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The birth of the Great Bear Rainforest : conservation science and environmental politics on British Columbia’s… Dempsey, Jessica Anne 2006

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THE BIRTH OF THE GREAT BEAR RAINFOREST: CONSERVATION SCIENCE AND ENVIRONMENTAL POLITICS ON BRITISH COLUMBIA'S CENTRAL AND NORTH COAST by JESSICA ANNE DEMPSEY B.Sc, The University of Victoria, 2002 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Geography) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA July 2006 © Jessica Anne Dempsey, 2006 11 Abstract This thesis examines the birth of the Great Bear Rainforest, a large tract of temperate rainforest located on British Columbia's central and north coasts. While the Great Bear Rainforest emerges through many intersecting forces, in this study I focus on the contributions of conservation science asking: how did conservation biology and related sciences help constitute a particular of place, a particular kind of forest, and a particular approach to biodiversity politics? In pursuit of these questions, I analyzed several scientific studies of this place completed in the 1990s and conducted interviews with people involved in the environmental politics of the Great Bear Rainforest. My research conclusions show that conservation science played an influential role in shaping the Great Bear Rainforest as a rare, endangered temperate rainforest in desperate need of protection, an identity that counters the entrenched industrial-state geographies found in British Columbia's forests. With the help of science studies theorists like Bruno Latour and Donna Haraway, I argue that these conservation studies are based upon purification epistemologies, where nature - in this case, the temperate rainforest - is separated out as an entity to be explained on its own and ultimately 'saved' through science. Further, I posit that the scientific practices surrounding the Great Bear Rainforest are steeped in what I call protected area fetishism, in that they tend to mistake protected areas as a fixed, objective 'thing-in-itself necessary for biodiversity conservation. The overemphasis on protected areas enacted by conservation science obfuscates past and present relations contributing to the on-going reduction of biodiversity loss on the coast of British Columbia and elsewhere. Table of Contents Abstract ii Table of Contents iii List of Figures iv Acknowledgements v Dedication vi Chapter 1. Introduction 1 Chapter 2. Scientific Seeds of the Great Bear Rainforest 33 Chapter 3. The Birth of the GBR 93 Chapter 4. Designing a Future for the Great Bear Rainforest 108 Chapter 5. The Politics of Nature 142 Works Cited 172 iv List of Figures Figure 1. Map of the Great Bear Rainforest 3 Figure 2. Tree Farm Licence and Timber Supply Areas Location Map 39 Figure 3. Original Global Distribution of Coastal Temperate Rainforests 57 Figure 4. Undeveloped Primary Watersheds Larger than 5,000 ha in the Coastal Temperate Rainforests of British Columbia 71 Figure 5. Map of CAD study area 121 Figure 6. CAD for the Central Coast of British Columbia 125 Figure 7. Map of April 4th, 2001 Agreements 149 Acknowledgements This thesis project is the result of intensive interlocution with many people, academic and otherwise. My supervisor Trevor Barnes enthusiastically reviewed many drafts, always with patience and candour. Gerry Pratt appraised the final draft under tight schedule, contributing helpful suggestions and encouraging words for the future. Junnie Cheung helped me negotiate through the administrative bureaucracy of the university. This project would be vastly different (not in a good way) without my almost daily phone conversations with my good friend and cohort Kevin Gould. In these calls we would discuss the latest threads and problems in our arguments and writing, helping each other make sense of our ideas and logic. Members of my writing group (Kevin, Caro, Sarah, Jo, Gina) engaged with a section of this thesis (chapter 4) providing critical and supportive comments and suggestions. Outside of UBC, I would like to thank Michael M'Gonigle who provided many opportunities for developing the ideas contained within, through discussions, writing, and by launching my now on-going work around the Convention on Biological Diversity. I would also like to extend my deepest appreciation of a former teacher, Pamela Moss, who inspired me to attend graduate school and to cultivate a critical geography mind. This thesis would not have been possible without the on-going friendship and intellectual companionship of James Rowe and Dr. Richard Buckner, who have contributed substantial theoretical and technical assistance over the past 8 years. Saving me from my total inept abilities on the graphic design front, my friends and stupendous artists Lori Joy Smith and Paul Lopes helped perfect the images contained within. Lori also provided critical childcare in the last few months, without which I might still be writing the Introduction. I would also like to thank those who gave of their time for interviews and generously gave copyright permission. I have the utmost respect and admiration for the environmental movement in British Columbia who have managed, against all odds, to make a real dent in the rapacious exploitation of BC's forests. And most importantly, Ryan Lucy provided the love, generousity and stability that allowed me to finish this thesis, despite its seemingly never-ending prognosis. For my bugs, little and big 1 Chapter 1. Introduction Nature for us is made, as both fiction and fact. If organisms are natural objects, it is crucial to remember that organisms are not born; they are made in world changing technoscientific practices by particular collective actors in particular times and places Donna Haraway 1992, 297 The ancient temperate rainforest of North America evolved on the British Columbia landscape some 10,000 to 12,000 years ago when a wall of glacial ice scraped the landscape clean and gouged out a labyrinth of deep-water fjords. From this chaos emerged a new ecological order, a unique combination of plants and animals that migrated in from much older ecosystems. There are species of lichen growing in today's rainforest that date back 70 million years Sierra Club of British Columbia 1999, 4 I can vaguely recall the first time I heard the name the "Great Bear Rainforest". It was about 1997. I was an undergraduate at the University of Victoria, becoming versed in the forest ecology and environmental politics of British Columbia. It was during a group presentation in an environmental studies course, with the information largely culled from the Sierra Club of British Columbia. The presentation introduced a budding campaign to protect the large swath of forest as some of the last temperate rainforest left in the world. The map of the Great Bear Rainforest (GBR) seemed to cover almost the entire British Columbian coast (Figure 1). The Great Bear Rainforest soon went from our classroom onto the world stage. In only a couple years, this once unheard of forest gained celebrity status. It attended international forestry conferences and did tours of both Europe and the United States. In 1999, the Great Bear Rainforest was named the year's most important environmental campaign by Time Magazine, winning out "over population growth, Florida's everglades, global warming [global warming!] and Panda Bear Conservation" (Raincoast Conservation Society 1999). The same year GBR environmentalists targeted Home Depot. Protests took place out front of this massive do-it-yourself chain all over North America, and tens of thousands of postcards went to the headquarters, asking Home Depot to stop selling wood from BC's Great Bear Rainforest. Eventually, some large forest product consumers stopped buying its wood. As Bill Dumont, chief forester at Western Forest Products remarked in response to these market campaigns over the GBR: "Customers don't want to buy their two-by-fours or their pulp with a protester attached to it. If we don't end it, they will buy their products elsewhere" (quoted in Riddell 2000). In 2003, it was announced that the GBR and one of its more famous inhabitants - the white Spirit Bear - are to star in a new Hollywood-produced animated movie, with a score by Keith Richardson from the Backstreet Boys. This is a forest whose day has come! Figure 1. Map of the Great Bear Rainforest (Rainforest Solutions Project undated) © Sierra Club of British Columbia, by permission. 4 Despite environmentalist claims that the Great Bear Rainforest is 10,000 years old, the Great Bear Rainforest did not always exist as an international space of concern, and much work went into making it so. The emergence of the Great Bear Rainforest is complicated, one that cannot be explained only through the standard heterosexual family metaphor. There is no clear father or mother in the GBR, but rather many actors - human and non-human - woven together and broken apart. It has a history marked with rain, salmon and bears, among many other species, including Homo sapiens who have lived in these forests for millennia. Over 5,0000mm (15 feet) of rain can fall on this place each year, creating a rich climate for large trees like cedar and hemlock to grow, and abundant mosses and foliage. However, the Great Bear Rainforest is not only a story of bears, rain and trees, although these are central. The history of the GBR also wraps around local and international environmentalists, maps, First Nations, strange couplings between new-age hippies and CEOs, conservation biology, corporate marketing, foundations, meetings, secret negotiations, grants and stunning photo albums. As the Haraway quote above attests, this place of nature, shrouded in the mist and mystery of ancient forest status, did not emerge from no-where - it was not solely created from the actions of nature (although the glacial gouging process described above by the Sierra Club is no 'social construction'), or the scheming of activists, although they too are intimately involved. In Haraway's (1997b) terms, the Great Bear Rainforest is a new material-semiotic body1; not a pre-existing nor immanent body, but 1 T o e luc idate, H a r a w a y (1997b) wri tes, "I w ish to t ranslate the ideo log ica l d i m e n s i o n s of 'facticty' and 'the organic ' into a c u m b e r s o m e entity ca l led a 'mater ia l -semiot ic actor ' . Th i s unwie ldy term is in tended to portray the object of know ledge a s an act ive, mean ing generat ing part of appara tus of bodi ly product ion without ever imply ing the immedia te p r e s e n c e of such objects , or, what is the s a m e thing, their f inal or 5 one whose "boundaries materialize^] in social interaction" (68). This is a place that, although natural in the typical wilderness sense of the world, was "made in world changing technoscientific practices by particular collective actors in particular times and places" (Haraway 1992, 297). Haraway's reference to "technoscientific practices" above is also crucial for my research project, as science is one of the most important and influential 'actors' for the GBR's life - particularly conservation biology and ecological science. From the beginning of their campaigns over this space, environmentalists have relied upon conservation biology techniques and studies to guide their work. As I see it, science, particularly conservation biology, has been central to the life of the GBR. Thus, although the Great Bear Rainforest is a result of many colliding forces as noted above, my primary interest is in how environmentalists enrolled a particular form of science to constitute the GBR, in tracing some "technoscientific practices by particular collective actors in particular times and places" (Haraway 1992, 297). While my thesis necessarily tracks through key events and stories in the GBR's life, it focuses on how scientific performances of conservation biology contributed to the formation and life of the GBR. I ask: how did conservation biology/ecological science help constitute a particular kind of place, a particular kind of forest, and a particular approach to biodiversity activism? What is politicised and/or taken for granted within conservation science and planning? What is left unexplored? unique determinat ion of wha t c a n count a s object ive know ledge at a part icular histor ical juncture. L ike ' poems ' , wh ich are s i tes of literary product ion whe re language too is an actor independent of intent ions and authors , bod ies a s object of know ledge are mater ia l -semiot ic genera t ive nodes . The i r boundaries mater ia l ize in soc ia l interact ion. Bounda r i es are d rawn by mapp ing projects; "objects" do not pre-exist a s s u c h . Ob jec ts a re boundary projects" (68). 6 As the above paragraph suggests, my specific interest in the GBR is entwined with a larger interest in the discipline of conservation biology and how it interacts with environmental politics. While my thesis project began as an exploration of the politics of the GBR, it morphed into an exploration of the scientific contributions to the GBR and in particular, the influence of conservation biology. Why this project? This project resulted from the collision of two interconnected lines of questioning and interests - my own questioning of the protected areas imperative in much biodiversity activism and a general interest in British Columbian environmental politics, particularly in the scale and scope of the conflict over the GBR. These are described in more detail below. Questioning protected areas This project germinated from my own participation in and observation of biodiversity conservation activism in western Canada and internationally (see below for a brief history and description of biodiversity and conservation biology). I believe biodiversity loss is an urgent socio-environmental issue requiring radical, transformative solutions. This research project is in solidarity with the thousands - no millions - of activists working to stop the spiralling decline of diversity on our planet. But this research also emerges from my own discomfort with the direction and strategies of many environmental organizations and movements. This discomfort has been brewing for several years, but became particularly heightened as I became involved with activist 7 work around the United Nations Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), where I collaborate with a large, informal network of civil society organizations advocating for improved international law and policy for biodiversity conservation. The CBD is one of the three Rio Conventions (alongside the infamous Climate Change Convention and the much lesser known Convention to Combat Desertification). Its' three objectives are the: the conservation of biological diversity, the sustainable use of its components, and the fair and equitable sharing of the benefits from the use of genetic resources.2 As these broad objectives indicate, the Convention has an enormous scope covering a wide range of biodiversity-related policies. At the last meeting I attended (the Eighth Conference of Parties, March 2006, Brazil)3 negotiations touched on the risks of genetically modified organisms, financial incentives, an international regime to prevent biopiracy4, marine and terrestrial protected areas, the communication and education strategies, and private sector engagement amongst many other issues. Many national and local organizations (both governmental and non) gather at meetings around the CBD, and with such a broad array of interests, projects, experiences, and actors it is an ideal place to identify international trends for biodiversity conservation. While in the initial stages of my research on the GBR, I also participated in the 7 t h Conference of Parties to the CBD in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (February 2004). At this meeting a "Protected Areas Programme of Work" was negotiated, which is essentially a road map to guide the global expansion of protected areas. Of course, as noted above, negotiations over many other aspects of biodiversity conservation also occurred. But of 2 S e e www.b iod iv .org for more information on the Conven t i on on B io log ica l Diversi ty. 3 T h e C o n f e r e n c e of the Par t ies is the official dec i s i on -mak ing body for the Conven t i on and it mee ts every two yea rs to eva lua te p rog ress on prev ious po l ic ies and to negot iate new ones . 4 B iop i racy is the appropr iat ion - genera l ly by m e a n s of patents, of i nd igenous b iomed ica l know ledge by foreign enti t ies without c o m p e n s a t o r y payment . 8 all the activists attending this meeting - I estimate that 75 % of those in attendance followed the protected area issue closely. This is especially the case for Northern organizations - large ones - with significant capital and influence. An enormous amount of resources focused on strengthening the protected area programme of work. Side event after side event, power-point after power-point flashed maps of biodiversity-rich and endangered spaces lacking protected areas and numbers/figures required to support the secure establishment and management of these areas.5 Even more resources were and still are dedicated to large non-governmental and international research programmes, often guided by conservation biology, identifying where protected areas are most needed. An exemplar and an influential program is Conservation International's (CI) biodiversity hotspot initiative. This programme focuses on identifying and securing protected areas within the most immediately important areas for conservation - the "biodiversity hotspots" 6 CI argues that the primary response to the biodiversity crisis must be the establishment and effective management of protected areas (Conservation International website) and is a powerful organization with numerous experts and plenty of capital at its' disposal. Given the broad mandate of the CBD, I was stunned by the sheer magnitude of scarce human and financial resources dedicated to the issue of protected areas, which is but one approach to halting the loss of biodiversity. In contrast, only two or three 5 1 recent ly returned f rom C O P 8 whe re aga in the f ocus on protected a r e a s w a s high, e v e n though the work p rog ramme w a s app roved two yea rs earl ier. G r e e n p e a c e re l eased m a p s of the last intact forests and ca l led for a g loba l network of protected a r e a s to s a v e them and a l s o re l eased a conserva t ion a r e a s des ign for a g loba l network of high s e a s mar ine protected a reas . T h e y es t imate that approx imate ly 25 -30 bill ion U S dol lars a re n e e d e d to s e c u r e and m a n a g e these g loba l protected a r e a s (Krug 2006 , 3). 6 T o qual i fy a s a hotspot, a region must meet two strict criteria: it mus t conta in at least 1,500 s p e c i e s of vascu la r plants (> 0.5 percent of the wor ld 's total) a s e n d e m i c s , and it h a s to have lost at least 70 percent of its or iginal habitat. h t tp : / /www.b iod ivers i tvhotspots .orq /xp /Hotspots /ho tspotsSc ience/hotspots def ined.xml 9 activists followed the issue of perverse incentives, an area of the CBD dedicated to exploring the influence of governmental and multilateral incentives and subsidies on the proliferation of biodiversity negative developments (i.e. agribusiness subsidies, oil and gas development). The overwhelming focus on protected areas is especially worrisome when the influences on biodiversity loss do not predominantly flow from a 'lack of protected areas'. The recent Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA) commissioned by the United Nations notes that the direct drivers of biodiversity loss, meaning they unequivocally influence ecosystem processes (Millennium Ecosystem Assessment 2005, 47), are habitat change, climate change, invasive species, overexploitation and pollutions. These result from what they call indirect drivers, which "operate more diffusely" but underlie the direct biodiversity drivers - these are the more intangible factors such as unsustainable consumption, prices, growth of markets, subsidies, incentives, trade, the legal regime, and so on. Biodiversity loss, they write, is "always caused by multiple, interacting drivers" (47), interacting "across spatial, temporal and organizational scales" (47). The MEA does cite the need for more protected areas, but they also focus on the need to address these indirect and direct drivers (12). They write: "For example, the sustainability of protected areas will be severely threatened by human-caused climate change. Similarly, the management of ecosystem services cannot be sustainable globally if the growth in consumption of services continues unabated" (12).7 7 Wi th in the M E A they list severa l important ac t ions to be taken to a d d r e s s these dr ivers s u c h a s el iminat ing subs id ies that promote the e x c e s s i v e u s e of e c o s y s t e m se rv i ces , intensi f icat ion of agr icul ture, s lowing c l imate c h a n g e , add ress ing unsus ta inab le consumpt ion , s lowing nutrient loading, and greater invo lvement of s takeho lde rs in e c o s y s t e m i s s u e s . 10 As noted, my own political work is aligned with many environmentalist and conservationist goals and I do believe that protected areas are necessary in some areas. But I am deeply concerned with the over-emphasis of many organizations on protected areas lobbying and the lack of attention paid to the actual causes of biodiversity loss (however diffuse and varied). My project focus emerged out of my own questioning around the prominence of protected areas. Why emphasize protected areas? Why this approach and not others? Will this approach lead to the conservation of biodiversity? What about obtaining broader social goals at the same time? In my discussions with various activists promoting protected areas (informally at the CBD and with colleagues and friends in BC), two interlinked explanations for the disproportionate emphasis on protected areas emerged. Firstly, I was told that protected areas are the only sure way to secure biodiversity conservation over the long term -"We always lose when trying to change practices" one British Columbian-based Greenpeace activist commented. In other words, protected areas are politically possible, whereas other approaches are less so. Second, and as most commonly argued by conservation biologists, protected areas are the most effective and "best" way to achieve immediate biodiversity conservation. A recent CBD publication argues that, "Protected areas - such as national parks and nature reserves - are universally recognized as a primary tool in biodiversity conservation strategies" (Dudley and Parish 2006, 2). This axiom stems from research in conservation biology and other related ecological sciences (a full discussion of the scientific rationales supporting protected areas is found in Chapter 2). 11 Great Bear Rainforest While I was first introduced to the GBR in 1997, it was in 2000 I became intrigued with the place. At that time I was working with the provincial government (in the dying days of the NDP reign) within the Ministry of Community Development, Cooperatives, and Volunteers. Some connected individuals shared some information about secretive negotiations between environmental groups and forest companies. In 2001 this unlikely pair, along with the Provincial government and some First Nations, publicly announced the creation of 1.5 million acres in protected areas and committed to participation in a multi-stakeholder land use planning process for the area. This was a huge departure from the 'war in the woods' - the high stakes conflict between environmental groups and forest companies/Province. As I entered graduate school in 2002 the GBR seemed ripe for analysis. Eventually (after many false starts and poorly focused interviews), my questioning around protected areas and my interest in the GBR came together to form this project. The focus on conservation biology grew out of my own interest in science studies, critical conservation studies, and preliminary investigations into the 'birth' of the GBR campaign. It seemed that conservation biology provided crucial (and often crucially unexamined) support for GBR activist strategies, strategies consuming so many scarce activist resources both in British Columbia and throughout the globe. In addition, I found few studies examining the relationship between conservation biology and conservation activism in BC or elsewhere (although see Forsyth (2003) for a general discussion of the relations between environmental science and environmental 12 politics, and Takacs (1996) for a good overview and examination of the concept of biodiversity and conservation politics). Although this project ended up being somewhat critical of conservation biology and of GBR activists, I also recognize the enormous constraints placed on political possibilities. Furthermore, I appreciate and respect the efforts and successes of the GBR activists. Political struggle must be strategic in order to succeed, and those strategies are never, ever ethically, morally or politically pure (Chaloupka 2003). I understand that sometimes to get anywhere, to change anything - even a little, you need to be able to "sacrifice trees to save the forest' (Chaloupka 2003, 67). In other words, being an effective political activist often means letting go of something in order to gain something. Political action is never perfect. That said, as political theorist James Rowe (2006) rightly notes, "the success of social movements is dependent on access to accurate analyses" (unpaginated) of our world. Such analyses must include critical reflection on the roads taken and not taken in political struggle, including addressing more abstract issues such as how conservation science constitutes and is constituted. As an ally and participant in the environmental community, my project is in a spirit of constructive critical reflection. I aspire to the critical approach of Donna Haraway and her modest witness, who is never outside or above the fray, "My modest witness cannot ever be simply oppositional. Rather, s/he is suspicious, implicated, knowing, ignorant, worried and hopeful" (1997a, 3). I too am "suspicious, implicated, knowing, ignorant, worried and hopeful" about biodiversity loss and conservation. I hope my work will be the beginning of dialogue about science, 13 conservation biology, conservation politics, and the Great Bear Rainforest, rather than a closure. Theoretical Influences While the above description orients my own politics and concerns in relation to this project, two main bodies of literature - science studies and critical conservation -have been extremely useful to my project. Science Studies Science studies is a large body of literature with varying perspectives. My own project relies upon the following concepts or approaches found within science studies. Science produces; it does not mirror the world For scholars like Timothy Mitchell (2002), Lorraine Daston (2000) and Donna Haraway (1997a), science and experts (re)create new objects and world-changing trajectories, they do not simply transcribe a pre-existing world. But too, these scholars find purely social constructionist perspectives problematic as scientific objects are not just fabricated out of nothing. These scholars, each in their own ways, try to escape from what Daston calls the metaphysical axiom between realism and constructionism, between discovery and invention, and fact and manufacture (4). On the one hand, realists see scientific objects as discoveries, "unexplored territory waiting to be mapped" (2). On the other hand, constructionists see scientific objects "as inventions forged in historical contexts and molded by local circumstances" (3). With this view, scientific objects are historical, but not 'real'; they are fabrications forged in "specific historical circumstances molded by local circumstances" (3). For Daston, sometime in the 18 t h Century "the distinction between what is and what is made became unavoidable, a metaphysical axiom" (4). Rather, Daston posits that reality is a 'matter of degree', and that phenomena such as the temperate rainforest become "more or less intensely real, depending on how densely they are woven into scientific thought and practice" (1). In tracing the histories of scientific objects, Daston argues that we can "confront the engrained opposition between the real and the historical" (5). From this science studies perspective, conservation biology does not transcribe the ways and needs of biodiversity, but rather produces biodiversity. Scientific studies of the coastal temperate rainforest do not passively describe or discover the forest or the needs of species within it, but contribute to actively re-creating it. In the words of Timothy Mitchell, these studies transform the forest, changing the space into an "object that had not previously existed" (5). Entities that cohere, such as the Great Bear Rainforest, are "capable of theoretical ramifications and empirical surprises" (Daston 2000, 5). Or as Haraway (1997a) writes, technoscience makes things - it is "world-building" (51); it is constitutive of "what counts for nature and as matters of fact" (50). For Haraway, what counts for nature and matters of fact are not neutral but power-ridden: The world-building alliances of humans and nonhumans in technoscience shape subjects and objects, subjectivity and objectivity, action and passion, inside and outside in ways that enfeeble other modes of speaking about science and technology. In short, technoscience is about worldly, materialized, signifying and significant power (51). 15 In other words, scientific objects produced are often themselves powerful forces for ordering worlds, worlds that are often sexist, racist, homophobic and environmentally destructive. The political importance of studying science stems from the often-troubling 'worlds' that technoscience contributes to.8 Haraway reminds us to remain focused on the machinations of power within science, which are often in promotion of particular class, race, gender and species interests. Drawing from these approaches, the discipline of conservation biology is a potent taxonomic device, not passively describing the needs of non-human species on the coast, but actually creating new objects and orders. Like the periodic table "semiotically and instrumentally puts terrans [the earth] in their proper place" (Haraway 1997a, 54), conservation biology and ecosystem sciences also reshape the coast, coastal actors, and power relations. For Haraway (1997a): "Biology is a political discourse, one in which we should engage at every level of the practice-technically, semiotically, morally, economically, institutionally" (105). And we must engage with biology, or indeed other sciences, in pursuit of critical political questions such as: what kind of altered place or world-changing trajectories does conservation biology contribute to? Bridging the divide The metaphysical axiom between things 'real' and things 'constructed' troubling Daston and others like Haraway and Mitchell is tightly entwined with an enforced division between nature and culture. As Daston (2000) writes, "the opposition between 8 S p e a k i n g in relat ion to high schoo l b io logy tex tbooks, E n g l e s a r g u e s that the texts build wor lds "in part icular w a y s genera l ly cons is ten t with commodi f i ca t ion , capi ta l accumu la t i on , the bureaucrat iza t ion of soc ie ty , the s t rengthen ing of p ro fess iona l a n d technocra t ic authority, the marg ina l iza t ion of peop le of co lor and w o m e n , and the privi leging of heterosexual i ty and the nuc lear family" (Eng les ci ted in H a r a w a y 1997a , 103). 16 nature and culture shadows that between the real and the constructed: nature stands in for the eternal, the inexorable, the universal; culture for the variable, the malleable, the particular" (3). My project is also inspired by Latour (1993) and Haraway's (1992) approach to the nature-culture boundary circumscribing Western epistemology. While these two theorists differ at times (see chapter five for a brief discussion of their political differences), both reject the separation of nature and culture present in many Western knowledge practices. In this project I draw heavily upon Latour's concept of purification as developed in We Have Never Been Modern (1993) and the Cave metaphor from his more recent book The Politics of Nature (2004). Purification is the process of dividing the complex and messy processes and objects (both human and non-human - what Latour calls hybrids) constituting our world into Nature and Culture. For Latour, the problem with a purifying epistemology is that it conceals networks of human - non-human hybrids, which in turn helps to create more complicated and dangerous hybrids. Without seeing how hybrids are constituted, 'we' are unable to limit their explosion and indeed contribute to potentially disastrous problems, environmental or otherwise. Haraway also rejects the facile separation of the world into Nature and Culture. For Haraway (1992), "the world has always been in the middle of things in unruly and practical conservation, full of action and structured by a startling array of actants and of networking and unequal collectives" (304). Despite its 'natural' status, a place like the Amazon Rainforest is "an irreducibly human/non-human collective entity" (311). The status of certain things as natural or nature are political categorizations, created through interactions and articulations among human and non-human actors; for Haraway, 17 "immense resources have been expended to stabilize and materialize nature, to police its/her boundaries" (296), with oft-troubling effects. In her essay The Promises of Monsters Haraway uses protected area imposition as an example of such a 'disappointing result' (296), as they "remain fatally troubled by the ineradicable mark of the founding expulsion of those who used to live there, not as innocents in a garden, but as people for whom the categories of nature and culture were not salient ones" (296). Epistemological Hope The best science studies theorists do not deny the critical role for science or believe that it is a complete folly or a 'social construction' per se. In her Situated Knowledge essay, Haraway (1997b) takes aim at western notions of objectivity, what she calls the 'god's eye' trick^ the ability of scientists to see "everything from nowhere" (58), to make claims of fact "the power to see" (57), while remaining invisible and unlocated. But she also takes aim at strong constructivists who reduce science and the objects of science "to ephemera of discursive production and social construction" (65). 