwork since 2011, Indigenous Marind communities have seen some 1 million hectares of their customary forests razed and converted to monocrop oil palm plantations in the last decade (Chao, <span>2022</span>). These agro-industrial developments are promoted by the Indonesian government in the name of achieving national food sovereignty, meeting renewable energy targets, and transforming Merauke, as the slogan goes, into the “nation's rice bowl” that will “feed Indonesia and then the world” (Awas MIFEE, <span>2012</span>; Jong, <span>2020</span>). On the ground, however, rampant deforestation to make way for oil palm plantations has resulted in unprecedented rates of food insecurity among Marind, who traditionally depend on the forest for their subsistence. Stunting, wasting, and chronic protein-energy malnutrition are particularly high among women and children, rendering them vulnerable to pneumonia, parasitism, bronchitis, and a range of gastrointestinal and musculoskeletal diseases. As native ecosystems give way to monocrop plantations, nutritionally diverse foodways composed of game, fish, fruits, sago starch, and tubers are being substi","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"679-681"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/aman.28001","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142642445","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Steven P. Black, Carlos Faerron Guzmán, Carolina Bolaños Palmieri, Cassandra Eng, Yanet Fundora
{"title":"Boundary objects and collaboration in a planetary health project in Boruca Indigenous Territory, Costa Rica","authors":"Steven P. Black, Carlos Faerron Guzmán, Carolina Bolaños Palmieri, Cassandra Eng, Yanet Fundora","doi":"10.1111/aman.28002","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28002","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"712-715"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142642446","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>In late spring 2021, as the global pandemic continued to wreak havoc, we gathered in a small property in central Delaware to clear trash from the land and rebuild a healthy local ecosystem. The plot of land contains four sections that span both sides of a road and are bordered by a small stream and wetland area. Two of the sections are cemeteries, holding generations of Nanticoke and Lenape relatives, including my great-grandparents. The third section, previously a school run by the community for their children, became a firing range for the police department, with decades of lead from bullets leaching into the soil and threatening the ground water sourced by many local residents. The fourth section is a lightly wooded hill that has been used for years as an unceremonious dumping ground for trash by city inhabitants. This property sits in the middle of a Lenape community that continue to live in their homelands, despite centuries of colonization and removal efforts.</p><p>Prior to the start of colonization, eastern Pennsylvania, northern Delaware, New Jersey, and southern New York were all Lenape territory, while the Nanticoke people lived further south on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Today, these areas are some of the most densely populated parts of the country, containing major cities such as New York City and Philadelphia. As some of the first to encounter Europeans, Nanticoke and Lenape people have faced over 400 years of occupation and have been pushed to the fringes of their land, or removed to Wisconsin, Oklahoma, or Ontario. The families who remained in the homelands are today part of three communities of interrelated families that span the Delaware Bay: my relatives. While their sovereignty is not directly recognized by the federal government of the United States, they do have recognition and ongoing political relationships with the states of Delaware and New Jersey. Their tenuous political power and marginalization within these now densely populated and polluted landscapes have created a critical need to protect their homelands.</p><p>As we labored together, Lenape kin, university faculty and students, and local residents, we learned about many of the Indigenous plants that still grew around us, such as the spice bush and white cedar, and we listened to plans for the future of the properties. The legal deeds to these properties remain uncertain but don't restrict our work to clear the trash and reintroduce native plants back into the land and mussels into the stream. The leaders of this endeavor explained how important it was to reclaim this land, to protect their ancestors resting in the cemeteries, and make space for native plants and animals to flourish and nurture future generations by removing problematic invasive species and trash. They are building partnerships with the state, environmental organizations, and private funders to manifest this vision (Hedgpeth, <span>2021</span>). Their aspirations include protecting
