In the heart of Tucson, Arizona, a profound shift in ecological thinking has been quietly unfolding for decades, moving beyond traditional habitat restoration to embrace a more nuanced approach known as reconciliation ecology. This burgeoning movement encourages residents, particularly in the American West, to forge new connections with their local environments by accepting them in their current, often imperfect, states. This philosophy, deeply rooted in the environmental consciousness sparked in the 1960s and evolving through the conservation and restoration efforts of the subsequent decades, now reframes our engagement with human-dominated landscapes. Instead of solely aiming to "restore" a place like an urban stretch of a riparian corridor to some imagined pristine past, the focus has shifted to "reconciliation," a term coined in 2003 that seeks to actively increase biodiversity within areas shaped by human activity. It represents a forward-looking conservation strategy for the Anthropocene, acknowledging that human presence is a permanent feature of the ecological landscape.

Angelantonio Breault, a lifelong Tucsonan whose family has lived in the region for four generations, grew up near the headwaters of the area’s floodplain, initially perceiving it as little more than a "ditch." However, as his academic pursuits led him to study ecology and he began visiting the Santa Cruz River on Sundays to observe its avian and floral life, a sense of stewardship and a deep personal connection to the waterway started to blossom. This evolving relationship inspired him to launch the Reconciliación en el Río Santa Cruz community initiative. This project distinguished itself from earlier environmental campaigns by prioritizing a reimagining of human-nature interactions over the singular goal of restoring the landscape to a specific historical condition.

The origins of this shift can be traced back to the 1960s, a period marked by heightened public awareness of pressing environmental issues such as air and water pollution, and devastating ecological events like widespread oil spills and the pervasive use of pesticides. During this era, unchecked urban and agricultural development had led to the severe depletion of both surface and groundwater resources, leaving many creeks and rivers, including the Santa Cruz, dry for extended periods each year. While cities like Phoenix, located a couple of hours to the north, pursued aggressive expansion and new housing developments, a coalition of local environmental nonprofits and community groups in Tucson advocated for more restrained growth. This advocacy bore fruit within a decade, as Tucson strategically purchased farmlands located west of the city limits, retiring them from agricultural use to alleviate the strain on groundwater reserves. Concurrently, smaller, independent water systems were consolidated under the purview of the city-run Tucson Water, establishing a unified regional infrastructure and a cohesive agenda focused on the sustainable stewardship of water resources.

These proactive measures laid the groundwork for innovative water conservation strategies. In 1977, Tucson launched its inaugural "Beat the Peak" campaign, designed to educate the public about water consumption patterns during periods of high demand and to promote the use of treated wastewater for landscape irrigation. By 1984, Tucson had become a trailblazer among American cities, initiating the practice of recycling treated wastewater for use in municipal parks and golf courses, a pioneering move in urban water management. The persistent efforts of activists who had long championed slower development culminated in the formation of a powerful coalition. This group successfully lobbied for the protection of habitats critical to 44 vulnerable, threatened, and endangered species, secured funding for land conservation programs, established a robust system for preserving open spaces, and implemented measures to mitigate the ecological impacts on vital riparian zones. These concerted actions led to the development and eventual adoption of the Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan by the Pima County Board of Supervisors in October 1998. While the plan’s primary objectives were the protection of endangered species and the imposition of significant development restrictions, its scope has since broadened to encompass a wide array of environmental initiatives, including ecological restoration, the construction of wildlife crossings, and advanced stormwater harvesting techniques.

The Santa Cruz River, a 200-mile waterway that flows through Tucson en route from northern Mexico, serves as a compelling case study of how Tucsonans have positioned themselves at the vanguard of urban conservation. The river’s ecological health suffered immensely in the early 20th century due to rampant overgrazing, unsustainable groundwater extraction, and extensive infrastructure development, which together ravaged its riverbed. By the 1950s, the portion of the Santa Cruz flowing through Tucson had completely dried up, a stark symbol of environmental degradation.

Decades later, a new generation of local ecologists recognized the urgent need to advocate for the river and the communities that depended upon it. However, Breault and his colleagues faced a significant challenge: the Santa Cruz, choked with trash and ravaged by drought, appeared beyond the reach of conventional restoration efforts and the stringent standards of scientific experts. They envisioned a different path, one of reconciliation. "I see the Santa Cruz as a portal," Breault explained, "a way for people to explore the authentic relationships they already have with the natural world." He emphasized, "We know the best way to engage people is through participatory stewardship programming. People don’t need to have their hand held." Breault firmly believes that empowering individuals to discover their own unique connections to nature, irrespective of past human impacts, is the most effective approach. Even ecosystems that have been severely degraded and desiccated, like the Santa Cruz, possess an inherent capacity to sustain life and find pathways to recovery.

A significant milestone in this reconciliation process occurred in late 2017 when the endangered Gila topminnow was rediscovered downstream of the Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant. To bolster the aquifer and restore its adjacent riparian habitat, Tucson Water began diverting up to 2.8 million gallons of treated recycled water daily into the river, at a point south of the city’s downtown core. A collaborative team of scientists from the Arizona Game and Fish Department and the University of Arizona undertook the delicate task of collecting over 700 Gila topminnows upstream and carefully relocating them to a release site near downtown Tucson, an area where the once-polluted river had entirely vanished.

This intervention, which took place in 2020, has since transformed the landscape. Today, the river flows modestly for approximately one mile near downtown Tucson, exhibiting a dynamic character with sections that are ephemeral while others are perennial. Following heavy monsoon rains, the river flows freely, but even in drier periods, the consistent discharge of treated effluent is sufficient to foster the resurgence of wetlands and marshes. Cottonwood trees, which had been absent for over six decades, are making a comeback, the Gila topminnow is successfully reproducing, and an impressive 40 other native plant and animal species have returned to the revitalized corridor. Crucially, people have also returned, drawn by the ecological rebirth. They participate in organized trash cleanups, engage in impromptu efforts to remove invasive plants, or simply come to observe the burgeoning wildlife.

Breault encourages this grassroots engagement, suggesting, "Get in line. Do what you do best; tell stories." He envisions a diverse array of community gatherings along the river, including storytelling workshops, art-making meetups, and interpretive nature walks, noting that similar events are already being organized by others. "We don’t have to do everything," he stated with a sense of collective purpose. "The river knows. We just have to be down there together." This sentiment encapsulates the essence of reconciliation ecology: a shared commitment to engaging with and nurturing our local environments, recognizing their inherent value and resilience, and fostering a deeper, more authentic relationship with the natural world.