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I live in a beautiful old apartment in an historically preserved neighborhood filled with trees. Most mornings, I walk three blocks to the nearest rapid-transit stop and take a 10-minute ride past a major art museum, a couple of beautiful art deco theaters, and several busy shopping and office districts. On alternate days, I bike the four miles, stopping at any one of the many sidewalk cafes along the route before settling into my desk on the fifth floor of a 10-story office tower.

Would you believe I live in Los Angeles?
Most people picture sprawling suburbs with deteriorating lawns, framed by minimarts and overshadowed by the Hollywood sign. The corner minimarts are there, but they border old neighborhoods thick with duplexes and other lowrise multi-family dwellings, the kind of dense living quarters that are all the rage among urban planners. In fact, Los Angeles has more people living closer together than Portland, Oregon, the current poster child of urbanism. And depending on where you draw the lines, L.A. is denser even than New York City.
But where Los Angeles differs from those urban cities is that it is really, really big. While the County of New York is less than 23 square miles, Los Angeles County stretches across 4,083 square miles, larger than all of Rhode Island and Delaware combined. And while walkable neighborhoods like mine flourish in many cities across the county, the last 70-odd years of history have decimated the relationships between them. When talking about cities like Cleveland or Pittsburgh, city planners and architects refer to the dead or under-used areas as “broken teeth.” Well, Los Angeles might as well be a washed-up prizefighter, because there are a lot of gaping holes between those pearly whites.
But all is not lost. Before we revert to old stereotypes about Los Angeles as a Blade Runner-esque dystopia, I’m here to report the good news: The City of Angels is turning away from that imagined future and heading toward a much brighter past.
As streetcars disappeared, so too did the street life that had formed around them.
In Hollywood’s heyday during the 1920s and ’30s, L.A. was transit heaven, its “Red Car” and “Yellow Cars” forming the largest electric railway in the world. But as car ownership incraeased and people began heading out toward the suburbs, the Red Cars were seen less as a convenience than a nuisance. L.A.’s public-transit decline began in earnest when General Motors and others bought up the streetcar lines and replaced them with buses.
But as streetcars disappeared, so too did the street life that had formed around them. People entered shops and other businesses through giant parking garages rather than walking in through the front doors. Blocks began to feel less like high streets than highways. In the 1960s, some bright-eyed futurists almost got a network of Disneyland-era monorails built, but the great era of public transit had come to an end.

