Donald E. Vermeer

From deep California roots, Dr. Donald Eugene Vermeer’s passion for geography took him around the world. A world expert in geophagy—dietary uses of clays—he was an influential scholar and leader in cultural geography and African studies. Throughout his career, Don Vermeer was a prominent and perennial participant at the annual AAG national meetings.  For decades, he could be easily spotted by his purposeful stride, joyful laughter, and classic bowtie.

A second-generation immigrant from the Netherlands, Vermeer was raised in a devout Dutch Reformed home in Oakland, California. Vermeer’s scholarly formation took place at the University of California, Berkeley when Carl Sauer and the Berkeley school of cultural geography was a dominant force in academic geography. Vermeer earned a B.A. in Geography in 1954 and was then called into military service as a Captain in the U.S. Army from 1954 to 1957, acting as the Officer-in-Charge of the Chemical, Biological, and Radiological Warfare School at Ft. Eustis, Virginia. Upon completion of his military service, Vermeer returned to Berkeley where he completed an M.A. in Geography and Geology in 1959. During his M.A. studies under Carl Sauer and James Parsons, Vermeer pioneered work on the geomorphology of Belize’s barrier reef and cays and their relationship to block faulting and the trade winds. He continued his studies at Berkeley, finishing his Ph.D. in Geography and Anthropology in 1964. While Vermeer’s training and commitment to fieldwork fell squarely within the Sauerian tradition, his dissertation on the agricultural and dietary practices of the Tiv, Ibo, and Birom in Nigeria was supervised by Clarence Glacken, author of the influential Traces on the Rhodian Shore. Vermeer’s dissertation was one of dozens by US-based geographers who focused on sub-Saharan Africa as “the winds of freedom” swept of across the continent in the 1960s.

Throughout his career, Vermeer continued in the Berkeley School tradition of grounded fieldwork, spending 4.5 years in West Africa, 14 months in Central America and the Caribbean and taking additional research trips to Afghanistan, Siberia, Turkey, and Bulgaria. His research led to multiple articles in the Annals of the American Association of Geographers, Science, Economic Geography, African Studies Review, Ethnology, Social Science Quarterly, Geographical Review, as well as environmental health and medical publications.

As a world-renowned expert in geophagy, Vermeer’s primary contribution was to demonstrate the nutritional and medicinal value of specific traditional practices of eating clay. His work on geophagy in both Africa and the American South received attention outside the social sciences in the Los Angeles Times, Gastronomica: the Journal of Food and Culture, and Places Journal. His expertise on swidden agriculture and indigenous food systems led to consulting work for the U.S. Agency for International Development, several private consulting firms, and the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. During the contentious debates over food scarcity and African population growth in the 1970s and 1980s, Vermeer’s research demonstrated the importance and adaptability of traditional, small-scale cultivation practices.

Vermeer’s teaching career began with a stint as Lecturer at the University of California-Berkeley. He then spent 1962-1968 as an Assistant Professor and Director of African Studies at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He moved to Louisiana State University (LSU) where he spent two decades, holding roles as Professor of Geography and Anthropology, Department Chair, Associate Dean of the College of Agriculture, and Director of International Affairs. From 1988 to 1997, he served as Professor of Geography and International Affairs and Chair of the Department of Geography and Regional Science at George Washington University. In retirement, he served as a Research Adjunct Professor at California Polytechnic State University in San Luis Obispo where he helped create a new earth sciences major. In addition, he held visiting professorships at the University of Kansas, University of Cape Town, University of Ibadan, and the University of KwaZulu-Natal.

Don Vermeer was an active member of the American Association of Geographers and the International Geographical Union. Dedicated to professional service, he served as president of the Rocky Mountain Social Science Association, and the Southwest Social Science Association. He held editorial board positions for the National Geographic Society and the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) and served as an adviser to the Geography Standards project team that produced the 1994 Geography for Life: National Geography Standards. With his longtime wife Carrie Vermeer, he created the Vermeer Scholarship in Geography and the Vermeer Professorship in Geography, both at Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Prepared by Mark D. Bjelland, Ph.D., Calvin University, with the help of Johnathan Bascom and Jason VanHorn, also of Calvin University

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President's Column

Geographies of Accountability

Tan and red brick mosaic walkway on the UNC campus.
“The Gift” is a brick walkway and installation incorporating images important to Native traditions, such as turtles, eagle feather, dogwood flowers, hills, water, and corn created by artist Senora Lynch (Haliwa-Saponi) for the American Indian Center at the University of North Carolina. Courtesy UNC

Sara Smith

When I interviewed for my job at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, I was nervous or maybe even awestruck. It was beyond comprehension that I could get a tenure track job at such an institution. I remember my anxiously chosen secondhand outfit, mistakes I made, but also little moments that seem telling now. On the campus tour, a professor paused by a towering figure of a soldier facing North, and said sarcastically: “Welcome to the South — this is Silent Sam — he’s facing north to protect us from the Yankees.” Much to my surprise, I got the job, and started in 2009.

Most folks described the statue as though he had sprung out of the earth and would be there until the whole university was in ruins in some distant future. My office was in the Saunders building — and I slowly learned from undergraduate students that Saunders was a KKK leader. I had been teaching political geography without knowing the political geography of my own building. Student activists in the Real Silent Sam Coalition spent time in the library, in the archives, and found documents confirming Saunders’s KKK leadership, and that this was a reason the building had been named for him. Students used geographic strategies to force the university administration to rename the building. Students have taught me how to be in ethical relationship to the place and people that sustain me and my work — teaching and learning from UNC students has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Witnessing these events shaped my approach to political geography and is reflected in the first chapter of my political geography textbook.

In 2018, a decade after my interview, that Confederate monument was toppled by activists and pictures of his face in the dirt were national news.

Investigating Power and Place

I’m writing to you today from a sunny summer Ladakh, in the Indian Himalayas, but at the same time I am recalling these events, to introduce my motivations for starting my presidential Task Force on Grounded Relations and Repair, with the dream team of James Bryan, Andrew Curley (Diné), LaToya Eaves, Elspeth Iralu (Angami Naga), Jovan Scott Lewis, Natasha Myhal (Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians), Meredith Palmer (Tuscarora, Six Nations of the Grand River), Laura Pulido, Isaac Rivera, and Kayla Roulhac. A future column will describe more of the task force’s activities and invite participation, but I wanted to begin with the inspiration.

