News
Colonialism’s legacy has left Caribbean nations much more vulnerable to hurricanes
Farah Nibbs, University of Maryland, Baltimore County
Long before colonialism brought slavery to the Caribbean, the native islanders saw hurricanes and storms as part of the normal cycle of life.
The Taino of the Greater Antilles and the Kalinago, or Caribs, of the Lesser Antilles developed systems that enabled them to live with storms and limit their exposure to damage.
On the larger islands, such as Jamaica and Cuba, the Taino practiced crop selection with storms in mind, preferring to plant root crops such as cassava or yucca with high resistance to damage from hurricane and storm winds, as Stuart Schwartz describes in his 2016 book “Sea of Storms.”
The Kalinago avoided building their settlements along the coast to limit storm surges and wind damage. The Calusa of southwest Florida used trees as windbreaks against storm winds.
In fact, it was the Kalinago and Taino who first taught the Europeans – primarily the British, Dutch, French and Spanish – about hurricanes and storms. Even the word ‘hurricane’ comes from Huracán, a Taino and Mayan word denoting the god of wind.
But then colonialism changed everything.
I study natural disasters in the Caribbean, including how history molded responses to disasters today.
The current disaster crisis that the Caribbean’s small islands are experiencing as hurricanes intensify did not start a few decades ago. Rather, the islands’ vulnerability is a direct result of the exploitative systems forced upon the region by colonialism, its legacies of slave-based land policies and ill-suited construction and development practices, and its environmental injustices.
Forcing people into harm’s way
The colonial powers changed how Caribbean people interacted with the land, where they lived and how they recovered from natural hazard events.
Rather than growing crops that could sustain the local food supply, the Europeans who began arriving in the 1600s focused on exploitative extractive economic models and export cash crops through the plantation economy.
They forced Indigenous people off their lands and built settlements along the coast, which made it easier to import enslaved peoples and goods and to export cash crops such as sugar and tobacco to Europe – and also left communities vulnerable to storms. They also developed settlements in low-lying areas, often near rivers and streams, which could provide transportation for agricultural produce but which became flood risks during heavy rains.
Today, more than 70% of the Caribbean’s population lives along the coast, often less than a mile from the shore. These coastlines are not only highly exposed to hurricanes but also to sea-level rise fueled by climate change.
Legacies of slave-based land policies
Colonialism’s legacy of land policies has also made recovery from disasters much harder today.
When colonial powers took over, a few landowners were given control of most of the land, while the majority of the population was forced onto marginal and small areas. The local population had no legal right to the land, as the people did not possess land certificate titles or deeds and were often forced to pay rent to landlords.
After independence, most island governments tried to acquire land from former plantations or estates and to redistribute it to the working class. But these efforts, mainly in the 1960s and ’70s, largely failed to transform land ownership, improve economic development or reduce vulnerability.
One colonial legacy perpetuating vulnerability to this day is known as crown land, or state land. In the English-speaking Caribbean, all land for which there was no land grant was considered property of the British crown. Crown land can be found in every English-speaking island to this day. https://www.youtube.com/embed/YTckM-cNeII?wmode=transparent&start=0 How colonial powers controlled the Caribbean over time.
For example, in Barbuda, all land is vested in the “crown in perpetuity” on behalf of Barbudans. This means that an individual born on the island of Barbuda cannot individually own land.
Instead, land is communally owned, which limits access to the credit and development opportunities that were sorely needed to reconstruct the island after Hurricane Maria in 2017. Most Barbudans were unable to insure their homes because they had no title deeds to their property.
This and other collective land tenure systems created by colonialism places Caribbean residents at greater risk from a variety of natural hazards and limits their ability to seek financial credit for disaster recovery today.
The roots of poor construction
Vulnerability to disasters in the Caribbean also has roots in post-slavery housing construction and subsequent failures to institute proper building codes.
After emancipation from slavery, freed people had no right nor access to land. To build houses, they were forced to lease land from the former enslavers who at a whim could terminate their employment or kick them off the land.
This led to the development of a particular type of housing structure known as chattel houses in countries such as Barbados. These houses are tiny and were constructed in a way in which they could be easily taken apart and loaded onto carts, should the residents be forced out by their former enslavers. Many Bajans still live in these houses today, although quite a few have been converted to restaurants or shops.
In Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao, owned by the Dutch, slave huts were built along the coast, on land not suitable for agriculture and easily damaged by storms. These former slave huts are now tourist attractions, but the colonial patterns of settling along the coast has left many coastal communities exposed to hurricane damage and rising seas.