The Game Changer

It will be no easy feat to turn around the oft-undisputed belief that nobody walks in L.A., but evidence of a transit resurgence is palpable.
“In order to coax Angelenos out of their cars and onto the sidewalks, buses, and subways, planners need to turn their attention to the streets,” says Yonah Freemark, who writes about transportation and land use for The Transport Politic. “Most people who ride buses and trains walk to get to their stations,” he says. “If the pedestrian environment is unfriendly or uninteresting—as it is in too many places in L.A.—it wouldn’t be surprising to see the car culture remain in place even after the development of the larger transit network.”
That larger transit network is courtesy of Measure R, a game-changing transportation bill approved by voters in 2008. Measure R, which raises sales tax in Los Angeles County by half a cent, is projected to bring in $40 billion over the next 30 years for traffic relief and transportation upgrades throughout the county. The cash will fund big-picture transit projects like connecting the Green Line directly to LAX (it currently connects to a shuttle bus to get travelers that last leg); the Gold Line out into the Inland Empire; and the Expo Line south into Culver City. But the measure will also be dedicated to the finer-grained details, such as pothole repairs, bike racks, and pedestrian improvements. One such project is the Figueroa Corridor Streetscape Project, which is re-envisioning the stretch of Figueroa Street between downtown Los Angeles and Exposition Park by adding dedicated bus lanes, park benches, and landscaping.
Perhaps the most significant project in terms of connectivity is the Regional Connector, a 1.9-mile underground light-rail (aka subway) that will finally turn the region’s rail system into a true network by connecting the Blue Line, Gold Line, and the upcoming Expo line. “Dollar for dollar, the Regional Connector is the best investment we can make,” says Denny Zane, who, as executive director of Move L.A., a coalition of labor, business, and environmental groups, was instrumental in getting Measure R passed. “Right now, you can take the Blue Line from Long Beach to downtown L.A., and with a couple of transfers you can eventually get to North Hollywood. With the Regional Connector, you’ll be able to connect from Long Beach to Santa Monica, LAX, or Pasadena with ease.”
Freeways are of course still a part of the transportation pie, and will receive 20 percent of the Measure R funding. Work is underway to fix the most congested freeway interchanges along the 605 (which connects the Inland Empire to the busy docks in Long Beach) and improving carpool lanes along California’s spine, Interstate 5. The 405, 110, and 105 will each get ramp and interchange upgrades to make the most out of the freeways we have (rather than building more of them). These incremental upgrades will have an effect, but nothing like what can be achieved by getting people out of their cars and walking, biking, and taking transit.
While transit has actually come a long way in Los Angeles—Rapid Transit buses crisscross the city, and Metro brags of its network of 12-Minute Transit (rail and buses that pick up every 12 minutes or less)—there is still a lot to be done to connect all of these communities.
“We’re at a huge crossroads,” says Stephen Box, a grassroots transportation activist, who sought election for (and lost) a City Council seat in March. “The long-term infrastructure that’s being developed is wonderful. In the meantime, we have the worst streets in the nation, and we are disconnected in terms of available services. People don’t have good choices, and quite simply whatever transportation mode you pick is limited in its efficiency and its efficacy.”
Box is proud of how far bicycle planning has come in L.A., but he would really like to see the city embrace the Complete Streets Act, a California state bill that recommends that cities make accommodations for all users of roads including motorists, bicyclists, and pedestrians as part of the planning for every roadway. Notice that the word is “recommend” and not “require.” “They’re not legally obligated to do anything,” says Box.

Creating Connections

“There are some great bones in the city of L.A., and L.A. County as a whole, which were shaped around transit,” says Abigail Thorne-Lyman, project director at the nonprofit Reconnecting America. “Employment decentralization is the real problem.”
Unlike many large cities in the United States, jobs in Los Angeles are not concentrated in a central commercial core. So the traditional “hub and spoke” transit model—jobs downtown at the hub, transit lines snaking out into bedroom communities along the spokes—is no longer relevant to the needs of commuters who work in the county’s true employment centers in Santa Monica, UCLA and USC, Culver City and Century City, and the Port of Los Angeles. The “Subway to the Sea,” an east-west subway line up Wilshire Boulevard that is currently in the works under Measure R funding (in part), would go a long way toward helping people get to their jobs without getting stuck in grinding freeway commutes.
In the long run, the Metro will reach every part of the county and create an interconnectivity that we never had.
According to Thorne-Lyman, one-fifth of the jobs in the region are actually out in the San Gabriel Valley, the region stretching along the old Route 66 route east toward the desert. An extended Gold Line reaching out from Pasadena could connect more people with those jobs and is also part of the Measure R package.
“Connecting these other employment nodes with the transit network is going to really help connect people to their jobs,” says Thorne-Lyman.
Coming Soon, Possibly Sooner
Even as Measure R projects settle in for the long haul, Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa is diligently working to speed things up. He’s been making trips to Washington to sell Congress on his “30/10” plan, which asks Congress to loan the city $40 billion now, a sum the city expects to collect in tax money over the next 30 years, so Los Angeles can enjoy the benefits of its expanded transportation program in only 10 years. The plan has received ringing endorsements from groups like the AFL-CIO and the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, but may face opposition from the new Tea Party Republicans in the House who sneer at “big government” projects of this ilk.
Still, the future looks as clear as the carpool lane for the City of Angels, whether in 10 years or 30. By investing deeply in new transportation options and building on the very stylish historic infrastructure that’s here, Los Angeles could soon return to its former glory.
“In the long run, the Metro will reach every part of the county and create an interconnectivity that we never had,” says Zane. “The economic efficiency of that, as well as the environmental benefits, will be extraordinary. We always had the best weather. Now we’ll have the best transportation system and cleaner air. Who can compete with that?”
Illustrations by Mark Giglio
  • Why Michelangelo’s ‘Last Judgment’ endures
    Photo credit: Sistine Chapel collection via Wikimedia CommonsMichelangelo’s 16th-century fresco ‘The Last Judgment.’
    ,

