Category: Uncategorized

By Tavin Martin

In 2023 I attended a Kellogg International Scholars  event where Keough School professor Susan Ostermann gave a talk about her new research project in Hawaii, Alaska and Puerto Rico. The National Science Foundation-funded project analyzes how individuals from these regions — regions that are legally connected to the United States but whose communities often have a tense relationship with the government due to cultural and political histories — interact with building codes and construction processes while managing and preparing for events such as earthquakes, hurricanes and snow. 

I had previously spent two summers volunteering in Puerto Rico and I had also traveled there many times to learn more from local communities about Puerto Rican culture and lifestyle. Given my background and research interest in Puerto Rico, I asked Professor Ostermann if she would take me on as a research assistant. Since that moment, I have worked on the project. 

In January 2024 I traveled to Puerto Rico during Notre Dame’s winter break before beginning my study abroad semester in Chile. I assisted Professor Ostermann’s project collaborator, Professor Abbie Liel from the University of Colorado, with interviews and data collection in the San Juan area. 

After taking a break for my study abroad semester, I began coding data that had been collected by Professors Liel and Ostermann and other student research assistants. Using the software ATLAS.ti, which facilitates analysis of qualitative data, I reviewed notes and data collected through interviews and observations and identified themes and commonalities between actors and communities across the three regions. The goal of the research project is to discover effective building practices that protect vulnerable communities from natural disasters.

My role as a coder has not only grown my skills as a student and researcher but also has influenced my research interests. While coding for the National Science Foundation project, I was simultaneously conducting field research for my thesis in Rapa Nui and Vieques, Puerto Rico. During my time in Vieques the community was hit by tropical storm Ernesto, and I witnessed firsthand how Viequenses prepare for natural disasters and how they must deal with the aftermath for weeks or months later. 

These communities are not strangers to natural disasters such as hurricanes, but that does not make the process of preparation any easier. I encountered many people who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder following previous disasters, namely Hurricane María. In addition to protecting their houses with wooden boards and sandbags and purchasing gasoline for generators, many people have to emotionally prepare themselves for what they know will be a long recovery time, potentially without power, water or fresh food. 

It is one thing to read and learn about the impacts of building codes and construction practices on these communities through my work on the project, but it was a completely different experience to work alongside emergency response teams and live with community members as they struggled to maintain a sense of normalcy without power. 

Through this project I aspire to help communities like Vieques to create sustainable and safe building practices that will protect their environment, houses and families. My hope is that this research helps communities in Hawaii, Alaska and Puerto Rico to live without fear of losing their homes and feel prepared for every scenario when extreme weather events occur. 

Tavin Martin is a senior global affairs and Latino studies major who also is earning a minor in Education, Schooling and Society (ESS). 

By Emmanuel Gyasi

Field research is challenging on multiple fronts, especially when it is done in an unfamiliar environment or context. Navigating research technicalities and non-research related variables such as new cultural patterns, infrastructural inadequacies, language barriers and peculiar team or community dynamics, field research can impose huge demands that can affect team performance if not properly managed. Some of these challenges became obvious as my team embarked on its Global Partner Engagement (GPE) this past summer through the Keough School’s Integration Lab (i-Lab).

For context, the GPE, a core aspect of the Master of Global Affairs program at the Keough School of Global Affairs, offers graduate students in the governance and policy and sustainable development concentrations the opportunity to travel across the world to undertake research that addresses key global issues in partnership with leading development organizations such as Catholic Relief Services (CRS), Oxfam, and Mercy Corps. The GPE equips students with real-world experiences in field research and problem-solving while serving as a bridge between policy and practice in the development world.

My team embarked on its field work with CRS between May and July 2024 to assess the effectiveness of Nexus-style food security programming in Madagascar and Ethiopia. Originally known as the Humanitarian, Development and Peacebuilding (HDP) Nexus, this food security programming emphasizes the need to holistically address the immediate and long-term dimensions of food insecurity —  humanitarian crises, structural development deficiencies and social cohesion issues — with a promise of better outcomes than standalone food security interventions.

Notwithstanding this promise and the Nexus programming’s recent popularity, little is known about whether it is indeed effective and efficient. Because of this uncertainty, my team’s field research goal was to provide empirical evidence on the impact, sustainability and cost effectiveness of humanitarian, development and peacebuilding interventions in tackling food insecurity.

Throughout the study we worked with CRS staff and local personnel from both countries to conduct 44 focus group discussions and 30 key informant interviews, engaging nearly 350 research subjects in the process. 

This demanding study challenged our ability to persist in field work. Sometimes, we easily sailed through. Other times required hard conversations, a lot of critical thinking and courage to gradually overcome the challenges we faced. 

Having now successfully navigated some of the most demanding circumstances I have encountered, here are seven things I learned that could help teams thrive in field research:

1. Learn as much as you can about the research environment beforehand.
   Amid the technicalities that accompany field research, it is easy to be laser-focused on your research objectives while neglecting the study of your new environment. Things like culture, values and norms may seem less important, but they can become the difference between successful field research and a disaster.  

