Haunting images from photo prize show the ‘beauty and tragedy' of our planet
The award — created in 2018 by Forestry England, the UK's Royal Geographic Society and visual arts consultancy Parker Harris — aims to showcase the issues affecting the climate and life on our planet.
More than 1,500 images and videos were submitted to this year's competition by photographers and filmmakers from all over the world. The winners were announced last night at a ceremony at London's Royal Geographical Society, ahead of an exhibition of the imagery at the same location.
Photographer Lorenzo Poli took the top prize for his series of photos titled 'Autophagy,' which document — in black and white — the Chuquicamata mine in Chile, one of the largest and deepest open-pit copper mines in the world, plunging nearly 1,000 meters (3,300 feet) into the Earth.
Poli captures the vastness of the site, with moonlike landscapes of endless gray. One photo shows an abandoned miners' town and cemetery which is gradually being enveloped by the expanding mineral ore extraction. In a press release he said the photograph highlights the 'unrelenting expansion of extractive endeavors' and he hopes that it serves to highlight unsustainable mining practices.
Through the competition, Earth Photo wants to open people's eyes to the stories behind the pictures and encourage conversation and action.
'These compelling images and storytelling bring us closer to landscapes, wildlife and communities, engaging us all with the conservation work underway and the new creative solutions needed ahead. Intensely thought-provoking photography and film like this deepens our understanding and can inspire all of us to action,' Hazel Stone, national curator of contemporary art at Forestry England and a member of the jury, told CNN.
Other winning imagery included a photograph titled 'Waterline,' by Mateo Borrero, that depicts declining flood waters in the Amazon rainforest of Peru. In one photo, a man from the Ticuna indigenous people stands beside a gigantic ancient Ceiba tree, the waterline from previous rainy seasons visible just below his shoulders.
'This photograph, taken in May 2024, shows that the water level should be at its maximum; however, rainfall was scarce and, by the peak of the rainy season, non-existent,' explained Borrero in a press release.
Drought is increasingly becoming a problem in the region, with some areas of the Amazon reportedly seeing river levels at their lowest in 120 years. This has disrupted ecosystems and affected millions of people who rely on the rivers for transport, food and income.
Louise Fedotov-Clements, prize chair and director of Photoworks UK, said in a press release that the images bring us 'face to face' with the reality of the climate crisis.
'Within each edition of Earth Photo we see a compelling diversity of international projects using these powerful visual tools to share the beauty and tragedy of life on our planet. Through the lens, film and photography transforms climate change from an abstract threat into a visceral reality, capturing not only the damage, but the resilience of communities and ecosystems in the face of environmental crisis,' she said.
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Medscape
5 hours ago
- Medscape
How Ancestral Plant Knowledge Could Shape Modern Medicine
"My registered name is Hemerson Dantas dos Santos, but you can add 'Pataxó Hãhãhãi' at the end, which is the Indigenous people I belong to." This is how the interview began, conducted by Medscape's Portuguese edition , with the researcher behind a study that catalogued 175 medicinal plants used by the Pataxó Hãhãhãi people from southern Bahia, Brazil. Of these plants, 43 are specifically used to treat the three most common health issues at the community's health center: diabetes, hypertension, and intestinal worms. Published in the Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine , the study bridges traditional knowledge with contemporary scientific evidence. Notably, the work was led entirely by an Indigenous ethnobotanist — from planning to data collection in the field — with the goal of recovering and documenting his people's medicinal knowledge. Pataxó Hãhãhãi is a doctoral candidate at the Institute of Environmental, Chemical, and Pharmaceutical Sciences at the Federal University of São Paulo (UNIFESP), under the supervision of Eliane Rodrigues, professor at the institute's Center for Ethnobotanical and Ethnopharmacological Studies. He holds a degree in chemistry from the State University of Santa Cruz and a master's degree in organic chemistry from the Federal University of Bahia. The grandson of a tribal chief, Pataxó Hãhãhãi had only left the village a few times before enrolling at university; one such occasion was when he broke his arm and had to seek medical care. His university experience, combined with his daily life in the village, proved to be an invaluable asset in his research. The study follows the principles of "participatory ethnobotany," an approach that centers the population being studied in the scientific process. This method promotes the active involvement of traditional peoples in