Our university does not have an official land acknowledgment. The First Nations Graduate Circle has written: “We acknowledge that the land on which the University of North Carolina stands is the ancestral homeland of Eastern Siouan-speaking Indigenous peoples (Yesàh, “The People”).” Many of the buildings on campus were built by people who had been stolen from their homelands in Africa and enslaved in North Carolina, and university founders and faculty rented out the people they had enslaved to build and maintain our buildings. Nearly all of the early benefactors were settler-enslavers, including Benjamin Smith, who enslaved 221 people and gave the largest early donation of 20,000 acres of land, and Duncan Cameron and then his son Paul — generational benefactors and trustees who also owned the largest plantation in North Carolina. In the first half of the 19th century when the university faced financial crisis, it benefited from Indian removal by acquiring and selling Cherokee and Chickasaw lands as far west as Tennessee, and also by profiting from the sale and labor of enslaved people.

Working at the university taught me so much about power and geography, and I started to write about these questions and work with student activists. Diné geographer Andrew Curley and I also wrote about what it’s like to work at this kind of institution. This led me to ask Danielle Purifoy to join me in co-founding our Landback Abolition Project. This is a collective endeavor in which we have been working with Native students, descendants of the enslaved, and the students in our classes to create an archive of place-based knowledge about the university in order to support institutional change and repair — for instance, working with descendants of those enslaved by our institution to understand what could constitute justice or repair when plantation power structures still animate our institution; and working with members of the Carolina Indian Circle to create an archive of Native life in this place.

In our classes, we take students to the archives and on campus tours: I am trying to recreate for them the process through which I learned to take my ethical relations to place more seriously. I also tell them that this is a rehearsal — that when they graduate and move to a new place, a new job, or a new educational setting they can ask the same questions: whose land am I on? Who built these buildings? Whose neighborhood is this?

The legacies of slavery and Indigenous dispossession at our institutions are both widespread and contextually specific. In 2020, the Land-grab Universities report from High Country News asked us to consider how our academic institutions had been funded by the expropriation of Native land. In 2016, the Universities Studying Slavery consortium convened to ask what responsibilities universities have to the enslaved people who built them and their descendants. These are natural place-based questions that geographers are well-placed to take up. Who are the people that our institutions and research are grounded among and who do our institutions and research agendas serve? How can we be in better ethical relations to the land and people upon whom we are dependent as scholars, practitioners, educators, learners, and simply as people?

I want to take up these questions in my taskforce, and I have also found that these kinds of questions really draw community members and students into the discipline — connecting to past President Bill Moseley’s Generation Alpha Project Task Force asking about our discipline’s future, and past President Rebecca Lave’s Task Force on Public and Engaged Scholarship, for example. Since beginning these conversations with members, it has been wonderful to hear here how many of you are doing related or similar community-based work. For the task force, I am bringing together scholars to study how we can cultivate better grounded relations in the institutions and communities we are located in, and be more responsive to the ethical responsibilities that these relations entail.

As geographers, we sometimes operate as though we were untethered to the places that support our work and existence, whether that is the cleaning and maintenance labor that makes our university or organization function or the places and people we engage with through research. I am hoping through the task force for us to learn more about geographers who are building strong and careful ethical relations to place and people so that we can expand those models and share best practices. We are beginning from these initial questions.

  • What are best practices for accountability to the Native nations to whom our institutions are in debt? How can we advocate for enhanced Native governance at our institutions? What are the current relations between our departments or organizations and the Native nations in their region and how can they be improved without placing a burden on overburdened individuals and institutions?
  • What are best practices for engaging with repair at our institutions for the legacies of slavery and understanding how those logics and antiblackness shaped our institutions? How can we support existing demands for reparative action?
  • How do we best ground our relations to places and the labor that currently sustains our work?
  • What are our responsibilities to address the uneven and extractive politics of research and fieldwork (including international research and collaborations), as well as our material complicity in empire and extraction, both material and intellectual?

During my time in AAG leadership, I want us to think through these questions in relation to our institutions and to the AAG itself — building on much prior work the organization has been taking up. I am excited to talk about these ideas at regional meetings and I would like to be learning more about what you are doing at your institution. Please reach out to me — and share your ideas with us!

Please note: The ideas expressed in the AAG President’s column are not necessarily the views of the AAG as a whole. This column is traditionally a space in which the president may talk about their views or focus during their tenure as president of AAG, or spotlight their areas of professional work. Please feel free to email AAG President Sara Smith directly to enable a constructive discussion.

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President's Column

Toward a More Grounded Geography Community

Image of roots of a tree growing on top of the soil. Credit: Eilis Garvey, Unsplash
Credit: Eilis Garvey, Unsplash

Sara Smith

I’m writing to you from a hot summer in Carrboro, North Carolina. My daughter has a long to-do list: make art, write, play in the woods, see family. As an assistant professor, I’ve felt guilty when I wasn’t working or being efficient. Sometimes we are teaching and cursing ourselves for not writing — then we write and get to the classroom and judge ourselves for not being better prepared. Instead, I hope you all are out in the sunshine.

I’m humbled to write to you as president of AAG, and grateful for everything I learned as vice president. I was shocked to get nominated, but am eager to serve during uncertain times. This is a good time for all of us to think about who we are to one another and how we can stay true to hardwon values of justice, freedom of speech, and equity. Let’s move with joy, be of service, and strengthen one another. I want to use this first column to introduce myself and my taskforce, speak to our current political context, and ask for your continued hard work and engagement.

Most of you are learning my name for the first time. I am an anticolonial and feminist political geographer. I started my research in Ladakh, in the Indian Himalaya, along contested borders with Pakistan and China. In my first research I developed the concept of intimate geopolitics — that who we love and how we interact with our neighbors is territorial and shaped by colonial legacies, making embodied life geopolitical. It’s a classic feminist and political question: how do our intimate lives make the world? Then, with my first student, Mabel Gergan, I worked with Himalayan college students to understand experiences of racism and personal transformation as they attended university in big Indian cities. Alongside this research, I began to work to reshape political geography and feminist geography through engagement with anticolonial, Black, and Indigenous geographies. In recent years, I have co-founded two collectives:

  • The Desirable Futures Collective studies time: what kind of futures are available for whom? How is time a tool to claim territory through telling stories about past and future?
  • The Landback Abolition Project, co-founded with Dr. Danielle Purifoy, works alongside community to understand what justice would look like at our university with its lasting legacy of indigenous dispossession and slavery.