For example, imagine that you spend a lot of effort developing an excellent research proposal, travel several hours or days to the research site, travel to the community where your subjects are and boom! In your first few words of introduction, you make an ignorant statement that is culturally insensitive. (It will only take seconds for research subjects to abandon the study or angrily chase you out, if your luck fails.) Or without an understanding of gender dynamics, you decide to form mixed-gender focus groups in a highly patriarchal community, only to realize that responses generated are highly dominated by men with very few women contributing or in other cases providing “politically correct answers” and not genuine insights into questions posed. 

Such oversights could ultimately cause your efforts to be washed down the drain. Though some of these sociocultural nuances might at first seem irrelevant to your research objectives, it is still critical to study them and incorporate them in your field plans. Admittedly, you cannot and will not be able to learn everything. But having some basic knowledge before going into the field can help the team start off on the right foot. 

2. Be honest about how you feel.
   Field research may be your first time traveling beyond familiar territories or experiencing difficult living conditions, harsh weather patterns or volatile security situations. These conditions can be daunting. Rather than “macho-up” or shy away, it is important for each team member to be honest about how they feel. This honesty allows the team to gain an in-depth understanding of each other’s strengths and weaknesses and the extent to which each person and the team as a whole can complete work.
   
   This type of understanding also helps the team effectively reassign roles as needed and plan workflows so each team member can maximize their output. However, one’s fears should not serve as an escape or substitute for stepping out of one’s comfort zone. Some battle scars are essential for growth.
   
3. Allow local expertise and knowledge to shape your plans.
   When you spend much time and effort designing a research proposal, you unconsciously become averse to modifications sometimes. However, you are bound to be oblivious to certain things in your environment. This is where finding and engaging good local partners is beneficial. 

Often such partners have access to resources and a network of personnel (e.g. facilitators, enumerators etc.) to recommend in support of your research. Having local partners review your plans and leveraging their support may help reduce trial and error in the field, ensuring efficient use of resources. Do not let ego or your privileged position (e.g. being a researcher from a prestigious university) stand in the way of seeking assistance from local partners or modifying your plans. 

4. Rely on diverse skill sets within your team.
   Field research is complex and often requires a broad range of skills such as adaptability, critical thinking, communication, interpersonal skills and problem solving. Since no one typically has all of these skills, it is essential for team members to rely on each other. No one should try to be the star of the show; nor should all the burden of the field research be placed on one person. Remember, teamwork makes the dream work!
   
5. Be ready to step out of your comfort zone.
   Your team will confront difficult situations and will be pushed to wits’ end. In impoverished field environments you might have to shower with unclean water, have pests or rodents as uninvited roommates or eat the same type of food for several consecutive days because that’s all there is. Be prepared to adapt to these conditions.

Some of these uncomfortable situations can be anticipated and planned for. If you know you are heading into an impoverished setting for instance, you could bring essentials such as disinfectant for unclean water, insecticides to deal with bugs and snacks to add variety to your diet. These preparations can go a long way in making an otherwise uncomfortable setting more tolerable and help the team proceed with its work.

6. Immerse yourself in the field, not just the research.
   Find ways to immerse yourself in the field beyond your research activities. This could include learning the basics of the local language, eating traditional meals or participating in important cultural activities. This immersion helps you build a better understanding of the community and offers perspective on the lives of the people or phenomena you seek to study. These activities can also be great icebreakers and conversation starters to engage with community members. Demonstrating your genuine interest in people as human beings and not merely research subjects enhances your acceptability in the field. 

I still vividly remember how locals who wondered who we were suddenly beamed when we used local expressions such as “Akam negaya” (peace greeting in Ethiopia) or “Faly mahita anao” (means “Nice to see you” in Malagasy). These simple phrases were powerful enough to get people to open up to our team, generate enthusiasm for participating in the study, and sometimes initiate informal conversations outside research activities that provided additional context for our study.

7. Have fun and rest!
   Field research is serious business, but make sure you have some fun! Taking a step back to unwind and de-stress occasionally is critical to protect the team’s sanity and avoid dysfunction. Make time to visit famous sites, stroll around your environment, bond over some good food, or chill at the beach. Do whatever is best and feasible in your environment. A few hours of fun and relaxation are sure to re-energize the team to be productive and efficient.

While the above suggestions may seem obvious, the intensity of field research can make it easy to relegate them to the background while the team focuses on its research priorities. Research teams can benefit from incorporating these recommendations into their plans, therefore becoming more successful amid the challenges they encounter in the field.

Emmanuel Gyasi is a second-year master of global affairs student in the Keough School of Global Affairs at the University of Notre Dame.

Top photo: Master of global affairs student Emmanuel Gyasi with local children in the village of Jarso, Ethiopia.

Bona Park is a Notre Dame senior earning a major in mechanical engineering, a minor in energy studies and a concentration in control and mechanical systems. As a Notre Dame student from the Hawaiian island of Oahu, Bona has played a key role in Keough School professor Susan Ostermann’s research on hazard-resilient housing in Maui following the deadly 2023 fires in the town of Lahaina. Relying on her connections from the Notre Dame Club of Hawaii, Bona arranged interviews with Lahaina residents who had lost their homes and were willing to share their experiences with researchers. Data collected in these interviews, which took place in June, will enable Professor Ostermann and her research team to develop housing solutions that are more resilient to extreme weather events. 

