There is a familiar response whenever the United Nations comes under criticism: without the UN, the world would be a more dangerous place. That is probably true. But it is not an answer to allegations of waste, misconduct or institutional failure…

Sea cucumbers are an often overlooked marine animal. They help vacuum and redistribute sand, protect coral reefs, recycle nutrients, and filter water. They also support the health of other organisms in the ecosystem, such as emperor shrimp, pearl fish, and especially coral reefs, as the cucumber contributes to reef health and fertilization. However, mass overfishing and the black market surrounding this integral creature have led to a shift in and out of water. The keystone species and their high demand in luxury food markets have introduced challenges for sustainable development, illegal trafficking, and international cooperation.

The United Nations is under attack. At least, that is how much of the current debate is presented. President Donald Trump's decision to withdraw American support from dozens of international organizations has prompted warnings that he is dismantling the international order the United States helped build in 1945…

Perhaps the most important question emerging from this year's United Nations debate over artificial intelligence is not whether AI needs rules. A remarkable number of governments now appear to accept that some form of international governance will be necessary.

This year, 128 heads of state mentioned artificial intelligence during their General Assembly speeches. According to the President of the General Assembly, AI was discussed by more delegations than either climate change or human rights….

The largest stories from this year's United Nations General Assembly were easy to identify. The relationship between the United States and China dominated one part of the coverage. Israel, Gaza and the wider Middle East dominated another. Russia's war in Ukraine remained a constant backdrop. Yet some of the week's most consequential diplomatic activity received far less attention…

Every September, the television version of the United Nations General Assembly is fairly predictable. Presidents and prime ministers take turns speaking from the green marble podium. Allies applaud one another, adversaries trade accusations, delegations occasionally walk out, and journalists search for the sentence most likely to make the evening news…

Sierra Bulk, a Boulder County delegate intern, was nominated to represent UNA-USA at the UN General Assembly High-Level Meeting on Nuclear Disarmament in New York City. In her article, she shares what she witnessed as more than 80 member states spoke, from Pacific island nations living with the legacy of nuclear testing to nuclear-armed states framing disarmament as a gradual process.

The United Nations Association of Boulder County is excited to announce that nominations are now open for the 2026 Human Rights Awards. Beginning in 1996, the awards have celebrated the people of Colorado who work to honor the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. 

September 29 is the International Day of Awareness of Food Loss and Waste—an opportunity to consider how the food we grow, buy, prepare, share, and sometimes discard connects to a much larger global system.

In a world where looking at the news feels like constant negativity, a positive story rarely reaches the headlines. Although it may feel surprising at times, people and organizations all over the world are working toward peace. 

Every fall, Boulder puts on its black and gold and comes home to itself. There are old friends, familiar streets, traditions carried forward, and the unmistakable feeling of returning to a place that remembers you. But around the world, home is becoming harder to hold onto. In Nepal, melting glaciers and increasingly dangerous floods are reshaping communities that have called the Himalayas home for generations. Here in Boulder, the Marshall Fire gave us our own glimpse of how quickly a place can change, and how long it can take to find a way back. This Homecoming, I’ve been thinking about what it means to protect not only the places we love, but the possibility of returning to them.

In the middle of Nicosia, the capital of Cyprus, streets suddenly end at barriers, buildings sit abandoned, and United Nations peacekeepers patrol a buffer zone dividing the city. Decades later, Cyprus still has no final political settlement, but it has avoided returning to widespread violence. This raises an important question: can a peacekeeping mission be considered successful if it keeps the peace without actually achieving peace?

Most advocacy starts with something you already have.

You care about something. You notice something that doesn’t sit right. You have an experience that changes how you see an issue. You see a gap between how something works and how it could work. Or you know someone whose experience has made that gap impossible to ignore.

Maybe you have a voice you’re willing to use, a connection you’re willing to share, or the persistent sense that surely we can do better than this.

For a long time, “advocate” was a fuzzy word to me. An advocate was someone who did something important or helped someone somehow. In corporate life, we “advocate for a position” or “advocate for an employee,” which usually meant making a case in a meeting and hoping PowerPoint would carry the day.

I didn’t think much about advocacy as a practice. Which is funny, because apparently I was already doing it.

Daryl Wallace argues that thorium molten-salt reactors and factory-built SMRs are different enough from conventional nuclear technology to require an entirely new regulatory framework, not just new permits under old rules. He contends their passive "safe-to-fail" design, waste-consuming fuel cycles, and standardized factory certification (unlike bespoke megaprojects such as Vogtle) address the core hazards nuclear law was built around — meltdown risk, waste accumulation, and one-off construction — making a purpose-built "Nuclear Age 2.0" licensing system both necessary and achievable.

There were blueberry muffins on paper napkins, juice boxes lined up in a row, and three children moving between wanting to sit close to me and wanting to find their friends. It was an ordinary school morning, the kind I know I will miss someday. And somewhere in the middle of it, surrounded by mothers and children, I began thinking about all the other ways a morning can begin. About mothers starting over after displacement, learning unfamiliar schools and unfamiliar streets. About mothers caring for children through illness, conflict, disaster, and loss. Our lives may look nothing alike, but the hope beneath them is remarkably familiar. We want our children to be safe. We want them to belong. We want someone to make room for them. I left Muffins with Mom thinking about how much of that hope depends on whether the rest of us are willing to make room, too.