These experiences have contributed to my vision for the presidency, and work with AAG beyond that. My Grounded Relations and Repair Taskforce takes up the question of our ethical relations to people and place. I want to showcase how geographers can be in good ethical relations to the history and present of their institutions. How can we be accountable to Native nations? To the enslaved labor that built many of our universities? To workers who clean and care for our institutions? I want to see a geography where every geography student learns to ask whose land they are on and consider their ethical responsibilities to the communities that sustain them.

Supporting Each Other Through Difficult Times

I’m writing during a challenging time for all of us in education. I want to call us in to support one another, and not to concede to the current political climate but rather to be in solidarity and lean into our core values. We cannot afford to give up the gains we have made. As vice president I had the pleasure of traveling to our regional conferences in Cincinnati, Lexington, and Milwaukee, and our political climate and lack of resources for scholarship were the first things that geographers talked to me about. Geographers are drawn to the discipline because they love its creativity, interdisciplinary nature and expansiveness, but most of all because they want to change the world for the better. Geographers work for justice, for healthy and beautiful and equitable urban spaces, for climate justice and environmental protection. We are an increasingly diverse and inclusive discipline.

These values that we worked so hard to cultivate and these spaces — that we worked so hard to create — are at risk.

Faculty wonder if they can teach on race and gender — the exact topics they cultivated expertise in over their careers. Environmental scientists with decades of training and NSF and NASA grants wonder how to fund their work. Graduate students ask if they need to stop studying environmental justice. International scholars can’t go home to visit their families because they worry they won’t make it back in the country. We all worry our neighbors will be picked up in ICE raids. Will our chancellors or administrators will have our backs? My chair, Conghe Song, like many department heads, never seems to leave his office: reassuring faculty their work is valued, trying to figure out scholars’ visas, seeking ways to keep us funded, and that support is such a comfort in these times. But I want you to know that AAG is here for you as well. AAG has been signing onto letters about social science and climate funding, reaching out to faculty facing institutional problems, and working to protect international scholars. I think we have more power than we think, and even more so when we stand up together.

Grounding Our Practice and Our Connections

I want to encourage us to be thinking about our ethical relations to one another and to place — and this shapes the upcoming annual meeting in New York City along with my task force. I invite us to take up these questions in New York next February, through the themes of Grounded Relations and Desirable Futures. As researchers and scientists and writers and teachers — how can we build a community grounded in our ethical relations to people and place, and intentionally create a future in which we can not only survive, but thrive?

Lastly, I want to ask us all to create collective structures to protect and affirm one another. The last year at AAG has been an inspiring one. We faced some of the most daunting challenges around federal funding and the political climate, and renewed concerns about the shuttering or merging of geography departments. But we also saw our members deeply consider our global relations — I was particularly moved by our members’ work on Palestinian liberation. I see the courage and work for this cause to be the best of our geographers’ impulses to be politically engaged, and put into practice Fannie Lou Hamer’s call that “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” One antidote to anxiety is action, and particularly action in the service of others. Can you build something with your colleagues, your students, your coworkers?

Please note: The ideas expressed in the AAG President’s column are not necessarily the views of the AAG as a whole. This column is traditionally a space in which the president may talk about their views or focus during their tenure as president of AAG, or spotlight their areas of professional work. Please feel free to email AAG President Sara Smith directly to enable a constructive discussion.

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Resources

AAG Journal Articles on Black Geographies and Racial Justice

Mural of a young Black child with pink and blue ribbon-like graphics swirling around the image.
Mural by Kevin Ledo, collaborative "Under the Same Sky" project, Portland, Oregon. Photo credit: Sarah RK, Unsplash

The following titles reflect vital scholarship on Black Geographies in AAG’s journals in recent years. Through September 30, 2026, AAG and Taylor & Francis provide free access to these articles, available for download at the links listed below.

For additional reading recommendations, see Black Geographies Reading List, sponsored by the AAG Black Geographies Specialty Group.

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President's Column

Welcoming a New President to AAG—Interview with Sara Smith

William MoseleySara Smith

For the last President’s Column of his term, President Bill Moseley talks with incoming President Sara Smith about her experiences within the discipline and her aspirations for her upcoming leadership at AAG. The following conversation offers insight into the new directions for the 2026-27 presidency. View the interview

Bill: Sara, thank you for being here. My first question is, what’s your history with geography? What brought you to the discipline?

Sara: Like so many of us, I ended up in geography completely on accident! I was doing counter development work for a women’s organization in Ladakh, in northern India. And I actually just needed to spend more time in my hometown with my family. I also was frustrated with the kinds of obstacles we were running into. My husband and I were both working in the NGO field in Ladakh. And I found myself wanting a more global context for that work, or I wanted to understand the structural forces we were dealing with better.

And so, I looked up grad schools in my hometown, Tucson, Arizona. And the Department of Geography and Regional Development at the University of Arizona was the first thing that came up, so I went there. That’s how I came to geography,

But I stayed because of the people that I met, and especially, I started taking classes from my advisor, Sally Marston, in political geography, and political geography just really spoke to me, as a way to understand the world.

Bill: I think so many geographers come into the discipline sideways.

Sara: Exactly. I think that’s why your [Gen Alpha] task force [addressing the next generation of geographers] is good. What if people came in earlier and intentionally?

Bill: Yes. But I also think it’s a good thing that this discipline is open to people coming to it in many different ways. So, I’m curious, what do you tell your students, or what do you tell people who are interested in the discipline—what, for you, makes it so relevant to the issues of the day?

Sara: Hmm…I have two answers. One is, I think, a classic geography answer, which is that we range from the environmental sciences to the social sciences and humanities, and I think that’s really beautiful. The expansiveness of the discipline is exciting to me, but I think in classes, what is exciting for students is the kind of liberties we take with geography. It’s a very fluid discipline.