In addition to assisting with Professor Ostermann’s research in hazard-resilient housing, Bona has been involved in Professor Margaret Coad’s IRIS Lab for Soft Robotics Research and Professor Mengxue Hou’s Robotics and Autonomy Research Lab for underwater vehicle navigation research. After graduating from Notre Dame, she plans to pursue graduate studies in marine robotics.

How did you get involved in this Keough School research project?

I am an energy studies minor and the program’s director, Anne Pillai, shared with me an article about the project from the Keough School website. Knowing that I am from Hawaii and passionate about giving back to the community, Anne thought it would resonate with me. I was mesmerized by the details of the project and the idea of helping through research. I immediately emailed professor Susan Ostermann, expressing my willingness to help in any capacity available.

What has it meant to you to help with this research project, especially being from Oahu?

Being from Oahu and deeply connected to the Hawaiian ocean, forest, language and culture, this project has meant the world to me. Growing up, I’ve always felt a strong duty to give back to the ‘āina (land) and our community. When the Lahaina fire devastated so many lives, my heart ached for those affected. Being able to support and listen to the fire victims and related personnel through this research has been incredibly personal and moving. It’s given me a sense of purpose and a way to contribute to the healing process of my beloved community.

What skills or knowledge have you gained?

I’ve gained so much more than skills. I’ve learned the importance of conducting respectful and empathetic interviews, making sure each person feels heard and valued. Contacting potential interviewees and hearing their stories has taught me how to navigate difficult conversations with care and sensitivity. This experience has also deepened my connection to the resilience and strength of the Hawaiian community, reminding me of the importance of preserving our cultural heritage and supporting one another in times of need.

What advice do you have for Notre Dame students who want to get involved in endeavors outside their primary major?

Notre Dame is a place that is full of opportunities and that is incredibly accessible for undergraduates to get involved in research and extracurricular activities. I think this is what makes Notre Dame such a unique and special place for those eager to expand their interests and horizons. 

I have found the supportive faculty and the university system to be invaluable. They don’t just focus on teaching within primary majors but also aim to develop well-rounded leaders who can make contributions to society. Whenever I have reached out for advice or opportunities outside my primary department, I always received help and support. So, my advice to other students is: don’t hesitate to reach out and build connections if anything on campus interests you. I assure you, you’ll find a welcoming and helpful community ready to assist you. That is how your time as an undergraduate at Notre Dame is meant to be!

Top photo: Bona Park conducts an interview with a Lahaina resident who lost her home in the August 2023 fires.

By Carolina López

“Mzungu, mzungu,” voices whispered as we walked deeper into the fishing community in a Ugandan village. The word meant “foreigner.” The locals were repeating this word in their native language to point out my travel group entering their sacred space.

We stood at the Kigungu fish landing site, and all I could do was observe. I was taken aback by the fast-paced commerce, hunger, laughter, desperation, hospitality, fear and hope. While chaotically contradicting each other, these aspects made the community stunningly functional. At the fishing site, we had our first real exposure to the interactions among the local people.

Seven students, including myself, had just arrived in Uganda and would remain there for three weeks for Professor Emmanuel Katongole’s study abroad enrichment course: Religion, Peace, and Development.

It was hard for us to overlook the vast body of water surrounding the community: Lake Victoria, Africa’s largest lake and the world’s second-largest freshwater lake. At first glance, I saw the lake for its aesthetic appeal. Its tranquil surface and dark blue tint stimulated my pupils. Yet it did not take long for me to start noticing deeper truths within that body of slowly moving water.

In both symbolic and literal ways, Lake Victoria kept the community alive by providing numerous sources of income. I quickly grew interested in the economic processes and human exchanges I was detecting. As the sun’s intensity gradually abated, the men prepared to set out on their fishing boats while the women stayed to watch over their energetic offspring.

“Fishing is a night business,” a fisherman explained to us. Fortunately, a local resident had agreed to speak with us, and Professor Katongole translated the native Luganda language into English for us. He explained that fish tend to reveal themselves more at night, so fishermen fish during the night and return in the crisp morning air. For them, a good day meant catching around 30 fish, while a bad day entailed a five-to-10 unit catch or no fish whatsoever. Degrading environmental conditions have led to more bad days than good days in the business, the fisherman said. This recent low number of catches was supported by the rising water levels, overpopulation, and visible plastic pollution by the shoreline. Overall, fish populations were declining, and the wildlife was becoming increasingly endangered while the fishermen’s families grew hungrier.

A sense of the shared feeling of desperation from the community sank in. Fishing became a lens through which I could analyze the economic realities in Ugandan communities. The fishing industry accounted for nearly 1.5% of the country’s gross domestic product, but after meeting with the fisherman, I wondered how these individuals made ends meet.

Altogether, about 700 small boats comprised the Kigungu site. Nonetheless, not all hese vessels operated with legal permits. The fishermen had to be licensed to practice the activity, and taxes had to be paid on each boat. The fisherman we interviewed was not the owner of the boat he fished on. He received only a small percentage of the profit from the fish he caught, and the boat owner would receive most of the earnings.

I was struck by this detail. If a good day meant catching 30 fish, but each fish was sold at almost nothing, and not all days were good days, how did he sustain himself, let alone his family? The truth was that illegal business practices in these waters were necessary for survival.

