At Bradford Island, near Bonneville Dam, the river carried more than water. Beneath the surface of the Columbia were toxic sediments, dumped near a place where Yakama people had fished since time immemorial. To officials, it was a cleanup site. To the Yakama Nation, it was a usual and accustomed fishing place, protected by treaty. To Davis Washines, known to many as Yellowash, it was also a crime scene. The victims, he said, were first the water, then the salmon and other life that depended on it, and then the people who depended on them. He did not speak that way for emphasis. He spoke from a life spent moving between law enforcement, ceremony, public service, and the river. Evidence mattered to him. So did harm, responsibility, and the obligations carried through Yakama law, culture, and memory. Yellowash died on May 1st, at his home in White Swan, Washington. He was 74. By then he had held many titles: Yakama Tribal Police chief, Columbia River Inter-Tribal Fish Commission police chief, member of the Yakama Tribal Council, chairman of the Yakama Nation General Council, government relations liaison in the Yakama Nation Department of Natural Resources, trustee, board chair, counselor, teacher, and ceremonial leader. The titles marked a long public life. They did not fully describe it. He began that life in public service in 1973 with the Yakama Tribal Police Department and rose to chief in 1986. He later returned to that role, and then became chief of police for the…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. Conservation journalists are facing a new issue: AI-generated wildlife imagery. The issue is not just that fake images exist. That has long been true. What has changed is how convincing synthetic wildlife photos and videos have become, how cheaply they can be made, and how quickly they can spread. A clip can move through Facebook, WhatsApp, TikTok, or even LinkedIn before anyone has checked whether it shows a real animal, a real place, or a real event. That matters because wildlife images carry an implicit claim. A photograph of a rare animal, a camera-trap still, or a video of unusual behavior usually tells the viewer: this happened. As generative AI improves, that assumption needs more scrutiny. The risks are not theoretical. False videos of animal attacks can deepen fear in places where human-wildlife conflict is already difficult to manage. Fabricated images of wild animals behaving like pets can feed demand for the exotic pet trade. Misleading footage of rare species can absorb the time of researchers, journalists, NGOs, and public agencies that have to determine whether an event actually occurred. It also changes the work of newsrooms. At Mongabay, we now spend more time looking at sourcing, provenance, metadata, reverse-image searches, forensic tools, and whether a photographer, researcher, or institution is known and trusted. AI detectors can occasionally help in some cases, but they cannot settle the question. False positives and false negatives…This article was originally published on Mongabay

In the Amazon, a forest can remain on the map while losing much of what makes it function. The Amazon rainforest is often discussed through a few familiar measures: deforestation, carbon, protected areas, and tipping points. Each is useful. But they do not fully explain why biodiversity continues to decline even where maps still show forest, laws exist, and international pledges sound ambitious. A territory can be recognized and still be invaded. A satellite can detect illegal clearing and still fail to trigger a penalty. A story can describe crisis and still leave readers unsure what can be done. Six gaps help explain the problem: finance and forest economy, governance, enforcement, forest function, Indigenous rights, and narrative. They overlap in ways that make each harder to close. The finance and forest-economy gap Protecting forests costs money every year. It requires staff, transport, monitoring, community work, legal support, fire control, restoration, and the ability to respond when illegal actors arrive. Yet the money available for those tasks remains far below the scale of the problem. Globally, UNEP estimates that forest investments need to reach about $300 billion a year by 2030 to meet climate, biodiversity, and land-degradation targets. The report also notes that this figure excludes some enabling conditions, including governance and law enforcement, which means the true need is probably higher. The Brazilian Amazon shows the imbalance more clearly. WWF and Conservation Strategy Fund estimate that Brazil needs about $12.8 billion a year to meet forest policy goals. Current positive…This article was originally published on Mongabay