The vulnerability of such houses is not only a result of their exposure to natural hazards but also the underlying social structures.
In many islands today, poorer residents can’t afford protective measures, such as installing storm shutters or purchasing solar-powered generators.
They often live in marginal and disaster-prone areas, such as steep hillsides, where housing tends to be cheaper. Houses in these areas are also often poorly constructed with low-grade materials, such as galvanized sheeting for roofs and walls.
This situation is made worse by the informal and unregulated nature of residential housing construction in the region and the poor enforcement of building codes.
Due to the legacy of colonialism, most housing or building standards or codes in the Commonwealth Caribbean are relics from the United Kingdom and in the French Antilles from France. Building standards across the region lack uniformity and are generally subjective and uncontrolled. Financial limitations and staffing constraints mean that codes and standards more often than not remain unenforced.
Progress, but still a lot of work to do
The Caribbean has made progress in developing wind-related building codes to try to increase resilience in recent years. And while damage from torrential rain is still not properly addressed in most Caribbean building standards, scientific guidance is available through the Caribbean Institute for Meteorology and Hydrology in Barbados.
Individual islands, including Dominica and Saint Lucia, have new minimum building standards for recovery after disasters. The island of Grenada is hoping to guide new construction as it recovers from Hurricane Beryl. Trinidad and Tobago has developed a national land use strategy but has struggled to use it.
Construction standards can help the islands build resilience. But work remains to be done to overcome the legacy of colonial-era land policies and development that have left island towns vulnerable to increasing storm risks.
Farah Nibbs, Assistant Professor of Emergency and Disaster Health Systems, University of Maryland, Baltimore County
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
The Bridge is a section of the STM Daily News Blog meant for diversity, offering real news stories about bona fide community efforts to perpetuate a greater good. The purpose of The Bridge is to connect the divides that separate us, fostering understanding and empathy among different groups. By highlighting positive initiatives and inspirational actions, The Bridge aims to create a sense of unity and shared purpose. This section brings to light stories of individuals and organizations working tirelessly to promote inclusivity, equality, and mutual respect. Through these narratives, readers are encouraged to appreciate the richness of diverse perspectives and to participate actively in building stronger, more cohesive communities.
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The Knowledge
How to avoid seeing disturbing video on social media and protect your peace of mind
How to avoid seeing disturbing video on social media and protect your peace of mind
Last Updated on January 29, 2026 by Daily News Staff
Annie Margaret, University of Colorado Boulder
How to avoid seeing disturbing video on social media and protect your peace of mind
When graphic videos like those of the recent shooting of a protester by federal agents in Minneapolis go viral, it can feel impossible to protect yourself from seeing things you did not consent to see. But there are steps you can take.
Social media platforms are designed to maximize engagement, not protect your peace of mind. The major platforms have also reduced their content moderation efforts over the past year or so. That means upsetting content can reach you even when you never chose to watch it.
You do not have to watch every piece of content that crosses your screen, however. Protecting your own mental state is not avoidance or denial. As a researcher who studies ways to counteract the negative effects of social media on mental health and well-being, I believe it’s a way of safeguarding the bandwidth you need to stay engaged, compassionate and effective.
Why this matters
Research shows that repeated exposure to violent or disturbing media can increase stress, heighten anxiety and contribute to feelings of helplessness. These effects are not just short-term. Over time, they erode the emotional resources you rely on to care for yourself and others.
Protecting your attention is a form of care. Liberating your attention from harmful content is not withdrawal. It is reclaiming your most powerful creative force: your consciousness.
Just as with food, not everything on the table is meant to be eaten. You wouldn’t eat something spoiled or toxic simply because it was served to you. In the same way, not every piece of media laid out in your feed deserves your attention. Choosing what to consume is a matter of health.
And while you can choose what you keep in your own kitchen cabinets, you often have less control over what shows up in your feeds. That is why it helps to take intentional steps to filter, block and set boundaries.
Practical steps you can take
Fortunately, there are straightforward ways to reduce your chances of being confronted with violent or disturbing videos. Here are four that I recommend:
- Turn off autoplay or limit sensitive content. Note that these settings can vary depending on device, operating system and app version, and can change.
https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/d1deR/2
- Use keyword filters. Most platforms allow you to mute or block specific words, phrases or hashtags. This reduces the chance that graphic or violent content slips into your feed.
- Curate your feed. Unfollow accounts that regularly share disturbing images. Follow accounts that bring you knowledge, connection or joy instead.
- Set boundaries. Reserve phone-free time during meals or before bed. Research shows that intentional breaks reduce stress and improve well-being.