Exactly one week later, my group arrived in Uganda’s capital of Kampala, to enter the High Court of Uganda. We were scheduled to meet with Judge and Chief Magistrate Gladys Kamasanyu, who specialized in wildlife defense. We sat in her court through three trials, where she sentenced one of the convicts to two years in prison for trafficking an endangered species’ skin. I felt an electric current of admiration flow through my body. In these cases, where animals instead of humans were the victims, the judge acknowledged the dignity of all creation. She was not only protecting the Ugandan species, but also working against the global extinction crisis.

After three hours of court proceedings, we were privileged to speak to her directly. In light of the dynamics I observed at Kigungu, I shared my recurring ideas.

“Most of our wildlife cases involve fishing,” Judge Kamasanyu said. As fish are a vital component of the wildlife in Africa, they are fall under the court’s jurisdiction. Most often, boats without permits travel on Lake Victoria, easily avoiding the patrol forces by using colorless nets, the judge explained. When officials come, they simply drop the nets and they sink, as if they never existed. The traffickers can seamlessly escape legal repercussions while the fish become entangled in these nets and die.

Leaving the courthouse, my stomach was in knots. I was not sure what cause I believed in: the survival of wildlife or a poor population’s resistance to an unfair economic system. On one hand, these merchants were sabotaging themselves by navigating the lake illegally. Fishing protected wildlife species and polluting the water with nets only increased food insecurity by removing organisms with vital functional roles in their ecosystems. Decreased biodiversity only increases the desperate demand for fish that is not met by the scarce supply. Nonetheless, I still felt empathy for the people of Kigungu, even though some operated the boats illegally. Overpricing of products geared towaerd the elite, combined with the difficulty of obtaining fishing licenses, worked directly against them.

Crime is unacceptable, but what does lawfulness mean when the system fails its people? In this part of Uganda, people are born into a poverty trap. Individuals who grow up near Lake Victoria’s shore will become fishers, and so will their children, and the children of their children.

From a young age, we are told to work hard to achieve anything we propose ourselves. Yet, giving that advice to these people felt wrong on many levels. They could not work any harder. Some of them had already given their maximum best, hanging only by thin threads of hope.

I left Uganda with more questions than when I arrived, and I find this to be a good problem to have. It does not mean that I did not learn but rather that I engaged so deeply that my fear of the unknown evolved into a greater hunger for knowledge. The people I interacted with were my teachers, and the different situations became case studies for me to reflect upon. In Uganda, the fish and the poor are both suffering, and it’s difficult to know where to assign blame.

Carolina López is a rising sophomore studying finance and global affairs.

By Jailene Castillo

During Notre Dame’s spring break I traveled to an area of the southwestern U.S. known as the Four Corners, the place where the borders of four states meet: New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and Utah. Along with six other students, I participated in this trip as part of a policy module on resource extraction within the GLOBES Certificate program in Environment and Society. We were guests of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe. 

We learned about environmental and health hazards endangering the residents of the White Mesa Community in White Mesa, Utah in relation to the White Mesa Mill, the only fully licensed and operating uranium mill in the United States.

Members of the White Mesa Community, part of the Ute Mountain Ute tribe, live on a town in the Ute Mountain Ute Indian Tribe reservation in San Juan County, Utah. The White Mesa Mill sits about three miles from the community. The mill’s 10-year license was issued in 1980 by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission (NRC), the federal agency that regulates commercial nuclear power plants. NRC guidelines define the rules that the mill must follow to prevent contamination of groundwater and air with toxic chemicals. 

However, Utah transitioned to an agreement state in 2004 marking a significant shift in its regulatory authority over nuclear activities. Utah gained the ability to establish its regulations and enforce compliance with federal standards set forth by the NRC and delegated these tasks to the Utah Department of Environmental Division of Waste Management and Radiation Control and the Division of Air Quality. While the mill submitted its license renewal application to the state in 2007, it was not renewed until 2017; the old license was under timely review, meaning that it remained in effect, allowing the mill to operate on a 20-year license.

This development meant that the Nuclear Regulatory Commission was no longer responsible for overseeing the lawful operation of the mill. The state of Utah was now an autonomous body who was responsible for ensuring that the White Mesa Mill fulfilled its obligations to operate in accordance with the guidelines and to protect residents of the White Mesa Community. The community could now make direct demands from the state, especially in cases where it did not meet its duties. 

Due to a decline in domestic uranium mining, the mill now serves as a waste disposal facility for radioactive waste from the U.S. as well as Japan, Canada, and Estonia. Waste is processed to extract remaining uranium for commercialization, and leftovers are deposited in tailing impoundments—large below-grade ponds lined with polyvinyl chloride (PVC) that house the waste permanently. The PVC linings have deteriorated over time and fail to prevent leakage. 

Uranium and vanadium, a hard gray metal used to make steel, have been found in surface watersheds near the mill and sagebrushes by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the United States Geological Survey. Additionally, radon emissions from the tailing impoundments have exceeded regulatory emissions limits. The mill has not been covering the impoundments with compacted dirt to prevent the radon gas from escaping into the air, as is mandated by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Limits on groundwater allowed to leave the mill have been raised by the EPA above the pre-established limits, making it easier for violations to occur. 