If we look across the social sciences…I feel like geographers have really picked up, for instance, Black theory, Indigenous theory, and centered it in their work, which I think is unusual for the social sciences. I think sometimes those kinds of theoretical frameworks are still on the margins. In geography, they’re some of the quickest growing sub-disciplines.

I’ve been teaching environmental justice classes, and I think the students find that approach really exciting. Thinking through Indigenous theories of land relations, or thinking about racial capitalism as something that has structured why we’re facing environmental justice questions—those approaches are very accessible in geography and intuitive to students, too. I think there’s a way, when you start with place, it can feel very welcoming, and students can start thinking through the connections. Like in one of my classes, they map their hometown—an assignment Danielle Purifoy inspired me to try. They haven’t thought about their hometown in relation to environmental justice before. What if they map out the hazards and the neighborhoods? It makes it feel very relevant to them, so I think once students get that kind of welcome into geography, they find it really exciting, and just naturally relevant.

Bill: I believe a lot of our members might be wondering: Who is Sara Smith, and what kind of research does she do? Could you describe briefly the kind of research you do?

Sara: I feel coherent, but I think my research agenda might seem a little incoherent to some folks. Broadly, I study the relations between our intimate, everyday lives and territory. So, my first project about that was set in Ladakh, and it became a book project, Intimate Geopolitics.

In that work, I’m looking at Ladakh’s location on a contested border with Pakistan and China, and the colonial history of that region. I looked at the ways that territory affects people’s decisions about who they’re going to marry, how many kids they want to have, these kinds of intimate decisions. How does intimate life become understood to be making territory? People were telling me Buddhists and Muslims can’t marry each other because it’s a political problem. But a couple generations ago, they were marrying each other all the time. So, what are the conditions that made that impossible? I started with that, but then that work has kind of broadened out, so then I worked with Mabel Denzin Gergan, with Himalayan college students. What’s it like to be from a tiny town in the Himalayas and go to some of the biggest, most diverse cities in the world, like Delhi or Mumbai? How does that change how you think about your hometown back in the mountains? How does that change you politically? So both of those are about this relationship between: Our ordinary lives, how we relate to our parents or our friends at college, and the state.

That’s the basis for my research, but I really wanted to do work closer to home. So, I also started doing work on time and temporality and fascism, and just trying to understand our political scenario, and I also just love political geography, so I wrote a critical introduction to Political Geography. And then more recently, I felt…I started to get frustrated that my research was all on the other side of the world, and we’re here in North Carolina. And I had learned a lot from student organizers. Our campus is very caught up in the afterlives of slavery and Indigenous dispossession. For example, in the time I’ve been here, our building name was changed. It used to be named for a KKK leader. It was student activism that got that name off the building, and we also had a Confederate monument, students pulled it down, the administration thought about putting it back up. Students’ thinking and activism led me to this new work and taught me so much about place and power.

All these things made me feel that I need to be more locally engaged, so I started a project for our students to study the history of the university. So that’s the Land Back Abolition Project that I co-founded with Danielle Purifoy.

Bill:  I love hearing how people’s research evolves over time.

Sara: Yeah, so it’s many different things, but they feel like one thing to me.

Bill: I’m wondering if you could just say a little bit about what prompted you to run for AAG president.

Sara: I was so surprised when I got the email saying I had been nominated to be vice president, I’m sure many people feel the same way. So, I was surprised, and I’m actually shy, and I don’t like to be at the front of the room with a bunch of people looking at me. So, I started calling my friends saying, “I should say no, right? I should just… I shouldn’t agree to be nominated,” but they all said, what are you talking about? You have to say yes. And I think it’s funny, because I’m shy, but I really like to build things. I like to build collectives, so ever since I started this job, I started kind of building networks of people, working toward shared goals, and I really enjoy that kind of work.

When I thought about it in that perspective, I just like to get involved in whatever organization I’m part of. So that’s what made me say yes.

Also … I just… I like to work. I like to work hard for things that feel right to me, so this felt like a different way to practice that.

Bill: Okay. Well, relatedly, what are you hoping to focus on during your tenure as the AAG President? Your priorities.

Sara: I’m thinking about a couple things. So, of course, I have a task force, which is at the heart of my work. The task force is called Grounded Relations and Repair, and it’s a little bit like a scaled-up version of our Land Back Abolition Project.

I want us to be thinking about our ethical relationships to place as geographers. So, when I started my job here at UNC, like I told you, I was thinking about political geography as something that’s out there somewhere. I wasn’t thinking about…what building is my classroom in? Who built this building? Has the university you know, repaired its history of bad relations with Black and Indigenous people? I wasn’t thinking about the really local politics, so the idea with the task force is for us to be thinking about our ethical relationships to the institutions we’re embedded in.

What are our universities’ relation to the community, or if we’re working in industry, what’s our organization’s or our companies’? What are their relationships to the local community, to the people who built the buildings, to the land that we’re on, or to other workers also, I’m thinking about it through labor questions.

So, what’s our faculty’s relationship to labor at our institution? Who labors at our institution? Can they live in our town, or do they have to live really far out and commute in? What are kind of the structural relations that we’re embedded in?

We shouldn’t be able to get a geography degree without knowing whose land we’re on.

I think these questions are also key to the work that AAG members have been doing to encourage us to engage more with Palestinian liberation – they are asking us to take our ethical relationship to the world seriously and it’s important for us to rise to that calling.

And I like that orientation for geography, because I think we shouldn’t be able to get a geography degree without knowing whose land we’re on.

How did this institution come to be? It’s a fundamentally place-based question.

I also like this work because it’s so fruitful in the classroom. In the task force, we’re thinking of developing a national toolkit, so that folks could do this kind of work at their university.  I love teaching this way in the classroom. In several of my classes, students have to study the history of the institution. And I tell them they’re rehearsing for the rest of their life.

