The UN has passed a non-binding resolution to endorse the Equal Earth Projection, a map which more fairly represents the true size of the Earth’s landmasses. The current commonly used projection, called the Mercator Projection, greatly exaggerates land towards the north and south poles, which makes Africa look much smaller. In the Mercator projection, countries near the north and south pole can be anywhere from two to 14 times their true size. In the Equal Earth projection these distortions are minimised, making Africa look larger in comparison.

We asked Jack Swab and Derek Alderman, cartographers and geographers who study the social and communicative power of maps, to explain what’s going on.

What is a map projection?

A map projection is a technique that cartographers (map-makers) use to transform the round, three-dimensional Earth into a flat, two-dimensional map that we see on the wall or on our computer screen. As cartographers flatten the globe, the map becomes distorted, changing shapes and areas. There is no map projection that does not distort the Earth, but some projections are better suited for some uses than others.

A cartographer’s job is to choose from the hundreds of different map projections, and consider where the map is focused and how it is going to be used. No single projection is best for every use. This new Equal Earth projection is better suited than Mercator for producing global scale world maps for educational, public communication and policy purposes.

The Equal Earth supports a more accurate geographic understanding of the relative sizes of countries and continents. It provides a fairer perspective for the public to compare regions in terms of population, environment, development, politics and other global patterns.

Is the Mercator projection still useful?

While the Mercator projection isn’t good for showing the size of the Earth’s landmasses, we won’t see it totally disappear. For example, it’s very useful for navigational purposes as it maintains the accuracy of a compass bearing between two points without having to recalculate it.

This is why most online mapping platforms like Google Maps or Apple Maps rely on a variation of the Mercator projection to provide directions. Using the Equal Earth projection for navigation would not be as effective as the Mercator projection.

How will the Equal Earth projection be used?

Map-making is decentralised and there is no single authority regulating which map projection is used. What the UN did was endorse the broader message that Equal Earth is a fairer projection that more equitably displays the true size of the Earth’s land. And although this action is happening at a global level, there are movements underway in cartographic communities to make the Equal Earth projection the default world map projection.

The UN resolution by itself will not make Equal Earth a globally adopted projection. That requires intentional revision of maps used in textbooks, databases, media productions and diplomatic discussions, which requires labour and financial investment.

The Equal Earth projection was developed by cartographers and is a popular choice among map-makers since it was unveiled in 2018. It’s now possible to buy wall maps with the Equal Earth projection on them, and the projection has already been used in a wide variety of media. That said, individuals will need to opt in to using the Equal Earth projection over other types.

Why has the Equal Earth projection sparked resistance?

Resistance to the Equal Earth projection has been quite limited. There were several abstentions from the United Nations General Assembly vote, but most of this was for other reasons. Ukraine, for example, raised concerns over the depiction of the contested Crimean Peninsula on the map, which the Equal Earth Projection website depicts as contested territory.

This spurred a Russian response, along with points from other nations about contested territory. Given the UN resolution was a vote on how the world is portrayed and not about any specific political boundaries (a point that both Russia and Ukraine agreed on), these discussions amounted to geopolitical posturing about non-map issues.

The lone outlier, and only “no” vote against the Equal Earth projection, came from the United States. It claimed that the proposal was part of a “radical and ideological project” that was not appropriate for the United Nations to be debating. American delegates took issue with language linking Mercator’s distortions to colonial legacies and the marginalisation of Africa. This is not surprising since the current administration denies the existence of structural systems of inequality.

It is hard to miss the hypocrisy at play. The US wants other countries not to discuss the political implications of cartography even as President Trump engages in his own nationalist branding of the map. He has unilaterally renamed the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America and Lake Ontario to Lake America for clear ideological reasons and without international consultation.

How does the new map matter when it comes to changing global views of the world?

The argument that African nations put forward was that the Equal Earth projection is a form of “cognitive justice”. Cognitive justice recognises that people often equate power and value of places with their apparent size on maps. Traditional views of Africa as a smaller continent compared to Europe or North America typically reflect the perceived importance of these parts of the world.