The White Mesa Community worries that toxic waste may leak from the tailing cells and contaminate the Burro Canyon Formation, where water trickles into the community’s springs and streams, and the Navajo Aquifer, their main source of drinking water. The Safe Drinking Water Act regulates groundwater, but the Burro Canyon aquifer is not classified as a drinking water aquifer by Utah, even though some people and animals drink from it.

Another concern is that the radon gas emitted from the mill is brought by the wind to the community. Increased exposure to uranium, vanadium, and radon pollutants may pose significant health threats to the community including cancer, renal failure, and pulmonary damage. Moreover, although the mill has a robust plan for the mill reclamation — the process of restoring the land to a usable state — there is no consensus about the effectiveness of that plan.  

The White Mesa Community has explored many avenues to ensure the mill’s safety compliance. In partnership with the Grand Canyon Trust, members filed a lawsuit against the state of Utah for violation of the Atomic Energy Act and filed a complaint against the state administrative body, which has not required the mill to comply with safety policies. The community has also partnered with Green Action for Health and Environmental Justice and Uranium Watch, nongovernmental organizations that advocate for the protection of public health and the environment. And each year, the community holds a spiritual walk from the mill to the community to protest the mill’s actions, raise awareness, and garner public support and visibility.  

As I continue to reflect on this experience and potential solutions, I share two key takeaways from the conversations: 

1. Policy making matters, but policy enforcement and compliance matters even more. As a future policymaker and practitioner, I realize that the biggest problem is not the absence of policies. When a problem arises in any field, we tend to put the blame on the right policies not existing. But they may have always been in place. However, merely having policies established does not guarantee their successful implementation or enforcement. What happens after they have been created? What would it look like if policies are seen not as the end goal, but as a step in a lengthy journey? What if policies are seen as living agents capable and in need of evolving? Would it change anything?

2. Evidence-based policymaking is only as good as those who enforce it. The White Mesa Community has presented evidence of water contamination to the state, the Environmental Protection Agency, and other relevant bodies. They have faced roadblocks at every turn, which leads to questions like these: If I can produce evidence in the hopes that it can inform modifications to current policies or the creation of new, better ones, will respective authorities care? Will they consider and act upon the evidence? What happens to the evidence after it is presented? 

The White Mesa Community deserves better. For so long, they have been marginalized. For so long they have not been heard. For so long, they have fought alone. But no longer. The Grand Canyon Trust, Uranium Watch, and Green Action are allies of the community. The Grand Canyon Trust has been the main actor aiding the community with litigation procedures; together they filed a lawsuit against Energy Fuels Resources, the owner of the mill for violation of the Clean Air Act given that the state concluded that radon emissions from mill wastes were violating federal law. Although the Utah District Court ruled in favor of Energy Fuels, the trust continues to explore alternatives to hold those responsible accountable. Uranium watch has been educating the public about the environmental and health implications that the mill has on residents of the community.

Additionally, Green Action has an ongoing campaign to shut down Energy Fuels and prevent the operation of new mines near the community. They also conduct annual leadership academy programs for White Mesa youth and adults to equip them with the knowledge, skills and opportunities to advocate and organize for their community’s well-being. They have, along with other allies, participated in the White Mesa Community’s annual spiritual walk meant to protest the operation of the mill and to raise awareness and educate the public about the ongoing situation. 

I invite you to join me in becoming an ally of the White Mesa Community. You can support them by becoming a storyteller, an advocate, and a voice for them. Learn about their culture, their heritage, their ways. Have open conversations with your family, friends, and colleagues about them and the injustices they keep suffering. Participate in the campaigns and in the events organized by the community Join them in their spiritual walk happening in October 2024 . If you are able to, write about them to trustworthy news outlets and elected officials or share their story on your social media channels. Amplify their voices. But most importantly, listen to them. They have a story worth telling. 

Jailene Castillo ’25 is a Notre Dame master of global affairs student from Belize.

By Ashwin Raghuraman

My choice to come to northern Indiana to study global affairs came as quite a shock to both me and my friends back home; however, my first year in the Keough School has been beyond anything I could’ve dreamed. The opportunities I’ve been presented with, the experiences I’ve had, and the friends I’ve made have shaped my world in surprising ways.

The day I arrived at Notre Dame, I was a poorly dressed bundle of excitement. I thought every first experience — seeing the Grotto and the Basilica, watching the fat squirrels, meeting an uncountable number of people — was magical. I thoroughly enjoyed all my first experiences on campus and entered the Keough School with wide eyes. 

After greeting my fellow first years, my boundless enthusiasm suddenly and unexpectedly gave way to overwhelm, followed by a breakdown into tears in my RA’s room. Moving into college by myself, while not fitting the stereotypical Notre Dame archetype of a white conservative Catholic American, was by far the scariest thing I’d done so far. However, I have found a home in the Keough School that has welcomed me with open arms, gifting me with friendship, mentorship, and a sense of belonging. 