Next time they get a job, next time they go on to graduate school, they should be asking the same questions of that institution. I’m hoping it’s helping people…  build a different kind of ethical relationship to the communities that they’re in, where they feel it’s on them to learn about their relationship to one another and to place. I want to focus on that, and then I also think about AAG’s accessibility.…As we’ve learned in Council, it’s quite difficult to make changes (for instance, on affordability). But as someone who grew up with a single mom who was worried about money, and just…I still always am thinking about money, so I’d love for AAG to be more accessible to folks and think about things like who is and isn’t included in different ways, I think that’s really important to me. AAG is doing a lot of work in that regard. And then I think the last thing is just that…It’s rough out there right now. I think we’re so worried just about the state of the discipline, the state of the academy, we’re worried about funding cuts, we’re worried about the national scenario. Worried about fascism and free speech. It’s a really good time for us to be trying to support each other. And think about what we can do as a community. Fundamentally, we’re a community, and it’s not so easy to be in a national community of nearly 10,000 people. That’s actually really rare and special, so it’s an opportunity for us to make that community stronger. And use it to protect one another, and support one another in a time that feels, I think, really scary. For a lot of folks.

Bill: You are entering this position at a really challenging moment.

Sara: It’s not, yeah, it’s not, like, smooth sailing for anyone, and everybody’s challenges are so different, depending on the kind of institution, or, the stage of your career,

Bill: Yeah. Well, like you said, we are a community, and communities need volunteers to step up and play certain roles. The AAG basically runs on volunteers, and I guess I’m curious if you have any advice for someone who might be a member considering volunteering in a certain capacity for the AAG.

Sara: I think it’s a great experience. I’ve been encouraging my students to do more. It’s nice to find and make that kind of community. I believe it was at this annual meeting that I was suggesting—I think you and I were on the Student Day panel it’s great to run for specialty group, student representative positions, or otherwise get involved in those smaller ways; or even to do things like organize a session at AAG. And I think a lot of folks throw in their abstract, or they apply for a session, but they don’t think, what if I just, tried to reach out to 5 or 10 people who I look up to and ask them to talk about a topic? It’s great to just try to jump all the way in, and people will be surprised at how welcoming folks are to that kind of engagement.

Bill: Is there anything else you would like to add that we haven’t talked about?

Sara: Yes, what about… do you have advice for me? As outgoing president.

Bill: I think you know this, because we’ve been serving together for the past year. You go into the job wanting to focus on certain things, and you don’t always control the agenda, right? And so, being very flexible and responsive to the concerns of the membership, as well as the particular political moment you find yourself in, is important. In sum, roll with the punches.

Sara: That’s good advice.

Bill: Well, thank you so much, Sara. It’s been a total delight speaking with you. I’m looking forward to continue serving alongside you in the upcoming year, and I really wish you all the best in your new position.

Sara: Thank you, I will need it!.

Please note: The ideas expressed in the AAG President’s column are not necessarily the views of the AAG as a whole. This column is traditionally a space in which the president may talk about their views or focus during their tenure as president of AAG, or spotlight their areas of professional work. Please feel free to email the president directly at moseley@macalester.edu to enable a constructive discussion.

 

 

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B. L. Turner II Award for Doctoral Research in Human-Environmental Science

Deadline for the 2027 awards: October 15, 2026 (by midnight, Eastern Time)

BL Turner II Source: Arizona State UniversityOver a distinguished career spanning more than five decades, B. L. Turner II has fundamentally shaped our understanding of human-environmental interactions, land systems, sustainability, and socio-environmental vulnerability. Drawing on rigorous field-based and quantitative and mixed method approaches, his pioneering work on land change/systems, sustainability, and coupled human-natural systems helped to solve various research problems and created intellectual pathways that continue to guide research across multiple disciplines and space-time scales.

Beyond his scholarly achievements, Turner mentored generations of students and colleagues, fostering a collaborative research approach that transcends traditional disciplinary boundaries. His guidance shaped not only research agendas but entire career trajectories, instilling in his mentees a commitment to rigorous scholarship that bridges theory and practice.

The Award

This award is designed to support scientific research in human-environmental science. The award will be made every year to a Ph.D. candidate who has successfully defended their proposal, demonstrating geographical or related motivation with particular attention to rigorous science drawing on fieldwork and mixed or emerging methods. Although primarily designed to stimulate human-environment system-oriented scientific investigations within the discipline of geography, this award is open to doctoral candidates examining problems of human-environmental systems regardless of the discipline in question, membership in the American Association of Geographers (AAG), or country of the degree-granting institution.

The B. L. Turner II Award for Doctoral Research in Human-Environmental Science consists of a cash award of $10,000, a certificate of recognition, a one-year mentorship from one of B. L. Turner II’s mentees, past awardees, or a scholar identified by the Award Trustees, and recognition at the AAG Annual Meeting during its awards ceremony (registration and travel expenses not included).

Eligibility

  • Applicants must be Ph.D. students who are either already ABD/Candidates OR will be Candidates at the time of receiving the award.
  • The research problem in question must contribute to the advancement of problem solving and theory and/or methods relevant to human-environment systems.
  • There is no limit with respect to the number of students who can apply from each institution.
  • Applicants for the award do not need to be members of the American Association of Geographers, but membership is encouraged.
  • As with all other AAG awards, eligibility also rests on the candidate being in compliance with the AAG Professional Conduct Policy. Nominations may be rescinded, and the award may also be revoked for any candidate or awardee who is found in violation of the AAG’s Professional Conduct Policy.

Applications

A complete application must be received no later than the close of business on the deadline (Eastern Time).

  1. A statement of intent to apply for the award.
  2. An abstract of the dissertation that explicitly identifies the individual’s contribution to human-environment systems, including theory/methods.
  3. The applicant’s academic curriculum vitae (CV).
  4. A recommendation letter from a member of the student’s dissertation committee or other faculty member from the student’s Ph.D. degree-granting institution.

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For questions or difficulties, please contact grantsawards@aag.org or call the AAG at 202-234-1450.

 

B. L. Turner II Award for Doctoral Research in Human-Environmental Science Committee

Applications will be reviewed by the B. L. Turner II Award for Doctoral Research in Human-Environmental Science Committee. The committee consists of three members, appointed by the Trustees. The committee is charged with reviewing the applications and recommending awards to the Trustees. The Trustees will make the formal awards.

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Jean-Bernard Racine

Professor Emeritus at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland, Jean-Bernard Racine passed away on March 23, 2026. He was renowned for bridging European and Anglo-American geographical traditions, playing a key role in introducing New Geography to the French-speaking academic world. He received the Vautrin Lud Prize in Geography in 1997.