Equal Earth may make it easier to teach, broadcast and discuss a different view of Africa and its prominence in the world. Today, African countries are among the world’s fastest growing economies and fastest growing populations. Map projections alone cannot change people’s attitudes. Yet, as African nations seek to have more influence in international affairs, correcting the mental map of global leaders is an important step in amplifying the continent’s relevance and rights.

Jack Swab, Assistant Professor Department of Geography & Sustainability, University of Tennessee and Derek H. Alderman, Chancellor’s Professor of Geography, University of Tennessee

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Florida’s Indian River Lagoon has been an ecosystem in decline going back to 2011, when harmful algal blooms led to a severe decline in seagrass, the foundational component of shallow coastal ecosystems.

Seagrass meadows stabilize sediments, improve water clarity and provide critical habitat and forage for species ranging from invertebrates to sea turtles and manatees. Seagrass also generates a significant amount of economic activity in the state of Florida.

The loss of seagrass in the Indian River Lagoon System undermined fisheries, tourism and wildlife, ultimately leading to the starvation of more than 1,200 manatees from 2020-25, peaking in 2021-22.

Mosquito Lagoon is part of the Indian River Lagoon system that spans 28 miles (45 kilometers), running from Cape Canaveral in the south up to Ponce Inlet in the north. As in the rest of the lagoon system, years of nutrient pollution and recurring algal blooms had diminished seagrass cover to nearly zero by the early 2020s. By most accounts, Mosquito Lagoon had crossed a critical ecological tipping point.

In the fall of 2022, hurricanes Ian and Nicole struck Florida’s east coast within six weeks of one another, bringing intense rainfall, storm surges and coastal erosion. In the immediate aftermath, seagrass declined even further.

But a few months later, in the spring of 2023, seagrass began to return. Satellite imagery revealed rapid and widespread regrowth.

We are geographers who study environmental change. Our research documents this unexpected recovery and examines what it may reveal about ecosystem resilience in heavily degraded coastal systems.

One of us, Hannah Herrero, is a Volusia County native who grew up around the lagoon. She returned to her hometown at the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic. It was there that some local guides and fishermen she’d known for years suggested that our team should use satellite imagery to look at the state of collapse in the lagoon.

The study we designed as a result used satellite imagery and machine learning, a type of artificial intelligence that uses advanced algorithms to learn and predict patterns, to track seagrass dynamics in Mosquito Lagoon before, during and after the storms. This approach allowed us to observe change at a scale and frequency that is difficult to achieve using only traditional field survey methods.

Tracking seagrass from space

Monitoring seagrass coverage “the old-fashioned way” involves going into the lagoon and laying out transects, straight lines that cut through a landscape, so standard observations could be recorded. We would then have to boat or wade all along those lines to measure seagrass extent and locations and create digital maps manually to show where it is present.

As you can imagine, this is a time-intensive process that’s limited by how far you can boat or swim in a day, and by financial resources.

So we decided to use satellite imagery instead. This method is not without its own challenges – water turbidity, or cloudiness, seasonal variability and the patchy nature of vegetation that grows on the bottom of the lagoon all make it difficult to observe seagrass growth directly on the imagery.

To address this challenge, our study used imagery from NASA’s Harmonized Landsat–Sentinel program, which combines data from multiple satellites into a consistent record of photos of the same areas taken frequently over time. We analyzed imagery collected between September 2022 and January 2024, focusing on periods before and immediately after the hurricanes and throughout the subsequent recovery.

We applied a type of machine learning model called Random Forest to classify each image into seagrass and nonseagrass categories.

The machine learning algorithm is informed by training samples collected in the field, but once the model has learned the signature of seagrass, it is able to then apply the classification model to the rest of the lagoon and across time with limited human input. We can then validate this classification.

Heading into the field

First, we had to train the model using hundreds of GPS points collected in the field over multiple seasons. This step helps to ensure that satellite classifications align with on‑the‑ground conditions and are accurately interpreting the images.