The first door that my global affairs education has opened is learning beyond the classroom. We are encouraged by our professors and by each other to dive into complex global issues and apply them, whether through conversations in the dining hall or other campus restaurants, research, or in other classes. This idea that our education doesn’t end when we turn in an essay or exam, but rather just begins – that is what differentiates the Keough School. My first class was Introduction to Global Affairs with Iris Ma (which remains one of my favorite classes that I’ve taken). That class served as a model for how my other courses would go: readings that occasionally went over my head, thought-provoking discussions during class, and debriefing with my friends after class to connect themes to the “real world.” I made some of my first friends in Dr. Ma’s class, and was guided into a new way of thinking, where the application of concepts is as important as learning those concepts.

This model of learning soon became the norm for me in the Keough School, where I’m faced with complex global issues ranging from ethical and political challeges to development to human rights, engaging in meaningful dialogue both inside and outside the classroom. My learning doesn’t end when the class ends — instead, I share dinners with global affairs friends to pore over concepts, and having late-night conversations about upcoming readings is the norm. 

The second door that the Keough School has opened for me, more abstractly speaking, is passion. What’s unique about a Keough School education is that my learning is rooted in both theory and practice. One of my favorite classes last semester, a course on refugee rights, sparked my research interest in refugee education policy. My professor, William Tobin, guided my initial exploration of this topic. Through programs in the Keough School’s Kellogg Institute such as the Developing Researchers Program and under Dr. Tobin’s guidance, I was able to begin applying what I learned to tangible research. When I was exploring discussions last semester in my Intro to Peace Studies class, taught by Gwendolyn Purifoye, about the Rwandan genocide, and I saw this semester that there was a Hesburgh lecture on the topic, I jumped on the chance to attend it. 

I am also studying Russian, and feeling that my study wouldn’t be complete without cultural immersion, I applied for, and received, a Nanovic Institute Pushkin Grant through the Summer Language Abroad Scholarship to go to Kyrgyzstan this summer not only to improve my language skills, but also learn more about a distinct culture. This holistic approach to education, where the Keough School will help me to develop my passions and go beyond the theory, makes a global affairs degree that much more valuable. It’s not just a string of readings and tests and papers; rather, it is a way of thinking, and a means to enact change with that thought. 

Quite unexpectedly, the third door that the Keough School opened for me is a direct line of communication with faculty members who serve as my role models. I can knock on a professor’s door and have a conversation about a recent political development, or ask a professor to dinner. I can also have complex discussions of ethics and development and religion with faculty members outside the classroom. Professors welcome students almost as if they were family. Not only does this mentality foster a deep sense of community, but it also enables mentorship opportunities that are valuable for future growth. 

The Keough School has become my new home away from home, a place where I can engage in education beyond reading, writing, and taking tests; a place where I can truly engage in my passions. A global affairs education is not just a degree: it’s a community with a shared commitment to curiosity, exploration, and action. It’s where I’ve made some of my closest friends so far, and where I’ve defined myself both academically and professionally. Late-night study sessions, shared laughter and tears, deep ethical discussions, and a common desire for a more just world: that is, at heart, what studying global affairs has unlocked for me.

Ashwin Raghuraman is a first-year student from Fremont, California and Perth, Australia studying global affairs and Russian.

By Tia Mittle

As I pulled open the heavy glass doors, a rush of air met my face, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee and the subtle hum of movement. The grand lobby expanded before me with soaring ceilings that stretched upward, echoing the ambition and scale of the work being done within. I felt an immediate sense of purpose. In this building was the National Endowment for Democracy, my office for the semester, and as I would soon learn, my inspiration for the future.

The National Endowment for Democracy (NED) is a private, bipartisan, nonprofit, grant-making foundation that is funded by Congress and dedicated to the growth and strengthening of democratic institutions around the world. Annually, NED makes more than 2,000 grants to support projects proposed by non-governmental groups abroad who are working for democratic goals in more than 100 countries. This semester, I had the privilege of interning for the government relations team at the NED.

Coming from India, the largest democracy in the world, the values and importance of a democratic government were embedded in my worldview at a very young age. Questioning the unequal access to rights not just in India, but around the world, I was motivated to use my platform to advance human dignity and the ideals of democracy. When I decided I would attend the University of Notre Dame, I was certain I would participate in the Washington Program, live in Washington, D.C., and spend my time interning for an organization that promoted democracy worldwide.

As the government relations intern, I spent my time attending meetings on Capitol Hill with congressional staff and grantees from abroad, researching and writing weekly government relations updates featuring current events from the executive and legislative branch, conducting background research for Hill meetings, and engaging with the success stories that clearly indicated the impact NED has in championing human rights and defending democracy. Undoubtedly, the Keough School’s diverse classes rooted in the ideals of integral human development, opportunities for cultural immersions, and open-minded professors had prepared me for the work I embarked on this semester.

Every five-months, NED hosts democracy activists and journalists from all over the globe through its Reagan-Fascell fellowship. I was lucky to attend some of their presentations! Listening to the rap music produced by one such fellow, Martial Pa’nucci from the Republic of Congo, reinvigorated my passion and commitment to advocate for democracy. I had never imagined that rap could be such a powerful form of expression in advocating for democracy, but Martial’s performance of his “Lettre ouverte aux présidents d’Afrique” (Open letter to the presidents of Africa) reminded me of how personal this struggle for democracy is to so many individuals. When I was younger, I always questioned how I could make an impact at the individual level to support democratic ideals. I have now learned that the fight for democracy manifests differently across various contexts, and the gaps in accomplishing it are unique to each nation. Regardless, an art form that is often viewed as simply a “passion” can convey an incredibly strong message about needed reform.