'We', argues Haraway, lose too much by dismissing science - "it is not enough to show radical historical contingency and modes of construction for everything" (56) - rather we must 'insist on a better account of the world" (56), ones "not reducible to power moves and agonistic, high-status games of rhetoric or to a scientistic, positivist arrogance" (57). This project is inspired by the strong objectivity Haraway (1997b) calls situated knowledge, knowledge from somewhere, "always complex, contradictory" (63), knowledge relying less on a logic of 'discovery' (66) and more on "a power-charged social relation of 'conversation'" (66). Haraway also calls for a prioritization of 18 subjugated knowledges (still recognizing their impurity or lack of "innocence) "because in principle they are least likely to allow denial of the critical and interpretative core of all knowledge. They are knowledgeable of modes of denial through repression, forgetting and disappearing acts - ways of being nowhere while claiming to see comprehensively"(60). In her situated knowledge essay Haraway does not give any examples of what those practices or resulting 'account of the world' may look like, but her later book Modest Witness she describes a process developed in Demark that gestures towards what such a conversation, or what she calls 'technoscientific democracy' might look like (although certainly not perfect). In the 'consensus conference' model of citizen technology assessment pioneered in Denmark, ordinary citizens (selected for interest, not necessarily with professional expertise or an organized or commercial stake in the outcome) act as juries - hearing testimonies, cross-examining experts, deliberating amongst themselves about what direction to go in regarding the particular technology (i.e., genetically modified organisms). In the end, the citizen panel presents a report to the media and results are also disseminated through leaflets, local debates and videos. For Haraway (1997a), "The degree of scientific and technical literacy encouraged in ordinary people - as well as the degree of respect for citizen's considerations encouraged among technical and professional people - build into the consensus conference is stunning to anyone inhabiting the depleted democratic air of U.S. technoscience" (96). My research is inspired by the possibility of better kinds of knowledge - ones that might better facilitate transformative, systemic changes required in many parts of the world, including on the coast of BC. Although this project falls short of describing 19 alternative knowledge sources and processes to secure (always) contingent 'matters of fact' for BC's coastal forests, I do hope my project points to the potentials lurking beyond the current reliance on Western conservation biology methodologies. As Haraway (1997b) potently states, "Science has been Utopian and visionary from the start; that is one reason "we" need it" (61). 'We' must take up the challenge of pushing scientific limits so it is a contributor to social justice and environmental health, not a detractor. Critical Conservation My research project was also inspired by wide-ranging critiques of conservation, protected areas, and wilderness. Political ecologists such as Escobar (1995) and geographers such as Katz (1998) argue that protected areas are often new forms of enclosures restricting local and indigenous community rights to land and resources and "authorizing...a privatized rescripting of nature" (57). These claims are based on critical examinations of conservation projects (i.e., Peluso 1992, Neumann 1998), which find that local people, particularly the most marginalized or impoverished, often feel costs of protected areas most deeply. This work is propelled by concerns with the human costs of conservation, conservation that may provide global 'benefits' but with great local and inequitable costs. Connected to the above, but taking a different approach are researchers focused on de-naturalizing cultural representations of nature within conservation and wilderness (often underpinning exclusionary conservation). Cronon (1995) argues that 'wilderness' promotes the notion that humans are separate from nature and perpetuates a sort of 20 'empty land' or pristine nature myth. These myths are enmeshed within bourgeois and urban interests or as David Takacs (1996) argues, they are redolent in class privilege (42). As such, Cronon argues that wilderness fails to address environmental problems. For Cronon: "wilderness embodies a dualistic vision in which the human is entirely outside the natural...If this is so - if by definition wilderness leaves no place for human beings...then also by definition it can offer no solution to the environmental and other problems that confront us" (81). Another important influence for my research is Bruce Braun's 2002 Intemperate Rainforest, where he examines selected 'artefacts' of a heated environmental conflict over Clayoquot Sound on the west coast of British Columbia's Vancouver Island. Braun focuses on the discursive production of Clayoquot Sound and it's old-growth rainforests. Several of his chapters (especially chapter 3 and 6) focus on environmentalist representations, which, he argues, tend to marginalize First Nations people and their present-day struggles against on-going colonialism. Braun examines conceptions of nature found within ecological science, highlighting the holistic and self-regulating representations of the natural world woven into the discipline. These concepts and indeed the discipline were well-suited to wilderness politics because, as Braun argues, they both shared the notion of nature as external to culture, and by extension, the view that humans destroy the intricate, balanced self-regulated system. While my interest is less in how 'nature' in general is constituted through environmental science, my research engages with similar questions about how conservation biology constituted the Great Bear Rainforest in particular ways.9 9 B raun a l so f o c u s e s on how First Nat ions are const i tuted and located through w i l de rness pol i t ics, w h e r e a s my resea rch d o e s not ignore First Na t ions i s s u e s , I f ocus more on the quest ion of conserva t ion 21 A Brief History of Biodiversity and Conservation Biology As Tim Forsyth (2003) argues, environmental science cannot be separated from environmental politics. Despite some scientists' claims to objectivity and separation from environmental politics, the definition of environmental problems and the science developed to monitor and solve them co-evolved with particular approaches to environmental politics and indeed notions of nature and human-nature relations. Environmental science is constituted by environmental politics and vice versa. Such is the case with conservation biology, the concept of 'biodiversity' and conservation activism. All three of these entities are deeply enmeshed. The discipline of conservation biology, biodiversity conservation and indeed biodiversity cohered as entities in the 1980s amidst growing concern for the loss of species and biological processes on the Earth. Takacs (1996) lists four early forefathers of modern biodiversity conservation and conservation biology: Aldo Leopold, Charles Elton, Rachel Carson and David Erenfield, all of whom saw species diversity as a crucial foundation for human and planetary health. While the timeframe10 and motivation for conserving diversity varied between each of these scientists, in general their concern for diversity grew out of two interconnected arguments. First, they believed that all species matter and should not be eliminated; that each species has the right to exist. Second, they each believed that we need all species to survive, summarized well by biology and env i ronmenta l is t s t rategies. T h e pol i t ics sur round ing First Na t ions and env i ronmenta l is ts within the G B R c a m p a i g n is c o m p l e x and var ied - it wou ld require a P h D to itself. 1 0 T o give a s e n s e of the t iming, A l d o Leopo ld pub l i shed his sem ina l work A Sand County Almanac in 1949, C h a r l e s El ton pub l i shed The Ecology of Invasions by Animals and Plants in 1958, R a c h e l C a r s o n pub l i shed Silent Spring in 1962, and Dav id Ehren fe ld pub l ished Conserving Life on Earth in 1972 and The Arrogance of Humanism in 1978. 22 Leopold's maxim to 'tinker wisely': "To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering" (quoted in Takacs 1996, 13). Ehrenfeld was the most overly 'antihumanist' of the bunch and his work focused on the right of species to exist regardless of human 'use' or value. In the late 1980s, Ehrenfeld "was pivotal in launching conservation biology, a bold endeavour to marry science with nonhumanistic values" (34). Ehrenfeld became a founding editor of the international journal Conservation Biology in 1987. The discipline of conservation biology was intimately linked with the belief that diversity mattered; it set out practically to be the 'science' behind conserving biological diversity. The 1980s brought the formalization of Conservation Biology, "aimed to unite ecology and evolutionary biology with praxis to conserve biological diversity" (35).11 As the previous quote indicates, the discipline was not created out of thin air, but rather brought together many disciplines and professionals researching conservation issues such as ecology, evolutionary biology, forest science and geography. Conservation Biology is a 'mission oriented discipline', but as Takacs writes, their mission is "not just to document the deterioration of Earth's diversity but to develop and promote the tools that would reverse that deterioration" (35).12 In 1985, the Society of Conservation Biology formed, which is a professional organization dedicated to advancing the science and practice of conserving the Earth's biological diversity. Michael Soule was the first 1 1 M i c h a e l S o u l e and g raduate s tudent B r u c e W i l cox o rgan ized the "Fi rst International C o n f e r e n c e on Conse rva t i on B io logy" in 1978 in S a n D iego . In 1980 a compi la t ion of pape rs f rom the con fe rence w a s pub l ished (Sou le and W i l c o x 1980). 1 2 A s de f ined in W ik i ped ia (2006), "conserva t ion b io logy is the scient i f ic s tudy of the p h e n o m e n a that affect the ma in tenance , loss , and restorat ion of b io log ica l d ivers i ty . . .The c o n c e r n of this b ranch of b io logy is to help s a v e the diversi ty of life on Ear th through app l ied conserva t ion resea rch . In the rea lm of resea rch , b io logists s e e k creat ive and effect ive w a y s to a d d r e s s a w ide diversi ty of eco log ica l p rob lems, ranging f rom e n d a n g e r e d s p e c i e s to reg ional conserva t ion p lanning. " (h t tp : / /en.wik ipedia.org/wik i /Conservat ion biology) 23 President of the Society, which has grown to over 10,000 members worldwide. The Society publishes Conservation Biology, the pre-eminent journal for the discipline (as the website states, it is the most frequently cited conservation journal in the world). The journal first published in 1987, and as Society President Stanley Temple reflected, "The discipline of conservation biology defines the scope of the journal, but it is also true that the journal has played an influential role in defining conservation biology" (Conservation Biology website, undated). While scientists like Carson, Elton and Leopold drew attention to issues of diversity earlier in the century, issues of biological diversity became more "densely woven" into "scientific thought and practice" (Daston 2000, 1) with the coalescence of the discipline of conservation biology in the 1980s. Indeed conservation biology and biologists were and are constitutive to the problem of biological diversity loss. For Takacs, "conservation biologists have, in a sense, created "the biodiversity crisis", and the cataclysmic urgency they attribute to our current predicament preys on the fears and interests of the audiences they are luring" (113). Many of the same people involved with creating Conservation Biology were also involved in the emergence of the popular term "biodiversity" around the same time. Biodiversity emerges The term biodiversity emerged at a forum on biological diversity organized surprisingly by the conservative National Academy of Science (NAS) in the US (September 21-24, 1986). The term, which has now become standard language, emerged as "convenient shorthand" (Takacs 1996, 37) for biological diversity by the 24 organizing science officer for the conference, Walter Rosen. While some key scientists such as E.O. Wilson first opposed the use of biodiversity as 'too glitzy', the term stuck. Wilson now agrees that it was the "completely right" word that contributed to making a more popular buzz for the environmental problem with which many biologists were concerned (loss of biodiversity). The NAS conference ended up as a more a "consciousness-raising event and media spectacle" (39) than the 'objective' assessment of the problem of biodiversity loss the NAS wanted (Takacs 1996, 39). The conference became advocacy-oriented, as "biologists who loved biological diversity came out of the closet" (Takacs 1996, 38). A group of eminent biologists (Jared Diamond, Paul Ehrlich, Thomas Eisner, Evelyn Hutchinson, Ernst Mayr, Charles Michener, Harold Mooney, Peter Raven and E.O. Wilson) formed the Club of Earth and held a press conference on the problem of biodiversity loss (Takacs 1996, 39). As Takacs writes, "At one stroke, the biology and the focus of biodiversity was recognized as a concern of a large array of disciplines" (39). The term biodiversity and the mission to conserve biodiversity gained steam, and in 1992 an international convention, the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) was created. Under the CBD, biological diversity (biodiversity) "means the variability among living organisms from all sources including, inter alia, terrestrial, marine and other aquatic ecosystems and the ecological complexes of which they are part; this includes diversity within species, between species and of ecosystems" (Convention on Biological Diversity website). Definitions of biodiversity still vary, although Takacs (1996) found most conservation biologists define it fairly close to the spirit of the CBD definition 25 above, but with a more explicit scalar aspect in that biodiversity can be found at the ecosystem, community, species, and genetic levels, and is linked to the processes that create diversity (such as evolution). The popularization of biodiversity is more than just a word. It led to widespread changes to conservation activism. Takacs argues that the shift to biodiversity moved conservation from a single 'endangered' species approach, which often amounted to emergency conservation (often too late), towards proactive solutions. For Takacs (1996), biodiversity, by focusing on broader scales, particularly ecosystems, gave biologists what they 'really wanted' (66), the "preservation of habitat, of ecosystems, of relatively unspoiled territory where the pageant of evolution can continue to unfurl" (66). The concept allowed focus on both the charismatic species which often catalyze public support (like the disappearing Panda for example), but also shed light on all the less known (or unknown) diverse species and processes contributing to ecosystem health. One can see this shift within Canadian environmental politics as concerns for endangered species morphed into concerns for 'endangered spaces' through the 1989 World Wildlife Fund campaign (McNamee 2002). Critically, biodiversity and biodiversity conservation departed from the 'fuzzier' and less scientific argument of wilderness preservation used by environmentalists. As Cronon (1995) defines, wilderness "stands as the last remaining place where civilization, that all too human disease, has not fully infected the earth. It is an island in the polluted sea of urban-industrial modernity, the one place we can turn for escape from our own too-muchness" (69). Wilderness preservation is justified through many rationales, some of which could be diversity-related, while others could be spiritual or 26 educational. But differently, biodiversity conservation and biodiversity are considered scientific concepts and entities focused on the conservation of biological diversity on earth, not wilderness. This shift in focus towards biodiversity and away from wilderness legitimized conservation activist efforts as pursuits necessary for planetary health, not just romantic efforts to save the frontier. But as Takacs (1996) argues and as I will also hopefully demonstrate in this thesis, the concept of biodiversity, "while simultaneously appearing as a purely scientific, objective entity" (42), encompasses many of the biologists' "political and emotional arguments in defense of nature" (42). One of these 'political and emotional arguments' is wilderness protection, which by the early 1990s had received much criticism particularly from Southern activists for being "redolent of class privilege, culturally rooted, and ontologically precarious" (Takacs 1996, 42). 1 3 With its germination in the United States, the concept of biodiversity, and indeed, the creation of the crisis of biodiversity are deeply entwined within North American conceptions of nature and wilderness.14 In interviews with eminent conservation biologists about the meaning of biodiversity, Takacs found that many scientists conflate nature and biodiversity, but biodiversity is 'scientized', eradicating emotional ties to 'nature' and "adding objectivity and conservation goals to the discussion of nature" (80). But the desire for "untrammelled vast reaches" - wilderness - is "smuggled in under the biodiversity concept" (43). In a sense, biodiversity and conservation biology incorporated wilderness preservation, or the protection of 'pristine', untouched landscapes within strong scientific rationales for biodiversity. While biodiversity is not simply a new word for wilderness, 1 3 A l s o d i s c u s s e d in chapter 2, s e e a lso prev ious sec t ion on cri t ical conserva t ion . 1 4 Th i s connec t ion be tween conserva t ion b io logy and w i l de rness is d i s c u s s e d further in chap te r 2 and 5. 27 wilderness seems to be embedded within the concept of biodiversity and within the aims of conservation biology. The scientific seeds of the Great Bear Rainforest germinate within a changing discourse of biodiversity conservation and the evolving discipline of conservation biology. Thesis Methodology With such broad questions to explore and the circuitous route to my research focus, my research methods were necessarily also wide-ranging and organized a bit like a chaotic web search - one link lead to another, another to another. More research led to more materials and different people, sometimes in the right direction, other times not. Other times I forgot what I had already learned particularly upon returning from a year leave of absence. Much of the arguments worked their way out in the actual writing of the project. In general my research relied upon texts and interviews. Texts (such as the studies and campaign literature) were obtained through requests to environmental organizations and through my own attendance at environmental conferences. I attended the first inaugural World Temperate Rainforest Conference in Victoria, BC, in May 2003 that brought together 70 activists focused on the plight of the World's Temperate Rainforests. I was able to gather many materials and contacts at this event. I conducted eight interviews, most which were recorded, except in a couple circumstances where the participant preferred otherwise. In these cases, I took detailed notes. Between September - December 2003 I interviewed four representatives from 28 prominent environmental organizations in the GBR campaign. In November 2003 I interviewed one First Nations representative from the Oweekeno First Nation and community member from Bella Coola - a small town located within the GBR. In December I also interviewed a UBC professor involved in the GBR in December 2003. To follow up after a leave of absence, in February 2006 I interviewed a member of a science team (the Coast Information Team) related to the GBR. I also communicated via email with several interviewees to ask follow-up questions and obtain clarifications. In addition to these interviews, in the fall of 2003 I also observed five days of the Central Coast Land Use Planning meetings in Nanaimo, BC (October 8, October 29, November 26-28). At these meetings 18 sector representatives (including forestry, labour, conservation, recreation, tourism, mining, communities, First Nations and local/provincial/federal governments) negotiated land use designations for the central coast region of the BC coast. At these meetings I listened to the negotiations, obtained documents and also spoke with sector representatives. Several of my interviews occurred around these meetings. It is also important to note that many of my contacts and knowledge also come from my own participation in biodiversity politics, both locally, and internationally. This tacit knowledge is crucial to both my methods (i.e., who I interviewed and documents I relied upon) and to my analysis. After conducting most of my interviews and attending the CCLRMP meetings I went on an extended maternity leave for 16 months (May 2004-October 2005). When I returned to the project and began writing my research up, it became increasingly clear that I simply had too much material for an MA thesis. I decided to focus on some 29 constitutive moments of the GBR between the late 1980s and 2001 and some key studies emerging around this time. However, because much of my interview material focused on the politics of the CCLRMP and the situation in the GBR in 2003 I relied more upon texts than the interviews. Although my research is substantial and grounded, many times in the writing of this thesis I experienced nagging insecurity and anxiety over the validity of my research. There were countless moments where I debated my interpretation of an event and constantly fought the need to do more research. In some cases I did end up picking up the phone or firing off an email, but in most cases I stopped myself. I had to remind myself that there are limits to this project and that it was impossible to cover every angle or to fully understand such a complex political space. For me, this insecurity comes from several places. First, this is my first large research project and it seemed my research was somewhat chaotic (although many people have told me this is totally normal) lacking direction and systematic methods, which left me with the constant suspicion that I was missing something critical. Second, the project focused on a topic and a movement with which I have strong affinities. This added to my anxiety over my analysis and conclusions; I was constantly re-evaluating them to ensure my conclusions were 'fair' and not simplistic. And lastly, the research and writing I admire and aspire to reflects the 'world' with subtlety, detail, and complexity. The world is not simple, and our research should not convey it as such. I entered into the project hoping to do the same, but found many times that it was extraordinarily difficult to research all angles of the Great Bear Rainforest and even more difficult to write about the complexity. I wanted to have broad 30 vision, to trace the many threads contributing to the GBR, but also trace the threads within the threads. I wanted to write myself into the project, to not produce yet another academic treatise on what everyone else is doing wrong. I found myself failing at every step! Thesis Summary The remaining thesis is divided into four chapters. Chapter two examines two scientific 'roots' of the Great Bear Rainforest - a 1992 study published by Ecotrust and Conservation International that creates and inventories the coastal temperate rainforests of the world and a 1991 gap analysis of British Columbia's coastal temperate rainforests by Keith Moore. These two studies, I argue, help produce a scientific counter-object, the 'endangered, rare BC temperate rainforest requiring protection'. This object is crucial for destabilizing (countering) sustained yield spatializations such as the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area and the 'exploitation axis' found in BC's political economy. However, this counter-object (and indeed the GBR) is problematically rooted in what I call protected area fetishism. This fetish with protected areas, like the commodity fetish, has the unfortunately side effect of concealing many relations constituting the entity the 'protected area'. Building on this scientific counter-object chapter three focuses on the becoming of the GBR in 1996. The GBR emerges as its own entity following the highly politicized and internationalized conflicts over the now commonly referred to 'endangered temperate rainforests' in Clayoquot Sound, located on the west coast of Vancouver Island. While many factors lead to the production of the GBR, the scientific seeds 31 discussed earlier make important contributions, first by classifying the space as a globally endangered entity, the 'temperate rainforest', and second by identifying the last remaining large, pristine watersheds of the central and north coast - watersheds that become the core of the GBR. These seeds come to fruition in the book The Great Bear Rainforest (McAllister et al. 1997), a vitally important campaign material for the GBR. By 1997 campaigns over the newly minted Great Bear Rainforest were in full force as environmentalists began creating an international profile for the area. This included a bold new campaign tactic known as the 'market campaign', where environmentalists attempted to persuade large consumers (i.e., Home Depot, Lowes) to stop buying GBR forest products because of its rare and endangered biodiversity. But at the same time environmental groups also commissioned a Conservation Areas Design (CAD) for a large portion of the GBR. In this chapter I examine the method and results of this CAD, which is meant to delimit the best, most biodiversity-effective protected area system according to conservation biology principles. The results of the CAD are a series of maps demarking necessary protected areas for a large portion of the GBR, creating a new geography that is then mobilized by environmentalists in their fight to protect the GBR. Drawing primarily on Bruno Latour (2005), I argue that the CAD method is steeped in Cave mentality, in that it attempts to purify out the truth of the natural world from the prison or Cave of the social world. With Latour, I argue this purification is impossible and further suggest that the CAD, while supposedly unencumbered with socio-economic interests, is (somewhat ironically) steeped within a particular political economy. Moreover, I argue that the salvation geography of the CAD, 32 steeped as it is in an assumed political economy and protected areas fetishism, contributes little to solving biodiversity and justice issues on the coast of BC. When I started this project I thought I would be able to write the story of the GBR from start to finish. This was an overly ambitious plan. I conclude the story of the GBR in chapter 5 by discussing the development and outcomes of a major agreement reached in the spring of 2001 by diverse stakeholders. This agreement was only one step towards a comprehensive plan for the region, but through it the GBR shifts from a rare, endangered temperate rainforest in need of protection to a rare protected temperate rainforest. In some way the agreement fulfilled many conservation hopes and dreams for the space as it protected nearly all of the pristine, primary watersheds left in the GBR, temporarily entrenching much of the CAD's salvation geography. In the second half of the final chapter I return to Bruno Latour's theorizing around environmental politics (what he calls political ecology) and science found in The Politics of Nature. Drawing upon critiques of Latour, particularly those who identify an unfortunate disavowal of power and interests in his work, I reflect upon some of the problematic exclusions in my own project, particularly in relation to First Nations. Given Latour's allergy to power and interests, it is Donna Haraway who provides a more useful approach to understanding how 'matters of fact' in environmental science, such as the protected area imperative, are stabilized. Inspired by Haraway's analysis of gene mapping where she traces the 'triple strands' contributing to what she calls 'gene fetishism', this thesis ends with an examination of four strands compounding 'protected area fetishism'. 33 Chapter 2. Scientific Seeds of the Great Bear Rainforest As the Haraway quote beginning the last chapter states, organisms are not born, but "made in world changing technoscientific practices by particular collective actors in particular times and places" (Haraway 1992, 297). In this chapter, I examine two technoscientific seeds that help constitute the not-yet-created Great Bear Rainforest. The first 'seed' is a study creating and assessing the 'global temperate rainforest', published by Ecotrust and Conservation International. The second 'seed' is an inventory of BC's coastal forests produced by Keith Moore and published by Ecotrust, Conservation International and Earthlife Canada. These two studies, I argue, produce what I call a "scientific counter-object" - the 'endangered, rare temperate rainforest of B C - which is a major stepping stone towards the creation of the Great Bear Rainforest. By scientific object I draw upon the notion of an object as elucidated by Lorraine Daston (2000). Like all objects, the 'endangered, rare temperate rainforest of BC' is real in the sense that it is 'stable' and 'hard to make go away'. But reality, for Daston (2000), is not a black and white affair; rather, reality is a matter of degree. Things become more or less real, "depending on how densely woven they are into scientific thought and practice" (1). Thus, the 'endangered, rare temperate rainforest' is both real (at times) and historical, emerging within specific circumstances. Thus, the temperate rainforest is transient (can grow and fade in its real-ness) but it can "be just as heavy with consequences for everyday experience" (3), perhaps "toppling governments" (3). The 'endangered, rare temperate rainforest' brought into being through these studies counters another set of objects found on the coast of BC, such as the Mid Coast 34 Timber Supply. These objects came into force in the mid 20 t h century under the logic of sustained yield forestry and grew in force through the entrenchment of a Fordist political-economy based on a triage of powers: corporations, the Provincial government, and labour unions. The scientific counter-object of the temperate rainforest is set in opposition to these objects (and will eventually destabilize them), hence, the term counter. However, this scientific counter-object is problematically rooted in what I call protected area fetishism. This fetishism is troubling in that it obfuscates the heterogeneous human and non-human relations constituting the entity 'protected area' and some of the driving relations behind 'biodiversity loss', such as broader political-economic relations behind the creation of the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area. These scientific seeds studies and counter-object are entwined with the emerging ideas of biodiversity conservation, sustainable development and the discipline of conservation biology. Thus this chapter also traces through some of the key concepts and approaches influencing these two studies. At the same time I also sketch out some basic trends in the BC environmental and political scene to give a fuller picture within which these studies and the soon-to-be-created GBR should be placed. While my primary goal in this chapter is to chronicle the scientific roots of a counter-object, known eventually as the Great Bear Rainforest, first we encounter the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area. From there, I provide some context for the 'scientific seeds' with a short description of the BC conservation scene in the late 1980s and early 1990s and the shifting discourse of conservation occurring about the same time. Finally I move into an analysis of the 'scientific seeds'. 