For better or worse, people who create lasting institutions are as influential as their legacies. Try to
imagine water management in the western US without thinking of John Wesley Powell or Floyd Dominy,
Los Angeles without William Mulholland, or conservation without John Muir or David Brower. These
men achieved incredible feats of policy and engineering, and institutionalized their legacies with the
USGS, Metropolitan Water District, and the Sierra Club.
It’s unlikely that their accomplishments would have endured without the force of their personal myths –
as these men dominated history, they became role models for multiple generations of engineers,
scientists, and conservationists. The generations who were inspired and devoted to these leaders’
visions are the stewards who maintain those legacies. Such devotion is powerful.
But it’s hard to be devoted to a person or vision that doesn’t speak to some fundamental part of your
identity. That’s why, when I think of formative individuals who are celebrated in the history of Western
US water, I think more of the costs, rather than the accomplishments, of a class of leaders who are all
white and all men.
When people don’t recognize a shared identity in a community, that missing gateway becomes a barrier.
And when the reasons for historic exclusion are not benign, but sometimes by design, we place too
much burden on the very people we hope to engage to walk through those invisible barriers into
I’ve been a student in and out of the higher education system for over 20 years. The diverse community
I’ve met in the Southwest CASC Natural Resources Workforce Development Fellowship has put a
number of barriers I’ve witnessed over those years into sharp relief. Though I’ve frequently experienced
being the only woman in a room of scientists and engineers, in our Southwest CASC cohort, I’m one of
several female fellows. Of all the professors and project leads I’ve either taken classes from or worked
with in three different institutions over two decades, only two were women. Our CASC cohort is
simultaneously mentored by not just one, but two women: Dr. Nancy Huntly, Professor of Biology at
Utah State University, Director of Ecology Center, and Director of Interdisciplinary Climate Adaptation
Science; and Dr. Michelle Baker, Professor of Biology and Associate Dean for Research and Faculty at
Utah State University. Five months into our collaboration, I’m still learning about the nuanced
perspectives and diverse experiences represented not just in the community we’ve chosen to study, but
in the community of fellows too. Many of these perspectives are ones that have never been included in
my previous training or education.
The Southwest CASC’s Fellowship program is exactly the kind of gateway experience we need to recruit
and encourage scientists interested in collaboration and engagement with diverse communities of
expertise and experience. During the team science training our cohort received, we heard Jack Schmidt,
the former chief of the Grand Canyon Monitoring and Research Center, talk about how we can use
science to serve communities. One thought he offered has stayed with me: the principles of science
don’t change. But the questions we ask and who we empower are as important to the integrity of our
research as the scientific process.
Just as water problems are diverse and multi-faceted, so must our solutions be. Working with the CASC
cohort, I spend more time sitting back and listening to voices that are new to me, rather than fighting
both to make myself seen and against the fear that maybe I don’t belong. In particular, I’ve learned
more over the past five months about tribal knowledge, engagement, and needs than in any previous
experience. When the quiet space of inclusivity replaces what had been a battle to get in the door, there
is plenty of space for all voices to be heard.