knowledge production. In this sense, Pataxó Hãhãhãi moves between two worlds — the forest and academia — with a firm footing in both. During his research, he explored his own family history and the historical violence faced by the Pataxó Hãhãhãi people. Expelled from their land in 1948, they only returned in 1982, which hindered the transmission of knowledge about medicinal plants and led to the loss of native species. Much of the land was turned into pasture, and Indigenous people began using nonnative plants in their practices. The traditional language was also lost. Today, the Pataxó Hãhãhãi people number around 3600 individuals across 10 villages. According to Pataxó Hãhãhãi, one of the key insights of the research was understanding the profound cultural and environmental losses experienced by the community. The introduction of diseases like diabetes and hypertension, conditions previously unknown in traditional Indigenous medicine before contact with non-Indigenous populations, presents further challenges. The low involvement of younger generations in traditional practices exacerbates these difficulties. For the research, Pataxó Hãhãhãi interviewed 19 individuals from the 10 villages, selected using the "snowball" method, where community members recommended who should be interviewed based on their reputation as healers. Participants were aged between 50 and 85, with 84% over the age of 62. Although many participants still use medicinal plants, most are now evangelical. Traditional healing rituals have given way to Christian prayers, Bible readings, and psalms. During the research, Pataxó Hãhãhãi collected plant samples recommended by the community's experts and compiled data on them from both traditional knowledge and academic literature. Of the 43 plants assessed for the most common health complaints, 79% had their use supported by scientific studies. He reviewed original articles and systematic reviews published in English over the past two decades, analyzing efficacy and safety data. 'This work was done by us and for us. It recovers knowledge that was being lost and shows that we can do science without abandoning our identity,' Pataxó Hãhãhãi said. In the following conversation with Medscape's Portuguese edition , Pataxó Hãhãhãi discussed the importance of preserving ancestral knowledge, reflected on the difference between external researchers and those embedded within the community and shared more details about his journey. How did a curious village boy become a doctoral student at one of Brazil's most prestigious universities? My parents and teachers always encouraged me to study, and due to my curiosity, my teachers at the village school guided me to study chemistry. I entered university through the national high school examination (Exame Nacional do Ensino Médio), but at first, I felt isolated and got poor grades. After I started spending more time in the library, I began to enjoy the theory more and was able to graduate. At the end of my course, I did scientific initiation with medicinal plants and began to see connections to my origins, but my advisor didn't accept that I study plants from the village. I was upset at the time, but today I understand her concern. Why was that? Research involving Indigenous peoples in Brazil is highly bureaucratic. Even though I lived in the village, it took me nearly a year to get approval from the National Foundation for Indigenous Peoples to conduct the study. I began my doctoral program at the start of the pandemic, attending online classes directly from the village. When I completed the theoretical part, in-person classes resumed, and I started fieldwork. Did the knowledge you brought from village life help in your academic journey? It helped a lot during my undergraduate studies; the inspiration and determination to keep going were crucial. But it took many hours and a lot of coffee to build a solid academic foundation. Every new subject felt like opening a door to new knowledge. I entered through the quota system, and at that time, I was the only Indigenous student at the university. Today, there are more Indigenous students, but the numbers are still small. Is Indigenous knowledge valued at the university, or do you feel that the two worlds — academic and Indigenous — remain disconnected? The two worlds are still somewhat isolated. However, some projects are attempting to bring the university closer to the schools in the villages, though these initiatives are not very strong yet. I know that much Indigenous knowledge is present in the university, but it is rarely recognized as such. Can you give an example of this? A significant portion of modern medicines is based on natural substances discovered through Indigenous practices. Researchers visited these communities, learned about these remedies, and brought the knowledge to universities. However, this knowledge is often explored without acknowledging its Indigenous origins, making it difficult to trace back to the communities that developed it. In the article, I focused on the distinction between external researchers and those embedded within the community. Since the 1970s, there has been an