Over several weeks during the summers of 2020 through 2023, our team spent many hours navigating Mosquito Lagoon in a small skiff designed for shallow depths, recording seagrass presence.

It wasn’t always easy – Florida summers are intensely hot and humid, and Mosquito Lagoon definitely lived up to its name. But we got to see a wide variety of wildlife, including manatees, dolphins, sea turtles and alligators. And occasionally, on lucky days, we even spotted a roseate spoonbill or reddish egret.

Our experience in the field highlighted why this system matters: Mosquito Lagoon is a remarkably vibrant place, teeming with wildlife. These long days on the lagoon, surrounded by its biodiversity and immersed in its unique sense of place, are what anchor the remote sensing data to on-the-ground ecological conditions and make the resulting models credible.

What we found

Our analysis reveals three distinct phases of seagrass coverage.

First, seagrass declined sharply following hurricanes Ian and Nicole. By December 2022 and early 2023, satellite imagery showed virtually no detectable seagrass across the lagoon.

Then, in March 2023, we identified a statistically significant shift. Seagrass began to reappear, initially in small, scattered patches.

Finally, during late spring and summer 2023, seagrass expanded rapidly. By July 2023, it covered more than 20% of the lagoon – levels not observed in more than a decade. Coverage then declined again during the winter of 2023–24, as expected based on seasonal growth cycles. But even our last observation, completed in January 2024, showed seagrass covering 4.3% of the lagoon, substantially higher than pre-recovery levels during the winter season.

In spring 2026, seagrass in Mosquito Lagoon has remained at stable levels. Although it still experiences fluctuations due to algal blooms, seasonality and other changes in the ecosystem, we have not seen a complete loss of seagrass again like what was occurring for over a decade.

Importantly, this pattern was not random. Regrowth occurred primarily in the central and southern parts of the lagoon, areas historically known to support dense seagrass meadows. The timing also aligned with established seagrass seasonal growth patterns, which strengthens our confidence that the observed changes reflect true ecological recovery.

How storms may have contributed

We cannot prove that hurricanes directly caused the seagrass recovery that we document in our study. Further study beyond the scope of our work is needed to evaluate this possibility. However, we believe the sequence of events suggests that the storms may have altered environmental conditions in ways that enabled regrowth.

Hurricane Ian delivered large volumes of fresh water into the lagoon, potentially suppressing salt‑tolerant macroalgae that compete with seagrass for sunlight and nutrients.

Six weeks later, Hurricane Nicole breached coastal dunes and created several new inlets between the lagoon and the Atlantic Ocean. These openings allowed salt water into the lagoon, likely altering salinity and changing water circulation and conditions.

The hurricanes may also have redistributed seagrass fragments and mobilized dormant seed banks, accelerating regrowth once conditions stabilized. Ecologists have observed similar mechanisms in other coastal systems affected by tropical cyclones.

Beyond Mosquito Lagoon

Mosquito Lagoon’s collapse and eventual tentative recovery illustrates both the vulnerability and resilience of coastal ecosystems. Even after years of decline, the Mosquito Lagoon coastal ecosystem demonstrated an ability to recover relatively rapidly when physical conditions shifted.

At the same time, resilience does not guarantee permanence, and we believe this recovery should be viewed cautiously.

From a practical standpoint, our study also highlights the value of satellite imagery and machine learning for ecosystem monitoring. These tools allow scientists, resource managers and local communities to detect change consistently and respond before losses spread.

Stephanie Insalaco-Wyner, Assistant Professor of Geographic Information Sciences, Southwestern University and Hannah V. Herrero, Associate Professor of Geography, University of Tennessee

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Within moments of entering the Newport Renaissance Faire, you are ushered to a group of fairies. They pass you a scroll and say, “You must seek out the Bone Man for the first hurdle in your quest.” As you navigate the fair, you find many men dressed in bones, both vendors and fellow attendees. When you find the correct Bone Man – an actor wearing what appears to be a mask made of human skull along with a crown constructed from deer antlers – he stamps your scroll. He then sends you to your next target: the Drunk Viking.