Born into a Protestant family in Neuchâtel, Switzerland, Racine earned his undergraduate degree in Geography from the University of Aix-en-Provence in France in 1962. He obtained his doctorate in Geography from the same university in 1965 under the supervision of Hildebert Isnard. Inspired by regional geography, Racine coined the term “peri-urban” to describe land changes in Southern France in the late 1960s.

Following a trip to Quebec in 1965, Racine was appointed assistant professor in the Department of Geography at the University of Sherbrooke, which he headed from 1966 to 1969. In 1969, he was appointed associate professor at the University of Ottawa in Canada. His office was next to that of Stanley Gregory, a pioneer in the application of statistical methods to geography.

After his postdoctoral proposal was criticized for its lack of formal rigor, Racine embarked on a tour of American and Canadian universities, meeting Allen J. Scott at UCLA, Larry Bourne (one of his many “great friends”) and Bryn Greer-Wooten in Toronto, David Lowenthal and Alan Pred at Berkeley, and, most importantly, Brian Berry in Chicago, whose work on city networks he would admire for the rest of his life.

While in North America, Racine developed a long-lasting relationship with William (Bill) Bunge, with whom he shared a common interest first for theoretical geography, and later on for social justice and critical analysis of spatial structures. They stayed in touch regularly (and always by phone “for fear of being spied on by the CIA”) until the early 2000s.

Deeply committed to understanding how cities emerge and evolve, Racine shaped the field of urban geography by employing the statistical tools brought to the fore by the New Geography. The guidelines of this “revolution” were formalized in a small but influential book entitled “Quantitative Analysis in Geography” (L’Analyse Quantitative en Géographie) published in 1973 with Henri Reymond. Using Brian Berry’s statistical software, Racine applied quantitative analysis in his monumental second doctoral dissertation, devoted to the peri-urban growth of Greater Montreal in 1975.

At the age of just 33, Racine returned to Switzerland, where he served as director of the Institute of Geography at the University of Lausanne (UNIL) from 1973 to 1982. He was appointed associate professor and later full professor in the Faculty of Arts and at the School of Business and Economics (HEC), where he taught numerous courses in economic geography and epistemology. Racine was a brilliant speaker with a powerful voice that captivated his audience. At UNIL, he served as vice-dean (1980–1982) and dean (1982–1984) of the Faculty of Arts, before resuming the directorship of the Institute from 1986 to 1992 and from 2000 to 2004. He retired as professor emeritus in 2007.

Racine was one of the most influential figures in Francophone geography over the past fifty years. While he is mainly known for having imported quantitative geography from North American to Europe in the 1970s, his most enduring contribution to science is in theoretical geography. Less interested in techniques than in the questions that geography can help to formulate, Racine contributed to the renewal of geographical epistemology, often with other key Francophone geographers.

In 1981, he published “Geographical Questions” (Problématiques de la géographie) with Hildebert Isnard and Henri Reymond, a book that examined the questions that geographers face and how to approach them systematically. Racine published extensively with Claude Raffestin from the University of Geneva, who died in 2025, and with Antoine Bailly, another geographer who returned to Switzerland after living in Canada.

Racine played a decisive role in the culturalist turn that swept through the social sciences beginning in the 1980s. Like many other geographers, his shift toward cultural geography was inspired by the writings of David Ley, Anne Buttimer, Yi-Fu Tuan and, of course, David Harvey, whose book The Condition of Postmodernity was prominently displayed in his Lausanne office.

The son of a pastor, Racine’s approach was deeply rooted in a humanist tradition, which is reflected in a wealth of publications co-authored with his doctoral students, such as Antonio Cunha, Ola Söderström, Etienne Piguet, and Lorenza Mondada. Published in 1993, The City Between God and Man (La Ville entre Dieu et les Hommes) is undoubtedly the book that best combines his deep interest for urban transformation and religious faith.

In the ten years leading up to his retirement in 2007, Racine turned his attention to urban issues, particularly that of Lausanne, a city for which he had a deep passion. Far from resting on its laurels, and always surrounded by many young researchers, he threw himself with seemingly inexhaustible energy into the study of the city’s “fragile” or marginalized users. His humanistic approach to geography, attentive to the voices of young people, people with disabilities, and migrants, anticipates the most recent work in our discipline.

Internationally, Racine served as vice-chair of the International Geographical Union’s Commission on Urban Development and Urban Life from 1992 to 2000. He worked closely with or in parallel to influential French geographers such as Paul Claval, Sylvie Rimbert, René Dumont, Jean Labasse, Pierre Georges, Roger Brunet, and Denise Pumain. He played a leading role in the Dupont Group, founded in 1971 to introduce theoretical and quantitative geography in France, and in the organization of the Géopoint conferences beginning in 1976.

The author of four major books and 250 articles, Racine served as co-editor of Geographica Helvetica for many years and was a member of the editorial board of L’Espace géographique, Géographie et Cultures, and Articulo-Journal of Urban Research, founded by his doctoral students in 2005.

Racine’s influence on modern geography is evident in his ability to bring together geographers from remarkably diverse backgrounds. Based in Quebec and Switzerland, he managed to occupy a central position in our discipline without being located at its geographical center.

One of his most enduring contributions is having mentored two generations of geographers, all of whom, with rare exceptions, hold academic positions in Switzerland, Europe, and the United States. Racine tirelessly devoted his extraordinary intellect to the ideas that underpin modern geography. With his passing, we have lost one of the greatest brokers of Francophone geography.

Written by Olivier Walther

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Member Profile: Dydia DeLyser

Photo of Dydia DeLeyser“Figuring out what places are about” is the foundation of Dydia DeLyser’s inquisitive, hands-on work to explore and preserve American landscapes and cultural histories. A professor of geography emerita at Cal State Fullerton, DeLyser has cultivated this outlook from early on. As the child of Dutch immigrants who came to the U.S. in the 1960s, she learned early how place, belonging, and language could open—or close—doors.

“My first language is not English, it was Dutch,” she says. “So my earliest memories are of having sort of a secret language at home that nobody else could understand.” Her parents were “always trying to understand American culture, and yet never able to become a part [of it].”