Reclaim your agency
Social media is not neutral. Its algorithms are engineered to hold your attention, even when that means amplifying harmful or sensational material. Watching passively only serves the interests of the social media companies. Choosing to protect your attention is a way to reclaim your agency.
The urge to follow along in real time can be strong, especially during crises. But choosing not to watch every disturbing image is not neglect; it is self-preservation. Looking away protects your ability to act with purpose. When your attention is hijacked, your energy goes into shock and outrage. When your attention is steady, you can choose where to invest it.
You are not powerless. Every boundary you set – whether it is turning off autoplay, filtering content or curating your feed – is a way of taking control over what enters your mind. These actions are the foundation for being able to connect with others, help people and work for meaningful change.
More resources
I’m the executive director of the Post-Internet Project, a nonprofit dedicated to helping people navigate the psychological and social challenges of life online. With my team, I designed the evidence-backed PRISM intervention to help people manage their social media use.
Our research-based program emphasizes agency, intention and values alignment as the keys to developing healthier patterns of media consumption. You can try the PRISM process for yourself with an online class I launched through Coursera in October 2025. You can find the course, Values Aligned Media Consumption, on Coursera. The course is aimed at anyone 18 and over, and the videos are free to watch.
This story was updated on Jan. 25, 2026 to include reference to the recent shooting in Minneapolis.
Annie Margaret, Teaching Assistant Professor of Creative Technology & Design, ATLAS Institute, University of Colorado Boulder
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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News
Greenland’s Inuit have spent decades fighting for self-determination
The article highlights the Inuit communities in Greenland amid global discussions about the island’s ownership, particularly regarding U.S. President Trump’s interest. It chronicles the Inuit’s historical presence, their traditional lifestyles, and the ongoing struggle for self-determination. Despite colonial influences, modern Kalaallit strive for recognition and independence.
Susan A. Kaplan, Bowdoin College and Genevieve LeMoine, Bowdoin College
Amid the discussion between U.S. President Donald Trump and Danish and European leaders about who should own Greenland, the Inuit who live there and call it home aren’t getting much attention.
The Kalaallit (Inuit of West Greenland), the Tunumi (Inuit of East Greenland) and the Inughuit (Inuit of North Greenland) together represent nearly 90% of the population of Greenland, which totals about 57,000 people across 830,000 square miles (2.1 million square kilometers).
We are Arctic anthropologists who work in a museum focused on the Arctic and its people. One of the areas we study is a land whose inhabitants call it Kalaallit Nunaat, or land of the Kalaallit. Known in English as Greenland, it is an Indigenous nation whose relatively few people have been working for decades to reclaim their right to self-determination.
https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/WqWx2/1
Arrivals from the west
For nearly 5,000 years, northwestern Greenland – including the area that is now the U.S. Space Force’s Pituffik Space Base, formerly known as Thule Air Force Base – was the island’s main entry point. A succession of Indigenous groups moved eastward from the Bering Strait region and settled in Siberia, Alaska, Canada and Greenland.
Approximately 1,000 years ago, the ancestors of the Inuit living in Greenland today arrived in that area with sophisticated technologies that allowed them to thrive in a dynamic Arctic environment where minor mishaps can have serious consequences. They hunted animals using specialized technologies and tools, including kayaks, dog-drawn sleds, complex harpoons, and snow goggles made from wood or bone with slits cut into them. They dressed in highly engineered garments made from animal fur that kept them warm and dry in all conditions.
Their tools and clothing were imbued with symbolic meanings that reflected their worldview, in which humans and animals are interdependent. Inughuit families who live in the region today continue to hunt and fish, while navigating a warming climate.
Arrivals from the east
At Qassiarsuk in south Greenland, around the time Inuit arrived in the north, Erik the Red established the first Norse farm, Brattahlíð, in 986, and sent word back to Iceland to encourage others to join him, as described in an online exhibit at the Greenland National Museum. Numerous Norse families followed and established pastoral farms in the region.
As Inuit expanded southward, they encountered the Norse farmers. Inuit and Norse traded, but relations were sometimes tense: Inuit oral histories and Norse sagas describe some violent interactions. The two groups maintained distinctly different approaches to living on the land that rims Greenland’s massive ice sheet. The Norse were very place-based, while the Inuit moved seasonally, hunting around islands, bays and fjords.
As the Little Ice Age set in early in the 14th century, and temperatures dropped in the Northern Hemisphere, the Norse were not equipped to adjust to the changing conditions. Their colonies faltered and by 1500 had disappeared. By contrast, the mobile Inuit took a more flexible approach and hunted both land and marine mammals according to their availability. They continued living in the region without much change to their lifestyle.