    Why Michelangelo’s ‘Last Judgment’ endures

    A restored masterpiece still provokes awe and debate.

    Michelangelo’s fresco of “The Last Judgment,” covering the wall behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City, is being restored. The work, which started on Feb. 1, 2026, is expected to continue for three months.

    The Sistine Chapel is one of the great masterpieces of Renaissance art. As the setting where the College of Cardinals of the Catholic Church meets to elect a new pope, it was decorated by the most prestigious painters of the day. In 1480, Pope Sixtus IV commissioned Domenico Ghirlandaio, Sandro Botticelli, Pietro Perugino and Cosimo Rosselli to paint the walls. On the south are six scenes of the “Life of Moses,” and across on the north are six scenes of the “Life of Christ.”

    In 1508, Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo to paint the ceiling. The theme is the Book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible. The images show God creating the world through the story of Noah, who was directed by God to shelter humans and animals on an ark during the great flood. The ceiling’s most famous scene may be “God Creating Adam,” where Adam reaches out his arm to the outstretched arm of God the Father, but their fingers fail to meet.

    At the sides, the artist juxtaposed the male Hebrew prophets and the female Greek and Roman sybils who were inspired by the gods to foretell the future. It was completed in 1512; then in 1536, Michelangelo was asked to create a painting for the wall behind the altar. For this immense work of 590 square feet (about square meters), filled with 391 figures, he labored until 1541. He was then nearly 67 years old.

    As an art historian, I have been aware how, from the beginning, Michelangelo’s “The Last Judgment” sparked controversy for its bold and heroic portrayal of the male nude.

    Many layers of meaning

    Michelangelo liked to consider himself primarily a sculptor, expressing himself in variations of the nude male body. Most famous may be the Old Testament figure of David about to slay Goliath, originally made for the Cathedral of Florence.

    The artist’s ceiling for the Sistine Chapel had included 20 nude males as supporting figures above the prophets and sibyls. Originally, Michelangelo’s Christ of “The Last Judgment” was entirely nude. A later painter was hired to provide drapery over the loins of Christ and other figures.

    “The Last Judgment” scene also contains multiple references to pagan gods and mythology. The image of Christ is inspired by early Christian images showing Christ beardless and youthful, similar to the pagan god of light, Apollo.

    A section of a fresco shows a naked man bound by a coiling snake, and donkey's ears, surrounded by beastlike figures.
    Group of the damned with Minos, judge of the underworld. Sistine Chapel Collection, Michelangelo via Wikimedia Commons

    At the bottom of the composition is the figure of Charon, a personage from Greek mythology who rowed souls over the river Styx to enter the pagan underworld. Minos, the judge of the underworld, is on the extreme right.

    Giorgio Vasari, a fellow artist and historian who knew Michelangelo personally, later recounted the criticism by a senior Vatican official, Biagio da Cesena. The official stated that it was disgraceful that nude figures were exposed so shamefully and that the painting seemed more fit for public baths and taverns.

    Michelangelo’s response was to place the face of Biagio on Minos, the judge of the underworld, and give him donkey’s ears, symbolizing stupidity.