35 The Mid Coast Timber Supply Area and other Objects The Mid Coast, North Coast and Kingcome Timber Supply Areas (TSAs) and an array of Timber Forest License Areas (TFLs) are the geographic foundations of the forest industry and the science of 'sustained yield' within the Central and North coast of BC. In this section I give a brief overview of their creation and character by situating them within the larger trends in BC forest policy history. Colonization and Dispossession While there are many ways to start this history, these objects had their beginnings with the onset of commercial exploitation of BC's coastal rainforests in the 1850s (Clapp et al. 2000, 20). In 1871, upon entering Confederation, the Province of BC "was bestowed with ownership of nearly all of the land and forests then owned by the Crown, and with the jurisdiction to deal in these resources" (Pearse 1976, 22). This bestowment relied upon on the colonization and incarceration of First Nations peoples on the coast, and elsewhere in BC (for an excellent history of the reserve system in BC see Harris 2002). Although some processing and trade accompanied this early exploitation, as Hayter (2000) writes, "large-scale exploitation of BC's forests had to wait for the arrival of transcontinental railroads, beginning with the CPR in 1886 and the opening of the Panana Canal in 1914, which allowed access to British as well as other European markets" (35). By 1913 forest products and processing had become the most important industries in the province, which increased with demand from export and domestic markets throughout the early 20 t h century (Hayter 2000). 36 This growing forest economy largely excluded (and has continued to largely exclude) First Nations coastal inhabitants.15 Natives were allocated reserves in the late 19 t h century on the coast of BC, but these reserves did not contain much in the way of forest resources - they were far too small for any sustainable resource economies (see Curran and M'Gonigle 1999; Parsons and Prest 2004; Harris 2002, 311-313).16 Despite the territorial claims of many coastal First Nations, the government claimed control over most public forests and after joining Confederation, "an evolving system of long term leases, short-term licences and long-term licences were introduced in return for rental income and royalties" (Hayter 2000, 48). Sustained Yield Forestry and Fordism Throughout most of the 20 t h century the Provincial government has not shown much concern with these injustices towards Aboriginal peoples, but by the 1940s the government did have rising concerns about the rapid liquidation of forests (Wilson 1987/88; Hayter 2000, 48). This concern lead to the Sloan Commission - an inquiry into forest policy in 1945, followed up with another in 1955, headed by Gordon Sloan, chief justice of the Court of Appeal of British Columbia. 1 5 Wh i l e there is s o m e ev idence that Abor ig ina l peop le cou ld at t imes benefit f rom t imber l i cences (i.e. at the turn of the century, hand logg ing w a s a major s o u r c e of i ncome for First Nat ions peop le in B C ) be tween 1904 and 1907 "a great t imber rush a l ienated more than 11.4 mil l ion a c r e s of the best forest land" (Roya l C o m m i s s i o n on Abor ig ina l P e o p l e s 1996, unpaginated) further limiting Abor ig ina l a c c e s s . Addi t ional ly , the gove rnmen t a l so s topped issu ing hand logg ing l i cences in 1907. W h i l e s o m e Abor ig ina l m e n p u r c h a s e d equ ipmen t to bid on sma l le r t imber s a l e s , the loss of the hand logg ing l i cence c a u s e d most m e n to look for work a s w a g e labourers . Howeve r , many Abor ig ina ls c a m e up aga ins t overt r ac i sm. "There is a good body of t imber in here," o n e ass is tan t district forester wrote in 1924 on the rejected appl icat ion of a Ha i s l a logger, "and w e do not want it a l ienated by any Indian reserve app l ica t ions (Roya l C o m m i s s i o n on Abor ig ina l P e o p l e s 1996, unpag inated) . 1 6 A letter f rom the Ch ie f and peop le at Kincol i th, a Nat ive reserve located end of Por t land Inlet, on 5 Oc tobe r 1884 reads : " W e know the Q u e e n d o e s not want us to d ie, you told us, and other have told us s h e is good , then w e [want] her to help us a s her ch i ldren and w e will be good too like her. The re is no t rees on our reserve and s o w e must go whe re they a r e . . . W e are not rich but w e want to l ive, do not let others take our fire and food f rom us" (cited in Harr is 2002 , 185). 37 It is within the Sloan Commissions that the Timber Supply Areas and Tree Forest Licences emerge. The Sloan commission laid the foundation for the rise of a corporate-dominated forest industry under the logic of sustained yield forestry. The Sloan Commissions also re-affirmed BC's forests as public assets, and approximately 95% of BC's forests are still owned by the Province today. The sustained yield goal, as Sloan noted in 1956, was to provide "a perpetual yield of wood of commercially useable quantity from regional areas in yearly or periodic quantities of equal or increasing volume" (cited in Hayter 2000, 48). The goal of sustained yield relied upon a particular geography, as the foundation for sustained yield is based upon delimiting discrete management units over large tracts of forestland, known currently as Tree Farm Licences and Timber Supply Areas (called Public Sustained Yield Units previously). TFLs, originally called Forest Management Licences, are long-term, secure area-based tenures granted to large private companies. TSAs, known originally as Public Working Circles, are areas managed by the Province upon which short-term volume-based licences would be granted. Writing in 1976, Peter Pearse found that 92 million acres -more than two-thirds the total forest land in the Province - had been incorporated into the sustained yield management units (32). The idea was that each of these geographic management units (the TSAs and TFLs) would provide perpetual (but also growing) trees through the use of controlled harvesting in amounts set by the Province to reach that goal. While the names and boundaries changed through the decades, the Mid Coast, North Coast and Kingcome Timber Supply Areas and an array of Timber Forest License (TFL) areas (i.e., 41, 25, 39, 45) emerged from this policy situation as geographic units 38 within which sustained yield corporate forestry would be enacted throughout the last half of the 20 t h century. Corporate is a necessary adjective because the Sloan commissions also set in place political economic relations commonly described as Fordist. Most generally, Fordism is a mode of production characterizing the post-World War II western economies based on mass production of (increasingly cheaper) goods for mass consumption, with (often unionized) labour organized into narrowly defined, well-paid jobs (Gertler 2000, 275). In BC, the Fordist forestry model came along with large-scale corporate tenures, mass commodity production, and a highly unionized workforce, "organized to export commodities to global industrial markets as efficiently as possible" (Hayter 2000, 100). Figure 2. Tree Farm Licence and Timber Supply Areas Location Map (Ministry of Forests undated) © Province of British Columbia, by permission. ^ B R I T I S H C O L U M B I A TREE FARM LICENCE (TFL) & TIMBER SUPPLY AREAS (TSA) LOCATION MAP Updated Mari-i 2005 TREE FARM LICENCES (TFL) New Skeena Forest Products Inc Canadian Forest Products Ltd West Fraser Mills Ltd. Western Forest Produds Inc Pope and Talbol Ltd . International Forest Products Limited Tembec Industries Inc. Weyerhaeuser Company Limited . Canadian Forest Products Ltd 2 Canada Inc . Pope and Talbot Lid . Western Forest Products Inc The Corporation ot the District ol Mission . Canadian Forest Products Ltd . Federated Cooperatives Limited . Weyerhaeuser Company Limited Canadian Forest Products Ltd International Forest Products Limited Weyerhaeuser Company U West Fraser Mills Ltd Tanizul Timber Lid . Scott Paper Limited Weyerhaeuser Company Limited . Intemaltonal Forest Products Limited Teal Cedar Products Ltd. TFL Forest Lid Canadian Fores) Products Lid . Riverside Fores! Products Lid. West Fraser Mills Ltd Dunkiey Lumber Ltd . International Forest Products Li Louisiana - Pacific Canada Ltd Revelstoke Community Fores! Corporation k Foresl Resources Lid LZZ! I. S S S a LZZ] 5. 6. a mm 10 M l 15 i — IS MM 19 1 1 23 25 as LZZI 30 H 33 EZ3 IS LZZ] 37 z n 38 i i S 41. a ! 42. 1ZZJ 43 — 44. Z Z J 45 L_J 4S. Z Z J 47 ; «a 4952. 'ma 53 LZZ) 54 ZZJ 55 mm SB i— 57. . 2 - xs TIMBER SUPPLY AREAS (TSA) CO A S T FOREST REGION Artowsmith TSA North Coast TSA Soo TSA Kingrarrie TSA Strathcona TSA Sunshine Coast TSA Queen Charlotte TSA Mid Coast TSA NORTHERN INTERIOR FOREST REGION Dawson Creek TSA KisptoxTSA Mackenzie TSA is TSA Mass TSA SOUTHERN INTERIOR FOREST REGION Fort Nelson TSA Cranberry TSA Cassiar TSA Prince George TSA Butkley TSA MonceTSA Fort St. John TSA Kalum TSA Wiliams Lake TSA Kootenay Lake TSA Kaml.jL.ps TSA Qkanaejan TSA Arow TSA Robson Valey TSA Boundary TSA Quesnet TSA 8 TSA Golden TSA 100 Mile House TSA Revelstoke TSA Cranbrook TSA Merrill TSA UHooel TSA ~~J Tntber Supply Areas Protected Areas ] | Nisga'a Lands * Ministry of Forests Regional Offices Major Highways 41 Corporate Tenure After Sloan's first report (1945), the province pursued aggressive resource development policies and gave out various forms of timber licenses, including the large, long term area based "TFL", to encourage capital investment in modern sawmills and pulp mills. "The award of harvesting rights to companies was tied to investment proposals, the larger the scale, the better" (Hayter 2000, 50). Sloan believed that "large firms with major investments would be committed to forest renewal and would have the capability to follow through [on long-term forest management]" (Hayter 2000, 49). But too, as with the logic of Fordism, large corporations and large-scale mills were seen as increasing the stability and efficiency of production (i.e., economies of scale). Some of these corporations were Canadian, but some of the companies with head-offices in Vancouver were often subsidiaries and subject to control from their 'mother ships' located in New York and Tokyo (Hayter 2000, 61). Mass Commodity Production The BC forest economy during the prime Fordist period (circa 1950-1975) was focused on commodity exports. During this period some growth in secondary manufacturing occurred, but in general exports focused on cheap commodities. For example, kraft pulp production grew 16% per year between 1950-1970 (Hayter 2000, 53). Production models aimed to minimize costs while maximizing "throughput", "in which speed and volume were the commonsense keys to increased productivity" (56). As such, timber harvesting increased dramatically under the logic of sustained yield, 42 from 22 million cubic metres in 1950 to 55 million in 1970, to 70 million in 1980 (Vyse 2001). Unionized Workforce Employment in the forest industry also exploded during this period along with "single-resource" communities such as Port Alberni. Much of this labour force was unionized, and many jobs were well paid. At one point BC forest labourers were among the highest-paid workers in North America (Hayter 2000, 58). The 'Exploitation Axis' As Hayter (2000) writes, the organizational preferences of Fordist 'thinking' set the path for BC's "forest economy to be dominated by Big Business that, in close alliance with the provincial government, emphasized the forest as a timber supply for mass production" (49). In general, what emerged is what Wilson (1987/88: 6) summarizes as an exploitation axis propped up by forest capital, forest labour, and the government forest bureaucracy. Other academics echo this sentiment (Howlett and Rayner 1995, 51-60) noting that the main constituents of the BC forest policy network are big business, government and labour, each based on their interests for profit maximization (industry), rent collection (government) and wage employment (labour). During Fordism forest communities grew in size and experienced rising incomes. However, those community economies were highly specialized, gendered and dependant on external control located with decision-makers in Vancouver, Victoria and often in foreign cities like New York. This specialization, reliance upon exports, and lack 43 of control left many of these communities vulnerable to changing markets. These arrangements "robbed the public of meaningful opportunities to scrutinize or participate in decisions on how the forests were being managed" (Wilson 1987/88, 23). Furthermore, while the Sloan commission may have set out to end the wholesale liquidation of BC's forests, one might characterize the shift less as 'sustained yield' and more as 'controlled liquidation' as harvesting actually increased during this period and regeneration efforts were minimal (Wilson 1987/88, 18). At the same time, very little, if any, regard was paid to the on-going colonial exclusion of Aboriginal peoples from their territories. Similar relations existed all over the Province, including within my particular region of interest - the central and north coast, known in forestry circles as Mid Coast, North Coast and Kingcome Timber Supply Areas (TSAs) and an array of Timber Forest License Areas (TFLs). On the whole, this part of the Province experienced much less investment in processing due to the inaccessibility of timber and the distance from markets. However, there were a few small sawmills up and down the coast with pulp and paper mills at Ocean Falls, Prince Rupert (2), and Kitimat. All three of these communities grew during this time. Corporate control of forest tenure became the norm in the region. TFL 25 was issued to Alaska Pine and Cellulose in 1958, TFL 39 went to MacMillan Bloedel in 1961 and TFL 41 went to Eurocan Pulp and Paper in 1966. Harvesting in the region also increased, for example, TFL 41 went from an Allowable Annual cut of 382 320 cubic metres in 1966 to 883 584 cubic metres in 1973 (Ministry of Forests 1999). 44 Fordism unravels...but the Mid-Coast Timber Supply Area remains The 'long-boom' of Fordist growth ended in the early 70s, beginning a period of booms and busts in BC's forest economy. Many factors contributed to this shift - a changing timber base (from old-growth to second growth), increased competition from other wood-exporting regions, new technologies for production, new tariffs from the United States, changing pricing and environmental regulations, and demands for change from both environmental sectors and Aboriginal peoples (see Hayter 2000 for a complete overview of this shift). Downturns in the forest industry resulted in massive job losses; between 1979-1981 approximately 20,000 people were laid off provincially (Hayter 2000, 264). While some jobs just became seasonal, or fluctuated with the market, others disappeared completely as the industry restructured. For example, with increased mechanization in the 80s and 90s resulted in few jobs for the amount of timber extracted. For example, in sawmilling and plywood production, 48% more timber is required to support a job in 1993 than in 1980 (Ostry 1999, 195). Another source (Burda et al. 1998, 48) found that between 1981-1991, 27,000 jobs were lost in the forest sector due mainly to capital investment in high technology automation. By the early 1970s the Ocean Falls pulp mill on the central coast was considered almost technologically obsolete. In 1980 the Ocean Falls mill closed down, causing most of the residents to leave. As of 1996 there were approximately only 150 people living in the community, down from a peak of 3900 (BC Archives website). During this time the forest industry re-organized production away from a Fordist mode of production towards what is known as 'flexible accumulation'. Flexible 45 accumulation differs from the rigidity of Fordism (in terms of labour contracts, machinery, production processes and geographies) as it is based on "a startling flexibility with respect to labour processes, labour markets, products and patterns of consumption" (Harvey quoted in Gertler 2000, 271). Despite these 'tough times', the BC forest industry was largely able to protect its core prerogatives throughout the 1980s. In fact, notwithstanding all these challenges, the forest harvest actually increased in the late 1980s to a peak of almost 80 million cubic metres in 1988. Indeed in 1989 the industry experienced peak levels of production and profit (Hayter 2000, 67). Forest industry profits have been variable over the years, but on the whole have remained well within the black (Hayter 2000, 78). The Allowable Annual Cut (AAC) decreased in the1990s, but still remains around 70 million cubic metres (Hayter 2000, 71). The fibre continued flowing, no matter what! In 1993, the Ministry of Forests (MoF) conducted a timber supply analysis for the Mid-Coast TSA, finding the timber supply in "imminent decline" (MoF 1993). They concluded that the long-term harvest should be about 37% lower. Critics of MoF management noted that logging within the mid-coast TSA in 1999 was 82 % greater than the sustainable harvest in the region (Marchak et al. 1999). In a recent assessment of the ecological health of the region, Robert Prescott-Allen concluded that despite the small percentage of conversion of forests, "ecosystem diversity is poorly maintained and protected" (Prescott-Allen 2004, 20). Even with industry restructuring the sustained yield management units - the TSAs and TFLs - and control over them have proven extremely resilient. The boundaries have remained mostly intact, and large forest companies still hold most of 46 the Allowable Annual Cut (AAC) in BC. In 1998, 17 companies controlled nearly 70 percent of the AAC (Marchak et al. 1999). Another study completed in 2000 found that 82% of British Columbia is under some form of commercial tenure (Global Forest Watch Canada 2000: 48). The legal regime surrounding BC forests, in particular the Forest Act, continues to privilege corporate access to BC's forests - in many ways, the forest industry is still synonymous with large corporations (Hayter 2000, 2003; Bridge and McManus 2000; Marchak 1983). Control over harvesting in the central and north coast TSA/TFLs has varied through time, but continues to be dominated by a few corporations. Clapp et al. (2000, 21) found that three companies controlled most of the timber supply in the central coast area, which encompasses TFL 25 and 39 and the Mid-Coast TSA. However, approximately 95 % percent of the timber harvested is processed elsewhere (Clapp 2004). Most of those employed in logging are also non-locals. In 2000, one reporter found that of 1800 loggers employed in the region, only 7 % actually live in the region where unemployment, particularly amongst Aboriginal peoples, is very high. Clapp et al. (2000) note that unemployment in Aboriginal communities on the coast often goes as high as 80 %. A recent report covering the central and north coast notes that "A relatively small proportion of the benefits from developing the region's natural resources flow to First Nations and local communities. Overall, unemployment is high and economic opportunities are few" (Prescott-Allen 2004, 4). The resilience of political-economic relations during this volatile period reflects the strength of the 'exploitation axis' and government dependence on the high-throughput, growth economy facilitated by large corporate extraction. Commentators 47 such as Marchak (1995) and Hay (1994) have called BC government a 'captured state' "so dependent on forest-related income" that it is difficult to initiate change in the status quo (cited in Shaw forthcoming). A group of BC forest policy scholars have the following to say about the influence of the forest industry on government policies and the difficulty of changing it: The structural power of forest companies in the province is a large part of the foundation of the liquidation-conversion juggernaut. In turn, the powerful inertia of the policy path established at much earlier stage of provincial forest policy history promotes continued industry power. In general terms, the entire development coalition - forest companies, their workers, those workers' communities, and the state - all have a strong vested interest in the continuation of tenure, pricing and harvest control policies put in place to guide and facilitate the liquidation-conversion project. (Cashore et al. 2001: 248-249). While some aspects of Fordism began to crumble with the move towards flexible accumulation strategies, others remained strongly entrenched in the late 1980s and early 1990s. In particular, the geographic basis of the sustained yield project such as the Mid Coast TSA, corporate control over those geographic units, and the high-throughput harvest of timber within these spaces remained mostly intact. M'Gonigle and Dempsey (2003) have characterized this type of system as "entrenched unsustainabilty" (109), referring to the "centralized, high throughput, linear resource flow" (109) from marginal places (territories) like the central and north coast of BC to 'centres' of consumption usually the urban 'North' (see also M'Gonigle 2002). They are expressly linear flows as little of the wealth generated from those resources finds its way back to the people and place it came from. The Mid Coast Timber Supply Area has effects; it is, in Haraway's words, 'world-building' (or destroying, some might argue). As the next 48 section details, BC's environmental movement grew dramatically during the 1980s and 1990s in opposition to these effects. Setting the Provincial Conservation Scene: 1980s and early 90s As the forest industry went through cycles of booms and busts during the 1980s, the conservation movement in BC only boomed. For Wilson, by this time "The movement had put down roots in communities across the province and was regularly demonstrating its diversity, resilience, and resourcefulness" (Wilson 1998, 258). While protected area increases between 1981 and 1986 and 1986 and 1991 were nominal, from 4.81 % to 5.06% to 5.63% of the Provincial landbase (Wilson 1998, 184), the movement set the wheels in motion for more substantial changes in the 1990s -including the creation of my thesis subject - Great Bear Rainforest. Conflicts over British Columbia's forests during this time are often characterized as valley-by-valley or area-specific (Stanbury 2000, Wilson 1998) in that environmentalists championed the cause of various geographically dispersed valleys slated for logging such as the Carmanah, Walbran, Khutzeymateen, Tsitika, and Stein. These conflicts largely remained at the Provincial or Canadian scale (in that they did not garner significant international attention17) and the campaigns focused on raising public awareness of the valleys throughout Canada in hope of swaying government positions. As Wilson writes, "the sophistication of the movement's arguments and its ability to mobilize resources had also increased" (215) in the 1980s, with "compelling public relations initiatives and assembling extensive and potent alliances" (215). Furthermore, 1 7 A l though there w a s s o m e effort to ra ise internat ional attention; for e x a m p l e in the c a s e of the Khu t zeyma teen , P r ince Phi l l ip - the D u k e of Ed inburgh e n d o r s e d the c a m p a i g n . 49 many campaigns were buttressed with both scientific and economic research -providing sophisticated arguments for the ecological value of these valleys opposed to the faulty economics rationalizing their logging. Many of these campaigns resulted in some form of protection. For example, a new national park emerged on Moresby Island in 1986, a provincial park in the Carmanah in 1990. Probably the most potent allies for environmentalists were First Nations who also opposed status quo logging in their territories. In the Stein conflict, the Lytton band declared the valley their territory in 1987 and stated their desire to maintain it as wilderness (Wilson 1998, 229). Environmentalists and the Nuu-chah-nulth worked closely to protect Meares Island in Clayoquot Sound in the 1980s and the Haida were critical in protecting South Morsby. Aboriginal influence in resource and environmental issues took a huge leap forward in 1990 with the Sparrow ruling by the Supreme Court of Canada, which established clearly that Aboriginal rights (in this case, the right to fish) had not been extinguished. By the start of the 90s, the Province had joined with the Federal government to negotiate land claims in hope of settling Aboriginal rights and title once and for all. Conservation successes, although at this point quite small, galvanized forest industry workers, unions and industry supporters. By the end of the 1980s, the clash between environmentalists and the forest industry (unions, companies, etc.) had developing into the 'war in the woods' (Barnes and Hayter 1997). Workers and unions imposed counter blockades. For example, workers from Port Alberni prevented visitors from accessing the Carmanah Valley in 1990 (Wilson 1998, 233). Worker and union anger mainly revolved around the loss of employment in the decade prior. But while 50 employment in the industry declined in the decade due to several factors, environmental protection appears to be a minimal influence. On the governmental side, the environmental battles of the 1980s and early 1990s took place underneath a right wing, largely anti-environmental Social Credit party adamantly against the increase of single - use wilderness parks.1 8 Wilson (1998) argues that the inability of the Social Credit party to deal with the "War in the Woods" helped elect the NDP in 1991 under Mike Harcourt, who was considered by many to be an environmental-leaning leader. Shifting Discourse of Conservation Amidst the growing intensity of the 'war in the woods', a major shift in conservation discourse was also underfoot, particularly with the rise of conservation biology and biodiversity. In 1987 the famed Brundtland report came out spreading the gospel of Sustainable Development, defined as 'development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs'. Our Common Future, the report of the World Commission on Environment and Development19 - known commonly as the Brundtland Report (Gro Harlem Brundtland was the Commissions chairman) - examined critical environment and development 1 8 Although Wilson notes that by the end of their term there were signs that "the cabinet was beginning to lose confidence in the MOF-centred version of planning" (Wilson 1998, 237), influenced by then-Premier Vander Zalm's visit to Tofino and viewing of the "Infamous black hole clearcut" and other remains of logging practices in Clayoquot Sound. 1 9 The Commission was convened by the United Nations in response to a request from the General Assembly in 1983. 51 problems and proposed solutions to those problems; solutions meant to achieve sustainable development. In the chapter 'Species and Ecosystems: Resources for Development', the Brundtland Report draws from the early works of Conservation Biology. In particular it drew upon the Proceedings of the 1986 National Academy of Science (NAS) workshop on biodiversity and Michael Soule's (1986) important edited collection Conservation Biology: Science of Scarcity and Diversity. With its publication just one year after the NAS workshop (where biodiversity was first used), Our Common Future contains scant reference to biodiversity, but it does highlight declining diversity as a global problem, stating that "all species should be safeguarded to the extent that it is technically, economic, and politically feasible" (Brundtland 1987, 150). In response to the biodiversity crisis, the Brundtland report highlights a number of 'solutions', including trade, tax and tenure reforms (150) but also focuses on the need for "well-designed ecosystem conservation" (150). It notes that while protected areas have expanded, "a great deal more needs to be done; a consensus professional opinion suggests that the total expanse of protected areas needs to be at least tripled if it is to constitute a representative sample of the Earth's ecosystems" (165). The Commission called on national governments to "complete a network of strictly protected areas...[and] recommended that this network represent each of the earth's major ecosystems as part of its overall commitment to protecting diversity of species and ecosystems" (McNamee 2002, 52). This call to triple the protected area base worldwide, which at the time (1987) stood at around 4 % of the total landbase, spawned the famous 12 % target used by 52 conservationists throughout the world in their calls for protected area expansion. But the latter recommendation by Brundtland to represent the earth's major ecosystems within "well-designed" protected areas was of critical importance. It told governments and conservationists that increased protected areas were not enough, that those protected areas needed to cover all types of ecosystems. In other words, protected area systems must not just encompass 12% of the landbase with random bits of land here and there, but those protected areas need to be chosen carefully (well-designed) so as to be representative of all ecosystems. Although it was only a small sentence in a big report, it popularized a new approach to conservation and also ushered the science of conservation biology and biodiversity onto the world stage.2 0 Of course BC conservationists used arguments of species and diversity protection prior to the publication of the Brundtland report, but the approach to conservation areas was more ad-hoc (mostly in response to logging plans), highlighting the need for the protection of 'wilderness' from industrial forestry advances. The need for a well-designed system of protected areas representing the diversity of ecosystems (not just species, wildlife or most generally, wilderness) was different and catalyzed new campaigns and approaches. The Brundtland report soon entered into the BC environmental scene. For Wilson (1998), Ripples from the Brundtland Commission touched most corners of BC society. Politicians, industry leaders, and interest group spokespersons recalibrated their vocabularies; colleges and universities revised curricula and established centres for the study of sustainable development; academics organized conferences and 2 0 However , it mus t be noted that Brundt land report p icked select ive ly f rom the burgeon ing d i scou rse on biodiversi ty and conserva t ion biology. T h e 1 2 % solut ion w a s eventual ly cr i t iqued by conserva t ion bio logists l ike S o u l e and S a n j a y a n (1998) for being a polit ically mot ivated target that wou ld not necessar i l y lead to biodiversi ty conserva t ion . 53 retooled their research grant applications; people across the province examined the impacts of their day-to-day activities (244). By the turn of the decade notions of biodiversity and ecological representation began appearing in BC as conservationists began to emphasize both the 12% and ecological representation goals (Wilson 1998, 240). In 1988, the Valhalla Wilderness Society (VWS) released British Columbia's Endangered Wilderness: A Proposal for an adequate system of protected lands. This proposal contained a comprehensive British Columbian protected area strategy achieving the 12% target while also representing all the ecoregions in the Province.21 Around this same time conservation advocates in BC began to emphasize linkages with the conservation biology (Wilson 1998, 259) and also actively started to draw upon biodiversity arguments. For Wilson (1998), the movement "bolstered its tried and true pitch for wilderness with new arguments capitalizing on the scientific cachet of biodiversity" (259). The ascendancy of the biodiversity, as Wilson (1998) argues, "highlighted new values that could be protected only through significantly altered forest practices and the preservation of large expanses of forest wilderness" (259). These concepts made their way into places as unlikely as the BC Ministry of Forests (MoF) who in 1989 developed an old-growth management strategy. According to Wilson (1998), "They [MoF] also sent out signals suggesting that regional and district staff should be learning about biodiversity, the maintenance of old-growth attributes, 2 1 Eco reg ions , "an a r e a with major phys iograph ic and minor macroc l imat ic or o c e a n o g r a p h i c var iat ion, def ined at the reg ional level " (Demarch i 1996) we re adop ted by the Wildl i fe B r a n c h of the Ministry of Env i ronment , L a n d s and P a r k s in 1985 a s a w a y to c lass i fy B C ' s terrestr ial and mar ine e c o s y s t e m diversi ty into d iscre te geograph ica l units (Demarch i 1996). T h e first eco reg iona l m a p of B C w a s p repared in 1988 by D e m a r c h i (1988), and s ince then it has been rev ised 3 t imes a s new information is ga thered . E c o r e g i o n s are not def ined b a s e d on biodiversi ty cr i ter ia, but rather gather together landforms and c l imate charac ter is t ics that tend to suppor t s imi lar t ypes of s p e c i e s . The re are current ly 30 e c o r e g i o n s in B C . 