Following the directions of actors in the fair, you meet a variety of performers from many historical eras and fantastic realms, and stumble upon both merchants and merrymakers in your journey. It’s all part of the immersive experience that connects you with the other guests and staff, though many of the costumed staff members, speaking in faux Middle English, are also trying to sell you something.

Renaissance fairs were originally conceived as a creative refuge for artists sidelined by political repression during the Red Scare. Now, they sit at an uneasy crossroads between countercultural expression and commercial spectacle. Having grown into a nationwide industry with tiered tickets, branded merchandise and multimillion dollar valuations, the fairs can easily be seen as an offshoot of a corporate theme park.

As cultural geographers, we wanted to learn more about whether the spirit of the fairs has been changing. So for our recent study, we visited the Tennessee Renaissance Festival, Newport Renaissance Faire, Tennessee Medieval Faire and Tennessee Pirate Fest.

Once upon a time … not so long ago

Although renaissance fairs and festivals recreate the atmosphere of centuries past, the first formally recognized fair took place in May 1963 in Irwindale, California. A public school English and history teacher named Phyllis Patterson was the brains behind the event, which she dubbed the Renaissance Pleasure Faire.

For Patterson, the fair was a chance to celebrate the era’s countercultural values like free expression, experimentation with identity and creative play. It also served as a source of employment for those who had been pushed out of their careers in the film and entertainment industries after being blacklisted or graylisted as suspected communists.

Patterson herself had refused to sign a Cold War–era loyalty oath required to work in California public schools. At the Renaissance Pleasure Faire, actors, educators and set designers could continue their craft, whether that meant designing costumes, creating characters, performing or writing.

From creative refuge to thriving business

Since those first events in Southern California, renaissance fairs have spread across the U.S., with some constructing permanent structures even though they’re only open seasonally, in the spring or fall. Built to resemble small villages, fair operators create towns-within-towns, fantasy lands where visitors can briefly step away from their routines and obligations.

Their popularity continues to grow, and what began partly as a creative refuge has grown into a thriving entertainment business.

The East Tennessee Renaissance Faire recently announced that it would be relocating after deciding that its original venue in Newport could no longer accommodate the swelling crowds: Within three years, the fair had grown from 600 to 6,000 attendees, spurring a move to a larger site in neighboring Sevierville. New fairs are sprouting up as well: The Chattanooga Renaissance Faire will host its inaugural season in spring 2026.

There are almost always entry fees – US$38 at the Tennessee Renaissance Festival and $53 at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire, for example – and many offer season passes.

Attendees often arrive in costume, but strict rules about adhering to a specific time period or setting rarely apply.

Some visitors dress as Tolkien-style elves, while others show up as Tudor nobles. Viking-clad participants walk alongside fairies and swashbuckling pirates. Some fairs have also developed their own themed weekends – with names like “Viking Victory,” “Fantasy and Folklore,” “Pirate Plunder” and “Celtic Celebration” – that weave history and fiction with few constraints. And those committed to their role will often address each other in playful faux-medieval speech, with greetings like “my lady” or “my lord.”

Vendors, often dressed in costume themselves, sell everything from cloaks, swords and crowns to contemporary jewelry and shampoos. Booths sell era-adjacent fare like Scotch eggs, ciders, mead and turkey legs, while modern cocktails like “The Shipwreck” and “The Blueberry Faerie” can also be had, with visitors paying the equivalent of stadium and arena concession prices.

Renaissance fairs have even spread to countries like Germany and France, reconnecting with their roots. The expansion into new venues – along with the development of offshoots such as pirate- and steampunk-themed festivals – point to profit margins that would have been unthinkable in the early days of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire.

But as with many ventures, the prospect of cashing in comes with complications.

The 2024 HBO Max series “Ren Faire” introduced viewers to the eccentrics and costume-clad vendors involved in the nation’s largest fair, the Texas Renaissance Festival in Todd Mission. The fight over its future involved lawsuits and, eventually, the court-ordered $60 million sale of the event’s property and assets.

