In Tucson, Arizona, a quiet yet profound ecological movement has been taking root over decades, moving beyond mere habitat restoration to embrace a deeper reimagining and reconnection with local landscapes. This approach encourages acceptance of these environments in their imperfect, existing states, fostering a unique form of urban conservation. Catalyzed by the environmental awakening of the 1960s and the subsequent conservation and ecological restoration efforts of the 1970s and 1980s, the paradigm has shifted. Instead of focusing solely on "restoration," urban stretches of riparian corridors are now discussed in terms of "reconciliation." This concept, termed "reconciliation ecology" in 2003, aims to increase biodiversity within human-dominated landscapes, effectively offering a conservation strategy for the Anthropocene.

Angel Antonio Breault, a fourth-generation Tucson resident, grew up near the upper reaches of the region’s floodplain, initially perceiving it as merely a ditch. However, his studies in ecology and his Sunday visits to the Santa Cruz River, dedicated to bird and wildflower observation, sparked a personal connection to the waterway. This evolving relationship led him to establish the community initiative, "Reconciliation on the Santa Cruz River." This project distinguished itself from earlier environmental campaigns by prioritizing a reimagining of human relationships with the land over the strict goal of landscape restoration.

The roots of this movement trace back to the 1960s, a period marked by growing awareness of air and water pollution, and significant environmental disasters such as oil spills and the widespread use of pesticides. These concerns galvanized local environmentalists. By this time, unchecked development had led to the over-extraction of surface and groundwater resources, leaving many streams and rivers dry for extended periods.

While Phoenix, located two hours to the north, continued its relentless expansion with new housing developments, Tucson witnessed the formation of coalitions among local non-profit organizations and community groups. These groups actively lobbied the city to curb development. Within a decade, Tucson had implemented a proactive strategy of purchasing farmland west of its city limits, thereby removing it from agricultural use and alleviating pressure on groundwater pumping. This also facilitated the consolidation of smaller water systems into the city-administered Tucson Water, which then established a valley-wide infrastructure and a unified approach to water resource management.

This proactive stance led to the city’s first "Beat the Peak" campaign in 1977, aimed at raising public awareness about peak water usage and promoting the use of reclaimed wastewater for landscape irrigation. By 1984, Tucson became one of the earliest cities in the nation to recycle treated wastewater for use in parks and golf courses, demonstrating a commitment to innovative water management.

Activists who had long advocated for slower growth successfully built a coalition that championed the protection of habitats for 44 vulnerable, threatened, and endangered species. Their efforts also pushed for bond-funded land conservation programs and the establishment of a robust system for preserving open spaces and mitigating the impacts of development on critical riparian habitats. These sustained advocacy efforts culminated in the adoption of the Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan by the Pima County Board of Supervisors in October 1998. The plan initially set forth two primary objectives: safeguarding endangered species and imposing significant development restrictions. Over time, however, its scope has broadened considerably, encompassing environmental restoration projects, wildlife crossings, and rainwater harvesting initiatives.

The 200-mile-long Santa Cruz River, which flows through Tucson on its journey from northern Mexico, serves as a potent example of how Tucson residents have positioned themselves at the forefront of urban conservation. As development accelerated in the early 20th century, the riverbed suffered severe degradation due to overgrazing, groundwater depletion, and infrastructure construction. By the 1950s, the Santa Cruz River’s stretch through Tucson had completely dried up.

Decades later, local ecologists, much like their predecessors, recognized the urgent need to advocate for the river and the communities that depend on it. However, Breault and his contemporaries found no viable path to restore the trash-choked, drought-ravaged Santa Cruz to conventional scientific or conservationist standards. They sought a different approach: reconciliation.

"I see the Santa Cruz as a portal," Breault explained, viewing it as a gateway for people to explore their authentic relationships with the natural world. He emphasizes the effectiveness of participatory programs, stating, "We know the best way to engage people is through participatory programs. People don’t need to be hand-held." Breault believes that the most impactful approach is for individuals to discover their own unique ways of connecting with nature, regardless of how severely it has been impacted, exploited, or abused in the past. Even degraded and arid ecosystems like the Santa Cruz retain the capacity to sustain life and flourish.

In late 2017, a significant ecological event occurred when the endangered Gila topminnow was discovered downstream from the Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant. To aid in replenishing the aquifer and its riparian habitat, Tucson Water began diverting up to 10 million liters of recycled water into the river, at a point south of the city center. A collaborative team of scientists from the Arizona Game and Fish Department and the University of Arizona undertook the careful relocation of over 700 Gila topminnows. These fish were transported to a designated release point near downtown Tucson, an area where the once-polluted river had previously been entirely dry.

This marked a pivotal moment in 2020. Today, the river flows modestly for approximately one mile near downtown Tucson, with some sections being ephemeral and others perennial, creating a dynamic and ever-changing landscape. While the river experiences robust flow after heavy monsoon rains, even without the monsoon season, the steady discharge of treated effluent is sufficient to support the resurgence of wetlands and marshes. Cottonwood trees, absent for over six decades, are reappearing, the Gila topminnow is successfully reproducing, and an estimated 40 other native animal and plant species have returned.

The return of nature has also been mirrored by the return of people. These individuals participate in organized trash cleanups, impromptu invasive plant removals, or simply engage in wildlife observation. "Line up," Breault advises, "Do what you do best; tell stories." He describes upcoming gatherings planned along the river, ranging from writing workshops and artistic creation sessions to interpretive nature walks, alongside other events he has heard about. "We don’t have to do everything. The river knows. We just have to be there together," he concludes, highlighting the collaborative and organic nature of this evolving ecological movement.