Charles Monroe-Kane

A Native American hero, the greatest athletes the world has ever known, is being celebrated by a new generation.

It’s been five years since the start of the pandemic. Some 1.2 million Americans died from COVID. But our loss is much more than death. Many of us are still left unmoored. Maybe our collective grief can bring us together.

Contemplating the infinite is a time-tested way to shrink the present down to size. But if you think about it for very long, infinity can really mess with your mind. There’s something fundamentally paradoxical about it, and beautiful.

We all feel better after a good cry. In fact, humans are the only animals who cry emotional tears. But what about people who don't cry? And have you ever wondered why a sad song or movie makes you cry?

2019 marked the "year of return" to Ghana. Now, scores of African-Americans are moving to Ghana permanently – giving up on the country of their birth.

At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, producer Charles Monroe-Kane made 300 yard signs that read "You're not ok. That's ok." He put them on his porch. Soon they were gone.

How can someone be a monster — a brutal dictator, a mass murderer, a serial killer — and up close seem like a decent, caring person? What happens when you find yourself liking someone who’s done terrible things?

Is hope something we’re innately born with, or something we can choose to have? We talk with people who tell us where they think hope lives in ourselves and our communities.

This hour we talk with people who’ve turned that around and made hope real, whether it’s through political activism, faith, music, or reading a life-changing novel.

Hope means believing there’s a future. But can hope co-exist with cataclysmic realities like climate change, or disruptive technological advances like artificial intelligence?

Maps reflect the time they were drawn for. How will the next generation of cartographers deal with challenges like a world being reshaped by climate change?

In countries all over the world, rates of loneliness are skyrocketing. How did it become a condition of modern life?

As our world gets more and more virtual, traditional skills like blacksmithing and woodworking are starting to look better and better to a lot of people.

You're not even out of bed and you're already worrying. So let's talk about it: How anxious we are, how we got that way, and what to do about it.

Teachers. Actors. Ancient rug weavers. Whisperers of forbidden poetry. The women of Afghanistan want you to know they are more than timid victims under a burqa.

Most Americans take their sovereignty for granted — the nation’s right to make its own laws and govern its own people. But for Native Americans, sovereignty is not some abstract idea. It’s an ongoing, daily struggle.

Ever want to quit your job and buy an old farmhouse, to live self-sufficiently on a few acres of your very own? The reality is much more complicated.

Be strong, be tough, don’t cry – boys are bombarded with messages about being a man and the “male code” their whole lives. It's second nature, and also toxic.

Every so often, a new literary movement coalesces. A new generation of writers finds a voice. This time they’re young, gifted, and Native American.

Modern anti-depressants have saved a lot of minds. And lives. But what have they done to our bodies? And how do we navigate that trade-off between body and mind?