54 and related matters" (253). In 1992, the provincial government initiated a co-operative biodiversity program that included the Ministry of Forests, the Ministry of Environment, Lands, and Parks, and others (Ministry of Forests and Range website). By 1993, titles such as Guidelines for Maintaining Biodiversity During Juvenile Spacing appear in the Provincial documents catalogue (Park and McCulloch 1993), co-published by the Ministry of Forests and Ministry of Environment, Lands and Parks to help forest managers and workers incorporate biodiversity considerations into juvenile spacing (planting) contracts. In other areas of the government, BC Parks developed policy in 1988 stating explicit recreation and conservation goals for the Provincial Parks, drawing upon the language of ecological representation (Wilson 1998, 256). In 1994 the Wildlife Branch of the Ministry of Environment, Lands and Parks released their Wildlife Strategy to 2001 with an "increasing emphasis on biodiversity" (Ministry of Environment, Lands, and Parks 1994). The Scientific Seeds of the Great Bear Rainforest The scientific seeds of the GBR germinated in the early 90s within this changing discourse of sustainable development, ecological representation and biodiversity conservation. Here I focus on two such seeds - a 1991 study by biologist Keith Moore titled An Inventory of Watersheds in the Coastal Temperate Forests of British Columbia and a study published by Ecotrust and Conservation International (CI) titled Coastal Temperate Rainforests: Ecological Characteristics, Status and Distribution Worldwide. The former focuses on the status of the coastal rainforests of BC in terms of levels of development in primary watersheds, while the latter looks globally - providing "a 55 preliminary assessment of the global distribution, ecological characteristics, and conservation status of coastal temperate rainforests, with special emphasis on North America" (Ecotrust and Conservation International 1992, 1). The two studies are intimately linked. The Moore study examining the status of BC's coastal forests was initiated to contribute to the larger global assessment being conducted by Ecotrust/CI. Both studies were commissioned by environmental organizations, draw upon the philosophical and methodological foundations of conservation biology and are critical scientific stepping-stones towards creating the Great Bear Rainforest. To help think through what these studies 'are' and what they 'do' I draw upon Lorraine Daston's concept of a 'scientific object'. As Daston (2000) describes in the Biographies of Scientific Objects, an object is something commonly thought of as 'solid, obvious, in the way" (2), something you can hold or stub your toe on. For Daston, scientific objects are real in the sense of being 'solid' and 'hard to make go away' with effects (like a hurt toe or a toppled government), but they also have histories, becoming more or less real "depending on how densely woven they are into scientific thought and practice" (1). These two studies, I argue, produce a "scientific counter-object" - the endangered, rare temperate rainforest of BC, which is a major stepping-stone towards the creation of the Great Bear Rainforest. This forest is a scientific counter-object because it counters the sustained yield spatializations of the state and industry such as the Timber Supply Area (TSA) and the Tree Forest Licence (TFL) as described above. I will return to this idea later in the chapter, but first I would like to describe the two studies. 56 Creating the Coastal Temperate Rainforest Ecotrust and Conservation International (CI) are environmental non-governmental organizations based in the US (Ecotrust in Oregon, CI in Washington).22 In 1992 the two groups jointly released the findings of their global assessment of coastal temperate rainforests in a report titled Coastal Temperate Rainforests: Ecological Characteristics, Status and Distribution Worldwide. While many coastal forests had been classified as distinct ecological zones, perhaps even as 'rainforests', the global temperate rainforest did not exist prior to the early 90s as a consolidated entity.23 The 1992 Ecotrust global assessment is the first to publicly propose a global temperate rainforest biome: This paper proposes a new biome, a subdivision of the previously acknowledged temperate forest type, the coastal temperate rain forest. Common ecological characteristics, beyond species composition or forest structure, form the basis for the classification...The decision to formally define this forest type grew out of an interest in placing the distribution and status of coastal temperate rain forests in a global context. Like the tropical rainforests which have rightly received so much attention, these forests are an important part of our global heritage (1). The Ecotrust study provides a provisional definition for these forests, at the same time giving generalized characteristics to forests that span several continents -including those on the BC coast. Temperate rainforests, Cl/Ecotrust propose, are those "areas between 32 and 60 degrees latitude, with the presence of vegetation...[and] at least 2000 mm of annual rainfall" (2). They add two geographical features common to 2 2 Ecot rus t now cha rac te r i zes its work a s bui lding S a l m o n Nat ion - S a l m o n Nat ion be ing the coas ta l tempera te ra inforests of North A m e r i c a , creat ing a p lace whe re e c o n o m i c , eco log i ca l and soc ia l cond i t ions are improving, whe re a conserva t ion e c o n o m y is emerg ing , ht tp: / /www.ecotrust .org/about/ C l ' s m iss ion is m u c h more f ocused : "Ou r m iss ion is to c o n s e r v e the Ear th 's l iving her i tage, our g lobal biodiversi ty, and to demons t ra te that h u m a n soc ie t ies are ab le to l ive harmon ious ly with nature" h t tp : / /www.conserva t ion .o rg /xp /CIWEB/about / 2 3 T h e s e coas ta l forest b i omes have been recogn ized throughout the wor ld before the ear ly 90s , s o m e even us ing the term rainforest. T h e s ign i f i cance here is the creat ion of a g lobal ly recogn izab le , c r o s s -cont inenta l c o m p a r a b l e entity, one known popular ly. 57 the temperate rainforests, including, (1) proximity to oceans, and (2) the presence of mountains, which together create high rainfall patterns. As per Daston (2000), we see phenomena that "were scattered amalgamate into a coherent category" (6) with tight boundaries and exclusions. In addition, Ecotrust/CI emphasize the biological diversity of temperate rainforests, noting that the "intricate riparian networks enhance the structural diversity of the forest. Increased structural diversity in turn expands the potential for biological diversity" (8). They go on to say that the biological diversity of the temperate rainforest may compare to that of tropical rainforests, particularly for taxa such as invertebrates, fungi and soil organisms) (9). As the map of global temperate rainforests shows (Figure 3), global temperate rainforests cover a relatively small part of the earth, with the 'original' extent estimated at 30-40 million hectares, an area "only 1.5% of the original tropical rainforests" (3). Because of this, Ecotrust/CI call the ecosystem "a rare biome" (3). Figure 3. Original Global Distribution of Coastal Temperate Rainforests (Ecotrust/CI 1992) © Ecotrust and Conservation International, by permission 58 With this report we see the first glimmers of a scientific object - the 'discovery' of a common ecosystem across continents (a previously 'unknown' or at least 'ungrouped' common ecosystem) tightly intertwined with the 'invention' of the ecosystem as part of a political goal to see the 'common heritage' of these rainforests conserved. The classification of the global temperate rainforest continues centuries of taxonomic and ecosystem cataloguing and sorting by biologists and related scientists all over the world. This particular classification is done to promote "long term programs of forest research, conservation, management and restoration" (37) and was the first step in a larger project to "provide information that will help managers and conservationists decide which areas are a priority for conservation within each temperate rain forest region, which areas can be sustainably developed, and which areas merit ecological restoration" (37). While the study does not mention the discipline of conservation biology or the Brundtland report, it is clearly concerned with planned conservation and biological diversity, noting that the information gathered is meant to help "identify critical areas, initiate and catalyze local conservation programs, and begin long-term monitoring projects" (34). We can't know where the concerns lie or where to 'save' unless we know what exists and what is at risk. On the most basic level, one cannot design a protected area system based on ecological representation if there are no defined ecological regions to represent. While not stated explicitly, the creation of the global temperate rainforest biome fits within this larger scientific and political context of planned conservation developing in the late 1980s and early 1990s.2 4 Al though in an e s s a y written to fol low Kei th M o o r e ' s 1991 study on B C ' s coas ta l w a t e r s h e d s (the other 'scient i f ic seed ' ) , Ecot rus t founder S p e n c e r B e e b e and Conse rva t i on International biologist E d w a r d W o l f e rely upon "the s c i e n c e of conserva t ion bio logy" a s rat ionale for conse rv ing large, intact wa te rsheds . 59 The Ecotrust study estimates the amount of temperate rainforest remaining worldwide to be about 45 percent. They report an almost complete loss of temperate rainforests in Europe, where remaining temperate rainforests "exist largely as small, fragmented remnants or have been completely extirpated" (4). In North America: "Logging in the coastal temperate rain forest zone has been widespread"(25), with little rainforest left in continental USA. But despite these disappearances in the US, we are told "40-50% of the world's remaining coastal temperate rain forests are found in North America" (25). And after all this accounting, British Columbian forests begin to take on a special role within North America: "In North America, no intact, unlogged watersheds of any size remain in continental United States. The largest areas of undeveloped coastal temperate rain forests in the more productive zone of this biome exist in British Columbia" (preface). An essay following Keith Moore's study (1991) written by Spencer Beebe and Edward Wolf, from Ecotrust and Conservation International (respectively), emphasises the importance of BC's forests for the world's temperate rain forests: By process of elimination then, British Columbia occupies a position of central, indeed global importance. Here the coastal temperate forest zone blankets 6.5 million hectares over the full length of the coastline...And in marked contrast to the US, significant opportunities still remain to protect large, unlogged and highly productive coastal watersheds...These represent an important conservation opportunity - not just for BC and Canada, but for the world as a whole (Beebe and Wolf 1991, 37). For Daston (2000), scientific objects such as the rare, global temperate rainforest are "not inert"; they produce "results, implications, surprises, connections, manipulations, explanations, applications" (10). The global temperate rainforest 'produces' particularly as it becomes "entangled in webs of cultural significance, material practices and theoretical derivations (Daston 2000, 13). With the re-60 classification of BC's coastal forests as a critical part of the dwindling global temperate rainforest biome, we see BC's coastal forests transform from a vast limitless horizon of forests for perpetual wealth creation into a critical and dwindling global resource. This transformation produces a sense of urgency for conservation action. While the Great Bear Rainforest and the widespread campaigns will not begin for four more years, these maps and study (along with the study described below) contributed to a growing mobilization of international resources (through foundations prioritizing the region - as 'endangered') and energy (by local and eventually international environmental groups) to defend the area. The maps and the study figures circulated widely within environmental groups, and the rarity of the global temperate rainforest become a common rallying cry for environmentalists over the coming decade. In a brief glance through my research files, the David Suzuki Foundation and Raincoast Conservation Society refer to BC's coast as containing "One quarter of the earth's remaining temperate rainforest" (Raincoast Conservation Society and David Suzuki Foundation 2002). Forest Action Network refs to the GBR as encompassing the "largest expanse of intact temperate rainforest left in North America" (Forest Action Network website). Forest Ethics and Rainforest Action Network refer to BC's forests as "the largest tract of intact coastal rainforest in the world" (Forest Ethics and Rainforest Action Network 2003), and the Rainforest Solutions Project refers to the forest as one of the earth's "most rare forest ecosystem types" (Rainforest Solutions Project undated). Greenpeace also joins in, with a call to protect "the world's remaining intact temperate rainforest and a world wonder" (Greenpeace Canada undated). The map of the global temperate rainforest (as above in Figure 3) 61 appears in M'Gonigle and Parfitt (1994, 30) and academics like Clapp et al. (2000) cite the Ecotrust and CI study calling the space the "largest undeveloped temperate rainforest in the world" (24). In conjunction with Moore's study of coastal forests (discussed below) the Ecotrust/CI study contributes to building a powerful scientific counter-object to the sustained yield spatializations of the forestry 'exploitation axis'. Minding the Gaps in BC's temperate rainforest By the early 90s both National and Provincial environmentalists had ushered in new language and approaches to conservation campaigns and strategies. In 1989, World Wildlife Federation Canada launched a national endangered spaces campaign urging governments to establish at least one representative protected area in each of the natural regions of Canada by the year 2000 and appealed for at least 12 percent protection of Canada's lands and waters (Wilson 1998, 247; for an overview of the campaign see McNamee 2002). This strategy led to analyses of the 'representativeness' of existing protected areas - what biomes or ecosystem-types were adequately represented in the protected area system and which were not? Moore's study was an attempt to answer that exact question for the coastal temperate rainforests of BC. His study was initiated as part of the Cl/Ecotrust global assessment (and creation) of temperate rainforests as detailed above and thus a major part of his study was dedicated to cataloguing levels of forestry development in watersheds on the BC coast. But it was also commissioned to fit into the WWF endangered spaces campaign in British Columbia, which was being coordinated by 62 Earthlife Canada Foundation, the publisher of Moore's study. Thus he study also identified ecological 'types' represented and missing in the protected area network. To do this, Moore's study performs a "gap analysis" for the coast of BC. Gap analysis will be discussed fully below, but basically it is a method "to identify biodiversity (i.e. species, ecosystems and ecological processes) not adequately conserved within a protected area network" (Dudley and Parish 2006: 14). A gap analysis approach to identifying protected areas is often contrasted to "piecemeal" approaches to conservation that result in protected areas here and there, but do not necessarily protect biodiversity. Similarly, Moore's study also was meant to push conservationists and government land use planners past the 'unscientific' and "piecemeal" (Moore 1991, 2) designation of protected areas towards large scale, 'systematic' and representative conservation planning over the whole temperate rainforest region of BC. Before moving onto an examination of Moore's gap analysis, I want to introduce some of the conservation 'concerns' of the late 1980s and early 1990s to which the gap analysis technique responds. These concerns are also very relevant for chapter 4. Aside: Thinking Representative but also Big, Connected and Systematic The Brundtland report ushered the notion of 'representative' protected area systems into the vocabulary of international, national and local conservation actors; around the same time (late 1980s) conservation researchers focused on issues surrounding the effectiveness of protected areas for biodiversity conservation. The title of an Oikos article "No park is an island" published in 1983 by Dan Janzen epitomizes conservation biologist concerns about protected areas design. Parks are situated in 63 larger landscapes and ecosystems, and ecosystems and species protected with that park are still vulnerable to potential negative impacts from the larger landscape (i.e. hunting pressures, loss of habitat due to development). Thus, no park is an island; ecosystems and species within a protected area are not necessarily 'safe'. This conclusion was based on empirical research like Janzen's, which demonstrated species decline despite the enactment of protected areas. While protected spaces acted as refuges for species populations, those refuges were, in some cases, and for some species, not big enough to maintain a viable population or else, not connected enough (due to development pressures outside the park) to other populations to remain viable over the long term.2 5 Twisting the island metaphor, some protected areas actually became 'islands' in seas of development, with castaway species unable to reach other populations. This problem is well researched in what is known as 'island biogeography' - a part of conservation biology/ecology that studies "ecological islands" (in some cases these are islands surrounding by water in other cases islands of park surrounded by development) susceptible to population extirpations as one population of a species becomes separated from a larger meta-population. The grizzly bears of America's famed Yellowstone National Park ecosystem are prime examples of this. Despite the large size of the refugia for the bears, the bears are effectively insularized as they are surrounded by developed terrain that limits their movement to other grizzly bear habitats. This has lead to the situation where the population is at risk due to the reduced 2 5 A m in imum v iab le populat ion is def ined a s : " A m in imum v iable populat ion for ay g iven s p e c i e s in any g iven habitat is the sma l les t populat ion hav ing at least a 9 5 % c h a n c e of remain ing extant for 100 yea rs desp i te the fo reseeab le effects of demograph i c , env i ronmenta l and genet i c s tochast ic i ty and natural ca tas t rophes" (quoted in Q u a m m e n 1996, 519) 64 genetic pool (i.e. problems of inbreeding result and a reduced diversity of the gene pool). Thus while a protected area may protect a sample of the ecological type or system, these spaces may not be effective for conserving species, particularly when they are small and separated from other species populations. This led to a general conclusion - small, fragmented protected spaces were unlikely to protect biodiversity, particularly mobile species with low birthrates (large mammals usually, like the grizzly bear). As Mark Schaffer wrote in 1987: "the size and number of current nature reserves are likely insufficient to provide a high level of long term security for at least some mammalian species, specially those that are large or rare" (quoted in Quammen 1996, 542) Thomas Lovejoy, a famous tropical ecologist coined the term for this problem: "ecological decay" - which is the process of species loss from severely fragmented ecosystems, even if those ecosystems are strongly protected from 'disturbances'. Theberge and Theberge (2002) summarize the basic learning from the problem of ecological decay, "Most isolated small populations often go extinct, whereas connected populations, even ones that experience only periodic exchange of members, are more likely to persist" (76). As more research conclusions like Janzen's, Schaffer, and Lovejoy's trickled into the journals and policy discussions in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the 12% target and ecosystem representation became only one part of a comprehensive biodiversity protection strategy; the ability for a species and indeed an ecosystem to be viable over the long term was increasingly seen as more complicated than a single protected area in each ecosystem type. No park is an island; what happens outside a park and how 65 species can or cannot travel between refugia and breed is critical. Indeed as the researchers above concluded, some protected areas have become islands for some species as they are 'trapped' within a park surrounded by various kinds of inhospitable developments. The result is increased vulnerability to extirpation. In response to this situation, since the 1980s much debate and empirical research has occurred within conservation biologists and related ecosystem scientists about the ideal protected area network design to prevent ecosystem decay. The gap analysis methodology is one such conservation biology technique developed to help reach that goal, although it focuses more on achieving adequate representation and less on the specific design or connectivity of protected areas. According to Jennings (2000) the origins of the gap analysis can be traced by to Dr. Michael Scott and his work on bird conservation in Hawaii in 1987. But it was Fred Burley (1988) who first described the concept for identification of 'conservation gaps' "as a process to identify and classify the various elements of biodiversity and examine the existing system of protected areas" (Jennings 2000: 6) to determine which of those biodiversity elements were not represented. In its various permutations over the last 15 years, the basic goal of a gap analysis has remained the same, to identify "gaps" in the protected areas network over a landscape or region (Dudley and Parish 2006). There are various methdologies and levels of sophistication for gap analyses (see Jennings 2000 for a good overview), but at the most basic, gap analyses ask and answer three questions: what is protected on the landscape? What ecosystems or biodiversity features are not represented in the 66 protected area system? And what is available for protection? The information generated through a gap analysis is meant to inform future protected area selection. Rather than focussing on individual species, community populations or what is politically possible for conservation, a gap analysis focuses on the need for proactive habitat conservation before a species becomes endangered (Jennings 2000). This focus on habitat was (and still is) considered a more effective approach to address the "principle reason for the loss of biodiversity...the continual loss and fragmentation of natural landscapes" (National Gap Analysis Program website). As a major US study of 'gaps' notes, a gap analyses is a proactive approach to protecting biodiversity, because it identifies priority areas for conservation in advance, rather than the piecemeal approach to conservation taken in the past (National Gap Analysis Program website). Jennings writes, "The GAP approach is predicated on the assumption that a dual focus on the conservation of habitats and multiple species will be both cheaper and more likely to succeed than conservation programs focused on any single species or population" (7). Ideally gap analyses are to be done over very large areas defined by ecological boundaries: "In an ideal situation it would be applied across the whole of an ecologically defined region (such as an ecoregion), because this allows decisions about conservation to be made with the best available information and on the basis of ecological rather than political boundaries in order to ensure that the needs of biodiversiy are met" (Dudley and Parish 2006, 14). A gap analysis identifies areas in need of protection, but as noted, it generally does not prescribe specific reserve design. How exactly to design protected areas within those identified gaps has been hotly debated within conservation biology. Since 67 the late 70s - early 80s this debate has been known as SLOSS - an acronym for the question of whether a single large or several small (SLOSS) reserves will better protect biodiversity.26 While there are still conflicts and on-going empirical research, in general there is consensus that optimum reserve design should maintain connectivity across landscapes while minimizing the effects of fragmentation. In other words, there is emphasis on "Thinking Big" (Theberge and Theberge 2002, 72) and "Thinking Connected" (Theberge and Theberge 2002, 77) in protected areas design. This is supported by ecological research that "has expanded from a traditional deductive emphasis on the study of single species in small homogenous areas to include searched for systematic relationships at larger scales" (Dearden and Rollins 2002, 21). Thus protected area planning has "evolved from a preoccupation with nodes of conservation, such as national parks, to ways of connecting networks of different types of protected areas throughout the landscape" (Dearden and Rollins 2002, 13).27 In other words, how do we connect protected spaces and species populations? The answer for many conservation biologists has been to look at landscapes and regions rather than specific species or smaller areas. These currents are seen in Moore's study. Moore, with Earthlife, Ecotrust and Conservation International, hoped that this regional scale analysis would lead to the development of systematic conservation, moving away from the valley-by-valley ad-hoc approach, an approach whose successes were not necessarily going to yield conservation outcomes in the long term. This regional approach to ecosystem 2 6 P l e a s e s e e Q u a m m e n 1996 for an exce l lent and highly readab le s u m m a r y of this debate . 2 7 1 wou ld l ike to just quick ly note that through all this deba te and resea rch on the inef fec t iveness of protected a r e a s , there is no quest ion ing of protected a r e a s a s the pr imary st rategy for biodiversi ty conserva t ion . 68 conservation and the principles of 'big' and 'representative' are embedded within Moore's study and also within the 'rare and endangered temperate rainforest of B C . (The attribute of connectivity becomes more predominant in Chapter 4). The following section examines Moore's gap analysis in detail. An Inventory of Watersheds in the Coastal Temperate Forests of British Columbia Moore's study first assessed the level of development over the entire coast of BC, but not through an examination of established boundaries/categories such as Tree Forest Licenses, regional districts, or First Nations territories. Moore's methodology, directed by conservation, focuses on the level of development within each unit of his analysis, which are 'primary watersheds" - defined as complete drainage systems over 5,000 hectares flowing into salt water. By examining topographic maps, Moore identifies 354 primary watersheds on the coast, which form the base spaces of the study.28 Within each of these watersheds, Moore identified the development status, classifying them as pristine, modified, or developed. Pristine is defined as "a watershed in which there is virtually no evidence of past human or industrial activities" (5). Modified is "a watershed that has been slightly affected by a limited amount of industrial activity, such as past or recent logging with or without roads, powerlines, pipelines, mining, settlements or roads" (5). Developed is "a watershed that has been, or is presently being, significantly affected by logging activities, highways, or other industrial development such as powerlines and pipelines" (5). 2 8 Th i s definit ion of over 5000 hec ta res exc luded 286 other wa te rsheds , deferr ing them to s tatus a s unimportant, or at least i rrelevant to the conserva t ion project. S i z e real ly d o e s matter, in this c a s e ! 69 This boundary-making, which re-organizes the BC coastal space ecologically, is based upon the general consensus among conservation scientists and park planners that primary (large), intact or undeveloped watersheds are the most appropriate and effective conservation unit in the coastal temperate rainforest because they "will capture biological values more effectively - and sustain ecological processes will more assurance - than will setting aside pieces of a landscape fragmented by industrial development" (2). Going back to the previous section, the large (5,000 hectares and over), pristine watersheds are considered big enough and connected enough to prevent ecosystem decay. In their essay included within Moore's study, Bebbe and Wolf (1991) make the link between Moore's approach and currents within conservation biology at that time, particularly the need for large protected areas: Another significant reason for reserving large, intact watersheds comes from the science of conservation biology. As described in the theory of island biogeography, there is a direct relationship between the size of a protected area and the number of native species it can sustain. Other factors being equal, a single large reserve will sustain more species more effectively than will a number of small reserves of the same total area...In the coastal temperate rainforest, entire watersheds containing a full continuum of ecological zones, from alpine to intertidal, may provide the most appropriate boundaries..." (38). Bebbe and Wolf (1991) also emphasize the need for those watersheds to be without human impact: The ideal scientific baseline is an area in which natural processes are not measurably affected by human impacts. Existing studies show that even small, patchy clearcuts within a watershed can have marked impacts on bird species diversity, drainage patterns, slope stability, windthrow disturbance, and even soil microbial diversity. Thus, watersheds that are not reserved as intact, natural units may fail to provide reliable baseline information for an ecosystem approach to natural resource management (37).29 2 9 Fo r more d i scuss ion on scient i f ic ra t ionales for protected a r e a s , s e e later this chap te r in a sec t ion titled: Why Protected Areas: Conservation Biology tells us so. 70 In order to classify the development status of the 354 primary watersheds, Moore reviewed recent Ministry of Forests (MoF) reports about logging in the watersheds, and interviewed MoF staff to verify reports. He also used maps, air photos and satellite imagery to determine the extent of activity. After filing watersheds into the appropriate development categories, Moore reports the following results: 72 out of 354 watersheds pristine (20 percent); 46 modified (13 percent); and 236 developed (67 percent). The watersheds are located on a map in Figure 4. Moore's study assessed levels of development to identify conservation opportunities, answering the gap analysis question: 'What spaces are available for protection?' And, as noted above, in general large protected areas or at least well-connected, contiguous protected areas are thought to be more effective for conserving biodiversity. In the coastal temperate rainforests of BC, the best protection opportunities are large, intact, or what Moore calls 'pristine' watersheds. According to Moore's research there are 72 possible watersheds worthy of conservation. 