King Richard’s Faire, which takes place in Carver, Massachusetts, and is the largest fair in New England, reportedly generates massive daily revenue while allegedly relying on widespread worker misclassification, leaving many performers earning below minimum wage without benefits. Even volunteer “villagers” work only for free admission, and both workers and attendees receive no compensation or refunds when the fair closes due to rain.

Seeking out a space of whimsy

Despite the creeping influence of profit motives, we concluded that renaissance fairs have always been – and continue to be – mostly about community.

Dressing as a fantastical version of yourself or your favorite character bonds you to others dressed up at the festival. Unlike popular Civil War or World War II reenactments where historical accuracy is paramount, renaissance fairs instead invite people to take part in shared, often mythologized ideas about history through performance, costume and play.

For example, each weekend, the Tennessee Renaissance Festival organizes jousts. Competitors and their horses meet at a permanent jousting pitch located at the back of the property. Each knight represents a noble house, and each section of the bleachers is assigned a knight to root for. Announcers explain the rules of each event, while also leading the crowds in chants and cheers. While the knights might fight under titles tied to historical lineages, they represent a jumble of eras and place. They also reject antiquated social norms by including women and ethnic groups who never would have been seen together on a jousting pitch.

Here, fidelity to the facts is an afterthought; it actually might ruin the fun.

Beyond the jousting pitch, you can find the queen dictating a game of human chess. A rotating cast of performers play music, tell jokes, juggle and blow fire. Elsewhere, you might stumble across pixies teaching children how to make fairy homes or relax in a mermaid’s magical grotto.

There’s also a comforting simplicity in the narratives of this make-believe world. Ladies are almost always gentle and beautiful, while the men are brave and noble. All the villains are easy to spot – they’re always defeated.

In a real world characterized by political upheaval, information overload, invisible surveillance and shadowy villains, perhaps the fair, with its simple prism of good and evil, becomes a space of comfort – a curated cultural experiment that’s also an improvised escape.

In other words, renaissance fairs wield a quiet power: They forge communities that deliberately blur fantasy, history and everyday life with a wink. Vendors, performers and attendees alike can be Tudors, Vikings, hobbits, elves or mermaids for a day. Few actually believe in elves, or imagine their mock-Elizabethan speech is anything more than cheerful, mangled guesswork.

And that’s the point. There’s joy in pretending – just as there’s a universal pleasure in the weird, the whimsical and the absurd.

Katrina Stack, Ph.D. Candidate in Human Geography, University of Tennessee and Reagan Yessler, Adjunct Professor of Human Geography, Pellissippi State Community College

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

As Winter Storm Fern swept across the United States in late January 2026, bringing ice, snow and freezing temperatures, it left more than a million people without power, mostly in the Southeast.

Scrambling to meet higher than average demand, PJM, the nonprofit company that operates the grid serving much of the mid-Atlantic U.S., asked for federal permission to generate more power, even if it caused high levels of air pollution from burning relatively dirty fuels.

Energy Secretary Chris Wright agreed and took another step, too. He authorized PJM and ERCOT – the company that manages the Texas power grid – as well as Duke Energy, a major electricity supplier in the Southeast, to tell data centers and other large power-consuming businesses to turn on their backup generators.

The goal was to make sure there was enough power available to serve customers as the storm hit. Generally, these facilities power themselves and do not send power back to the grid. But Wright explained that their “industrial diesel generators” could “generate 35 gigawatts of power, or enough electricity to power many millions of homes.”

We are scholars of the electricity industry who live and work in the Southeast. In the wake of Winter Storm Fern, we see opportunities to power data centers with less pollution while helping communities prepare for, get through and recover from winter storms.

Data centers use enormous quantities of energy

Before Wright’s order, it was hard to say whether data centers would reduce the amount of electricity they take from the grid during storms or other emergencies.

This is a pressing question, because data centers’ power demands to support generative artificial intelligence are already driving up electricity prices in congested grids like PJM’s.