ongoing discussion about the need to properly value the knowledge of local peoples. Unfortunately, this issue still persists today. Do you consider yourself an insider or outsider researcher, or someone who navigates between the village and the university? I started as a chemistry researcher, studying the traceability of coffee types using analytical techniques, but this work wasn't connected to my Indigenous roots. Although my advisor wanted me to continue down that path, I chose to return to my community to apply knowledge locally. When I discovered ethnobotany, I realized it was exactly what I needed, and I began working with professor Eliane Rodrigues from UNIFESP. Do you believe there is an Indigenous science perspective, with its own ways of thinking and specific methodologies? For many academics, Indigenous science is already science in its rawest form. It's about observing nature, creating a hypothesis, testing it, and seeing the results — that's essentially what Indigenous people do. The difference is that these hypotheses often come from dreams, rituals, or memories of the elders. It's a very close relationship with nature. My experience involves a way of living that goes beyond visual and sensory perception, including a spiritual dimension. That's why you can't say both are the same. Do you believe both forms of science can coexist and complement each other? Yes, definitely. In academic science, for example, it's very difficult to go into the forest and test all the plants to discover a remedy because there are so many. But if you already have a clue, things change. You can focus on a specific family or genus, making the search more precise. That clue is intuitive, and for intuition to work, the person must have a deep connection with nature. How do Indigenous medicine and academic medicine coexist in your village? I still feel the integration between the two is weak, despite the health system being present in the village. During my research, the Indigenous Health Department established a medicinal plant garden here, which has been one of the most significant steps towards integrating knowledge. Additionally, we have an Indigenous doctor in the village, which greatly aids this integration. He combines his traditional knowledge with conventional therapies, recommending both when a health issue can be treated with a plant. You had the support of Indigenous leaders to begin this research. What are their main interests: preserving knowledge, deepening traditional knowledge through academia, or both? The goal was more about valuing knowledge. Here in the village, we know the value of plant and cultural knowledge, but because it's part of daily life, many people don't realize its importance. It's like drinking water: You know it's essential, but because it's so routine, we take it for granted. Today, many young people are more connected to the internet and social media, and they drift away from the knowledge passed down by the elders, shared through conversation, and lived experience. Gradually, this knowledge is being lost. But my work promotes an interaction between me, a young person, and the elders. I talk with them and take notes, so that this knowledge, once documented, can transcend time more easily. It's also crucial to encourage other young people to do the same. Another important point from the leaders is that Indigenous people who leave the village to study at universities bring back outside knowledge that can strengthen the community, rather than creating a separation from it. What difficulties did you face in studying medicinal plants? One of the biggest challenges was noticing that many plants, which were once abundant, are now hard to find. Some only grew in specific parts of the forest that have been destroyed. Today, many plants from outside the region have been introduced by Indigenous people who were displaced or by land grabbers. Many of the plants we find now are not native. Studying native plants is crucial because they are rarely studied, while nonnative plants have generally been well researched. The village is large and spans different biomes (Atlantic Forest and Caatinga), each with its own unique vegetation. As a result, people living in different parts of the village are familiar with different plants, and this knowledge doesn't always circulate across the community. How are the studies progressing now? My research is still ongoing. I expect to finish in 6 or 7 months. I decided to prioritize studying plants used to treat hypertension, intestinal worms, and diabetes, as these are the most common health concerns among Indigenous people today. By sharing this knowledge, I hope more community members can benefit. I am now finishing the section on plants used for other health complaints. Since I could identify many plants by their scientific names, I researched how they are used outside of our culture and compared that with our traditional knowledge. For those with related studies, the traditional use was confirmed by the known chemical composition of these plants. I would love to continue studying plants, but I'm still refining some ideas. I'm not sure what I'll do