71 Figure 4. Undeveloped Primary Watersheds Larger than 5,000 ha in the Coastal Temperate Rainforests of British Columbia (Moore 1991) © Earthlife Canada Foundation, by permission 73 But not all pristine watersheds are created equally. While Moore identifies all the possible conservation areas on the coast (all pristine watersheds greater than 5000 hectares), the second part of his study identifies where conservation is most needed on the coast. To do so, Moore answers the other two gap analysis questions: 'what is protected on the landscape? What ecosystems are not represented in the protected area system?' To do so, Moore utilizes the Provincial-government defined 'ecoregions' - coherent physiographic units with similar ecological characteristics - to divide the coast into 17 smaller ecosystems. Within each of these ecoregions, Moore examined the number of pristine watersheds left and the number of pristine watersheds in protected areas. Ecoregions without a protected and pristine watershed are deemed to have a 'gap', a gap that needs to be filled with a protected watershed. Based on his analysis, BC's coast has enormous gaps. According to Moore's study, only 3 of the 17 ecoregions (17 percent) are adequately represented by pristine, primary watersheds. The south coast ecoregions (i.e. Vancouver, Sunshine coast, most of Vancouver Island) have no pristine watersheds remaining (and none in protected areas), and thus the gaps in those areas can never be filled. But Moore's study also highlights many conservation opportunities on the mid and north coast, opportunities to patch the gaps. In this spirit, the Moore report goes on to identify large areas of pristine watersheds desired for conservation. "Groups of contiguous undeveloped watersheds occur in several places in the North. The largest group in BC is in Gardner Canal, south of Kemano. Others exist in western Gardner Canal, Dean Channel, Douglas Channel, the Khutzeymateen/Exchamsics, and the West and North Coasts of the Queen Charlotte Islands" (19). One combined set of pristine watersheds known as the Gardner 74 Canal/Kitlope River area is particularly important because as noted in the global Ecotrust/CI report: "this is the only coastal temperate rainforest of this size, possibly in the world, with so little development" (Ecotrust and CI 1992, 33). Indeed one of the most powerful results of his study is the map identifying these spaces (Figure 4, above). With these maps, the gap analysis attempts to paint a clear picture of what spaces are underrepresented in the protected area system, and thus most important for conservation. The South coast is a virtual 'write-off' in terms of conservation opportunities, but the central and north coast - what will become the "Great Bear Rainforest" - still contains many large, 'pristine' watersheds, and as the Ecotrust/CI report tells us, these are the only temperate rainforest watersheds of this size left in the world. Linking back to conservation biology thinking, these watersheds, if protected, are big enough and 'representative' enough to mostly 'save' the temperate rainforest biome of the world. I say mostly because there are nine ecoregions (in the South) without pristine, protected watersheds, thus those ecoregions will always have a 'gap'. While Moore's gap analysis locates gaps in the protected area system, the question of 'connectivity' across watersheds and indeed across the temperate rainforests of BC is left unaddressed. More specific answers in terms of protected area design and connectivity are to be addressed later in the decade through conservation areas design study, the subject of Chapter 4. A Scientific Counter Object emerges The practices that form the economy operate, in part, to establish equivalences, contain circulations, identify social actors or agents, make quantities and performances measurable, and designate relations of control and command. The economy must also, as Michel Callon has argued, operate as a series of 75 boundaries, distinctions, exceptions, and exclusions - Timothy Mitchell 2002, 8-9 Through these 'scientific seeds' we get a new accounting of BC's forests - not in terms of productivity, profit or loss, or the 'timber harvesting land base', but in terms of conservation options both forgone and possible; in terms of how much temperate rainforest is left worldwide. This space is a temperate rainforest, a rare forest. It is 'less developed' than other temperate rainforests and has many pristine watersheds. It is globally significant. But it also has many gaps in protected area coverage; gaps that put the entire health of the internationally signficant ecosystem at risk. The space is in need of protection in order to exist. So how are we to understand this new 'accounting'? Is it simply a re-naming of something that already existed? A social construction? A representation? Similar questions are posed in the opening chapter of Timothy Mitchell's (2002) Rule of Experts, albeit he is not referring to forests, but the birthing of the economy. The idea of economy as generally understood, writes Mitchell, did not emerge until the middle decades of the 20th century. At that time, "The economy came into being as a self-contained, internally dynamic, and statistically measurable sphere of social action, scientific analysis, and political regulation" (4). So, asks Mitchell, "Was the economy, then, once more 'social construction', a recent product of the collective imagination to place alongside the ideas of culture, society, class or the nation? Or was it, as most would probably argue, just a new and more coherent name for economic processes that already existed?" (4). Similarly, is the rare, temperate rainforest of BC simply a new 76 name or a new representation (one that works well for environmental campaigns) with the 'real' forest left unchanged? Mitchell does not describe the emerging mid 20th century 'economy' as a re-naming, nor a social construction, but rather a re-organization and transformation: "The economy did not come about as a new name for the processes of exchange that economists had always studied. It occurred as the reorganization and transformation of those and other processes, into an object that had not previously existed' (5, my emphasis). Similarly, the becoming of this rainforest was not just a new name for something pre-existing, nor a new social construction - but rather was transformative, changing the space into "object that had not previously existed" (5), 'the rare, endangered temperate rainforest of B C . Rather, these two studies create a "scientific counter-object". To reiterate from above (drawing from Daston 2000), the 'endangered and rare temperate rainforest of B C is a scientific object in that it becomes a 'thing', something stable and hard to make go away; but too, it has a specific history enmeshed in a particular context of biodiversity loss and conservation. It is real and historical. It is material and semiotic. This scientific object and its attributes are counter to those of the Mid Coast TSA, which is an object created out the logic of sustained yield forestry and a Fordist political economy of growth-oriented, high throughput commodity production. The Mid Coast TSA in an object of the 'exploitation axis', propped up through the interests of big labour, big business and big government, and is able to provide 'perpetual wealth' through its political-economic machinations. The rare, endangered temperate rainforest requiring protection destabilizes the seemingly limitless, forestry-liquidation space of 77 Mid Coast TSA, providing "an effective counter-point to ... scientific forestry offered by industry and the state" (Braun 2002, 217). By positioning BC's forests within the global coastal temperate rainforest biome, this massive space is transformed into rare and endangered. This counter-object is built upon conservation urgency - the largest remaining tract of global temperate rainforest is at risk. As the Ecotrust/CI report states, "all of the remaining old-growth forest, outside of protected areas, is scheduled to be logged. At the present cutting rates of 40,000 ha per year, a vast majority of the "productive" virgin forests may be gone in as little as 15 years" (33). Assessing the level of development (as done in the Moore study) also re-produces the space temporally, showing how the space has changed due to industrial development, significantly impacting 67 percent of primary watersheds. The coast is not a landscape to be perpetually harvested for all eternity, but is rather a rare ecosystem threatened by that 'sustained yield' harvesting. Although the terms biodiversity and conservation biology are scantly referenced within the two studies, the scientific counter-object of the rare temperate rainforest embodies the growing concern with biological diversity in the late 1980s and a specific approach to addressing that concern, one now commonly associated with conservation biology. The focus on watersheds incorporates findings by conservation researchers that bigger is better to capture biological values, and the focus on identifying conservation needs across a larger ecosystem (particularly through the gap analysis) reflected the move towards 'systematic' and representative conservation planning to protect biodiversity. Indeed, while the forest is transformed into something we should be 78 concerned with - ecologically rare and threatened, at the same time it is also a forest with an unprecedented opportunity to do conservation right, if only we can fill the gaps! The Great Bear Rainforest as rare, pristine, in need of protection Just as the "making of the economy does not lie outside the forms of knowledge that enable statistics and economics to know it" (Mitchell 2002, 118), the Great Bear Rainforest does not lie outside of these conservation studies. Rather, these studies help form the character and identity of the GBR; they help shape the GBR in particular ways. The results of these studies did not ricochet through the public sphere and immediately result in the creation of the GBR (which was publicly christened in 1996). In the early 1990s very little attention was focused on the central and north coast of BC; most attention was firmly focused on protecting the forests of Clayoquot Sound. However, these reports did circulate amongst environmentalists, for whom these results acted as crucial 'eye openers'. In one of my interviews, a GRB forest campaigner remarked (March 2004): "The Moore study was very important and many people were quite shocked with how little was left over such a vast area. It was the first time we saw over the entire coast what the state of affairs was". As Daston writes, scientific objects become more or less real depending on the degree to which they are woven into thought and practice. Although the GBR would not appear until 1996, throughout the early 1990s environmentalists began making the rare and endangered temperate rainforest 'more real'. One of the most significant responses to Moore's study came from the Western Canadian Wilderness Committee (WCWC) who drew heavily from Moore's study in their 1992 publication titled BC's Temperate 79 Rainforest: a global heritage in peril. John Broadhead, the editor of Moore's publication was also an editor for this publication. The front page of the publication is a photo of a mossy rainforest overlaid with the Ecotrust/CI map of the global temperate rainforests of the world similar to the one found in Figure 3 (WCWC 1992). Inside their document, WCWC continually reiterate that only one third of BC's temperate rainforest watersheds remain in pristine or close to pristine condition (the combination of Moore's pristine and partially modified categories adds up to one third of all watersheds). WCWC calls for the protection of many of the pristine watersheds identified by Moore stating, "we must set aside and protect large, contiguous, natural areas that include whole, undisturbed ecological units such as watersheds" (WCWC 1992). They also refer to Moore's finding that nine of the ecoregions on the coast do not have any pristine watersheds left to protect; they exclaim, "In more than half of our temperate rainforest ecoregions we have already lost the chance to protect whole wilderness watersheds!" (WCWC 1992). As found within the Moore study, the WCWC document also draws upon common conservation biology arguments related to the size and connectivity of protected areas: The completion of BC's parks system - as part of the overall plans for ecologically sustainable development—must be done with biological goals in mind. The system must contain areas that adequately represent all of BC's biodiversity at the gene, species and ecosystems levels. The protected areas must be based on ecological units such as watersheds, and must be large enough to support viable breeding population of the species highest in the food chain, such as bears, eagles and cougars...natural corridors must interconnect the protected areas in order to prevent them from becoming small islands in a sea of ecologically impoverished, man-dominated landscapes (WCWC 1992). 80 Ian and Karen McAllister, prominent environmentalists for the GBR, also noted the importance of Moore's maps in their award-winning book The Great Bear Rainforest, released in 1997. In 1991, the McAllister's began a systematic reconnaissance of all the intact watersheds on the coast, exploring by boat the pristine watersheds identified by Moore. In the same year they founded a key environmental group, Raincoast Conservation Society, dedicated to protecting the remaining intact valleys of the Great Bear Rainforest. They completed their explorations of the watersheds in 1996, and their book published in 1997 contains an updated map of 'endangered intact watersheds'. Raincoast's current website still cites back to the Conservation International/Ecotrust report as justification for their work (Raincoast Conservation Society webpage). McGonigle and Parfitt's (1995) Forestopia re-prints the Cl/Ecotrust map, drawing attention to the role of BC's temperate forests as a 'rare treasure' (29), comparing the narrow band of forest to the Amazonian rainforest which is the size of continental USA (29). A recent report done for the United Nations Millennium Ecosystem Assessment states bluntly, "North and Central Coastal BC ...contains the world's largest tracts of intact temperate rain forest" (Prescott-Allen 2004: 2), as do countless other environmentalist websites, pamphlets and newsletters. Other scholars have noted the importance of Moore's study for catalyzing the GBR campaign. Clapp (2004) writes, "The 1990s saw an unprecedented attention, both Canadian and international, given to the region as a whole. Keith Moore's 1991 survey of developed, modified and pristine watersheds played an influential role in demonstrating the central coast contained most 81 of BC's remaining pristine watersheds" (850). Wilson's (1998) book also draws attention to this study in the context of BC's burgeoning forest movement. While many factors helped birth the GBR, these studies helped foment the Great Bear Rainforest as a rare, pristine temperate rainforest; a rainforest lacking protection; a rainforest at risk. The Moore study drew environmentalist attention to the area in a very specific way; he showed environmentalists which watersheds were 'pristine' and unprotected, providing campaign targets for groups like Western Canadian Wilderness Committee (WCWC 1992) and Raincoast Conservation Society. On the most basic level these studies helped create the geographical boundaries of the GBR when most of the large, intact watersheds were found to be located in the central and north coast of BC (see Figure 4 - the location of most of the pristine and partially modified watersheds are in the North). As Braun (2002, 216) similarly describes in relation to a map of Vancouver Island's disappearing forests, the result of these studies and mapping is to turn the coastal forests into a single whole - BC's temperate rainforest - and the crucial subset of that forest, the central and north coasts, which would in 1996 be christened the Great Bear Rainforest. While the move to a regional scale was a change for BC environmentalists, Moore and Ecotrust/CI's reports largely meshed with and reinforced the predominant approach of BC environmentalists at that time, which was on the need for protected areas. It seems that in the early 1990s much environmentalist energy (particularly from the larger organizations) was focused on increasing protected areas. Of course many environmental groups did have wider interests than simply protection. For example, WCWC's strategy to conserve the temperate rainforests of BC includes the need for 82 Endangered Species legislation and an "industrial strategy on the lands not set aside for protection that is truly ecologically sustainable and that enhances the jobs-per-tree-cut ratio, so that the future productive capacity of the land is not compromised for short term profits" (WCWC 1992). They also reference the need to build any parks and protected area plan in conjunction with Aboriginal peoples, "recognizing their rights to subsistence use and economic benefits arising from protected area status" (WCWC 1992). That said, despite these broader advocacy positions, most of the WCWC (1992) document focuses on the need for the "Protection of ecologically representative wild watersheds in as large, contiguous units as possible, in every distinct ecoregion". WCWC goes on to state: "The message is clear: we must choose to protect the wilderness areas we need for ecological sustainability or we will lose them". And as the campaign over the central and north coast temperate rainforests snowballed, the GBR becomes increasingly defined as a globally rare space lacking protection. The birth of the forest and much of the early campaign focused on increasing protection. Coastal Rainforest Network (a network of environmental organizations focused on the coast of BC) coordinator Jill Thompson was quoted as saying: "The whole thing should be protected" (quoted in Hamilton 1996) and one of the first moves of the new network was to develop a protected areas wish list essentially composed of the largest pristine watersheds in the GBR as identified by Moore. In the campaign book The Great Bear Rainforest, McAllister et al. (1997) proposed that all intact watersheds should be preserved in what they called the Great Bear Rainforest Proposal: "Each individual valley is precious and rare, and together they represent our final hope of protecting a fully functioning ecosystem large enough to ensure the survival of the ancient temperate 83 rainforest, the coastal grizzly bear, hundreds of stocks of wild salmon and the thousands of other species that depend on old-growth forest" (135). As the strength of this counter-object grew throughout the 1990s, it increasingly destabilized the 'exploitation axis' and the Mid-Coast Timber Supply Area. But I also want to draw attention to some of the dangers in the attributes of this counter-object. As the Mitchell quote at the start of this section reminds, all objects "operate as a series of boundaries, distinctions, exceptions, and exclusions" (Mitchell 2002, 8-9), even those with progressively countering industrial-state interests. Protected Areas Fetishism We can quickly draw attention to the purified categories Moore (1991) draws upon in his work, particularly that of 'pristine' - "in which there is virtually no evidence of past human or industrial activities" (5) as distinct from those that are modified or developed by humans. The concept of wilderness or pristine nature has been subject of much critique (Cronon 1995, Escobar 1995, Braun 2002). Cronon's essay The 'Trouble with Wilderness' is a modern classic for this critique, focusing on how wilderness expresses "a peculiarly bourgeois form of anti-modernism" (78), created by "elite urban tourists and wealthy sportsmen" who "projected their leisure-time frontier fantasies onto the American landscape and so created wilderness in their own image" (79). This notion of nature imposes a vision of dualistic human-nature relations - "in which the human is entirely outside the natural. The place where we are is the place where nature is not" (80). Cronon finds this separation problematic because it sets humans outside of nature, and thus "by definition can offer no solution to the environmental and other 84 problems that confront us" (81). And as noted by others like Bruce Braun, another major problem with the notion of wilderness is where it places the long-standing residents of those spaces - indigenous peoples. For Braun (2002), the notion of pristine nature sets in place two exclusions: it "denies other histories of nature's occupation and use, specifically those of Indigenous peoples" or else collapses Indigenous Peoples within nature (12-13). I appreciate the importance of these critiques and believe many of them may apply to these studies, which I hope to pursue in further research and writing. However, here I focus on a different but still very much related concern. My particular worry from these studies stems less from the designation of the watersheds as pristine, intact, rare or wilderness, and more about how those watersheds are immediately painted as 'gaps' in need of protection. My concern is with the 'requires protected areas' characteristic of the scientific counter-object. Why must the heightened alarm about the biodiversity of the temperate rainforests of BC immediately lead to a call for huge protected areas? Why protected areas? Conservation Biology tells us it is so Protected areas are deeply embedded within biodiversity conservation approaches. A recent Convention on Biological Diversity publication contains a nice, concise quote responding to the question 'why protected areas'? "Protected areas -such as national parks and nature reserves - are universally recognized as a primary tool in biodiversity conservation strategies" (Dudley and Parish 2006, 2). This quote reflects a general belief amongst conservation biologists and some environmental 85 organizations that protected areas are the most effective and "best" way to achieve immediate biodiversity conservation. This axiom stems from research in conservation biology and other related ecological sciences. Clapp (2004) usefully summarizes three environmental arguments for protected areas, which he calls baseline, backstop, and metapopulation. First, protected spaces (without significant human influence) are "vital benchmarks for natural process[es]" (842), they act as a "baseline or scientific control against which the effects of intensive landscape transformations can be compared" (842). These baselines must be absent of humans in order to draw any sort of conclusions about the effects of humans on ecosystems and species. Indeed Moore's focus on and search for pristine watersheds is in line with this belief about pristine spaces make ideal ecological baselines and generally have greater diversities of species (biodiversity): "the ideal scientific baseline is an area in which natural processes are not measurably affected by human impacts" (Moore 1991, 37). Secondly, protected areas provide critical insurance "against mismanagement or unexpected consequences of industrial resource use" (842), which may include extinctions or resource depletion. They are backstops that can potentially buffer negative effects on the rest of the landscape and even potentially, provide "emergency reserves of raw materials" (842-43). Third, protected areas are "essential population sources" (Clapp 2004, 843) and "zones of excess reproduction" that help re-populate the wider landscape and maintain healthy metapopulations (a network of local populations linked by dispersal). These protected areas should help connect species across regional landscapes to facilitate species dispersal and good genetic variation 86 (Clapp 2004, 843). In this way, protected areas "act as refuges for species and ecological processes that cannot survive in intensely managed or altered landscapes and seascapes and provide space for natural evolution and future ecological restoration" (Dudley and Parish 2006, 2). 3 0 Protected Areas Fetishism Clapp (2004) and the scientists he draws upon make a very convincing argument for protected areas. I do not want to argue with the three points directly as protected areas can and do provide important biodiversity protections for the very reasons they cite. And as noted above, my worry stems from the overwhelming focus on protected areas as a primary (or in some cases, the only) answer for biodiversity conservation and protection. The danger with the 'attribute' for necessary protected areas found in Moore's study, the scientific counter-object of the rare temperate rainforest and the eventual GBR, the gap analysis methodology and indeed within conservation biology itself, is how it conceals many complexities and histories constitutive of the rare temperate rainforest. Through their emphasis on protected areas, or the lack thereof, these studies seem rooted within what I call protected areas fetishism. By fetishism I am drawing from Marx's notion of commodity fetishism as introduced in the first chapter of Capital. Under capitalist modes of production, commodity fetishism causes commodities to appear to have market value 'autonomously' and objectively, separated from the labour and social relations that 3 0 A s noted in the introduct ion, there are other r e a s o n s for the e m p h a s i s on protected a reas . In part icular, there is a s e n s e that protected a r e a s are polit ically feas ib le biodiversi ty s t ra teg ies, w h e r e a s tackl ing deep ly rooted incent ives or trade with negat ive biodiversi ty o u t c o m e s is s e e n a s l e s s pragmat ic . I will return to this in the final chap te r of this thes is . 87 produced the things (commodities) in the first place. Under capitalism, labour produces things, things that are then exchanged for particular values in the market (most often done using money). These values and indeed the commodity itself appear to be separate from labour. The primary consequence of commodity fetishism (or, at least primary for my own use of the concept) is that the fetishism with the commodity as the primary source of 'value' conceals the social relations that produce commodities and thus also obscures political relations, or relations of power involved in the production of commodities. Haraway's (1997a) theorizing around 'gene fetishism' extends Marx's commodity fetishism in interesting and useful ways. Haraway describes fetishism as "interesting 'mistakes' - really denials - where a fixed thing substitutes for the doings of power-differentiated lively beings on which and on whom, in my view, everything actually depends" (135). She relies upon fetishism to describe how genes, despite being the result of all kinds of 'power-differentiated' human and non-human interactions, become 'autotelic entities' - ends in themselves. When we 'mistake' genes for "things-in-themselves" (136), we "obscure the constitutive tropic nature of themselves and of worlds" (136); we mistake the gene as a "fixed, seemingly objective thing" (142). Haraway's insistence on including non-human interactions is an important addition to Marx, for whom commodity fetishism is resolutely about the denial of social relations (143). I argue that there is a form of fetishism going on with protected areas. Protected areas sit in for the commodity or the gene; they appear as a fixed, objective, necessary entity for biodiversity conservation, like the commodity is 'mistaken' for all the relations 88 contributing to the production process. Similar to the fetishism with commodities or genes, fetishizing protected areas has the effect of obfuscating human and non-human relations constitutive to the entity. Protected areas, particularly under the rationales of conservation biology, are mistaken as a "fixed seemingly objective thing" that we need to enact on the landscape. As a scientific object for biodiversity conservation (as summarized by Clapp above), protected areas appear as "simply and purely technical and representational, rooted in the processes of potentially bias-free discovery" (Haraway 1997a, 137). With this fetishism, two interlinked disavowals occur. First, and in the typical sense of fetishism, we lose sight of the relations constituting the scientific object known as a protected area. This includes the genealogical development of protected areas or 'parks' within North American wilderness preservation movements (to be discussed in chapter 5). But also, when we mistake protected areas as an objective, scientific 'end-in-itself necessary for biodiversity conservation, we lose sight of the complex relations contributing to contemporary biodiversity loss. In other words, the dominant focus on protected areas conceals other relations contributing to the biodiversity problem on the coast (besides the lack of protected areas), such as some of those briefly introduced above in the history of the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area. With the focus on the identifying pristine spaces and securing protected areas on the coast of BC, we get but one approach to the problem of biodiversity conservation. Important historical, political-economic questions are not asked; questions such as: how or why did these forests become rare or at risk? For example, what about the specific form of political economy - the wood exploitation axis - that has marked the landscape for the past half century 89 on the coast? What about on-going First Nations colonialism and racism - how has that contributed to the rare temperate rainforest? Or what about the consumptive practices that make harvesting these forests profitable? Or the corporate land tenure system? Rather than even brushing upon the past and present relations contributing to biodiversity concerns, the focus in much conservation science is primarily on designing big, connected and representative protected area systems. The dangers with this fetishism are well articulated by Cronon (1995), albeit in relation to the notion of wilderness not protected areas specifically. Wilderness, for Cronon, "offers us the illusion that we can escape the care and troubles of the world in which our past has ensnared us" (80); it "represents a flight from history" (79). Braun (2002) finds comparable problems with environmentalist constructions of the Clayoquot Sound rainforests, although he focuses on present-day concealment. For Braun, wilderness constructions of the forest tend to either erase First Nations or subsume them into 'nature', thus often concealing current and pressing issues of social justice. Similarly, protected areas fetishism attempts to deal with the biodiversity problem without addressing the complex socio-natural pasts and presents entwined within the biodiversity issue. On the coast of BC, the answer "protected areas" seems to be a shallow solution, one unlikely to change socio-natural past and present relations constituting the biodiversity problem. Even protected areas promoter Clapp (2004) argues that protected areas "are only a temporary spatial cure" (843) in that they do not change many of the relations driving biodiversity loss. But despite this recognition of their limitations, they remain at the centre of much conservation throughout the world. 90 By focusing solely on identifying unprotected 'gaps' in the protected areas system, the gap analysis methodology is a critical technique holding up and fomenting protected areas fetishism. As noted earlier, it is a methodology actively promoted internationally to identify biodiversity not adequately conserved within a protected area network (Dudley and Parish 2006, 14). It is a key tool promoted by the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), by many national government biodiversity strategies and large conservation organizations. For example, in the US, there is a major research project whose primary purpose is to identify gaps throughout the US (National Gap Analysis Program website). And in 2004, the first global gap analysis was completed by a group of scientists, led by Conservation International (Rodrigues et al. 2004). Gap analyses promote protected areas the primary "relation of control and command" (Mitchell 2002) for biodiversity conservation. Although gap analysis is promoted as a proactive tool for biodiversity conservation, it could actually be seen as continuing the reactive approach to biodiversity loss in that it does not address the complex, heterogeneous relations driving biodiversity loss. The shallowness of the gap analysis methodology (as demonstrated through Moore's results) in general is reason to pause in light of the dense and sordid history of coastal forestry development. With its focus primarily on identifying spaces in need of protection, should gap analyses be a primary source of knowledge in pursuit of socially just biodiversity conservation on the coast of BC (and elsewhere)? 91 Chapter conclusion My argument above can be summarized as follows. Conservation biology and protected area approaches to biodiversity conservation, particularly gap analyses like the one conducted by Moore, are problematic in that they are rooted in protected areas fetishism. This fetishism is troubling in that it obfuscates the heterogeneous human and non-human relations constituting the entity 'protected area' and some of the driving relations behind 'biodiversity loss', such as broader political-economic systems (i.e. the Mid Coast TSA) and climate change. Because conservation biology is influential for environmental movements (in this case, the studies are commissioned by environmental groups), the result is a kind of protected area fetishism-'lite' by some environmental groups focused on biodiversity conservation in BC and elsewhere. By 'lite', I am recognizing that many environmental groups do recognize broader relations contributing to biodiversity loss. The WCWC document is a good example of this in its mention of the need for legislative change, an ecologically sustainable industrial strategy that can also enhance employment, and recognizing the rights of Aboriginal peoples within park creation. But still, the focus of most of WCWC's work, as demonstrated in the 1992 document, is on securing protected areas. The organization's list of campaign successes largely focuses on the areas they have helped protect (Western Canadian Wilderness Committee website). There is no doubt we need to develop different relations with other humans and non-humans to halt biodiversity loss on the coast of BC and elsewhere. Protected areas are one tool we might use to do this. But I argue that an overemphasis of that tool by both biodiversity conservation scientists and activists conceals past and present social 92 relations contributing to the on-going reduction of the world's biodiversity. Of course a more detailed historical analysis will not lead to the 'truth' or the ultimate socially just solution; as Braun (2002) argues, there is "no single assailable truth at once found will show us the way forward" (258). But an analysis of the development of the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area, for example, would promote different solutions than a gap analysis; solutions that could also be more closely linked with social justice aims and potentially a more radical make-over of the coastal political-economy. What if rather than leaning on gap analyses to help identify important conservation areas activists focused their scarce efforts and resources on changing the political - economic relations in the forest, such as the outdated colonial and corporate tenure system or the "volume economy", what M'Gonigle and Parfitt (1997) describe as "high-volume consumption of raw resource and the rapid output of commodity lumber and pulp and paper" (16). Biodiversity conservation desperately needs other types of analyses and knowledge if it is to adequately confront the deeply complex human and non-human relations on the coast and elsewhere in the world. As the campaign in the GBR moves on, activist effort does focus on more than just protected areas, but protected areas remain always at the core of the GBR's identity. Indeed, as argued above (and again in chapter 4), the GBR cannot exist without them. Chapter 3. The Birth of the GBR 93 In this brief chapter I focus on the moment of 'becoming' for the GBR and also provide some contextual details regarding forest conflicts in BC around the same time (early to mid 1990s). The last section examines the book The Great Bear Rainforest, an important campaign material for the GBR to give a deeper sense of the GBR campaign and hopefully elucidate some of the arguments made in the previous chapter. Governmental Shifts In 1991, the same year the Moore study was released, the Provincial New Democratic Party replaced the Social Credit party as the government of British Columbia. Under the leadership of Michael Harcourt, the NDP rode into the Legislature on a Brundtland Commmision-era, sustainable development election platform in which they promised to double parks, provide for greater community control of forests, implement a Jobs and Environment Accord, bring in new forest practices Act, stimulate the forest economy through value-added processes, negotiate the settlement of Native land claims and establish a commission to make recommendations on tenure changes (Wilson 1998, 262). The NDP initiated a series of policy changes to deal with growing environmental conflicts over forestry. In 1992 Harcourt created the Commission on Resources and the Environment (CORE). For Stanbury (2000), this process "was expected to develop a comprehensive land use plan for BC, attempt to resolve disputes through mediation and to develop a forest practices code" (56). In addition to land use planning, Hayter calls this period the "reregulation" of the forest industry as the NDP made significant changes 94 to the policy environment. Stimulated by the American "accusation that provincial stumpage - the tax charged on companies for cutting trees on Crown land - constituted a subsidy" due to its low value, the NDP government raised stumpage. At the same time, industry volatility and restructuring continued. While in 1989 the industry had reached all-time peak levels of production and profit, by 1993, the industry was back in another slide (Hayter 2000, 67). In 1994 and 1995 losses of 1.3 billion per annum were reported (Hayter 2000, 67). By the early 1990s biodiversity had entered into governmental language and action. In 1992 the government initiated a co-operative biodiversity program that included the Ministry of Forests, the Ministry of Environment, Lands, and Parks, and others (Ministry of Forests and Range website). This collaborative programme resulted in several publications dealing with biodiversity concerns (Park and McCulloch 1993, Ministry of Environment, Lands, and Parks 1994). 