And data centers are expected to need only more power. Estimates vary widely, but the Lawrence Berkeley National Lab anticipates that the share of electricity production in the U.S. used by data centers could spike from 4.4% in 2023 to between 6.7% and 12% by 2028. PJM expects a peak load growth of 32 gigawatts by 2030 – enough power to supply 30 million new homes, but nearly all going to new data centers. PJM’s job is to coordinate that energy – and figure out how much the public, or others, should pay to supply it.

The race to build new data centers and find the electricity to power them has sparked enormous public backlash about how data centers will inflate household energy costs. Other concerns are that power-hungry data centers fed by natural gas generators can hurt air quality, consume water and intensify climate damage. Many data centers are located, or proposed, in communities already burdened by high levels of pollution.

Local ordinances, regulations created by state utility commissions and proposed federal laws have tried to protect ratepayers from price hikes and require data centers to pay for the transmission and generation infrastructure they need.

Always-on connections?

In addition to placing an increasing burden on the grid, many data centers have asked utility companies for power connections that are active 99.999% of the time.

But since the 1970s, utilities have encouraged “demand response” programs, in which large power users agree to reduce their demand during peak times like Winter Storm Fern. In return, utilities offer financial incentives such as bill credits for participation.

Over the years, demand response programs have helped utility companies and power grid managers lower electricity demand at peak times in summer and winter. The proliferation of smart meters allows residential customers and smaller businesses to participate in these efforts as well. When aggregated with rooftop solar, batteries and electric vehicles, these distributed energy resources can be dispatched as “virtual power plants.”

A different approach

The terms of data center agreements with local governments and utilities often aren’t available to the public. That makes it hard to determine whether data centers could or would temporarily reduce their power use.

In some cases, uninterrupted access to power is necessary to maintain critical data systems, such as medical records, bank accounts and airline reservation systems.

Yet, data center demand has spiked with the AI boom, and developers have increasingly been willing to consider demand response. In August 2025, Google announced new agreements with Indiana Michigan Power and the Tennessee Valley Authority to provide “data center demand response by targeting machine learning workloads,” shifting “non-urgent compute tasks” away from times when the grid is strained. Several new companies have also been founded specifically to help AI data centers shift workloads and even use in-house battery storage to temporarily move data centers’ power use off the grid during power shortages.

Flexibility for the future

One study has found that if data centers would commit to using power flexibly, an additional 100 gigawatts of capacity – the amount that would power around 70 million households – could be added to the grid without adding new generation and transmission.

In another instance, researchers demonstrated how data centers could invest in offsite generation through virtual power plants to meet their generation needs. Installing solar panels with battery storage at businesses and homes can boost available electricity more quickly and cheaply than building a new full-size power plant. Virtual power plants also provide flexibility as grid operators can tap into batteries, shift thermostats or shut down appliances in periods of peak demand. These projects can also benefit the buildings where they are hosted.

Distributed energy generation and storage, alongside winterizing power lines and using renewables, are key ways to help keep the lights on during and after winter storms.

Those efforts can make a big difference in places like Nashville, Tennessee, where more than 230,000 customers were without power at the peak of outages during Fern, not because there wasn’t enough electricity for their homes but because their power lines were down.

The future of AI is uncertain. Analysts caution that the AI industry may prove to be a speculative bubble: If demand flatlines, they say, electricity customers may end up paying for grid improvements and new generation built to meet needs that would not actually exist.

Onsite diesel generators are an emergency solution for large users such as data centers to reduce strain on the grid. Yet, this is not a long-term solution to winter storms. Instead, if data centers, utilities, regulators and grid operators are willing to also consider offsite distributed energy to meet electricity demand, then their investments could help keep energy prices down, reduce air pollution and harm to the climate, and help everyone stay powered up during summer heat and winter cold.

Nikki Luke, Assistant Professor of Human Geography, University of Tennessee and Conor Harrison, Associate Professor of Economic Geography, University of South Carolina

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.