A center of activity
In Nuuk, the modern capital of Greenland, an imposing and controversial statue of missionary Hans Egede commemorates his arrival in 1721 to establish a Lutheran mission in a place he called Godthåb.
In 1776, as trade became more important, the Danish government established the Royal Greenland Trading Department, a trading monopoly that administered the communities on the west coast of Greenland as a closed colony for the next 150 years.
By the 19th century some Kalaallit families who lived in Nuuk/Godthåb had formed an educated, urban class of ministers, educators, artists and writers, although Danish colonists continued to rule.
Meanwhile, Kalaallit families in small coastal communities continued to engage in traditional economic and social activities, based on respect of animals and sharing of resources.
On the more remote east coast and in the far north, colonization took root more slowly, leaving explorers such as American Robert Peary and traders such as Danish-Greenlandic Knud Rasmussen a free hand to employ and trade with local people.
The U.S. formally recognized Denmark’s claim to the island in 1916 when the Americans purchased the Danish West Indies, which are now the U.S. Virgin Islands. And in 1921, Denmark declared sovereignty over the whole of Greenland, a claim upheld in 1933 by the Permanent Court of International Justice. But Greenlanders were not consulted about these decisions.
The world arrives
World War II brought the outside world to Greenland’s door. With Denmark under Nazi control, the U.S. took responsibility for protecting the strategically important island of Greenland and built military bases on both the east and west coasts. The U.S. made efforts to keep military personnel and Kalaallit apart but were not entirely successful, and some visiting and trading went on. Radios and broadcast news also spread, and Kalaallit began to gain a sense of the world beyond their borders.
The Cold War brought more changes, including the forced relocation of 27 Inughuit families living near the newly constructed U.S. Air Force base at Thule to Qaanaaq, where they lived in tents until small wooden homes were built.
In 1953, Denmark revised parts of its constitution, including changing the status of Greenland from a colony to one of the nation’s counties, thereby making all Kalaallit residents of Greenland also full-fledged citizens of Denmark. For the first time, Kalaallit had elected representatives in the Danish parliament.
Denmark also increased assimilation efforts, promoting the Danish language and culture at the expense of Kalaallisut, the Greenlandic language. Among other projects, the Danish authorities sent Greenlandic children to residential schools in Denmark.
In Nuuk in the 1970s, a new generation of young Kalaallit politicians emerged, eager to protect and promote the use of Kalaallisut and gain greater control over Greenland’s affairs. The rock band Sumé, singing protest songs in Kalaallisut, contributed to the political awakening. https://www.youtube.com/embed/qe-f6jleXFs?wmode=transparent&start=0 Sumé, a rock band singing in Kalaallisut, the Greenlandic language, helped galvanize a political movement for self-determination in the 1970s.
In a 1979 Greenland-wide referendum, a substantial majority of Kalaallit voters opted for what was called “home rule” within the Danish Kingdom. That meant a parliament of elected Kalaallit representatives handled internal affairs, such as education and social welfare, while Denmark retained control of foreign affairs and mineral rights.
However, the push for full independence from Denmark continued: In 2009, home rule was replaced by a policy of self-government, which outlines a clear path to independence from Denmark, based on negotiations following a potential future referendum vote by Greenlanders. Self-government also allows Greenland to assert and benefit from control over its mineral resources, but not to manage foreign affairs.
Today, Nuuk is a busy, vibrant, modern city. Life is quieter in smaller settlements, where hunting and fishing are still a way of life. While contemporary Greenland encompasses this range of lifestyles, Kalaallit are unified in their desire for self-determination. Greenland’s leaders have delivered this message clearly to the public and to the White House directly.
Susan A. Kaplan, Professor of Anthropology, Director of Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum and Arctic Studies Center, Bowdoin College and Genevieve LeMoine, Curator, Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum and Arctic Studies Center, Bowdoin College
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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Local News
Why Arizona Republicans Are Pushing Back on Light Rail to the State Capitol — and What It Means for the West Valley
Arizona’s debate over a proposed light rail extension to the State Capitol has intensified. Supporters argue it promotes connectivity and equity, while Republicans oppose it due to cost concerns and a preference for car-centric infrastructure. The outcome will impact future west-side transit expansions and shape regional transportation priorities.
Arizona’s long-running debate over public transit has flared up again, this time over a proposed Valley Metro light rail extension that would bring rail service closer to the Arizona State Capitol complex. While Phoenix and Valley Metro leaders argue the project is a logical next step in regional mobility, Republican leaders at the state Capitol have mounted strong opposition — creating uncertainty not just for this segment, but for future west-side expansions.