    A painted scene shows a bearded man holding a knife in one hand and a flayed skin with a human face in the other, while another figure sits just behind him.
    A detail of a scene connected to the Apostle Bartholomew in ‘The Last Judgment.’ Sistine Chapel Collection via Wikimedia

    Michelangelo included a reference to his own life in a detail connected to the Apostle Bartholomew, who is located to the lower right of Christ. The apostle was believed to have met his martyrdom by being flayed alive. In his right hand, he holds a knife and, in his left, his flayed skin whose face is a distorted portrait of the artist.

    Michelangelo thus placed himself among the blessed in heaven, but also made it into a joke.

    Thought-provoking imagery

    The Last Judgment is a common theme in Christian art. Michelangelo, however, pushes beyond simple illustration to include pagan myths as well as to challenge traditional depiction of a calm, bearded judge. He uses dramatic imagery to provoke deeper thought: After all, how does anyone on Earth know what the saints do in heaven?

    In these decisions, Michelangelo displayed his sense of self-confidence to introduce new ideas and his goal to engage the viewer in new ways.

    A digital reproduction of the painting will be displayed on a screen for visitors to the Sistine Chapel during this period of restoration. Behind the screen, technicians from the Vatican Museums’ Restoration Laboratory will work to restore the masterpiece.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • Seeing women govern encourages support for women in politics – with no apparent backlash among men
    Photo credit: Simon Maina/AFP via Getty ImagesSupporters of the South West Africa People’s Organization gather at a campaign rally in Windhoek, Namibia, on Nov. 24, 2024.

    Quotas designed to bring gender parity to parliaments have an overall positive impact on support for female political leadership – especially after women members of parliament take office. Furthermore, there is no evidence of a backlash among men.

    That’s what I found in a study published in October 2025 looking at the impact of gender-parity quotas in Namibia, in sub-Saharan Africa.

    In 2013, Namibia’s dominant political party, the South West Africa People’s Organization, or SWAPO, quietly rewrote its internal rules. From that point forward, every spot on its parliamentary candidate list would alternate between a man and a woman.

    Most prior research on measures to encourage gender parity in politics focuses on national or legislative policies rather than voluntary party quotas. Namibia offers an unusually “clean” case in that SWAPO is electorally dominant and did not face grassroots pressure to adopt its quota policy. That makes it possible to isolate the effects of the quota itself, rather than any preexisting trend in public attitudes.

    And the impact on the subsequent 2014 election was clear. Women’s representation in the National Assembly nearly doubled overnight, rising from 21% to 41%.

    But the more surprising story unfolded outside Parliament. Using several waves of nationally representative surveys from 2006 to 2017, I traced how ordinary Namibians reacted when women suddenly became far more visible in national politics.

    Support for female leaders increased after SWAPO quotas were brought in. But the biggest increase was after more women became MPs in early 2015.
    Support for female leaders increased after SWAPO quotas were brought in. But the biggest increase was after more women became MPs in early 2015. Vladimir ChloubaCC BY-SA

    The findings are striking. Women who lived in SWAPO strongholds, the communities where the surge in female MPs was most evident, became more supportive of women’s right to hold political office. Their attitudes tilted upward by about four-tenths of a standard deviation on a four-point scale of support for female leadership. Put simply, women were more likely to endorse the statement “women should have an equal chance to be elected to political office” over “men make better leaders” when asked to pick one of the two claims.

    Just as striking is what did not happen. Men did not move in either direction. They did not become more supportive of women in politics, but they did not become less supportive, either.

    The absence of backlash is as important as the positive change among women. It suggests that the fear that quotas will inflame male resentment – a common concern in culturally conservative settings – did not materialize in this case.

    Perhaps the most striking point is the timing. Public opinion did not shift when the quota was announced. It shifted only after women actually took office and became plainly visible as political leaders.

    Why it matters

    Around the world, women hold fewer than 3 in 10 parliamentary seats. In sub-Saharan Africa, the average share of women in parliaments is 27%. However, this masks wide variation. A handful of trailblazers, such as Rwanda, pull the figure up, while women remain severely underrepresented in many countries across the continent.