after this phase, but I know I want to pursue a path that strengthens my people. One possibility is to continue in academia, conducting research, and increasing Indigenous presence in higher education. I hope to bring Indigenous perspectives into the university, like painting it with jenipapo and urucum. Do you think the way forward is to study the plants or their chemical components? I don't focus much on isolating substances from plants because many others already do that. I believe that using the plants in their traditional form is a better approach. The elders possess great wisdom in how to use plants, and understanding their chemical properties only strengthens that knowledge. Today, I consider myself more of an ethnobotanist than a chemist. But herbs can't be studied the same way as isolated chemical substances, right? For instance, you couldn't conduct a placebo-controlled study with plants, could you? It's more complicated because studying plants involves far more variables than isolating a single substance. However, there are biological tests that start with plant extracts using simple methods. From there, evidence is gathered to determine if a plant can help with a specific health issue, potentially leading to the development of a medicine. A little-discussed aspect is the issue of contraindications and side effects. How do you address this? Generally, side effects of plants are understood as those that appear in the short term. If someone takes too much of a plant and feels unwell, they know the dose isn't right. The issue arises with prolonged use, which is harder to assess because the effects may not be easily identifiable. This is why laboratories can play a key role in strengthening knowledge about the safety of using these plants. Another important consideration is drug interactions. Using multiple plants or combining them with pharmaceutical medications isn't always advisable due to these interactions. I also observed that different Indigenous people would use the same name for different plants or the same name for different species. This is an important detail that often goes unnoticed but can affect the accuracy of plant identification. The project also includes a booklet with traditional recipes, correct? Yes, the manual will feature images, data, and some recipes shared by the elders. It's crucial to note that the method of preparing a remedy varies depending on experience. For someone experienced, it's one thing; for someone less familiar, it's another. Great care is needed in preparation. When you leave the village, do you usually take herbs with you, or do you prefer to go to a pharmacy if you need treatment? It depends on the issue, but I typically have both options. During my studies, I often returned home with a backpack full of bark, leaves, and roots. My mother would prepare teas for various ailments. If something required more, I'd first look for phytotherapy at the pharmacy. If I couldn't find it, I'd use synthetic medications. Having both options has always been better than relying on just one. Do you think there can be a harmonious integration of both forms of medicine? Based on the conversations I've had, I believe integration will improve. However, it's still a significant political challenge. True integration requires investment, building appropriate spaces, and acquiring equipment. It's not easy. I'm hopeful we'll progress, but for now, it remains a work in progress.
Yahoo
17 hours ago
- Yahoo
White House Orders NASA to Destroy Important Satellite
The White House has instructed NASA employees to terminate two major, climate change-focused satellite missions. As NPR reports, Trump officials reached out to the space agency to draw up plans for terminating the two missions, called the Orbiting Carbon Observatories. They've been collecting widely-used data, providing both oil and gas companies and farmers with detailed information about the distribution of carbon dioxide and how it can affect crop health. One is attached to the International Space Station, and the other is collecting data as a stand-alone satellite. The latter would meet its permanent demise after burning up in the atmosphere if the mission were to be terminated. We can only speculate as to why the Trump administration wants to end the missions. But considering president Donald Trump's staunch climate change denial and his administration's efforts to deal the agency's science directorate a potentially existential blow, it's not difficult to speculate. Worse yet, the two observatories had been expected to function for many more years, scientists working on them told NPR. A 2023 review by NASA concluded that the data they'd been providing had been "of exceptionally high quality." The observatories provide detailed carbon dioxide measurements across various locations, allowing scientists to get a detailed glimpse of how human activity is affecting greenhouse gas emissions. Former NASA employee David Crisp, who worked on the Orbiting Carbon Observatories' instruments, told NPR that current staffers reached out to him. "They were asking me very sharp questions," he said. "The only thing that would have