In Tucson, Arizona, a profound shift in ecological thinking has been quietly unfolding for decades, moving beyond traditional habitat restoration to embrace a more inclusive approach to nature within human-dominated landscapes. This evolving movement, deeply rooted in the environmental consciousness sparked in the 1960s, now encourages residents to reimagine and reconnect with their local environments, accepting them on their own imperfect terms. Instead of solely focusing on the word "restoration" when discussing urban stretches of riparian corridors, the conversation has evolved to "reconciliation." This concept, formally termed "reconciliation ecology" in 2003, seeks to foster biodiversity in areas shaped by human activity, essentially representing a form of conservation adapted for the Anthropocene epoch.

Angelantonio Breault, a fourth-generation resident of Tucson, recalls a childhood perception of the region’s floodplain as merely a "ditch." However, his academic pursuits in ecology and his Sunday visits to the Santa Cruz River, where he observed birds and wildflowers, ignited a sense of stewardship and a deepening personal connection to the waterway. This personal journey culminated in the creation of the Reconciliación en el Río Santa Cruz community initiative. Unlike earlier environmental campaigns, this endeavor prioritized reimagining human engagement with both each other and the land over exclusively striving for pristine ecological restoration.

The seeds of this movement were sown in the 1960s, fueled by growing awareness of air and water pollution, alongside environmental crises such as oil spills and the pervasive use of pesticides. By this time, unchecked development had led to the extensive exploitation of surface and groundwater resources, resulting in the perennial drying of creeks and rivers for much of the year. While Phoenix, located two hours to the north, continued its rapid expansion with new housing developments, various local nonprofits and community groups in Tucson coalesced to advocate for managed development. Within a decade, Tucson had taken the significant step of purchasing farmlands west of the city limits, retiring them to alleviate the strain on groundwater reserves. Smaller water systems were consolidated under the city-run Tucson Water, establishing a unified, valley-wide structure with a clear agenda focused on the responsible stewardship of water resources.

This proactive approach paved the way for the city’s inaugural "Beat the Peak" campaign in 1977, designed to raise public consciousness about water usage during peak demand periods and to promote the reuse of wastewater for landscape irrigation. In a pioneering move for American cities, Tucson began recycling treated wastewater for use in parks and golf courses in 1984. The persistent efforts of activists who had long championed slower growth led to the formation of a coalition advocating for the protection of habitats supporting 44 vulnerable, threatened, and endangered species. This coalition pushed for bond-funded land conservation programs, the establishment of a robust system for preserving open spaces, and measures to mitigate impacts on critical riparian habitats. Their dedicated advocacy culminated in the adoption of the Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan by the Pima County Board of Supervisors in October 1998. Initially focused on protecting endangered species and imposing significant development restrictions, the plan has since expanded its scope to encompass environmental restoration, wildlife crossings, and stormwater harvesting.

The 200-mile Santa Cruz River, which traverses Tucson en route from northern Mexico, serves as a compelling example of Tucsonans’ leadership in urban conservation. The riverbed had been severely degraded by the early 20th century due to overgrazing, excessive groundwater pumping, and infrastructure construction that accompanied burgeoning development. By the 1950s, the portion of the Santa Cruz River flowing through Tucson had completely dried up.

Decades later, local ecologists recognized the urgent need to champion the river and the communities dependent on it. However, individuals like Breault and his contemporaries found it impossible to envision restoring the trash-choked, drought-ravaged Santa Cruz to the pristine standards typically expected by scientific experts or conventional conservationists. They sought a different paradigm—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 believes that the most effective approach involves individuals discovering their own unique connections to nature, irrespective of how extensively the environment has been impacted, utilized, or even abused by humans in the past. Even ecosystems that appear degraded and arid, like the Santa Cruz, possess the inherent capacity to sustain life and find avenues for resurgence.

In late 2017, a significant ecological event occurred downstream of the Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant when the endangered Gila topminnow was rediscovered. To bolster the aquifer and its associated riparian habitat, Tucson Water initiated the diversion of up to 2.8 million gallons of treated recycled water daily into the river, south of downtown. A collaborative team comprising scientists from the Arizona Game and Fish Department and the University of Arizona undertook the careful relocation of over 700 Gila topminnows from upstream to a release site near downtown Tucson, a location where the once-polluted river had entirely disappeared.

This initiative, undertaken in 2020, has since led to the humble flow of water for approximately a mile near downtown Tucson. While some sections of the river remain ephemeral, others now boast perennial flow, creating a dynamic and ever-changing landscape. Following heavy monsoon rains, the river can be seen flowing freely, but even in the absence of significant rainfall, the continuous discharge of treated wastewater is sufficient to support 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 plant and animal species have re-established themselves. Concurrently, human engagement with the river has also surged, manifesting in organized trash cleanups, impromptu invasive plant removal efforts, and simple wildlife observation.

Breault encourages broad participation, suggesting, "Get in line. Do what you do best; tell stories." He detailed upcoming gatherings along the river, including storytelling workshops, art-making meetups, and interpretive nature walks, noting that he is also hearing about similar initiatives organized by others. "We don’t have to do everything. The river knows. We just have to be down there together," he concluded, highlighting the power of collective presence and shared experience in fostering a deeper connection with the natural world. This evolving philosophy of reconciliation ecology, exemplified by the revitalization of the Santa Cruz River, offers a hopeful model for coexisting with nature in an increasingly urbanized world, demonstrating that even in the face of significant human impact, ecosystems can heal and communities can reconnect.