when we discuss climate change, the focus is often on how human activities are affecting the environment. but have we considered how the climate is affecting us? climate influences nearly every aspect of our lives — from what we wear and eat to how we feel and function. but could it also shape our cultural norms surrounding work, rest, and leisure — and even how we approach environmental conservation?

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mike barandiarán, a manager at the u.s. fish and wildlife vieques national wildlife refuge in puerto rico, believes it does. with a career spanning diverse climates and cultures, barandiarán has observed how geography and weather influence not only our perception of time but also our approach to preserving the natural world. he frames this contrast as the difference between “gringo time” and “island time.”

“gringo time” embodies the rigid, industrial expectations tied to american work culture. it’s a mindset rooted in punctuality, strict deadlines, and a highly structured approach to tasks. efficiency and productivity are paramount, driven by external pressures and a sense of urgency to succeed in a demanding capitalist system. as barandiarán notes, viequenses often use the term “gringo time” as a signal to “lock in” and get tasks done quickly when necessary.

on the other hand, “island time” reflects a more relaxed and fluid approach to work, common in puerto rico and the caribbean. here, tasks are completed with flexibility, guided by the belief that things will get done when they need to get done, rather than adhering to rigid schedules. this cultural understanding of time prioritizes balance over urgency, a rhythm shaped by the steady, tranquil climate of the island.

cultural norms clash, but resiliency efforts persevere

barandiarán’s work in vieques, a small island just eight miles off the coast of mainland puerto rico, has given him a front-row seat to these contrasting time cultures — and their implications for environmental conservation.

vieques is a natural treasure trove, home to crystalline waters, black sand beaches, and bioluminescent bays that glow under the night sky. yet, its idyllic present conceals a turbulent past. for decades, the u.s. navy used the island for military testing, sparking fierce protests and resistance from viequenses who fought tirelessly against the destruction of their homeland. the navy’s withdrawal in 2003 marked a turning point, but it left behind a legacy of undetonated bombs and chemical contaminants, posing ongoing risks to the island’s residents and its fragile ecosystems.

in the wake of the military retreat, conservation efforts began to restore the island to its original state. building on this foundation of resilience, barandiarán and his team have prioritized hiring local viequenses for conservation efforts: “when you hire local people, you know they’re going to stay. not many adapt to the rhythms of life here — not even people from san juan.”

the locals are intelligent, educated, and professionally equipped, but their work styles often clash with the rigid expectations of the u.s. federal government.

traditional practices intertwine with conservation

this disconnect became clear as barandiarán observed their fluid approach to punctuality and deadlines. it wasn’t laziness or a lack of preparedness, as some outsiders might assume, but a reflection of the caribbean rhythm of life.

“in the caribbean, people don’t live to work; they work to live. they’re not lazy — they simply don’t have the same need to work nonstop like in northern countries,” barandiarán said.

in the u.s., changing seasons create clear boundaries between work and rest. but in the caribbean, where seasons blur and the landscape remains perpetually lush, life moves to a different beat.

this cultural rhythm also shapes how viequenses interact with their environment. traditional practices like fishing and crabbing for “jueyes” (land crabs) are not just livelihoods but deeply ingrained traditions.

barandiarán and his team have integrated these practices into conservation efforts, allowing sustainable harvesting during designated seasons. “we’ve found a balance between conservation laws and the needs of the community,” he said. “it’s about cooperation and education, not imposition.”

however, challenges remain. the tight deadlines imposed by mainland funders often clashed with the viequense concept of time. for instance, assurances that work would be completed “ahorita” — or “right away” — marked a cultural divide. in vieques, “ahorita” doesn’t mean immediately, but rather “sometime soon,” a fluid timeframe that could stretch from now to an undetermined point in the future.

compounding these challenges is a deep-seated wariness of “gringos” and their demands, rooted in a history of outside intervention. the island’s residents, scarred by decades of military occupation and environmental exploitation, approach external expectations with suspicion. this cultural resistance, paired with the relaxed pace of “island time,” has added layers of complexity to conservation efforts.

“the concept of national parks is a european and anglo-saxon one,” barandiarán said. “in developed countries, parks don’t directly impact communities, but in developing countries, people depend on these resources for their livelihood.” in vieques, conservation must balance ecological preservation with the needs of those who call the island home.

discovering ways to cross the cultural divide

so, how do we bridge the gap between “gringo time” and “island time” in environmental conservation? barandiarán’s advice is simple: “patience, tolerance, communication.” these three elements are crucial for successful cross-cultural collaboration. by fostering open dialogue and mutual respect, it’s possible to navigate the nuances of differing work styles and time perceptions.

as conservation efforts worldwide become more interconnected—and as climate change reshapes our environment—adapting to diverse cultural norms is not just an asset, but a necessity. with shifting weather patterns potentially bringing more tropical conditions to parts of the u.s., we may even witness a gradual shift towards a more “island time” mindset in some regions.

ultimately, our climate shapes not only our environment but also our cultural identity, influencing everything from daily routines to our understanding of professionalism and deadlines. by acknowledging and embracing these differences, we can create a more harmonious and effective approach to conservation — one that values both ecological preservation and the well-being of the communities that depend on these resources.

it’s not about choosing one “time” over the other, but about finding a way to work together, respecting the diverse rhythms of life and work that each culture brings to the table. 

as barandiarán puts it, “you don’t have to agree on everything, but you have to respect each other’s perspectives. that’s how you find the middle ground.”