In Tucson, Arizona, a profound ecological paradigm shift has been quietly unfolding for decades, moving beyond traditional habitat restoration to champion a new approach: reconciliation ecology. This movement encourages inhabitants of Western landscapes to reimagine and re-establish their connection with their local environments, emphasizing acceptance of these spaces in their current, often imperfect, state. Emerging from the environmental consciousness sparked in the 1960s and the subsequent conservation and restoration efforts of the 1970s and 1980s, the focus has evolved. Instead of solely aiming to "restore" urban riparian corridors, the conversation now centers on "reconciliation." Coined in 2003, reconciliation ecology seeks to foster biodiversity within landscapes profoundly shaped by human activity, offering a conservation strategy suited for the Anthropocene epoch.

Angelantonio Breault, a fourth-generation Tucsonan, grew up near the headwaters of the region’s floodplain, initially perceiving it as little more than a "ditch." His perspective shifted dramatically as he delved into ecology and began visiting the Santa Cruz River on Sundays, drawn by the allure of its birds and wildflowers. These visits cultivated a sense of stewardship and a personal connection to the river, fostering a deeper understanding born from direct engagement. This personal journey inspired him to found the Reconciliación en el Río Santa Cruz community initiative, a project distinguished by its departure from conventional environmental campaigns. Rather than prioritizing the landscape’s historical pristine state, Breault’s initiative emphasizes reimagining the human relationship with both the land and fellow community members.

The roots of this evolving environmental ethos in Tucson can be traced back to the 1960s, a period marked by growing public awareness of air and water pollution and the devastating impacts of environmental disasters like oil spills and widespread pesticide use. During this era, unchecked development had led to the rampant exploitation of surface and groundwater resources, resulting in creeks and rivers often running dry for significant portions of the year. While Phoenix, located a couple of hours to the north, continued its relentless expansion with new housing developments, Tucson’s local environmentalists began forming coalitions with nonprofits and community groups to advocate for more restrained development. Within a decade, the city took a significant step by purchasing farmlands west of its boundaries, retiring them to alleviate the pressure on groundwater reserves. Concurrently, smaller water systems were consolidated under the city-run Tucson Water, establishing a unified, valley-wide strategy focused on responsible water resource management.

This proactive approach led to the launch of Tucson’s first "Beat the Peak" campaign in 1977, designed to raise public awareness about water consumption during peak demand periods and to promote the use of reclaimed wastewater for landscape irrigation. By 1984, Tucson had become a pioneering city in the United States, implementing the recycling of treated wastewater for irrigating parks and golf courses. The persistent efforts of activists who had long championed slower growth culminated in the formation of a coalition advocating for the protection of habitats critical for 44 vulnerable, threatened, and endangered species. Their advocacy also pushed for the establishment of bond-funded land conservation programs, the creation of a robust system for preserving open spaces, and measures to mitigate impacts on vital riparian habitats. These sustained efforts laid the groundwork for the Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan, which was officially adopted by the Pima County Board of Supervisors in October 1998. The plan’s initial objectives were twofold: safeguarding endangered species and imposing substantial restrictions on development. However, its impact has broadened over time, encompassing environmental restoration projects, the implementation of wildlife crossings, and innovative stormwater harvesting techniques.

The 200-mile Santa Cruz River, which meanders through Tucson on its journey from northern Mexico, serves as a compelling example of Tucsonans’ leadership in urban conservation. As development accelerated in the early 20th century, the riverbed suffered extensive damage from overgrazing, excessive groundwater extraction, and the construction of infrastructure. By the 1950s, the segment of the Santa Cruz River passing through Tucson had completely dried up. Decades later, local ecologists recognized the urgent need to champion the river and the communities that depend on it. However, Breault and his contemporaries faced a significant challenge: the Santa Cruz River was choked with trash and ravaged by drought, making its restoration to conventional conservation standards seem improbable. They sought 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 elaborated, “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 fostering genuine connection to nature is most effective when individuals discover their own unique pathways, irrespective of the extent to which a landscape has been impacted, utilized, or abused by human activities. Even ecosystems that appear degraded and desiccated, like the Santa Cruz River, possess an inherent capacity to sustain life and find avenues for thriving.

This philosophy is vividly illustrated by an event in late 2017. The endangered Gila topminnow, a small native fish, was discovered downstream of the Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant. To support the replenishment of the aquifer and its associated riparian habitat, Tucson Water began diverting up to 2.8 million gallons of treated recycled water daily into the river, south of the city’s downtown area. 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 from upstream and carefully relocating them to a release site near downtown Tucson, where the once-polluted river had entirely vanished.

This initiative, undertaken in 2020, has led to a remarkable transformation. Today, the Santa Cruz River flows modestly for approximately a mile near downtown Tucson. Its character is dynamic, with some sections remaining ephemeral while others are perennial, creating an ever-changing landscape. While heavy monsoon rains can swell its flow, even without significant rainfall, the steady discharge of treated effluent is sufficient to nurture the resurgence of wetlands and marshes. Cottonwood trees, absent for over six decades, are returning, the Gila topminnow is successfully reproducing, and an impressive 40 other native animal and plant species have reappeared. Crucially, people have also returned to the riverbanks, participating in organized trash cleanups, impromptu invasive plant removals, and simple wildlife observation.

“Get in line,” Breault encourages, “Do what you do best; tell stories.” He envisions a series of gatherings along the river, encompassing storytelling workshops, art-making meetups, and interpretive nature walks, noting that similar events are already being organized by others in the community. “We don’t have to do everything,” he stated. “The river knows. We just have to be down there together.” This sentiment encapsulates the essence of reconciliation ecology: a commitment to shared presence and active participation in the ongoing narrative of urban nature.