motivated those questions was [that] somebody told them to come up with a termination plan." Crisp said it "makes no economic sense to terminate NASA missions that are returning incredibly valuable data," pointing out it costs only $15 million per year to maintain both observatories, a tiny fraction of the agency's $25.4 billion budget. Other scientists who've used data from the missions have also been asked questions related to terminating the missions. The two observatories are only two of dozens of space missions facing existential threats in the form of the Trump administration's proposed 2026 fiscal year budget. Countless scientists have been outraged by the proposal, arguing it could precipitate an end to the United States' leadership in space. Lawmakers have since drawn up a counteroffer that would keep NASA's budget roughly in line with this year's. "We rejected cuts that would have devastated NASA science by 47 percent and would have terminated 55 operating and planned missions," said senator and top appropriator Chris Van Hollen (D-MD) in a July statement, as quoted by Bloomberg. Simply terminating Earth-monitoring missions to pursue an anti-science agenda could be a massive self-own, lawmakers say — and potentially breaking laws as well by overriding existing, allocated budgets. "Eliminating funds or scaling down the operations of Earth-observing satellites would be catastrophic and would severely impair our ability to forecast, manage, and respond to severe weather and climate disasters," House representative and Committee on Science, Space and Technology ranking member Zoe Lofgren (D-CA) told NPR. "The Trump administration is forcing the proposed cuts in its FY26 budget request on already appropriated FY25 funds," she added. "This is illegal." More on NASA: NASA Announces It Will Be Randomly Searching Employees
WIRED
20 hours ago
- WIRED
Science Reveals the Surprising Origins of the Potato
Aug 4, 2025 11:43 AM Potatoes as we know them today are the product of a hybridization that took place 9 million years ago between two plants, one of which was an ancestor of the tomato. Photograph: Korneeva Kristina/GETTY IMAGES There are more than a hundred ways to prepare a potato, and thousands of stories have begun with a shot of vodka distilled from this tuber. For centuries, the potato has been instrumental in feeding the world's growing population. According to one study, the introduction of the potato from the Americas accounted for about a quarter of the population growth in the Old World between 1700 and 1900. Now, science reveals the vegetable's surprising origins: It emerged 9 million years ago as a result of an unusual hybridization between an ancestor of the tomato and an ancient South American plant. This revelation rewrites the evolutionary history of one of the world's most widely consumed foods and also explains how a simple tuber became a mainstay of the global diet. Researchers at the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences conducted the most extensive genomic analysis to date on the domesticated potato. They studied cultivated varieties along with 44 wild species, conducting unprecedented genetic sequencing. The results revealed a stable mixture of genetic material between Solanum tuberosum (the traditional potato) and an ancestor of Solanum lycopersicum (the tomato). The finding suggests that potatoes as we know them today arose from a process of hybridization between an ancient tomato plant and other Solanum -related species from the Etuberosum family that, until then, did not produce tubers. The results have been published in the journal Cell. Both the potato and the tomato share a common ancestor that lived about 13 million years ago. Four million years later, their descendants successfully interbred. From this union emerged a new plant with the ability to form tubers: subway structures that store energy in the form of carbohydrates and allow reproduction without the need for seeds or pollination. This biological innovation facilitated the expansion of the first potatoes into regions with diverse climates, from warm to cold environments. The study also identified revealing genetic details. The SP6A gene, considered the 'switch' that determines whether a plant will develop tubers, comes from the tomato. On the other hand, the IT1 gene, which regulates the growth of the subway stems that form the edible tuber, comes from plants of the Etuberosum family, native to South America. By considering the chronology of the hybridization and the geolocation of the species involved, the researchers proposed a hypothesis about the origin of the potato. During the Miocene, between 10 and 6 million years ago, the abrupt geological uplift of the Andes, driven by the collision of two tectonic plates, generated new cold climatic regions. Scientists believe this geological change forced plants to adapt to survive and expand, with two of them joining together to form Solanum tuberosum , which millions of years later would end up accompanying your hamburger in the form of French fries. This story originally appeared on WIRED en Español and has been translated from Spanish.