{"title":"Land Back: Indigenous sovereignty as care through responsibility and relationship","authors":"Karelle Hall","doi":"10.1111/aman.28003","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28003","url":null,"abstract":"<p>In late spring 2021, as the global pandemic continued to wreak havoc, we gathered in a small property in central Delaware to clear trash from the land and rebuild a healthy local ecosystem. The plot of land contains four sections that span both sides of a road and are bordered by a small stream and wetland area. Two of the sections are cemeteries, holding generations of Nanticoke and Lenape relatives, including my great-grandparents. The third section, previously a school run by the community for their children, became a firing range for the police department, with decades of lead from bullets leaching into the soil and threatening the ground water sourced by many local residents. The fourth section is a lightly wooded hill that has been used for years as an unceremonious dumping ground for trash by city inhabitants. This property sits in the middle of a Lenape community that continue to live in their homelands, despite centuries of colonization and removal efforts.</p><p>Prior to the start of colonization, eastern Pennsylvania, northern Delaware, New Jersey, and southern New York were all Lenape territory, while the Nanticoke people lived further south on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Today, these areas are some of the most densely populated parts of the country, containing major cities such as New York City and Philadelphia. As some of the first to encounter Europeans, Nanticoke and Lenape people have faced over 400 years of occupation and have been pushed to the fringes of their land, or removed to Wisconsin, Oklahoma, or Ontario. The families who remained in the homelands are today part of three communities of interrelated families that span the Delaware Bay: my relatives. While their sovereignty is not directly recognized by the federal government of the United States, they do have recognition and ongoing political relationships with the states of Delaware and New Jersey. Their tenuous political power and marginalization within these now densely populated and polluted landscapes have created a critical need to protect their homelands.</p><p>As we labored together, Lenape kin, university faculty and students, and local residents, we learned about many of the Indigenous plants that still grew around us, such as the spice bush and white cedar, and we listened to plans for the future of the properties. The legal deeds to these properties remain uncertain but don't restrict our work to clear the trash and reintroduce native plants back into the land and mussels into the stream. The leaders of this endeavor explained how important it was to reclaim this land, to protect their ancestors resting in the cemeteries, and make space for native plants and animals to flourish and nurture future generations by removing problematic invasive species and trash. They are building partnerships with the state, environmental organizations, and private funders to manifest this vision (Hedgpeth, <span>2021</span>). Their aspirations include protecting","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"682-684"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/aman.28003","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142641250","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"The ends of research: Indigenous and settler science after the War in the Woods By Tom Özden-Schilling. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2023. 294 pp.","authors":"Anne Spice","doi":"10.1111/aman.28012","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1111/aman.28012","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 4","pages":"738-739"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-08-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"142641249","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2024-07-29DOI: 10.1101/2023.04.24.538174
Rachel L Harold, Nikhil K Tulsian, Rajesh Narasimamurthy, Noelle Yaitanes, Maria G Ayala Hernandez, Hsiau-Wei Lee, Priya Crosby, Sarvind M Tripathi, David M Virshup, Carrie L Partch
Casein kinase controls essential biological processes including circadian rhythms and Wnt signaling, but how its activity is regulated is not well understood. is inhibited by autophosphorylation of its intrinsically disordered C-terminal tail. Two CK1 splice variants, and , are known to have very different effects on circadian rhythms. These variants differ only in the last 16 residues of the tail, referred to as the extreme C-termini (XCT), but with marked changes in potential phosphorylation sites. Here we test if the XCT of these variants have different effects in autoinhibition of the kinase. Using NMR and HDX-MS, we show that the XCT is preferentially phosphorylated by the kinase and the tail makes more extensive interactions across the kinase domain. Mutation of -specific XCT phosphorylation sites increases kinase activity both in vitro and in cells and leads to changes in circadian period, similar to what is reported in vivo. Mechanistically, loss of the phosphorylation sites in XCT disrupts tail interaction with the kinase domain. autoinhibition relies on conserved anion binding sites around the CK1 active site, demonstrating a common mode of product inhibition of . These findings demonstrate how a phosphorylation cycle controls the activity of this essential kinase.