1992 was also the year of the Rio Convention on Sustainable Development where the Convention on Biological Diversity was created. Canada was one of the first signatories to the Convention and would eventually become the host country for the Convention secretariat. By 1995, new legislation on forest practices was enacted in BC (the Forest Practices Code) and it included biodiversity objectives and a guidebook to help manager and foresters meet those objectives. Conservation biology ideas began appearing in Ministry of Forests publications by mid decade. For example, a Ministry of Forest research note titled Connectivity summarizes information about linkages among habitats, species, communities and ecological processes (Harrison 1996). A book 95 commissioned by the Ministry of Forests titled Conservation Biology Principles for Forested Landscapes was published in 1998 (Voller and Harrison 1998). Clayoquot Summer In the early 90s BC environmentalists increasingly focused on bringing their campaigns to the international community. In 1991 Vicky Husband of the Sierra Club of Western Canada (now Sierra Club of BC) stated: "I just want to expose the situation [of BC deforestation] to the world. It's up to various countries to decide what they want to do about this" (in Stanbury 2000, 41). The film "A Paradise Despoiled", which focused on deforestation in BC, aired on prime time German TV in 1991. Within this movie BC was called the 'Brazil of the North', a term coined by Colleen McCorty of the Valhalla Wilderness Society, another prominent BC environmental organization. Actions like this continued throughout the early 90s as many environmentalists created international attention for the area, while also raising the spectre of boycotts. Concern about boycotts was strong enough in 1992 for Premier Harcourt to travel to Europe with a more positive message about BC's forest practices (Stanbury 2000, 47). The temperate rainforest is at the centre of these increasingly international campaigns, albeit not the temperate rainforest of the north and central coast of BC, but the temperate rainforest of Clayoquot Sound on the west coast of Vancouver Island. In the summer of 1993, over 800 protesters were arrested for blocking logging trucks from the old-growth rainforest in what is called the largest civil disobedience in British Columbia's history. The Clayoquot blockades further propelled BC's old-growth forests into international attention, particularly as larger ENGOs like Greenpeace, US-based 96 National Resource Defence Council and Rainforest Action Network joined the fight against the 'Brazil of the North'. Rock band Midnight Oil flew in to give a benefit concert, and Robert Kennedy Jr. came by to support the protesters.31 The blockades received a large amount of press in Europe (Stanbury 2000, 60). Advertisements placed by environmental groups during the campaign focused on Clayoquot Sound as one of the 'last, largest intact temperate rainforests' in the world and emphasized its 'richness' and great biodiversity (see New York Times Advertisement 1993). Drawing upon work by Ecotrust and CI, Greenpeace notes that 25% of the world's temperate rainforest is in BC and that the temperate rainforest is on the 'brink of extinction'. Given this, Clayoquot Sound is "one of the last fragments of coastal rainforest on earth" (Greenpeace advertisement undated). The Provincial government responded by appointing a 'Scientific Panel for Sustainable Forest Practices in Clayoquot Sound', which released its reports in 1994 and 1995. The Scientific Panel drew upon concepts of biodiversity to develop their Clayoquot principles for sustainable forest practices (Scientific Panel for Sustainable Forest Practices in Clayoquot Sound 1994, 12). The panel made 125 recommendations to government focused on the need to change forest practices towards 'ecosystem based'. All were accepted. By 1995 Clayoquot's status as a 'rare, endangered temperate rainforest' was widespread. That year, the city of Santa Cruz, California passed a resolution urging companies to adopt ecologically sustainable practices for the source of papers used. The resolution declares that the "world's ancient temperate rainforests have been 3 1 Interesting to note that Harcour t h imsel f supposed l y wrote K e n n e d y a letter in r e s p o n s e , tell ing h im that he w a s ask ing loggers and their fami l ies to live off their ' inher i tances ' just a s K e n n e d y d o e s (Stanbury 2000 , 80). 97 decreasing rapidly" and that Clayoquot Sound is one of the few remaining coastal temperate rainforests in the world (Santa Cruz Resolution 1995). The campaign was ultimately a success for the environmentalists, as logging in the Sound is now only approximately 10% of that in the late 1980s, although approximately 85% of that is still in old-growth forests (Friends of Clayoquot Sound webpage). However, several environmental groups - particularly Friends of Clayoquot Sound - continue to monitor and campaign against logging in Clayoquot Sound, now a UNESCO biosphere reserve trust.32 A side effect of the boycotts, as noted by Stanbury (2000), was a substantial increase in donations to BC environmental groups. Donations to Sierra Legal Defense Fund went from 34,000$ in 1993 to over 300,000$ in 1994 and Friends of Clayoquot Sound went from around 50,000$ in 1993 to around 300,000$ (Stanbury 2000). And, most relevant to the GBR, the Clayoquot blockades focused international attention on the plight of the disappearing temperate rainforest of which Clayoquot Sound is only a small piece. As Shaw (forthcoming) notes, Clayoquot was the "first international poster child for temperate rainforest ecosystems". However successful the campaign has been in terms of reducing logging and increasing protection, there have been negative effects. Shaw (forthcoming) rightly draws attention to some of the problems in the Clayoquot. The First Nations owned forestry company struggles to survive, and First Nations people continue to struggle with social problems. Furthermore, as a global ecotourism destination the region is experiencing 'stratospheric' property prices driven by an influx of holiday home buyers 3 2 Indeed F O C S are critical of the science panel as it focused on the question: how to log in Clayoquot Sound rather than the question whether to log. Furthermore, they are critical of it because it continues to allow logging in old-growth forests, including the logging of intact valleys with variable retention methods, which are clearcuts with 15% of trees retained. See http://www.focs.ca/loqqinq/sciencepanel.asp. 98 from all over the world, which means that many long-term community members and families are being forced to leave due to rising costs. As Shaw (forthcoming) writes, the "community is becoming a very attractive place to spend time: a pleasant playground". The Becoming of the Great Bear Rainforest The success of Clayoquot, recalled one campaigner interviewee (March 2004), was due to the "incredible collaboration between different groups. We each had our strengths and contributed in different ways". It is out of this successful, collaborative Clayoquot campaign that the Canadian Rainforest Network (CRN) formed in 1996 and focused it's attention on what one campaigner interviewed (March 2004) called the 'Great Green Blob', the temperate rainforests of the central and north coasts of British Columbia, those same areas identified by Moore and Cl/Ecotrust as prime conservation areas. Indeed, as detailed in the previous chapter, the Moore study in particular was influential in directing environmentalist attention to the space. By this time, the 'rare and endangered temperate rainforest of B C had become a more solid scientific object through the international battle over Clayoquot Sound. Biodiversity arguments were commonly used to rationalize the 'saving' of Clayoquot Sound, and the temperate rainforest became somewhat synonymous with high biodiversity values in need of protection. The focus on the central and north coasts was a logical extension of an already powerful counter-object. Other groups, particularly Raincoast Conservation Society (founded in 1990), had already focused their attention in the area (see also WCWC 1992), but the CRN brought together a larger network of organizations. The CRN 99 announced their new coalition, which included fourteen US and Canadian ENGOs, at a press conference on June 24 t h, 1996. At this same press conference, the central and north coast area of the coast was publicly christened the 'Great Bear Rainforest', consolidating its' spatial identity: "It is called the Great Bear Rainforest because it is one of the great grizzly bear strongholds in the world. This is a daunting coastal landscape of some 3.2 million hectares extending northward along B.C.'s central and north range from Knight Inlet to Alaska" (Sierra Club of BC 1999, 3). (See Figure 1). According to activist Tzeporah Berman, the name the Great Bear Rainforest was coined in San Francisco on the back of a napkin: I still have distinct memories of Karen, Ian McAllister and myself sitting in a restaurant in San Francisco in 1996 writing on a paper tablecloth - Great Bear Wilderness? Raincoast Wilderness? Northern Rainforest? Coastal Rainforest Wilderness? And the moment when we wrote Great Bear Rainforest. We all knew immediately that was it. And we were damn sure that Great Bear Rainforest was going to solicit more concern that the 'mid coast timber supply area,' which is what the region was known as up until we launched the campaign (Berman 2006). At the same press conference the coalition announced their hopes and dreams for the Great Bear Rainforest - respite from the industrial clearcutting onslaught that has characterized most forestry in British Columbia since the early 20 t h century. Almost every commercially viable tree in the temperate rainforest (outside existing parks) was committed to logging. The Canadian Rainforest Network, writes inaugural coordinator Jill Thomas, is committed to: "protecting key ecological areas of the temperate rainforest; stopping all clearcutting in the temperate rainforest; halting all road building in the ancient temperate rainforest; supporting the work of First Nations to safeguard their traditional territories and ensure the survival of their culture; and promoting ecologically 100 sustainable community development" (Thomas 1996). The CRN released a protected area 'wish list', focusing on many watersheds identified in Moore's study. Large, primary, 'pristine' watersheds like the Takush, Koeye, and the Ingram-Mooto became contested spaces - integral to the health and well-being of the entire Great Bear Rainforest and the entire worldwide temperate rainforest. In a Vancouver Sun article printed around the same time, Thomas was quoted saying, "The whole thing should be protected" (Hamilton 1996). Within the same Vancouver Sun article, industry spokespersons downplayed the potential for a Clayoquot-style conflict in the area, but Sierra Club campaigner John Nelson focused on the potential for conflict between the forest industry and environmentalists. For Nelson, industry and environmentalists were fighting over the same "fingers of green between rock and ice"; those watersheds considered the most productive and valuable land ecologically and economically. Nelson went on to say: "They want to log the last intact rainforest. And that's where the values are that are important to us" (Hamilton 1996). Even at this early stage, reporter Hamilton notes that the CRN planned to bring "big-name ecologists to B.C. to promote the concept of big ecosystem preservation" (Hamilton 1996). The CRN set out to achieve systematic, large-scale, connected conservation throughout the entire temperate rainforest region. As Jill Thompson, coordinator of the CRN noted in 1996, "The idea of doing a valley-by-valley fight on the mainland coast is impossible to contemplate...There are 60 [pristine] valleys...But it's time to move beyond that anyway. When we fight valley-by-valley we end up with fragmented valleys here, there and everywhere. This is quite a major paradigm shift for the environmental 101 movement" (Hamilton 1996). This emphasis on the systematic conservation of an entire region - as opposed to individual valleys - placed environmental demands onto a new scale and scope. They were not asking for the protection of one valley or even a Sound (like Clayoquot), but rather an entirely new entity - the Great Bear Rainforest. Recalling the CRN's aims, one campaigner reflected (Interview, March 2004): "We wanted to focus attention on the forests as a whole ecosystem - at a large scale. We wanted to make the temperate rainforest as important as the tropical rainforest". The focus on the 'temperate rainforest' was an attempt to build upon the successes that tropical rainforest activists were having, a strategy coined within the Cl/Ecotrust study that created and popularized the entity 'temperate rainforest'. This budding campaign gathered support and focused on the need to quickly act on this tremendous conservation opportunity. Oliver Stone, the famed filmmaker, wrote in an editorial to the Vancouver Sun on June 26, 1996 (two days after the GBR campaign was announced): "Hollywood's involvement in the campaign to save Canada's remaining rainforests shouldn't surprise British Columbians. Your forests are pretty much the best of what's left of the world's remaining temperate rainforest ecosystem...Is it not time to realize that the world's remaining rainforests are too valuable to be clearcut?" (Stone 1996, 13). The GBR's Baby Book Following close on the tails of the 1996 public launching of the campaign, the Great Bear Rainforest's "baby book" was published in 1997. The stunning coffee table book, entitled The Great Bear Rainforest: Canada's Forgotten Coast, emerged out of 102 activists Ian and Karen McAllister's journeys throughout the GBR (the book is authored by the McAllisters with Cameron Young). Starting in 1991, the McAllisters - supported by the newly formed Raincoast Conservation Society, set out on a "systematic...reconnaissance of all the intact river valleys between Bute Inlet and the Alaska border" (McAllister et al. 1996, 15) - now known as the Great Bear Rainforest. This goal, which took the next several years to achieve, had the McAllisters 'ground-truth' the watersheds identified in Moore's (1991) study: "Together we studied Earthlife's [Earthlife published Moore's study] maps, staring into a world full of bears and rainforest, a world we found irresistible. What were all those rivers like? Were they alive with salmon? What did the estuaries look like?" (13-14). The resulting book, whose said purpose is to "place a little sample of its indescribable beauty on the record so that all may have an opportunity to appreciate what is at stake" (16), puts life to the intact watersheds carefully identified as 'pristine' by Moore. We see amazing photos of bears, salmon, forests, waterfalls, fjords, mountains, and flowers. This campaign material, supported by many environmental groups, carefully chronicles these pristine spaces, adding the centrally important aesthetic/beauty qualities to the GBR. The space is more than an urgent statistic about biodiversity loss or a group of endangered watersheds on a map; it is also a deeply beautiful, green, and lively place. The book would go on to win the BC Booksellers Choice Award and was also named Advocacy Book of the Year by Canadian Geographic. Similar books were produced for Clayoquot Sound and the Stein Valley. Like these others, this book is predominately made up of photos. For Braun (2002), "this 103 primacy of vision over language, of course, is a hallmark of modern empiricism, and is part of what makes the book effective as a political tactic" (73). By capturing photos of the forest, such a book appears to let nature speak for itself (74). These photos captured by the McAllisters have circulated throughout the world. These photos "provide a means for the 'forest' to be translated into a two-dimensional form...that can be moved to new sites without modification" (76). Books such as The Great Bear Rainforest "make it possible to bring local natures to distant places, and by so doing to draw together a community of concerned readers" (76). The book travels through many watersheds in the Great Bear Rainforest. The watersheds toured are large, pristine, unspoiled opportunities for conservation, watersheds forming the core of the GBR. We see photos of the spaces that really get the McAllister's blood pumping - those large, connected watersheds identified by Moore, like the Ecstall and Quaal - which are connected to form "one continuous rainforest region of more than 100,000 hectares" (114). The Ecstall is noted as the largest intact unprotected rainforest valley in Canada, and to the McAllister's "it is the most ecologically diverse and fascinating wild rainforest on the coast...Sailing up this river is the closest we can come to experiencing what one of the major rivers such as the Fraser or the Nass must have looked like before the arrival of the Europeans" (124). Or the areas surrounding Roscoe Inlet, Yeo Island, and Ingram, Mooto and Ellerslie lakes, which form "the largest contiguous block of intact temperate rainforest in the world" (75), what the McAllister's describe as the 'heart of the Great Bear Rainforest' (75). Throughout the book there are references to the map of the remaining ancient temperate rainforest in British Columbia, referring to Moore's map generated in 1991. 104 Drawing upon conservation studies of grizzly bears, the book emphasizes the space required for healthy populations of grizzly bears, and draws upon many different environmental arguments for protecting the space, especially conservation biology and biodiversity-type rationales. When the McAllisters stop and visit the only grizzly bear sanctuary on the coast - the Khutzeymateen - they reflect on just how much space grizzlies need: "The area provides protection for only about 2.5 percent of the coast's grizzlies, and the safety of even those few is anything but guaranteed" (132). Grizzly bears often cross over high ridges, into non-protected areas; "This is why setting aside small areas cannot protect a species like the grizzly bear: their range is measured not in one river valley but in clusters of river valleys that may cover hundreds of thousands of hectares, and they don't stay within park boundaries" (132). Their book emphasizes the importance of the GBR for the worldwide survival of the grizzly in North America: But looking just at North American numbers, we see the grizzly population has fallen to a fraction of its original size, and a disproportionate high number of the survivors are squeezed into the narrow river valleys of the northern BC coast. Official BC government estimates place between 1,500 and 3,000 grizzly bears between Knight Inlet and the Alaska border, giving the Great Bear Rainforest some of the highest concentrations of grizzly bears—and some the largest individual specimens—in North America (25). Species diversity is discussed throughout the book. In reference to salmon, they write: "Each creek is home to its own race of fish, different from that of even its closest neighbour" (75). The unique genetic makeup of the Kermode, or Spirit bear, which is a black bear with a recessive gene for white coloring, is also emphasized (95). The text reiterates the general mantra captured in the previous chapter: to save these beautiful valleys and their inhabitants, we need to protect entire pristine watersheds. The foreword to the book, written by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., sets the tone 105 for large protected areas: "The British Columbia government has recently begun to recognize the importance of its north coast rainforest by setting aside small tracts as parks. These fragments are far too limited to sustain forest diversity" (7). Kennedy draws upon concepts of ecological and biodiversity decay as discussed in the previous chapter, noting that many ecologists and biologists are now "questioning whether any of the world's great parks are large enough to avoid the steady downstream ecosystem decline" (7). But, fortunately, Kennedy notes, the GBR still has what it takes: "The forest region possesses the rarest of all environmental qualities: critical mass...It presents humankind with an opportunity, one which has already been lost elsewhere— to protect enough of one major ecosystem to guarantee the survival of all its components. Canada has the chance to create a world class natural attraction, store biodiversity, and hedge against global climate change" (7). In their book the McAllisters' advocate for protecting the entire suite of remaining intact watersheds on the coast, in a proposal they call the Great Bear Rainforest Proposal. "Each individual valley is precious and rare, and together they represent our final hope of protecting a fully functioning ecosystem large enough to ensure the survival of the ancient temperate rainforest, the coastal grizzly bear, hundreds of stocks of wild salmon and the thousands of other species that depend on old-growth forest" (135). They recognize that their proposal appears "extreme" but that they are the last watersheds "of their kind in all creation" (135). The McAllisters even provide an map entitled "The Great Bear Rainforest: Endangered Intact Watersheds as of 1997", which is essentially an updated version of the map produced by Moore in 1991, taking into account watersheds with logging activity between 1991-1997 (15 watersheds were 106 opened up between 1990-1997). Their proposal does not mean a halt to logging in the area, but they propose that any logging take place within already disturbed watersheds. They also note that detailed strategies or approaches towards this goal need to be worked out in an "inclusive and democratic process" (135). According to the McAllisters', there are only two options - reserving the remaining intact watersheds "to form one large, integrated wild environment" (132) and thus ensuring the survival of the Great Bear Rainforest and its inhabitants; or, "a largely industrialized landscape surrounding several isolated islands of ancient forest and one bear sanctuary. This is far from being a workable blueprint for safeguarding biological diversity and protecting some the earth's most precious wilderness" (132). Ultimately, the purpose of their book, write the McAllisters, was to "to show why it is necessarily to remove something as priceless as the last great rainforest from political and economic processes which by their nature cannot deal with the kind of long-term values involved" (140, my emphasis). Life or Death In the McAllister's book the birth of the GBR is intimately linked to its possible death. Choosing life means choosing to protect the intact watersheds; choosing death means business (forestry) as usual. The book and especially the GBR proposal exemplify a sort of protected areas fetishism, overshadowing other possible characteristics and approaches to biodiversity conservation. With the becoming of the GBR and the release of The Great Bear Rainforest, the scientific counter-object of the previous chapter - the rare, endangered temperate 107 rainforest of BC requiring protection - becomes more solid (or, in Daston's words, more "real") and clearly defined. The following chapter traces the increasing presence of the GBR both in BC and internationally; however, it focuses predominately on another scientific contribution to the space - a conservation areas design study completed in 1999. 108 Chapter 4. Designing a Future for the Great Bear Rainforest By 1997, campaigns over the newly minted Great Bear Rainforest were in full force as environmentalists began creating an international profile for the area. At the same time, some environmental groups were also refining their 'hope and dreams' for the GBR's future. Lacking 'scientifically credible information' - both to direct and support their activism, the Sierra Club of British Columbia, Raincoast Conservation Society, Forest Action Network, and Greenpeace Canada commissioned a Conservation Areas Design (CAD). Conservation Areas Design is a common technique used internationally to delimit the best, most biodiversity-effective protected areas. It is "a science-based regional conservation plan...that defines the ecological foundations upon which a sustainable economic structure can be built" (CAD webpage). The CAD differs from Moore's gap analysis in that it actually designs a protected areas system, whereas Moore's study only identified potential watersheds that could fill the 'gaps' in ecoregional representation. The results of the CAD are a series of maps demarking necessary protected areas for a large portion of the GBR (according to Conservation Biology methods), creating a new geography that is then mobilized by environmentalists in their fight to protect the GBR. Drawing primarily on Bruno Latour (2004), I argue that the CAD method is steeped in Cave mentality, in that it attempts to purify the truth of the natural world from the prison or Cave of the social world. With Latour, I argue this purification is impossible and further suggest that the CAD, while supposedly unencumbered with socio-economic interests, is (somewhat ironically) steeped within a particular political economy. Moreover, I argue that the salvation geography of the CAD, located as it is in 109 an assumed political economy and protected areas fetishism, contributes little to resolving the biodiversity and justice issues on the coast of BC. As with the rest of this thesis, I do this analysis not to poke holes in sails of environmentalists - whose goals I share to some extent, but rather in an attempt to see where radical potentialities are being stymied, where transformative change is being tempered. Thus at the end of this chapter I also briefly question the close relation between conservation biology and environmentalists and suggest that environmentalists look elsewhere for analytical support. The Summer of Shove The same year that the McAllister's Great Bear Rainforest was released (1997), environmental organizations stepped up their campaigns against forestry activities in the GBR. Environmental superpower, Greenpeace, made the GBR a priority, along with others like Forest Action Network (FAN), the Sierra Club of British Columbia (SC-BC), and what would soon be known as Forest Ethics (but at the time it was known as the Coastal Rainforest Coalition). While these groups' mandates and tactics differ, all of them where joined in opposition to status quo logging in the pristine watersheds of the GBR. In the spring of that year, Greenpeace blockaded Western Forest Products' operation on Roderick Island for 10 days and members of the Nuxalk Nation and environmental groups (particularly FAN members) blockaded Ista on King Island. Twenty-two people were arrested in the latter protest, 3 of which were eventually sentenced to jail. Images of these blockades were sent around the world, creating a buzz and raising the GBR's profile. Several of the activists arrested were from other 110 countries, demonstrating the interest outside the province/nation. While specific blockades highlighted particular valleys at risk, the campaigns focussed attention on the region as a whole, not just the specific valleys. Within these blockades and campaigns the Great Bear Rainforest began to be known throughout the globe. The provincial government, headed by Premier Glen Clark of New Democratic Party (NDP were re-elected in Spring 1996), responded to this mounting pressure in various forms. It launched the Central Coast Land and Resource Management Planning (CCLRMP) process in 1996, which covers 4.8 million hectares of the southern half of the GBR, to develop a stakeholder-approved comprehensive land use plan for the area. Environmental groups refused to participate. In an article written for the BC Environmental Report in 1997, campaigner Merran Smith (from the Sierra Club of BC) lists several reasons for this abstention. The primary one was that the government would not budge from its provincial policy of limiting protected areas to 12 percent, which in Smith's view would not allow for sufficient protection: "The central coast already has 10.74 percent in protected area, much of it in rock and ice in Tweedsmeer Park. This leaves only 60,000 hectares for protection if the cap is adhered to" (Smith 1997, 24). Furthermore, Smith argued that while the CCLRMP negotiations were taking place, logging would continue in those key pristine valleys - "We talk while they log". In sum, Smith writes, "Until the government and timber industry is prepared to protect significant areas of rainforest, bear and salmon habitat, and to change the way forestry is practiced, participation in a faulty process is meaningless...Government processes that simply legitimize the status quo are not a solution" (Smith 1997, 24). I l l In addition to starting the land use planning process, the Province and other pro-logging groups responded colourfully to increased environmentalist pressure. In response to an April 1997 Greenpeace report condemning Provincial forest practices, Premier Glen Clark called environmentalists 'Enemies of British Columbia' (Hauka and Luke 1997). This combative comment set the tone for the 'Summer of Shove', as one reporter called it, with environmentalists going head-to-head over the GBR with pro-logging community members and the pro-logging government. Not only did environmentalists block loggers from their work, but forestry workers blocked environmentalists from doing their work. For example, two Greenpeace ships were trapped for a week in Vancouver harbour by a log boom and an IWA union picket line. The IWA also filed lawsuits against the activists who blockaded coastal (within the GBR) logging operations. The lawsuits were eventually successful (MacQueen 1997). With these blockades and almost daily media reports of confrontations, small towns like Bella Bella in the heart of the GBR also saw escalating violence. According to news sources, 20-30 odd logging supporters confronted environmentalists (including European supporters) returning from a tour of logging operations in the area. Shoving ensued, a camera was smashed, and a banner was burned. One environmentalist, Gregg Higgs of Forest Action Network, reported that a cook in a local cafe was attacked for 'professing to like trees' (Fraser 1997). To the market they go With the mounting evidence that government and industry would not budge on either the logging in valleys that were subject to blockades or the larger picture of 112 conservation in the area beyond the 12% limit, environmental groups took their campaign out to the market in 1997. BC environmentalists had been using international pressure since Clayoquot to change government policies, "targeting citizens of other countries in their efforts to lobby the BC government for tighter forestry regulation and protection for some time, to little avail" (Shaw 2004, 378). This new campaign around the GBR re-directed their efforts at a new target. Shaw (2004) provides an excellent summary of this shift: In their new campaign, they encouraged people to express their preferences through their behaviour as consumers, rather than through more traditional political behaviour. This strategy was two-fold: mobilise consumer interest in the region and the issues enough to raise the spectre of a consumer boycott of any company that purchased products from corporations that logged in the GBR, then use this spectre to encourage companies to cancel contracts with corporations that logged there and to purchase instead from companies that harvested in an ecologically sustainable manner and not in endangered types of forests, such as old growth temperate rainforests. In this way environmentalists could simultaneously seek to protect particular regions such as the GBR and push companies more generally towards more sustainable harvesting methods (378). In short, environmental groups like Greenpeace and Forest Ethics asked large consumers (retailers) to stop buying forest products from the GBR, presenting them with the threat of a consumer boycott (or in some cases, such as the Home Depot, actually carrying out a consumer boycott). This change from lobbying and/or blockading the state/industry regarding unsustainable forestry in the GBR to lobbying large consumers of the forest products of the GBR is a crucial shift in ENGO strategy. It demonstrates increased sophistication by ENGOs as they begin to intervene in the political economy of forestry to achieve conservation outcomes. As a leading environmental organizer Tzeporah Berman states, the market campaign strategy is part of a longer term goal to change the economy: 113 Our goal in the market campaign is not only to create incentive for producers to change where and how they log but to transform the market for wood and paper products. We want to ensure that in the future consumption of products that are a result of the conversion of old growth or endangered forests is simply considered reprehensible. We are constantly working to balance this long-term vision with the need to use market place pressure to achieve short-term gains in specific endangered regions of the world (quoted in Shaw 2004, 378-79). Shaw (2004) argues that this shifted environmentalist campaign strategies "from one of forest protection to an effort to restructure the forest industry to render it environmentally sustainable" (Shaw 2004, 378). While I agree that their strategy shifted from direct action forest protection like the Clayoquot blockades, their use of the market, I argue, was more about gaining leverage to achieve forest protection on the ground and less about 'restructuring the forest industry'. Along with this eventually successful strategy shift, environmental groups also realized they needed to address the paucity of information around the ecological needs of the GBR. If logging in the GBR was wholly unsustainable and if current protected areas wholly inadequate, then what would sustainable look like? If consumers should not buy wood from the GBR due to the forest practices and lack of protected areas, then what watersheds or areas should be protected to address this problem? Enter conservation biology to build on the initial foundation laid by Moore. "Designing a Future for Canada's coastal rainforest'*3 While you pretend rapturously to read the canon of your law in nature, you want something opposite., .to impose your morality, your ideal on nature... - Nietzsche, in Robbins 2001, 655 3 3 Tit le of an env i ronmenta l pamphle t distr ibuted in 2000 by S ie r ra C l u b of B C , G r e e n p e a c e , Fo res t Ac t ion Network, R a i n c o a s t Conse rva t i on Soc ie ty , and T h e Va lha l l a W i l d e r n e s s Soc ie ty . 