    In many countries, deeply entrenched cultural norms cast politics as a male domain and lead citizens to doubt women’s capacity to lead. Yet exposure to women who defy stereotypes can begin to challenge these assumptions, reshaping what people believe is possible.

    The case of SWAPO in Namibia shows that quotas, introduced voluntarily by a political party rather than imposed by law, can challenge people’s gender bias without triggering the backlash many observers predict.

    What still isn’t known

    This study shows that voluntary quotas shift attitudes, but several questions remain. First, we do not yet know how durable these changes are. Do they last only as long as female leaders remain highly visible in Parliament, or do they persist across election cycles?

    Second, visibility is almost certainly not the only mechanism encouraging change. The next step is to examine how media coverage, local campaigning and community-level engagement shape perceptions of women leaders.

    It is also important to think about how these effects might vary country to country. Namibia is in some ways a special case. SWAPO has dominated Namibian politics for over three decades. Whether my findings travel to more competitive environments or to regions beyond Africa is a question worth pursuing.

    What this study does make clear is that quotas adopted voluntarily, without legal coercion, can change how ordinary citizens think about leadership.

    Sometimes the most convincing argument for women in politics may simply be watching women govern. The symbolic impact is too often overlooked, and in places where formal reforms are politically difficult, it may be the most promising starting point.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • ‘Bouncing back’ is a myth – resilience means integrating hard experiences into your life story, not ignoring them
    Photo credit: Anastasiia Voloshko/Moment via Getty ImagesInto each life some rain must fall.

    When Maria looked at herself in the mirror for the first time after her mastectomy, she stood very still.

    One hand rested on the bathroom counter. The other hovered near the flat space where her breast had been. The scar was raw and angry. The loss was quiet but enormous. Her body felt foreign.

    In moments like these, people are often urged to be resilient – which can feel like being told to show no weakness, to push through no matter what. Or they imagine resilience as bouncing back: returning somehow unscathed to be the person you were before.

    But standing in that bathroom, Maria knew there was no going back. And toughness wouldn’t change what had happened. The real question was how she could move forward, carrying this experience into her new reality.

    Maria’s story, one I came to know personally, is far from unique. Loss, trauma and illness often bring the same wrenching questions of identity and the painful uncertainty of what comes next.

    I’ve spent more than two decades studying resilience, particularly among individuals and families navigating these kinds of life-changing events. I am also a four-time cancer survivor and author of a new book, “Falling Forward: The New Science of Resilience and Personal Transformation.” If there is one myth I wish society would retire, it’s the idea that resilience means “toughness” or “bouncing back.”

    woman wearing hat seated in wheelchair looks outside
    Resilience doesn’t rely on relentless positivity in the face of traumatic challenges. pocketlight/iStock via Getty Images Plus

    Rethinking resilience based on research

    Moments like Maria’s reveal something important: The way people tend to talk about resilience often doesn’t match how people actually live through adversity.

    In popular culture, resilience is often equated with grit, toughness or relentless positivity. People celebrate the warrior, the fighter, the triumphant survivor.

    But across research, clinical practice and lived experience, resilience is something far more nuanced, raw and human.

    It’s not a personality trait that some people simply have and others lack. Decades of research show resilience is a dynamic process. It’s shaped by the small, everyday decisions and adjustments individuals make as they adapt to significant adversity while maintaining, or gradually regaining, their psychological and physical footing over time.

    And importantly, resilience does not mean the absence of distress.

    Research on people facing serious life disruptions shows that distress and resilience often coexist. For example, in my study of adolescent and young adult cancer survivors, participants reported being upset about finances, body image and disrupted life plans, while simultaneously highlighting positive changes, such as strengthened relationships and a greater sense of purpose.

    Resilience, in other words, is not about erasing pain and suffering. It is about learning how to integrate difficult experiences into a life that continues forward.