{"title":"Isoform-specific C-terminal phosphorylation drives autoinhibition of Casein Kinase 1.","authors":"Rachel L Harold, Nikhil K Tulsian, Rajesh Narasimamurthy, Noelle Yaitanes, Maria G Ayala Hernandez, Hsiau-Wei Lee, Priya Crosby, Sarvind M Tripathi, David M Virshup, Carrie L Partch","doi":"10.1101/2023.04.24.538174","DOIUrl":"10.1101/2023.04.24.538174","url":null,"abstract":"<p><p>Casein kinase <math><mrow><mn>1</mn> <mtext>δ</mtext> <mspace></mspace> <mtext>(CK1δ)</mtext></mrow> </math> controls essential biological processes including circadian rhythms and Wnt signaling, but how its activity is regulated is not well understood. <math><mrow><mtext>CK1δ</mtext></mrow> </math> is inhibited by autophosphorylation of its intrinsically disordered C-terminal tail. Two CK1 splice variants, <math><mrow><mtext>δ</mtext> <mn>1</mn></mrow> </math> and <math><mrow><mtext>δ</mtext> <mn>2</mn></mrow> </math> , are known to have very different effects on circadian rhythms. These variants differ only in the last 16 residues of the tail, referred to as the extreme C-termini (XCT), but with marked changes in potential phosphorylation sites. Here we test if the XCT of these variants have different effects in autoinhibition of the kinase. Using NMR and HDX-MS, we show that the <math><mrow><mtext>δ</mtext> <mn>1</mn></mrow> </math> XCT is preferentially phosphorylated by the kinase and the <math><mrow><mtext>δ</mtext> <mn>1</mn></mrow> </math> tail makes more extensive interactions across the kinase domain. Mutation of <math><mrow><mtext>δ1</mtext></mrow> </math> -specific XCT phosphorylation sites increases kinase activity both <i>in vitro</i> and in cells and leads to changes in circadian period, similar to what is reported <i>in vivo</i>. Mechanistically, loss of the phosphorylation sites in XCT disrupts tail interaction with the kinase domain. <math><mrow><mtext>δ1</mtext></mrow> </math> autoinhibition relies on conserved anion binding sites around the CK1 active site, demonstrating a common mode of product inhibition of <math><mrow><mtext>CK1δ</mtext></mrow> </math> . These findings demonstrate how a phosphorylation cycle controls the activity of this essential kinase.</p>","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"59 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2024-07-29","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC11312495/pdf/","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"89157857","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Rosalyn Negrón, Amber Wutich, H. Russell Bernard, Alexandra Brewis, Alissa Ruth, Katherine Mayfour, Barbara Piperata, Melissa Beresford, Cindi SturtzSreetharan, Pardis Mahdavi, Jessica Hardin, Rebecca Zarger, Krista Harper, James Holland Jones, Clarence C. Gravlee, Bryan Brayboy
American anthropology is engaged in significant self-reckonings that call for big changes to how anthropology is practiced. These include (1) recognizing and taking seriously the demands to decolonize the ways research is done, (2) addressing precarious employment in academic anthropology, and (3) creating a discipline better positioned to respond to urgent societal needs. A central role for ethnographic methods training is a thread that runs through each of these three reckonings. This article, written by a team of cultural, biocultural, and linguistic anthropologists, outlines key connections between ethnographic methods training and the challenges facing anthropology. We draw on insights from a large-scale survey of American Anthropological Association members to examine current ethnographic methods capabilities and training practices. Study findings are presented and explored to answer three guiding questions: To what extent do our current anthropological practices in ethnographic methods training serve to advance or undermine current calls for disciplinary change? To what extent do instructors themselves identify disconnects between their own practices and the need for innovation? And, finally, what can be done, and at what scale, to leverage ethnographic methods training to meet calls for disciplinary change?
{"title":"Ethnographic methods: Training norms and practices and the future of American anthropology","authors":"Rosalyn Negrón, Amber Wutich, H. Russell Bernard, Alexandra Brewis, Alissa Ruth, Katherine Mayfour, Barbara Piperata, Melissa Beresford, Cindi SturtzSreetharan, Pardis Mahdavi, Jessica Hardin, Rebecca Zarger, Krista Harper, James Holland Jones, Clarence C. Gravlee, Bryan Brayboy","doi":"10.1111/aman.13991","DOIUrl":"10.1111/aman.13991","url":null,"abstract":"<p>American anthropology is engaged in significant self-reckonings that call for big changes to how anthropology is practiced. These include (1) recognizing and taking seriously the demands to decolonize the ways research is done, (2) addressing precarious employment in academic anthropology, and (3) creating a discipline better positioned to respond to urgent societal needs. A central role for ethnographic methods training is a thread that runs through each of these three reckonings. This article, written by a team of cultural, biocultural, and linguistic anthropologists, outlines key connections between ethnographic methods training and the challenges facing anthropology. We draw on insights from a large-scale survey of American Anthropological Association members to examine current ethnographic methods capabilities and training practices. Study findings are presented and explored to answer three guiding questions: To what extent do our current anthropological practices in ethnographic methods training serve to advance or undermine current calls for disciplinary change? To what extent do instructors themselves identify disconnects between their own practices and the need for innovation? And, finally, what can be done, and at what scale, to leverage ethnographic methods training to meet calls for disciplinary change?</p>","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 3","pages":"458-469"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-07-17","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/aman.13991","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141828687","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"It's just a font","authors":"Elizabeth Chin","doi":"10.1111/aman.28000","DOIUrl":"10.1111/aman.28000","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":7697,"journal":{"name":"American Anthropologist","volume":"126 3","pages":"387"},"PeriodicalIF":2.6,"publicationDate":"2024-07-17","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141831290","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"社会学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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