For DeLyser, the outsider status was doubled by another kind of “outside:” the past. Her parents’ vivid stories of their experiences of World War II and the privations of life in Europe even before Nazi occupation lit up DeLyser’s imagination and appreciation for social history: “The broader cultural stories about our past, like my parents’ stories about the war, are also intimate personal stories that happen in the lives of individuals,” she says. “We connect our individual experiences to the broader narrative, you know, of victory over the Nazis or so many other issues. That’s a geographical or spatial experience.”

DeLyser’s hunger to understand and embrace places and times she couldn’t know firsthand have led to her foundational preoccupation with what she calls “the intimate geographies of social memory.”

Bridging Time and Space

DeLyser started working on her intertwined study of history’s large scales and intimate personal histories while she was still an undergraduate at UCLA, aided by her work at UCLA Library’s Department of Special Collections in the manuscript, photographs, and rare books library, one of the largest such departments in the country. The archive housed the personal papers of L.A. notables and international figures such as novelist Raymond Chandler, journalist Carey McWilliams, writers Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, and Peggy Hamilton, the first fashion editor of the LA Times.

Reading their letters and manuscripts opened DeLyser’s eyes to new ways of knowing people, even after their deaths. Research—specifically, qualitative research with primary materials—was like a portal through the gap in time and place that had so fascinated and frustrated DeLyser from childhood. She has dedicated her career to the methods that make qualitative research vibrant.

“To me, scholarship should be empirically rich, grounded in some real thing,” she says. “It should be theoretically sophisticated and engaged with whatever conceptual conversations are current and engaging and relevant in the discipline or subdiscipline you are in, and it should be methodologically articulate.” Put simply, she says: “You should be clear how you know.”

DeLyser describes research methods as “an important form of credibility for a scholar, as the core of your scholarly credibility. If you can show how you know—because you interviewed these people or because these are the quotes or because you did this archival research or you spent ten years observing at this place or because you actually did the labor or whatever the reason—If you can show how you know, then we will trust you. And then we’ll be able to learn from you, we’ll be able to take on whatever your point is.”

If you can show how you know, then we will trust you.”

Early in her career, DeLyser established a close relationship to Bodie, a California ghost town in the Eastern Sierra region. Designated a National Historic Landmark and state park in the early1 960s, Bodie began as a gold-mining town that boomed in the 1870s, crashed in the 1880s, but then lingered well into the 20th century. As the population declined, at one point there were more buildings than people. And as residents left, they abandoned furnishings and things they didn’t want to pay to move, which became the  intact artifacts of their daily lives on display in about 200 buildings, from dishes, pots, and chairs in kitchens to unused caskets in the town morgue.

Exterior view of a building in Bodie, Calif. Credit: Jon Sullivan, Wikimedia Commons
Credit: Jon Sullivan, Wikimedia Commons

 

Starting when she was a college student with summers free, she began working as a low-paid, unskilled seasonal worker for maintenance, DeLyser gradually deepened her knowledge of Bodie over the next 35 years in all different ways, from conducting ethnographic research tourists there to using the Park’s own archive to understand how State Parks staff were themselves shaping what visitors saw and ultimately to using her research to make the case for broadening the town’s National Historic Landmark status, all while putting in true sweat equity in caring for the town, from physically working to stabilize the abandoned buildings to “cleaning about 10,000 [public] toilets.” Now, she is executive director of the town’s nonprofit, working to preserve Bodie in a state of “arrested decay—keeping the buildings standing while letting them look like they’re still falling down,” according to DeLyser. Today’s visitors to Bodie can peer inside its buildings to see the many personal items left behind by the final occupants, and imagine the lives of the town’s former inhabitants. DeLyser was interested in the impact of this on visitors, especially in the moments of recognition when a specific object reminded them of something in their own lives. DeLyser then sought to map these personal epiphanies onto the larger stories of history.

Interior view of a kitchen in Bodie, Calif. Credit: Fronl, Wikimedia Commons
Credit: Fronl, Wikimedia Commons

 

“Ghost towns are so connected to the mythic West in the United States, to the heroic, mythologized tales of the “Wild West” and all that, we simply connect ourselves to big themes about American culture. All of a sudden, from a small life and a small object, it links to the big themes. I’ve seen myself have ordinary objects spark magic in my life many times, and I’ve studied how it happens.“

Always say yes

DeLyser also engages enthusiastically as a teacher, mentor, and champion of the geography discipline. Over the years, she has served on AAG Council, was a founding member of the AAG Qualitative Research Specialty Group, contributed to the work of the AAG Harassment Free Task Force, as well as its Public and Engaged Scholarship Task Force. She worked tirelessly during the COVID pandemic to deliver supportive programming for graduate students, and also serves on the AAG Climate Committee, to name only a few contributions. It’s part of her commitment to hold the door open for the next generation of geographers.

“I’ve had to bust open doors myself in my career, but the point isn’t about busting open doors. The point is to hold the door open and create a pathway for success for the people who will come after us,” she says.

She brings the same esprit de corps to her research and publishing. “There’s no sense in scholarship unless it’s shared,” she says. “If I can learn something from my scholarship about the past, I feel obligated to share that, otherwise I take it with me. It happens in the moment, it happens in the present, but it’s always for the future.”

Living in Bodie, where only Park staff now live, gave DeLyser a strong sense of community, and a strong desire to give back to that community, something that has followed her throughout her career.

DeLyser is careful to appreciate and credit the communities she works with. Years later, as she launched a new research project about how neon signs have shaped the American landscape she recognized that there was a “neon community” or “communities” in the U.S., and, she says, “I wanted people to feel like they knew who I was and they welcomed my work, so it took me a long time to become part of that community, vested in being part of a community as ‘neon people.’” DeLyser says neon signs are “an incredibly overlooked part of the American landscape. People read the sign that says “OPEN” over the door that’s red and blue—they read that sign without even realizing that they’ve read it.” She wanted to bring those hidden signs and their hidden stories to light.