Lying on my D.C. apartment’s coffee table are books such as “Mapping the Killings under Kim Jong-un,” given to me by grantees who are supported by the NED. My internship has enabled me to delve deeper into the realistic state of democracy worldwide. In my first two weeks at the NED, I had already attended meetings on the Hill that gave a voice to grantees from the Sahel, Serbia, and North Korea – stories from all different continents – to make Congress members aware of the devastating impacts that authoritarian regimes have in their countries, harming not only their own citizens, but the rest of the world. As I sat and took notes at these meetings, I was captivated by the voice of grantees, some who spoke in their own language, passionately representing the hardships their nation faces because of malign authoritarian influence, and sharing the courageous and groundbreaking efforts they undertake, often at great risk to themselves and their communities, to work toward a democratic future.

As I reflect back on my semester, I find it crucial to mention the fundamental role that classes at the Keough School’s Washington Office played in broadening my perspective of American politics and foreign policy. During the semester, I had the opportunity to dive into the complexities of democracy by listening to and engaging with peers holding diverse opinions about democracy.

My semester working for the NED has forced me to reflect on the state of democracy across the globe, which didn’t feel as blatantly horrifying until I observed the dauntless expressions and heard the first-hand experiences of grantees who were actively and bravely fighting authoritarian influence. This experience will shape my capstone project and future career path, as I outline my personal mission to uphold democratic values, even in the face of adversity. I’m grateful to the NED and the Keough School for supporting me.

Tia Mittle ’26 is a global affairs and political science major from Mumbai. Photos by Matt Cashore

Since my enrollment in the Keough School’s master of global affairs program with a concentration in sustainable development, I have been learning a lot about the tensions between environmental conservation and economic growth. This knowledge has shaped my growing interest in the complex interplay between environmental issues, Indigenous rights, and corporate interests. 

My first encounter with Indigenous peoples in the United States was in 2022, when I visited the Winnebago community in Nebraska through my participation in the Mandela Washington Fellowship Program, a program of the U.S. Department of State. This experience was a great learning opportunity, though short-lived due to the time constraints of a one-day visit. So when I had the chance to spend my spring break in the Four Corners region of the Southwestern United States to learn about another Indigenous group, I jumped at the chance. through a policy course in Notre Dame’s GLOBES certificate program in environment and society,

The Ute Mountain Ute tribe has been engaged in an ongoing struggle with the environmental impacts of a local uranium mill, the White Mesa Uranium Mill. What we gathered from interacting with tribal members and leaders of nonprofits over five days of listening sessions is that the White Mesa Uranium Mill, located in Utah, has been a source of controversy since its establishment in the 1970s. The mill processes uranium ore and has been said to be the source of severe environmental damage and health problems in the surrounding communities, particularly those who live on the White Mesa Reservation. Upon arriving, I was struck by the stark beauty of the landscape: the towering mesas, the vast expanses of desert land, and the inviting blue sky. However, as we met and engaged in conversations with tribal members and environmental advocates, the picture became more complex. This experience opened my eyes to the complicated world of nuclear policy and the challenges faced by Indigenous communities. Here are five important things I learned:

1. The impact of uranium milling extends far beyond the facility itself. 

Before visiting the White Mesa Uranium Mill, I had a limited understanding of uranium milling, not to mention its far-reaching effects. However, as I spoke with tribal members in neighboring communities, it became clear that the mill’s impact extends far beyond its physical boundaries. From contaminated water sources to air pollution, the consequences of uranium milling are felt throughout the region as they affect the health and well-being of people, wildlife, and the environment.

2. Regulatory loopholes can allow mills to operate despite environmental concerns. 

One of the most surprising things I learned was the existence of regulatory loopholes that allow uranium mills like White Mesa to continue operating despite evidence of noncompliance with nuclear regulations like groundwater policies and the Clean Air Act. The lack of proper regulation and oversight of the mill was a recurring theme throughout our conversations. As a lawyer of the Grand Canyon Trust explained to us, the state’s lax enforcement of environmental standards and the mill’s ability to continually raise its compliance limits have allowed it to avoid accountability for its actions.

3. Indigenous communities are often at the forefront of the fight for environmental justice. 

Throughout my visit I was continually impressed by the resilience and determination of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe in their fight against the White Mesa Uranium Mill. Despite facing numerous challenges of getting their voices heard, the tribe has remained committed to protecting their land, people, and cultural heritage. For example, tribal members have been vocal in their expression of discontent following the destruction of ancestral sites to construct the mill. My conversations with tribal members highlighted the crucial role that Indigenous communities play in the fight for environmental justice and the importance of amplifying their voices in discussions about nuclear policy.