    How resilience really works

    At one point, Maria told me she had started avoiding mirrors, intimacy, even conversations that made others uncomfortable.

    “Well, you’re strong,” people would tell her. “Just stay positive. This too shall pass.”

    But strength, she said, felt like a performance.

    What ultimately shifted for Maria was not an increase in toughness. It was permission to grieve.

    She began speaking openly about the loss of her breast; not just as a medical procedure but as a symbolic loss tied to identity, sexuality and womanhood. She joined a support group. She allowed herself to feel anger alongside gratitude for survival.

    This kind of emotional processing turns out to be central to resilience.

    My colleagues and I have found that people who actively process loss, rather than suppress it, demonstrate better long-term adjustment. Tamping down negative feelings may provide short-term relief, but over time it is associated with greater stress on your body and more difficulty adapting.

    In other words, resilience is not about sealing the wound and pretending it no longer aches. It is about learning how to carry the wound without letting it consume your entire story.

    Neuroscience supports this integration model. When people engage in meaning-making – reflecting on their experiences and incorporating them into a coherent life narrative – brain networks associated with emotional regulation and cognitive flexibility become more active. The brain, quite literally, reorganizes as you adapt to new realities.

    Maria described the change simply.

    “I don’t like what happened,” she told me. “But I’m not at war with my body anymore.”

    That is resilience.

    Arms in sweater with hand writing in a journal
    Acknowledging what’s been lost can be part of the process of resilience. Grace Cary/Moment via Getty Images

    Practices that help build resilience

    If resilience is about integration rather than toughness and bouncing back, how can you cultivate it? Research across psychology, neuroscience and chronic illness points to several evidence-based strategies:

    • Allow emotional complexity: Resilient people are not relentlessly positive. They allow space for the full range of emotions, such as gratitude and grief, hope and fear. Paying attention to your feelings through strategies such as reflective writing or psychotherapy have been linked to improved psychological adaptation.
    • Build a coherent narrative: Human beings are storytellers. Trauma can shatter one’s sense of self, but constructing a narrative that acknowledges loss while identifying continuity and growth supports adaptation. The goal is not to spin suffering into silver linings, but to situate it within a broader life story. For example, someone might say, “Cancer derailed my plans and changed my body, but it also clarified what matters to me and how I want to move forward.”
    • Lean into connection: Isolation magnifies suffering. Social support is one of the strongest predictors of how well people are able to cope and move forward after illness or trauma. For Maria, connection with other women who had had mastectomies normalized her experience and reduced shame.
    • Practice deliberate pauses: Intentionally give yourself some time to breathe. Mindfulness and contemplative solitude can strengthen your ability to regulate emotions and recover from stress. Pausing allows experience to be processed rather than avoided.
    • Expand identity: Illness, loss and trauma reshape how you think of yourself. Rather than clinging to who you were, resilience often involves expanding who you are becoming. Research on post-traumatic growth shows that people often report deeper relationships, clarified priorities and renewed purpose – not because trauma was good, but because it forced reevaluation. Maria no longer describes herself simply as a breast cancer patient. She is a survivor, yes, but also an advocate, a mentor, a woman whose sense of femininity is self-defined rather than dictated by her anatomy.

    Moving forward

    We are living in a time of widespread burnout and rising mental health challenges, where cultural pressure to appear strong often leaves people silently struggling. An insistence on grit and relentless optimism can backfire, making people feel inadequate when they inevitably feel pain.

    Resilience is not about returning to who you were before illness, loss or trauma. It is about becoming someone new: someone who carries the scar, remembers the loss and still chooses to engage with life.

    Maria still pauses when she sees her reflection. But she no longer turns away.

    “This is my body,” she told me recently. “This is my story.”

    Resilience is not forged in the denial of vulnerability, but in its acceptance. Not in bouncing back, but in integrating what has happened into who you are becoming.

    And that, I believe, is where real strength lives.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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