The Case for the Capitol Light Rail Extension
Supporters of the project, including Valley Metro officials, Phoenix city leaders, transit advocates, and many west Phoenix residents, argue that extending light rail toward the Capitol area is both practical and symbolic.
From a planning standpoint, the Capitol is a major employment center that draws thousands of workers, visitors, and students. Transit planners say rail access would reduce congestion, improve air quality, and provide reliable transportation for residents who already depend heavily on public transit.
Proponents also emphasize equity. West Phoenix has historically received fewer infrastructure investments than other parts of the metro area, despite strong transit ridership. For supporters, extending rail service westward is about connecting communities to jobs, education, and government services — not politics.
There is also a broader regional argument: light rail lines function best as part of a connected network. Leaving a gap near a central civic destination, supporters say, undermines long-term system efficiency.
Why Republican Lawmakers Are Opposed
Republican leaders in the Arizona Legislature see the project very differently.
One major issue is cost. GOP lawmakers frequently point to the rising price of light rail construction, which has increased significantly over the past decade. They argue that rail projects deliver limited benefit compared to their expense and that bus service or roadway improvements could move more people at lower cost.
Usage is another concern. Critics note that light rail serves a relatively small percentage of total commuters in the Phoenix metro area and requires ongoing public subsidies to operate. From this perspective, expanding rail further — especially into politically sensitive areas like the Capitol — is viewed as fiscally irresponsible.
There is also a political and legal dimension. In recent years, Republican lawmakers passed legislation restricting light rail construction near the Capitol complex. While framed as a land-use and security issue, critics argue it reflects deeper ideological opposition to rail transit and urban-oriented infrastructure.
Finally, some GOP leaders simply prefer different transportation priorities. Arizona remains a car-centric state, and many Republican officials believe future investments should focus on highways, autonomous vehicle technology, or flexible transit options rather than fixed rail.
A Political Standoff with Real Transit Consequences
The dispute has become a high-stakes standoff between the Republican-controlled Legislature and Democratic leaders at the city and regional level. While lawmakers may not be able to directly cancel the project, they have significant leverage through funding approvals, oversight committees, and future legislation.
This uncertainty creates challenges for Valley Metro, which relies on long-term planning, federal funding commitments, and voter-approved local taxes. Transit systems work best with predictability — and political volatility can drive up costs or delay construction.
What This Means for West Valley Light Rail Expansion
The biggest question is what happens next for west Phoenix and the broader West Valley.
If the Capitol-area extension is altered or blocked, Valley Metro may be forced to redesign routes that avoid the restricted area, potentially making service less direct or less useful. That could weaken the case for future westward expansions toward areas like Maryvale or even farther west.
On the other hand, the controversy has also drawn renewed attention to west-side transit needs. Some advocates believe the political fight could energize local support, leading to stronger community backing and clearer messaging about why rail matters in west Phoenix.
Long term, the outcome may set a precedent. If state lawmakers successfully limit rail construction through legislative action, it could signal tighter constraints on future expansions. If cities push forward despite opposition, it may reaffirm local control over transportation planning.
The Bigger Picture
At its core, the debate over light rail to the Arizona State Capitol reflects a broader clash of visions for the region’s future: one focused on dense, transit-oriented growth, and another centered on fiscal restraint and automobile mobility.
For residents of the West Valley, the stakes are tangible. The decision will shape access to jobs, education, and public services for decades. Whether the project moves forward as planned, is rerouted, or delayed entirely, it will leave a lasting imprint on how — and for whom — the Valley’s transit system grows.
As Phoenix continues to expand westward, the question remains unresolved: will light rail be allowed to follow?
Further Reading & Context
- KJZZ Phoenix – State Politics & Transportation Coverage
In-depth reporting on Arizona legislative actions, Valley Metro planning, and Capitol-area transit disputes. - Valley Metro – Capitol / West Extension Project Page
Official project updates, maps, timelines, and explanations from the regional transit authority. - City of Phoenix Public Transit Department
City-level planning documents and policy perspectives on light rail expansion and transit equity. - Arizona State Legislature – Transportation & Infrastructure Bills
Primary source for legislation affecting light rail construction near the Capitol and statewide transit policy. - Cronkite News (Arizona PBS)
Nonpartisan reporting on Arizona infrastructure, urban growth, and political power dynamics. - Axios Phoenix
Concise breakdowns of Phoenix City Council decisions and regional transportation debates. - Federal Highway Administration – Public Transportation Planning
Federal perspective on transit funding, cost comparisons, and long-term mobility planning.
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