DeLyser had been introduced to the behind-the-scenes world of neon by her husband and longtime creative partner, Paul Greenstein, an expert in the history and repair of classic neon signs. Early in their relationship, she accompanied him to repair a sign over a restaurant, and the adventure sparked questions and conversations, which in turn led to more than a half dozen collaborations over the years. Greenstein and DeLyser have delved into the history and cultural significance of neon, antique cars, and Indian motorcycles. Their 2021 book Neon: A Light History  is the latest culmination of these collaborations.

DeLyser’s approach to research combines immersion in the topic, becoming embedded in the communities that hold deep knowledge about it. She sees her research across a spectrum of often deeply personal and committed hands-on experience and careful methodologies. “I had all the tools,” she recalls of her long relationship with Bodie. “I knew how to use a hammer and a Skilsaw, and I also I knew how to do an interview. I had a hammer in one hand and a notebook in my pocket.”

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On the Map

The Hills of San Francisco

Street hill gradient showing homes built on a slope with cars parked on the deeply slanted street.
Street hill gradient in San Francisco

Unlike the rest of California, San Francisco has a unique geography that shapes its weather and settlement patterns. The city is set on the tip of a peninsula halfway up the coast of northern California, surrounded by bodies of water on three of its sides: the Pacific Ocean, the Golden Gate strait, and the San Francisco Bay. The city is laid out over hills that stretch from coast to coast, reaching heights of nearly 1,000 feet, making the climate similar to coastal areas on the Mediterranean.

The hills of San Francisco define its topography and culture. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact number in the city, but many sources consider there to be more than 50 named hills. As Pulitzer Prize-winning San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen notes in his introduction to the Hills of San Francisco, no one can quite agree on which [hills]. Although it’s debated among locals, there are seven hills that are iconic to the city: Russian Hill, Nob Hill, Telegraph Hill, Twin Peaks, Mount Davidson, Mount Sutro, and Rincon Hill.

So, when is a hill a hill? Self-proclaimed San Francisco explorer Dave Schweisguth claims, “When it’s a lone mountain. That is, if you can walk all the way around it, always looking up to its summit. It’s not so clear cut when hills run together into a ridge, which most of San Francisco’s do. Height alone is not so important: a very small hill may be perfectly obvious, while a string of higher summits may be hard to tell one from the next. It’s easier to call a hill a hill if it’s separated from its neighbors — if, on a topographic map, a contour line or two traces all the way around its summit.”

The Range of Iconography

Originally named Blue Mountain for the wildflowers that cover the hillside, the city’s tallest hill was renamed Mt. Davidson at the urging of the Sierra Club in 1911, after George Davidson, the geographer who surveyed it. It is the focal point of San Francisco’s Mt. Davidson Park, with a forest that accounts for more than 30 of the park’s acres, quietly remaining an oasis in the most densely settled city in California. Defined by a 100-foot cross at its peak, Mount Davidson stands at an elevation of 928 feet. Urban hikers share that despite how small the overall area is, the trails aren’t consistently marked, which causes explorers to get lost in the woods.

Hikers also recommend Mount Sutro, located in central San Francisco, for its role in the city’s cultural and natural history. Its century-old trails are now preserved by the University of California, San Francisco, which guides the long-term restoration of the 61 acres and protects the ecological oasis in the heart of the urban environment, along with the citizen group Sutro Stewards. The city’s elevation and abundant summer fog contribute to the mountain’s microclimates and its plant and wildlife communities.

 

View of San Francisco from Twin Peaks showing the city skyline wrapping around several hills
Twin Peaks view in San Francisco. Credit: optionm, Getty Images

 

Originally called “Los Pechos de la Choca” (Breasts of the Maiden) by early Spanish settlers, Twin Peaks is a main landmark of San Francisco’s skyline, reaching elevations of 910 and 922 feet. Similar to Mt. Davidson and Mt. Sutro, Twin Peaks hosts a 64-acre park of coastal scrub and grassland communities that offer an idea of how San Francisco’s hills and peaks looked before development changed them forever.

Early in defining San Francisco’s history, Nob Hill, Russian Hill and Telegraph Hill continue to remain among the most popular neighborhoods to visit.

 

Aerial photo showing the curve of Lombard Street winding down the hill between homes
Lombard street in San Francisco Lockdown. Credit: Tiago Ignowski, Getty Images

 

Russian Hill’s name dates to 1847 when Russian sailors were buried on the hill during the gold rush in the 1800s. The burial sites are long since deeply covered, and it’s now only possible to admire a plaque at the site where the cemetery once stood. This is the same neighborhood home to the famous Lombard Street, that draws tourists from around the world due to its scenic switchbacks and postcard views. Because the slope in this area reaches 27° (51%), 8 hairpin bends were put in the 1300 feet between Hyde Street and Leavenworth Street to allow cars to drive down the street, ultimately creating one of the most winding streets in the world.

Russian Hill borders Nob Hill to the south, one of the city’s most upscale neighborhoods.  Originally called California Hill (after California Avenue, which runs right over it), Nob Hill got its name from the word “nabob” that originated from the Hindu word meaning a wealthy or powerful person. This affluent neighborhood was home to the Central Pacific Railroad tycoons known as the “Big Four,” who were among the first to build their mansions here.

 

View of Telegraph Hill from below showing buildings and homes rising up to the tower atop the hill.
View up to Telegraph Hill’s Coit Tower. Credit: slobo, Getty Images Signature

 

Telegraph Hill hosts Coit Tower, an iconic piece of architecture that resembles a fire hose and affords incredible views of the city; its walls are also home to historic artwork. Originally, the Tower was a windmill-like structure created in 1849 to signal ships entering the Golden Gate. Once the trek is completed, the summit provides a breathtaking panoramic view of the city with landmarks like the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the Transamerica Pyramid.

Whether you’re taking a leisurely stroll or hiking the steepest routes, you can recall the words of the iconic San Francisco journalist Herb Caen, who once said, “Take anything from us — our cable cars, our bridges, even our Bay — but leave us our hills.”

You can hit the trails with a guided tour or explore the city on your own. The SF Gate compiled a list of 11 hikes within the city limits that allow visitors and residents to get to know the landscape. An interactive map created by a UC Berkeley graduate student studying urban planning maps SF’s slopes and uses simple color coding to show where the flattest pockets of land are. If you’ll be attending AAG’s 2026 Annual Meeting in San Francisco, you’ll want to bring your walking shoes!

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