114 Seeking new knowledge In addition to their increasingly sophisticated and effective political strategies in the forest product marketplace, five environmental organizations (the Sierra Club of BC, Forest Action Network, Raincoast Conservation Society, Greenpeace and Valhalla Wilderness Society) began to develop a stronger scientific base for their GBR campaign. As noted in the previous chapter, in the early 1990s many BC activists34 began to focus on the conservation of regional landscapes like the GBR rather than engaging in valley-by-valley conflicts. This shift to landscape level or regional conservation activism evolved alongside approaches developed in conservation biology, particularly those advocating the need to think "big, systematic and connected" in conservation planning for improved biodiversity protection. While the Moore study provided environmentalists with a rudimentary sense of coastal watersheds 'gaps', many were still troubled by the inadequate knowledge of coastal biodiversity needs. Environmental groups and conservation biologists argued that studies commissioned by the Province were unsatisfactory, subsuming ecological needs under socio-economic priorities (such as maintaining the timber harvesting landbase). For example, the Provincial Protected Areas Strategy (1993) was "subordinated to perceived sociopolitical interests of stakeholders", thus conservation area recommendations "represent largely administrative, and not ecological, baselines" (Jeo et al. 1999, 11). Another Provincial report completed in1998 established biodiversity management options for the central coast, but conservation biologists Jeo et al. (1999) complained that the approach was "situated within an administratively Certa in ly many other env i ronmenta l g roups cont inued local s t ruggles over part icular va l leys . 115 determined framework that takes as its starting point the primacy of industrial forest management" (11). The result of this 'biased' conservation planning, many environmentalists charged, is 35% 'rocks and ice', referring to the percentage of protected areas in BC located in high altitude, mountainous terrain considered 'unproductive' economically but also with less biodiversity. The 'rocks and ice' situation is not only a BC problem, as Jeo et al. (1999) write, "most North American protected areas are located in alpine or sub-alpine zones and are usually too small and isolated to maintain viable populations of certain species, particularly wide-ranging animals such as carnivores" (18). Responding to these inadequate conservation plans and knowledge gaps, in 1998 the Sierra Club of BC, Forest Action Network, Raincoast Conservation Society, Greenpeace and Valhalla Wilderness Society approached a team of conservation biologists to "Identify a system of conservation areas that will maintain and restore the biological diversity of this coastal temperate rainforest ecosystem." (Sierra Club of BC et al. 2000, their italics) - otherwise known as a Conservation Areas Design (CAD). Merran Smith (1999), a prominent environmentalist in the GBR campaign goes on to characterize this project as 'Mission Impossible': with limited data and resources, and with imminent threats to the area from logging, conservation biologists were asked to determine what was needed to protect biodiversity on the central coast. This region is home to three species of bears, wild salmon stocks, wolves, marten, goats, cedar, fir and spruce and thousands of other species. It is the central part of the Great Bear Rainforest, and one of the largest areas of intact rainforest left in the world (22). The CAD was to answer the question "What will it take to keep the spirit bears as well as the grizzlies and the black bears alive on BC's central coast?" (Smith 1999, 22) by 'designing' a protected area system for the central coast, which forms a large part of the 116 GBR. In other words, the CAD was commissioned to flip-flop the hierarchy of socio-economic over ecological; to design a conservation plan guided by conservation biology principles, uninfluenced by socio-economics. The Scientists and their assignment The commissioned conservation biologists belonged to Round River (RR), a non-profit ecologically oriented research and education organization whose goal is to formulate and carry out conservation strategies that preserve and restore wildness (12).35 Three biologists led the study: Richard M. Jeo, M.A. Sanjayan and Dennis Sizemore, all of whom are firmly cemented in conservation biology and ecology. Richard Jeo is a biologist who received his PhD from the California Institute of Technology. He now works for The Nature Conservancy, one of the largest conservation organizations in the world. Dr. Sanjayan received his PhD. in Conservation Biology from the University of California at Santa Cruz under the tutelage of famed conservation biologist Dr. Michael Soule. He also currently works for the Nature Conservancy as a science director. Dennis Sizemore is currently the executive director of Round River. His education is in wildlife ecology. However, in the acknowledgements Round River thanks many other people who contributed to this project including mapping technicians, field technicians and researchers, famous academics like Michael Soule and the financial contributions of many foundations. As RR biologists saw it, the particular mission of their project was to use conservation biology to develop a protected area system "to ensure the long-term 3 5 T h e y def ine w i l dness a s " l a n d s c a p e s that are relatively se l f -mainta in ing, with full vegetat ion and faunal a s s e m b l a g e s present , and whe re the h u m a n commun i t i es are in c l o s e and sus ta inab le re lat ionship with the local e c o s y s t e m " (12). 117 viability of key resident species and major ecosystem processes of these rainforests" (Jeo et al. 1999, iii). They drew from Reed Noss, a leading conservation biologist, to set out their general goals for the conservation areas design: 1. Represent, in a system of protected areas, all native ecosystem types and serai stages across their natural range of variation. 2. Maintain viable populations of all native species in natural patterns of abundance and distribution. 3. Maintain ecological and evolutionary processes, such as disturbance regimes, hydrological processes, nutrient cycles, and biotic interactions. 4. Design and manage the system to be resilient to short-term and long-term environmental change and to maintain the evolutionary potential of lineages (quoted in Jeo et al. 1999, 19). The above goals are longhand for saying that the ultimate goal of the CAD is to ensure the protection of biodiversity in the space in perpetuity. Indeed, RR argues this conservation plan "is necessary if the overarching goal of conservation of biodiversity, in perpetuity, is to be achieved in BC" (4). Without this plan, they go on to argue, "central coast biodiversity and ecosystem functioning will continue to be eroded by human impacts until it eventually resembles the severely depleted forest remnants now found in the lower 48 states of the United States (Jeo et al. 1999, 4). In order to find this ideal coastal geography, Round River's methodology requires severing ecological needs from socio-economic ones. The planning process, they write, must take place "independent of economic considerations" (20), and be focused on demarking conservation areas "based solely on ecological values" (17). The CAD is to relay the needs of biodiversity in the space, needs "based on conservation science rather than primarily on aesthetic, social, political, or economic considerations" (19). As these quotes suggest, RR is attempting to 'let Nature speak' or to uncover what Nature needs to survive, and for them, this requires removing all socioeconomic influences. 118 With this severing methodology, the CAD is an exemplar of what Latour (2004) calls Cave epistemology. In his allegory on science and society in The Politics of Nature, the Cave represents the prison of the social world, a prison including "public life, politics, subjective feelings, popular agitation"(10). The pursuit of knowledge and truth about the real world under Cave epistemology requires the Scientist to "free himself from the prison of the social world" (10). Following Latour's metaphor, it is scientists (in our case, the Round River scientists) who are able to travel back and forth, inside and outside the Cave: "In a triple mystery...despite the gulf between the two worlds, scientists nevertheless remain capable of breaking with society to achieve objectivity, of rendering mute things assailable by human language, and, finally, of coming back 'to earth' to organize society according to the ideal models supplied by reason" (37-38). Following this, RR biologists are somehow able to extract themselves from the Cave, understand the biodiversity needs for the central coast, and generate a plan based on those needs. In her Situated Knowledge essay Haraway (1997b) calls this type of 'mystery' objectivity the god trick, which is the ability for scientists like the RR biologists to "see everything from no-where" (58), to see Nature magically with "direct, devouring, generative, and unrestricted vision" (58) whose CAD is then presented as "utterly transparent" (58), independent, or objective.36 Indeed for Round River, the exclusion of socioeconomic interests is what makes the CAD useful: "This is the particular strength 3 6 Fo r H a r a w a y (1997b), s u c h v is ion s t e m s f rom analy t ica l tradition "deep ly indebted to Ar istot le and to the t ransformat ive history of "Whi te Capi ta l is t P a t r i a r c h y " . . . that turns everyth ing into a resource for appropr ia t ion, in wh ich an object of know ledge is finally itself only matter for the sem ina l power, the act, of the knower . Here , the object both gua ran tees and re f reshes the power of the knower , but any status a s agent in the product ions of know ledge must be den ied the ob jec t . . .Nature is only the raw mater ia l of culture, appropr ia ted, p reserved , e n s l a v e d , exa l ted , or o therwise m a d e f lexible for d i sposa l by culture in the logic of capi ta l is t co lon ia l i sm" (65-66). Sad ly , La tour d o e s not re ference H a r a w a y ' s work within his book. 119 of the CAD - it is a western based statement made independent of specific economic or political interests" (12). For Latour, this Cave epistemology creates our current Constitutional ontology -a bicameralism (division of powers) bisected between the assembly of things (Nature/Science - located outside the Cave) and the assembly of humans (Social/Political - inside the Cave). Of course, writes Barnes (2005) such a constitution, is not "fixed from on high", "given by transcendental categories like Nature and Society" (70-71). These orders are created by processes of purification (Latour 1993), which is, as Barnes writes, "the process of fastidiously dividing the world into unblemished categories - rocks into Nature, working class into Society, money into Economy, opera into Culture - making the world neat and tidy, as if it is one giant filing cabinet" (Barnes 2005, 70). Scientists like the RR biologists produce Nature through purification, "by systematically excluding from their accounts parts of their work that do not fit into the Nature box" (Barnes 9). These processes of purification can be found in the CAD methodology, explained in detail below, as RR biologists focus on purifying the needs of three non-human entities: bears, salmon and old-growth forests. The CAD Methodology For the central coast CAD (see Figure 5 for a map of the study area), RR biologists focused on selecting conservation areas that would maintain and restore large carnivore populations, salmon stocks and old growth forests. These three taxa, or communities, they write, "above all, define and represent the coastal temperate rainforest ecosystem of BC" (5). In addition to these three species/communities, Round 120 River sought to maintain and/or restore landscape connectivity. To meet these four goals, they used various techniques to delimit ideal locations and sizes for conservation areas. Their approach, as they write, is "multifaceted and multi-scaled" (5), combining a "coarse-filter, ecosystem approach, a fine-filter species-based approach, and special elements mapping to arrive at the final design"(5). Their CAD draws heavily upon conservation biology and the notion that systematically planned, ecologically representative, large and connected protected areas are crucial to the conservation of biodiversity. Identifying Core Intact Areas As their first step, Round River identified Core Intact Areas (their name for the primary type of protected area) to provide representation of "intact examples of each vegetation habitat type in a region" (21) or different ecosystems. These were selected based on criteria more detailed, but similar to Moore's. Core Intact Areas are watersheds with old growth structure, less than 10% forestry activity and less than 0.2 km/km2 road density. In addition, to be a Core Intact Area, the watershed must have less than half 'rock and ice'. 3 7 According to RR, this technique is considered "likely to capture the majority of species [that exist in the temperate rainforest biome] and is especially useful for species that are difficult to inventory and about which little is known. On the central coast of BC, these species include social and canopy invertebrates, fungi and bacteria" (22-23). M o r e technica l ly known a s C o a s t a l W e s t e r n Hem lock b iogeoc l imac t ic z o n e . 121 Figure 5. Map of CAD study area (Jeo etal. 1999) © Round River Conservation Studies, by permission 122 Identifying Core Grizzly Bear and Salmon Habitat Areas and Core Restoration Areas To represent important species that may not be captured under the above method, in the second step RR selected Core Grizzly Bear/Salmon habitat and restoration areas largely based on the ecological needs of the grizzly bear and salmon. Why these species? Conservation biology techniques like the CAD concentrate on the needs of a few focal species (in this case the Grizzly and Salmon) because it is impossible to inventory all species in the area, never mind understanding their habitat needs. Focal species are species whose habitat needs (ideally) concurrently protect all or at least most remaining native species. The Grizzly bear has large habitat needs, so the theory is that if you have enough habitat for Grizzlies, then other species will likely have enough habitat too (29). While not mentioned as rationale in the RR study, it also helps that grizzly bears are also a relatively well-researched species in this area. Salmon are another focal species because they are thought to play a critical role in regulating the ecosystem. They are a crucial fall food source for many rainforest animals and also fertilize plants and trees in the forest via animal excrement. Spawning salmon are also sensitive to stream temperature and sedimentation, so they act as an indicator species for tracking the health of the ecosystem (Jeo et al. 1999). According to research cited in the RR study, grizzlies are heavily dependant on low elevation riparian areas, concentrating their activities at elevations lower than 100m and within 150 m of streams (40). The bears also seek higher elevations for denning (above 300 m, greater than 30 degree angle) and 52% of dens are found in old growth forest. The research they rely on shows that the bears strongly avoid humans and avoid clearcuts (41). Based on this knowledge of the grizzly bear, Core Grizzly Bear Areas 123 were selected through an algorithm that takes into account the above likes and dislikes, including the absence of 'human' impact.38 To ensure salmon conservation, watersheds selected through the above algorithm were expanded to encompass the entire primary watershed. Depending on the amount of human impact in these watersheds, the areas were divided into Core GB/Salmon Habitat Areas and Core Restoration Areas39 Identifying Riparian and Salmon Conservation Areas and Linkage Watersheds And finally, to ensure linkages between conservation areas (to facilitate seasonal and daily movements of animals), RR identified Riparian and Salmon Conservation Areas and Linkage Watersheds. Riparian and Salmon Conservation Areas are essentially protected buffers placed around all stream and water features in salmon bearing watersheds. Linkage Watersheds are the "rock and ice" watersheds (high elevation tundra) adjacent to and connecting thin strips of productive low elevation old growth forest. "We suggest that linkage watersheds play potentially important roles in connectivity between Core Conservation Areas and should be managed to maintain natural levels of connectivity" (59). These areas serve "to keep major Core Conservation Areas contiguous" (6). 3 8 T h e a lgor i thm inc luded road densi ty, p r e s e n c e of es tuar ies , s a l m o n index b a s e d on s a l m o n e s c a p e m e n t , r iparian index b a s e d on s t r eams in w a t e r s h e d s with 1 0 0 m buffering on ei ther s ide , and old growth a r e a f rom forest cove r da ta cor rec ted for recent logging. W a t e r s h e d s that had a suff icient ' sco re ' f rom the a lgor i thm were se lec ted a s C o r e Grizzly Bear Habitat/Salmon Areas. R R used field da ta to determine what that sco re w a s . T h e y found that known high bear use a r e a s had signi f icant ly h igher index s c o r e s than randomly c h o s e n a reas . B a s e d on this information they se t the threshold for G B habitat se lec t ion at 0.17, mean ing that w a t e r s h e d s with s c o r e s greater than 0.17 on the index we re se lec ted a s C o r e Gr i zz l y B e a r Hab i ta t /Sa lmon a reas . 3 9 If the a r e a had less than 1 5 % logging impacts (of the product ive forest) we re de l ineated a s Core Grizzly/Salmon Habitat Areas; if it had more than 15 % logging it w a s de l ineated a s C o r e Restoration Areas. 124 CAD Results: A new geography emerges After all the research, sorting, calculating and dividing, the final result of the CAD is a series of maps demarcating where conservation areas should be located (see Figure 6 below). The study creates a new geography for the coast, a geography meant to serve the needs of those who cannot speak or sit at the LRMP table - the non-human residents of the GBR, especially the grizzly, salmon, and old-growth forests. 125 Figure 6. CAD for the Central Coast of British Columbia (Jeo etal. 1999) © Round River Conservat ion Studies, by permission 126 According to this plan, 50.3% of the central coast should be protected (2.39 out of 4.75 million hectares).40 The authors crosscheck these selected conservation areas against the study goals. According to RR's estimations, these Core Conservation Areas hold 72% of the remaining old growth in the study area and 61% of all salmon stocks (64). Thus Round River concludes that the combination of all areas "seems to adequately represent old growth focal species as well as salmon species" (65). Human activity within these conservation areas is to be severely restricted. Within the core conservation areas (Core Intact Areas and the Grizzly/Salmon Areas), the authors recommend no industrial logging, road construction, commercial development, residential development, mining, and trophy hunting. However, "subsistence level use and recreational use should be permitted subject to adequate safeguards" (67). Within the Core Restoration Areas, the authors "recommend that restoring ecological processes and natural levels of species distribution and abundance should be the first priority in the management of Core Restoration Areas...This would involve stopping clearcut logging, de-activating roads and thinning existing plantations to enhance ecological attributes"(67). Linkage Watersheds, Riparian and Salmon Conservation Areas can be open to some human activity but these activities must be vastly different than predominant practices on the coast (68) 4 1 4 0 T h e s e co re conserva t ion a r e a s are located in three main c lus ters - R i ve rs /Smi th Inlet a rea - this inc ludes the fol lowing wa te r sheds : K o e y e River , Johns ton C r e e k , A l la rd C r e e k , Lockha r t -Go rdon C r e e k and S m o k e h o u s e R iver . O the r a r e a s are north of Knight Inlet: Kl inkakl in i R iver , Staf ford and A p p l e r ivers and the Anahutn i t i wa te r shed comp lex . Last ly, the northern part of the s tudy a rea has many w a t e r s h e d s -a large part of P r i n c e s s R o y a l Is land, the K h u t z e R iver , D e a n River . 4 1 T h e y r e c o m m e n d a m o v e to var iab le retention forestry that m im ics natural d is tu rbance. M o r e speci f ica l ly they r e c o m m e n d that within Forest ry Z o n e s with old growth, a m in imum of 1 5 % aggrega ted (or patch) retention of the s tand is main ta ined in every cutb lock and a m a x i m u m d is tance of 4 t ree he ights o b s e r v e d be tween pa tches" (69). 127 The public relations materials accompanying the release of the study in 2000 trumpeted the arrival of GBR's resuscitation plan. The opening webpage for the CAD reads: "For the first time in B.C., there is a science-based regional conservation plan -the Conservation Areas Design - that defines the ecological foundations upon which a sustainable economic structure can be built" (CAD webpage). A summary pamphlet distributed in 2000 recognizes that there are other important interests in the space, but those must be altered to fit within this plan, which is foundational: The CAD must be reviewed by First Nations who are the traditional stewards on the coast; their interests and cultural values will then be integrated. Equally important, consultation must take place will all other stakeholders. But for now, we know what it will take to preserve the ecological integrity of B.C.'s Central Coast rainforest, and can begin to structure human economic activity to fit within that framework (Sierra Club of BC et al. 2000, 1). Despite these bombastic statements about knowing what the forest needs, Round River biologists and commissioning environmentalists do recognize the limited perspective of the CAD as a western scientific perspective. "The CAD is based on western science. It focuses on terrestrial conservation concerns only...this report contains no information about cultural, social or economic concerns". They note and affirm the "the extensive and on-going efforts of ... First Nations to collect and consolidate traditional ecological, scientific and cultural knowledge regarding their respective territories" (iii). But while Round River and commissioning environmentalists carefully warn that they are offering only one perspective on the GBR's life course and note the importance of First Nations knowledge, all other information and plans should be layered on top, but not alter, the CAD foundation. Socio-economics still matter, but they should only be "brought to bear in a separate process after a biologically based CAD is complete" (20). 128 What RR attempts to create is a largely indisputable ecological fact about how the GBR must be shaped 4 2 As per Latour, RR has returned to the Cave "to organize society according to ideal models supplied by reason" (38). Through the Round River scientists the mute entity of the forest is made "capable of speaking, writing and signifying...the facts speak for themselves" ((Latour 1993, 29). In the GBR case, the scientists provide society with an indisputable geography that, as the following quote suggests, absolutely must be followed, or else risk the demise of the temperate rainforest. Even the best plan or design will come to naught if it is not implemented. If the extinction crisis, now underway globally, is to be tackled locally, the Conservation Areas Design for the Central Coast of BC must be integrated into all regional conservation and development policies. ... If it fails, this unique synthesis of data and the map it provides will become not a path of hope but another postmortem for nature. Consolidating the GBR's identity The CAD study further reinforces the GBR as a rare, threatened forest in need of vast protection. But it goes further than creating an identity; it builds a kind of 'salvation geography' for the forest, a spatial life-plan to resuscitate the GBR. This geography consists of a series of protected areas and is built upon the assumption that protected areas are a necessity and indeed the primary tool for biodiversity conservation. As argued in the previous chapter, the protected area fetish found within conservation biology is problematic in that it conceals complex, colonial and racist histories contributing to the creation of the 'rare temperate rainforest'. The resulting CAD 4 2 A 'matter of fact' is def ined by Latour in his g lossa ry a s : "The ind isputable ingredients of sensa t ion or of exper imenta t ion; the term is used to e m p h a s i z e the polit ical oddity of the dist inct ion, i m p o s e d by the old Const i tu t ion, be tween what is d isputab le ( theories, op in ions , interpretat ions, va lues) and what is ind isputable (sensory data)" (244). 129 geography continues this troubling pattern by detracting attention from social and political relations at the source of the biodiversity problem, relations have been characterized generally by M'Gonigle and Dempsey (2003) as 'centralized, high-throughput, and linear' and by Cashore et al. 2001 as a "liquidation-conversion project"43 controlled by a development coalition of big industry, big unions and the government. It is not surprising that the resulting geography is fetishistic given the purification methodology the study relied upon, a methodology that overtly attempts to eliminate "aesthetic, social, political, or economic considerations" (Jeo et al. 1999, 19). Purification, like that attempted by the CAD, is not simply a misunderstanding of how the world really is, or should be known. For Latour, purification is extremely dangerous because it helps constitute more complicated hybrids, like the biodiversity crisis or global warming, hybrids with extraordinary consequences. Purification creates hybrids by rendering the complex and vastly messy processes or networks that assemble hybrids "invisible, unthinkable, unrepresentable" (1993, 34). Indeed, Latour argues, under the current Constitution 'moderns' are often unable to see never mind understand the creation of hybrids as 'we' are wholly caught up in purification metaphysics. Due to this 'unthinkability' or invisibility of the networked relations (including humans, non-humans, objects) creating the hybrid, 'moderns' make themselves free of boundaries; they begin to "think they were freed from the ultimate restrictions that might limit their expansion" (38). Without recognizing the dense (non-humans/human) networks through which hybrids are created, moderns fall into a "rather 4 3 L iqu ida t ion-convers ion refers here to the harvest ing of all so -ca l l ed 'o ld-growth ' forests and rep lac ing them with even-s tand plantat ions with m u c h faster rotations. In genera l , more biodiversi ty ex is ts in the o lder forests. 