4. Addressing the challenges posed by uranium milling requires a multi-faceted approach. 

As I learned more about the complex issues surrounding the White Mesa Uranium Mill, it became clear that there is no simple solution to complex environmental challenges. This complexity echoes some of the discussions in Prof. Dan Miller’s International Conservation and Development Politics class I am taking this semester regarding the dilemmas involved in engaging key actors on conservation issues. Addressing these dilemmas requires a multifaceted approach that includes closing regulatory loopholes, strengthening environmental monitoring, exploring alternative waste treatment methods, and holding mills accountable for their impact on surrounding communities. It also requires collaboration between tribal members, environmental advocates, and policymakers at all levels of government.

5. The fight for environmental justice is a fight for the fundamental rights of all people. 

Perhaps one of the most important lessons I learned from my visit to the Four Corners region is that the fight for environmental justice is not just about protecting the environment—it’s about protecting the fundamental rights of all people to live in a healthy and safe environment. The importance of putting people and communities at the center of our discussions about nuclear policy and environmental justice issues in general should remain a top priority.

I left the Four Corners region with a renewed sense of purpose and a deeper understanding of the complexities of environmental advocacy. The resilience and determination of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds is an inspiration to me to continue to work toward a more just, sustainable world. 

Top photo: Master of global affairs student Beverly Ndifoin in front of a sign for Energy Fuels, the uranium mining company that operates the White Mesa Mill.

Editor’s note: Ute Mountain Ute Tribe members are not pictured due to members’ request.

Glittering lights and high-rise buildings rushed past my view as I looked out the window at Dubai, my home for the next ten days. I was here to attend the annual United Nations Climate Change Conference, known more broadly as the Conference of the Parties (COP), as part of the Christian Climate Observers Program. 

COP is a unique experience in that it brings together some of the most prominent diplomats and political figures worldwide to intermingle with registered representatives from civil society groups, universities, and other advocacy organizations. 

Each year, diplomats from most countries come together to discuss current international policy and research on climate change. This is the place where dreams can become reality; where ideas can coalesce into concrete policy. Just as easily, though, these calls can be blunted by long hours of consensus-based, painstaking negotiations that fill them with loopholes and vague promises. 

Climate and reparations

COP28 this year was, in many ways, the culmination of my undergraduate work. I began to focus on climate change at Notre Dame when I realized the great extent to which it was destroying lives and livelihoods around the world in the present-day. For much of my life, climate change was a far-off issue with its real and devastating effects obscured by technocratic discussions of emissions targets, parts-per-million of CO2, and energy efficiency. My work in the Notre Dame Reparations Design and Compliance Lab taught me otherwise. I learned that the rising sea levels and more frequent and severe storms caused by climate change were already driving ever-increasing numbers of people away from their homes. I became deeply passionate about hearing these stories and bringing them back to my communities through my research in the Philippines, where civil society advocates, Indigenous peoples, and local leaders graciously shared their experiences of climate change and thoughts on climate reparations with me.

Small island states

I brought this passion with me to COP28. Going in, I was hoping to learn more about the human impacts of climate change that were rarely discussed in my home communities. Of particular interest to me were the small island states. These places face an imminent, existential threat to their people and culture in the form of sea level rise—as global warming worsens, the average planetary sea level increases, threatening to permanently bury these low-lying islands. I was generally familiar with this issue but, despite my effort, found little opportunity as a Notre Dame undergraduate to hear the firsthand stories of those impacted from across the world. 

As I had hoped, I met a number of incredible individuals from these diverse areas, who shared with me the complex wealth of experiences that brought them to COP. I learned more about the valuable contributions of Indigenous knowledge in the fight against climate change. I was introduced to the efforts spearheaded by Vanuatu and other small island states to have the International Court of Justice clarify states’ legal obligations on climate change. 

What inspired me the most, though, was the resilience and tenacity they all showed in the fight for climate justice. The small island states were consistently at the forefront of international efforts to combat climate change, the strongest voices pushing the most comprehensive solutions to the problems they faced here and now. They were not powerless victims of an unfair fate forced upon them by environmental sins mainly perpetrated by the highest-emitting countries. They were, as the Pacific Islanders called themselves, warriors.

This spirit of determination ran through so many others I met, as well. I came to know many of the youth delegates representing Australia, who showed me the many different ways young people can approach the climate crisis: wildfire monitoring, advocacy through art, powerful speeches, and so much more. I met with civil society actors from the Philippines whose empowering stories gave me a more complete picture of the adversities they faced in their work. Intense conviction in the wake of countless policy setbacks united countless people from across the world at COP28, a unified spirit that gave me hope that we truly can fight effectively against the climate crisis. 

From hope to action

This hope, though, is only the first step. We need concrete action—not just promises—to protect our lives, our livelihoods, and our common home, not only for ourselves but for future generations. We need to recognize that climate change is not something to be avoided in the future, but something that is already upon us. Now more than ever, I am aware that climate change is not merely a scientific issue but is, importantly, a deeply human one, as well. 

At Notre Dame, we are fortunate to be relatively sheltered from severe climate change impacts now. This does not mean, however, that it will always be this way, nor should we ignore how these impacts harm millions of people around the world in the present day. We need to create spaces on our campus where these voices can flourish and be heard, because caring for our common home means engaging with and learning from those who are at the forefront of fighting the threats against it. 

Garrett Pacholl is a Notre Dame senior studying history and global affairs.

Top photo: The author under the main dome of Dubai Expo City, where COP28 was being held.