130 neat construction that makes it possible to do everything without being limited by anything" (32). Such an epistemological and ontological perspective, argues Latour, "provided the moderns with the daring to mobilize things and people on a scale that would have otherwise been disallowed" (41). Latour mentions colonialism as an example of such a mass expansionism. In other words, a purification metaphysics conceals hybrids and the networks of relations creating hybrids, which in turn helps to produce more complicated and dangerous hybrids. Of course, as the CAD demonstrates, purification also produces particular solutions to those hybrids, albeit solutions with a tendency to create more hybrids. Despite being fuelled by environmental concern to halt industrial expansion in the GBR, the CAD study remains wholly enmeshed in the bicameral Constitution Latour describes. With its strict purification methodologies, the ideal conservation scenario created for a large portion of the GBR is shallow in it's recommendations, offering a narrow 'regional, connected conservation area' solution to what is a deeply historical, socio-natural and political hybrid, one containing forest companies, international trade, changing forestry technologies, government policies, amongst many other things, both human and non-human. Rather than untying the Gordian knot that is the biodiversity crisis on the central coast, the CAD attempts to explain nature's needs unencumbered by human 'interests' by largely excluding the social. As Latour predicts, Round River fails in its purification attempt. Round River is unable to separate out nature's needs from the imbroglio. While much of Latour's work has focused on showing how laboratory methods and results are mediated at every step by human interventions or non-human objects (i.e. behind every inscription lies 131 thousands of acts of transcription - Braun 2002, 220), I focus here on the 'failure' (and, of course, impossibility) of Round River to eliminate the 'political and economic' as their methodology suggests they must do. Although the study is premised on revealing the needs of biodiversity in the forest, or 'what the bears need to survive" unencumbered by political and economic interests, I argue that their study is completely enmeshed within assumed political economic relations. My argument rests, once again, on the promotion of protected areas as the primary solution to the biodiversity problem. In concluding that 50% of the forests should be removed from "political and economic processes which by their nature cannot deal with the kind of long-term values involved" (McAllister et al. 1997, 140), the CAD assumes the continuation of those biodiversity-adverse political and economic relations. With their focus on protecting the forests from political-economic destruction 'which by their nature cannot deal with the kind of long-term values involved', one gets the sense that those political-economic relations are inevitable, inescapable or 'natural'. The extractive political economy cannot be compatible with biodiversity, so the solution must focus on mitigating its impact on biodiversity by removing the forest from it; we cannot change those political and economic relations to something less destructive. In this sense the CAD solution ironically remains steadfastly within those same detrimental political economic relations (albeit with less forest land to harvest), even though their method is premised on excising political and economic influences. Going back to Latour, the problem with purification attempts like the CAD is that they fail to adequately deal with the complex, messy hybrid of the coastal biodiversity issue. A critical danger with the CAD and indeed with the entrenched protected areas 132 fetishism within conservation biology more generally is that it seems to assume an inevitably biodiversity-destructive political economic system; we must remove large parts of the forest from those processes so it can live. With Latour, I suggest this approach will promote more hybrids (socio-environmental problems) not less through its purification of the complex, messy issue of biodiversity on the coast. The question now is, so what? So what if the CAD was simplistic, fetishistic, and assumes the continuation of biodiversity-harmful political and economic relations with most of the landscape? Wasn't it useful as a strategic tool? The following section focuses on how the CAD circulates within the environmental politics of the GBR and delves into larger questions of conservation biology and environmental politics. Coming out of the Cave Despite my critical assessment above, the spirit of the CAD matters, new knowledge was and indeed is desperately needed for the GBR and indeed for most land management in British Columbia. Typically, forest policy in BC has not been overly concerned with the non-humans living in them. I fully appreciate the difficult and uphill battle environmentalists faced with the 'exploitation axis' harvesting trees at what many (including the Ministry of Forests itself) considered unsustainable rates in the 'rare' temperate rainforest. One can (and many do) argue that it is only pragmatic or realpolitik to play on the same field dominating Western life - the Constitutionally divided world Latour describes. They were fighting fire with fire; environmentalists needed an equally rationalistic and scientific geography to counter the authority of 'sustained yield forest science' so dominant in BC and on the coast. In this sense, the 133 CAD was a strategically commissioned by environmentalists to provide yet another powerful scientific 'counter-object' to the Mid-Coast Timber Supply Area. Unquestionably the CAD was important to the GBR campaign both in terms of convincing the public of the value of particular watersheds and to refine their own campaign demands. Now environmental groups could point to the CAD and say: 'this is what we want, and this is the scientific rationale for it'. The CAD became invaluable as environmentalists began negotiating a detente with industry in 2000 and also within the official LRMP negotiations and the Coast Information Team (CIT). As one interviewee noted (March 2004), the CAD was "hugely influential" and gave environmentalists a head start on the land selection negotiations that would take place over the coming years. It helped orient environmentalists towards the most critical spaces, and to see what spaces were negotiable. Another key activist from the Sierra Club, Bill Wareham, noted in a report to the Commission for Environmental Cooperation that the CAD played a key role in negotiations around the Central Coast LRMP table and in securing 1.5 million acres of pristine watersheds and high value habitat and an additional 2 million acres of forests placed in deferral in April 2001 (Wareham undated). That said, the CAD, while important, was only one contribution to the campaign and ultimately to the outcomes; it was not the only foundation for environmentalist claims or actions. In other words, the CAD was not their bible and certainly there were countless other influences on the direction the campaign took. The campaign was not only about protected areas as some environmentalists also focused on the need for social and economic changes in the space. As Sierra Club activist Merran Smith wrote in 2000, a part of the campaign was also to focus on fostering a "conservation based 134 economy" (4) in the Great Bear Rainforest; on "finding true alternatives for communities - alternatives based on standing forests that will provide longer term, sustainable jobs" (4). These sorts of statements go against my earlier claim of protected area fetishism by environmentalists and reflect yet another change in conservation discourse. People-Oriented Conservation? This focus in the GBR on livelihoods corresponds with changes in the international policy community towards what has been characterized as 'people-oriented or centred conservation'. Jeanrenaud (2002) describes people-oriented conservation as "policies and projects that claim a simultaneous interest in the welfare of people and nature" (1) attempting to "integrate rather than separate nature conservation and development" (1). This approach emerged in response to conservation paradigms dominant in the 20 t h century, approaches that saw people as a threat to nature, particularly indigenous peoples. A result of this hard conservation was the imposition of protected areas on many indigenous and local communities throughout the world, known as 'fortress conservation'. In many cases this resulted in forced displacement or the elimination of livelihoods or jobs, creating what Mark Downie (2006) calls conservation refugees. In India there are an estimated 700,000 conservation refuges (Downie 2006). Charles Geisler, a rural sociologist at Cornell University studying these displacements, estimates there are over 14 million of such refugees on the African continent alone (cited in Downie 2006). 'People-oriented conservation' evolved in response to many factors such as a growing concern for livelihoods, particularly among field practitioners; a growing 135 emphasis on sustainable use; a recognition of indigenous knowledge and management systems; and ... the influence of participatory development and donor funding requirements (Jeanrenaud 2002, 13). However, this sensitive and more just approach to conservation has not resulted in substantial shift in the focus on protected areas as the primary approach to biodiversity conservation. In 2005 the Executive Secretary of the Convention on Biological Diversity, Hamdallah Zedan, boldly exemplifies this by stating: "Protected areas are, and will remain, cornerstones of biodiversity conservation" (1). Zedan and the other contributors to the document (such as the President of Conservation International, the Italian Minister of Environment, and the President of The Nature Conservancy) go on to note that the existing global protected areas system is insufficient and call for political mobilization around building a "global network of ecologically representative and effectively managed protected areas on land by 2010 and at sea by 2012" (McCormick 2005, 13). Steven McCormick, the President of the Nature Conservancy44, applauded the increased emphasis on protected areas: "At the time of pressing urgency for the future of biological diversity in the world, it is refreshing - indeed historic - to see protected areas and their critical role in supporting sustainable development as a rallying point for global unity and real hope" (13). Others have taken direct aim at 'people-oriented conservation'. In Parks in Peril, The Nature Conservancy's Katrina Brandon, Kent H. Redford and Steven E. Sanderson clearly noted their concern: The trend to promote sustainable use of resources as a means to protect these resources, while politically expedient and intellectually appealing, is not well grounded in biological and ecological knowledge. Not all things can be preserved through use. Not all places should be open to use. Without an understanding of 4 4 T h e Nature C o n s e r v a n c y is the largest of the big three env i ronmenta l N G O s (a long with C o n s e r v a t i o n International and Wor l d W i d e F u n d for Nature - W W F ) . In 2004 it h a s a s s e t s in e x c e s s of 3 bill ion dol lars . 136 broader ecosystem dynamics at specific sites, strategies promoting sustainable use will lead to substantial losses of biodiversity (cited in Chapin 2004, 20). For Brandon et al., the protected areas approach is grounded in sound biological science and will likely result in biodiversity conservation, whereas other approaches such as sustainable use 'will lead to substantial losses of biodiversity'. A 2004 article by anthropologist Mac Chapin rocked the conservationist world when he convincingly argued that the participation and collaboration rhetoric has been displaced "with a new focus on large-scale conservation strategies and the importance of science, rather than social realities in determining their agendas" (18). Others have noted a continuation and/or return to more traditional 'fortress' conservation, where protected areas are imposed upon and guarded from local and Indigenous Peoples (Colchester 2004; Nelson 2003; Downie 2006). Furthermore, several commentators have recently noted a return to fortress-style conservation at the international policy level (Hutton et al. 2005, Christensen 2006) Both of these shifts, the one towards people-oriented conservation and the one re-affirming the importance of protected areas are present in the politics of the GBR. As noted above, environmentalists on the coast communicate a deep concern for the peoples living on the coast and stress the need to develop a sustainable economy for them. For Merran Smith, writing in 2000: "The new economy is a key element in this work. If we don't find options for communities and works they will fight to keep the status quo, despite its rejection by the marketplace. We aren't seeking an end to logging; however, finding true alternatives for communities - alternatives based on standing forests that will be provide longer term, sustainable jobs - will allow for a healthy and viable economy in which communities can flourish." (Smith 2000, 4). As the campaign 137 rolled on, there was a distinctive change towards 'livelihood' and the need to promote environmental and economic solutions that would also provide for forest communities. Indeed as the conflict over the GBR moved along, environmentalists departed from the ideal protected area geography in order to reach compromise with the forest industry and First Nations 4 5 From my examinations of environmental organization materials and websites around the GBR, however, it seems environmentalist approaches and demands rarely waver far from the need for extensive protected areas. There is certainly concern for broader issues, but those are secondary or, as Greenpeace puts it, longer-term issues to be dealt with later. For example, their campaign demands read: Greenpeace is calling for: • No logging in any of the remaining pristine rainforest valleys; • No new roads in the temperate rainforest; • An immediate end to clearcutting. In the longer term, Greenpeace is seeking a phase-out of industrial logging in the old-growth rainforests, and a shift toward logging in second-growth forests according to ecological principles. Greenpeace supports First Nations' cultural use of the temperate rainforest and local community controlled ecoforestry in second-growth forests and areas where some logging has already occurred (Greenpeace Archives website). In a later document Greenpeace states: "The Great Bear Rainforest is what we have left [of the temperate rainforest]. It must be protected" (Greenpeace Canada). Protected area selection was primary for many environmental groups; other goals such as the 'conservation based economy', seemed to come second and were promoted without the specific prescriptions found with the protected areas 'solutions' like the CAD. The protected area system is the foundation upon which other things such as 'economy' must fit within. As Michelle Larstone, Sierra Club activist, wrote in 2000, 4 5 T h i s w a s a compl ica ted p r o c e s s that occur red during L R M P negotiat ions, which is outside the s c o p e of this particular project. 138 "The CAD is not a complete solution, but it is an excellent start. We now know what it will take to preserve the ecological integrity of the rainforest on B.C.'s central coast and can begin to structure human economic activity to fit within that framework" (4). The protected areas prerogative is problematic in that it defers attention and energy away from other potential approaches to solving biodiversity issues. With much time and resources focused on protected areas, organizations and activists "pay insufficient attention to the systemic production or 'becoming' of degraded forestscapes - the rise of industrial forestry, its intimate link with consumption, forestry science, state tenures, bureaucratic regulations and policies which encourage both of these" (M'Gonigle and Dempsey 2003, 112). The focus on protected areas conceals not only the social relations or the 'becoming' of biodiversity loss, but also conceals other types of solutions to the biodiversity issue. For example, what if 10 % of the resources going to protected areas advocacy went into advocacy to eradicate biodiversity-harmful trade incentives at both country and international scales? What if, in the GBR, environmentalists focused on eradicating industrial tenure and redistributing it to First Nations and local communities? What if the campaign had focused on developing capacity amongst the First Nations in the area to fight land rights battles? What if the campaign had focused on the need to change the governance system so that management was not the purview of a Province historically 'in bed' with industry? What if the campaign had focused on re-orienting land management into what M'Gonigle et al. (2001) call the Community Ecosystem Trust", which is an enabling approach to land management where communities organize on their own terms to become trustees over the land, while abiding by broad legislative objectives and principles? 139 What to do with the CAD and Conservation Biology? While of course there are many factors propping up the dominance of protected areas (in the GBR and elsewhere), I suggest that conservation biology approaches and techniques (such as through the gap analysis and the conservation areas design) make significant contributions towards the dominance of protected area approaches. With its fetishistic tendencies and embedded political-economic assumptions, environmentalists should be extremely careful in how they call upon conservation biology to constitute spaces like the GBR. Indeed, I suggest conservation biology studies like gap analyses and conservation areas designs tend to have a de-radicalizing effect on those movements drawing from it. By de-radicalizing, I refer to the lack of attention to 'root causes' - or the processes, relations, or things contributing to the creation of the problem - those Gordian knots Latour refers to, or in BC forest terms, the advent and entrenchment of objects such as the Mid Coast Timber Supply Area. This de-radicalizing effect can be seen in the GBR with activist focuses almost exclusively on protected areas and also around the CBD with enormous resources and energy devoted to protected area creation. GBR activists wanted to confront questions of political economic transformation (towards what they call a conservation-based economy), but I suggest that their ability to innovate and creatively secure such a transformation was actually hampered by their reliance upon conservation biology epistemologies, analyses and solutions. There is no doubt that new knowledge about the Great Bear Rainforest (and other forests and ecosystems) is necessary to intervene in the political struggles over it; to stop the 'exploitation axis' and promote the development of socially just and 140 biodiversity-friendly development and economies. But I suggest that 'we' - or the community of activists and organizations concerned with biodiversity conservation -explore other methodological approaches to both understanding and solving the biodiversity crisis. Less purified, more historically-rich socio-natural analyses could help us construct campaigns and, perhaps more importantly, build alliances towards transformative change. #1 Environmental Issue of 1999 The five commissioning environmental groups unveiled the results of the CAD at a time when they were experiencing successful returns from their campaigns. Going back to the characters which with I ended the previous chapter, in the fall of 1999, the McAllisters were named two of the 25 young leaders who are changing our world by Time Magazine (Canadian edition) for their efforts to protect the GBR. And only a couple months later, their 'child' - the GBR itself - received the dubious honour of being named the #1 Environmental issue of 1999 by Time magazine - "taking the top spot over population growth, Florida's everglades, global warming and Panda bear conservation" (Raincoast Conservation Society 1999). The Time article stated: "You don't have to be a conservationist to know trees that have stood tall for centuries should not be cut down to make paper and bookshelves" (quoted in Raincoast Conservation Society 1999). In particular, the market campaign reaped several successes. By December 1998, 27 major companies including Xerox, FedEx, Kinko's, 3M committed to purchasing only sustainably harvested wood (Shaw 2004, 379). The following year the 141 massive retailers Home Depot, Lowe's and Menards committed to phasing out forest products from endangered forests, including the GBR (Shaw 2004, 379). In the summer of 2000, Lowe's announced an immediate ban on wood from the GBR. The success of the market campaign empowered environmental groups, resulting in increased influence over the future of the GBR. The concluding chapter briefly describes the 'stay of execution' for the GBR agreed to by very disparate parties and reflects again on the protected areas prerogative in much biodiversity activism. 142 Chapter 5. The Politics of Nature The Story Continues When I started this project in 2002 I intended to follow the politics of science over the Great Bear Rainforest, politics that continue to the present (2006). Indeed just a few months ago (February 2006) the decade-long Land and Resource Management Plan process finally concluded securing over 2 million hectares of protected areas. For pragmatic reasons my story ends in 2001. In this final chapter I describe the GBR's 'stay of execution' - the interim protection of all its pristine watersheds on April 4th, 2001 - and the negotiations leading to this surprising announcement. The GBR shifted from a rare, pristine temperate rainforest needing protection to a rare, pristine, protected temperate rainforest, as prescribed by the Conservation Areas Design. But too, the GBR's corporate identity is also re-created through the negotiations leading to the April 4 th agreement. In this chapter I also sketch the outlines of the February 7 t h, 2006 announcement, which begs for sustained analytical attention. In the final half of this chapter I return to Bruno Latour's theorizing around environmental politics (what he calls political ecology) and science. Drawing upon critiques of Latour, particularly those who identify an unfortunate disavowal of power and interests in his work, I reflect upon some of the problematic exclusions in my own project, particularly in relation to First Nations. Given Latour's allergy to power and interests, it is Donna Haraway who provides a more useful approach to understanding how 'matters of fact' in environmental science, such as the protected area imperative, are stabilized. Inspired by Haraway's analysis of gene mapping, where she traces the 143 'triple strands' contributing to what she calls 'gene fetishism', this thesis ends with an examination of four strands contributing to 'protected area fetishism'. The Great Bear Rainforest's 'stay of execution' Strange Collaborations By the late 1990s environmentalist market campaigns came to fruition. Large consumers such as Home Depot and Lowes committed to phasing out forest products coming from the GBR, which created anxiety within the forest industry and increased the clout of the environmental coalition. Strange collaborations emerged out of these changing power relations. In the summer of 1999, on invitation from Greenpeace Germany and Greenpeace Canada, representatives of two large German associations (one representing pulp and paper, the other representing publishers) toured industrial activities in the GBR. Afterwards, apparently shocked by the scale of cutting, these BC forest products customers communicated their concern with the logging activities in the GBR to the forest companies and "indicated that several hundred million dollars of contracts could be cancelled if industry and government failed to establish a moratorium on the remaining large intact valleys on the coast" (Stanbury 2000, 209). These German associations then suggested that the companies work collaboratively with the environmental groups to develop a solution.46 4 6 To elaborate, in October 1999 the representatives of the German Associations sent the BC forest companies a letter setting out their views in detail with four main demands. 1. Province and companies should create a task force to work out solutions with environmental groups to the long standing conflicts over BC forests, and this task force should be the primary contact point for German associations. 2. This task force should develop a detailed schedule indicating how and when BC companies will achieve certification by an independent, internationally recognized certifying body. 3. Associations wanted the 144 Following the advice of the German companies, in the fall of 1999, discussions began between four major coastal logging companies - Interfor, Western Forest Products, WestFraser and Weyerhaeuser - plus two pulp companies - Norske Canada and CanFor (all six known collectively as the Coast Forest Conservation Initiative or CFCI) and some environmental groups known collectively as the Rainforest Solutions Project or RSP (groups at that time were Greenpeace, Coast Rainforest Coalition -eventually renamed Forest Ethics), and the Sierra Club of British Columbia). As Shaw (2004) writes, these two groups (CFCI and RSP) - who together eventually formed the Joint Solutions Project (JSP) - focused on the negotiation of a 'standstill' agreement -"a truce that would build trust and provide a framework for more serious and sustained negotiations" (380). By spring 2000 the two sides came to an agreement. The RSP groups would participate in the official government land use planning processes (the ones Merran Smith from the Sierra Club of BC chastised as 'business as usual') and halt their market campaign. In exchange, the CFCI companies would halt logging in all the pristine watersheds for an 18-month period in hope of reaching a solution to the conflict. As Smith noted, this moratorium was meant to be "just the first step in implementing a sustainable economic and ecological plan for the region" (Riddell 2000, unpaginated), eradicating the 'talk and log' scenario plaguing long-term land use planning. The ability for environmentalists to secure such an extensive moratorium stemmed from their success convincing consumers that the GBR was indeed a 'rare and endangered forest'. In other words, while it was the pressure from the market that caused industry to Prov ince to c rea te an L R M P table for the north coas t , l ike the centra l coas t . 4. The re shou ld be a l imited morator ium ordered by the P rov ince on logging in all prist ine va l leys or w a t e r s h e d s over 5 0 0 0 h a on the north and central coas t reg ions until the negot iat ion of a long term agreement . (Stanbury 2 0 0 0 , 209) 145 negotiate, the ability for the environmental groups to convince consumers of the importance of the GBR grew out of a wider set of 'materials' including arguments made by Moore and the CAD. Indeed as one campaigner commented in an interview (March 2004), it was materials like the CAD that 'scientifically' proved the ecological importance of particular watersheds that gave environmentalists their advantage over the forest industry both in the market and within their on-going negotiations. These sorts of materials, she commented, went far in discussions with large customers of the GBR's products. While the talks between the environmentalists and industry were not 'secret', many of the terms of their agreement were kept private. When news of the agreement went public in March 2000, this privacy and indeed, exclusion, led to much backlash amongst diverse parties like First Nations, unions, logging associations, and even parts of the government itself. Many expressed their anger over the strong role played by so-called external players such as foreign NGOs (i.e. Greenpeace Germany) and consumer associations (like the German ones noted above), claiming "their democratic rights were being subverted by a 'green conspiracy'" (Shaw 2004: 381). The Truck Loggers Association (TFL), representing 700 coast logging operations, attacked the agreement stating that "the people who live on the coast - not international environmentalists -- will decide how the land is used" (Hamilton 2000b). And where was the Province - the official landlord of BC's public forests? There is some indication that the Province was involved but their participation was ostensibly minimal (Stanbury 2000, 210). Apparently opinions within the NDP cabinet (at the time under the leadership of Premier Ujal Dosanj) was split between coastal MLAs who were 146 against it and more urban, environmental MLAs who were in support. The official response from the Provincial forest Minister was that these issues should be resolved in the government sanctioned land use planning process; he further diminished the agreement "by calling it 'a private chat'" (quoted in Hamilton 2000b). The Minister went on to state, "The reason we weren't supportive is there were only two people instead of the numbers that should have been around the table" (quoted in Hamilton 2000b) Although that was the official line from cabinet, it seems unlikely that there was not some relief felt by the government to have the two sides talking. Some First Nations in the moratorium area were also wholly unimpressed by these private negotiations that did not respect their aboriginal rights and title. In a letter to Interior CEO Ric Slaco, Chief Archie Pootlass of the Nuxalk Nation in Bella Coola expressed his outrage at the private negotiations: "Interfor and other companies are sitting down privately to decide upon the fate of lands which belong to neither party. They are ours and our neighbouring First Nations." (cited in McCullough 2000). In response to this backlash over the private negotiations, CFCI and RSP issued a joint statement apologizing for the process. Weyerhaeuser VP and spokesperson for CFCI Linda Coady recognized the need for other participants, subtly asking the government to step up as the official land owners of the forests: "We can't go ahead without the support of the other groups; we don't own the land," said Linda Coady, "We want to start over again and change the direction" (quoted in Hamilton 2000b). Catherine Stewart of Greenpeace also backpedaled from the notion that they had reached an 'agreement' with the forest industry groups: "We're just trying to establish some common ground...We're trying to make things easier for the decision-makers. 147 We're not trying to make plans for First Nations land" (quoted in McCullough 2000). The backlash to the negotiations, argues Shaw (2004), "forced the Joint Solutions Project to tread a fine line; they recognized the need for leadership and innovative solutions to forest struggles...[and] [t]heir own process was showing significant potential. However, it certainly would not work if those affected by their efforts did not feel they had a voice in the negotiations" (381). With their 'mistakes' behind them, JSP (both environmentalists and industry, together) set out to build broader support for the ENGO and Industry detente. The group opened up to include and build on the government-sponsored Land and Resource Management Plans (LRMPs), which are stakeholder driven processes to approve comprehensive regional land uses (Shaw 2004). As noted in chapter 4, an LRMP process for the central coast region - the CCLRMP - had been ongoing since 1996. In addition to linking their 'private' process to the public LRMP process, the JSP groups sponsored workshops and briefed organizations widely "to deepen and broaden consensus around the need for a restructuring of the forest industry" (Shaw 2004, 381). As the public agreements announced a year later demonstrate, JSP was successful in creating this consensus across a more diverse cross-section of stakeholders. April 4th, 2001 The announcement made on April 4 t h , 2001 realized many of the hopes and dreams for the GBR as set out by the Conservation Area Design. On this day, 42 of its precious watersheds were officially protected (603,000 hectares), and 77 others were deferred from forestry development (537,000 hectares) pending the development of a 148 scientifically rigorous ecosystem based management plan (see Figure 7 for a map of the decision), which would be done through the government-sanctioned Land and Resource Management Planning (LRMP) processes. More specifically, two agreements were signed on this day. The CCLRMP Phase One Framework Agreement was signed by main table stakeholders in the CCLRMP process including Provincial, ENGO, industry, labour, and local government representatives (First Nations signed a separate agreement with the Province detailed below). This agreement bound all the stakeholders to a moratorium on logging in the primary, pristine valleys as was agreed by JSP in their private negotiations. But it went further with 600,000 hectares placed into interim protected areas, bringing the protected areas in the region up to 21%, including the Princess Royal Island Protected Area, commonly referred to as 'Sprit Bear Island'. As per the JSP deal, the agreement also deferred development in 500,000 hectares (another 11% of the land base) while the plan process and further studies are undertaken. In addition, 4% of the landbase was set aside in Special Management Zones for Visual Quality - areas recognized for high tourism and recreational values. The agreement also established a 10 million dollar fund to help to mitigate the impacts on workers and communities, later increased to 25 million dollars in order to receive support for the agreement from the IWA and Truck Loggers Association. Figure 7. Map of April 4th, 2001 Agreements (Sierra Club of British Columbia website) © Sierra Club of British Columbia, by permission. Finding Rainforest Solutions - The First Step! Phase 1 Decisions for the Great Bear Rainforest 150 As the 'Phase One' in the name of this agreement implies, this agreement was only the first step towards developing a comprehensive plan for the entire Great Bear Rainforest, a plan to be determined through participation in the CCLRMP process. But the Framework Agreement also committed the parties to a particular approach to that plan, known as 'Ecosystem Based Management' (EBM). To develop the notion of EBM as it relates to the GBR, the agreement also specifies the need for a 'Collaborative Knowledge System/Independent Information Team'. Most coastal First Nations (Nations of Gitga'at, Haida, Haisla, Heiltsuk, Kitasoo/Xaixais, Metlakatla, two Tribal Councils (Old Massett Village Council, Skidegate Band Council) signed their own agreement with the Province, known as the General Protocol Agreement on Land Use Planning and Interim Measures. The General Protocol agreement established a government-to-government relationship between the First Nations and the Province for the land use planning process. This elevation of First Nations from the status of 'stakeholders' along with others (like environmentalists, forest industry) to status of government signals a critical shift in discourse. The Protocol set out the conditions for continued First Nations participation in the LRMP process. This included support for First Nations to do their own land use planning and agreement to pursue interim measures for economic development. But more importantly, in my view, the Protocol set out a government-to-government conflict resolution process for First Nations to address issues resulting from decisions made in the LRMP processes. However, it is crucial to note that the Province retained all jurisdictional authority over the space, and only committed to working with First Nations on a government-to-government basis. 151 Given the corporate hold over the coast for the last 50 or so years, these agreements represent an almost unfathomable change, and were a rousing success for environmentalists and many First Nations on the coast. Indeed, the GBR received its' 'stay of execution' from the clearcutting onslaught that was slated to occur in most watersheds 4 7 Merran Smith, Sierra Club campaigner stated: Clayoquot Sound, with six valleys, put B.C.'s rainforests on the international stage. The Great Bear Rainforest has over 100 large pristine rainforest valleys. It is the largest temperate rainforest in the world. Every single rainforest valley in B.C.'s Great Bear Rainforest is now either permanently protected or protected for the next one to two years. This is the day that marks the beginning of a shift in British Columbia's reputation on the world stage from environmental culprit to environmental hero (quoted in Hamilton and Kines 2001). While the market campaign increased the political power of the environmental coalition to the point where they could demand the moratorium and new protected areas, the Moore study and the CAD also played important roles. Indeed as Sierra Club campaigner Bill Wareham writes, "The markets campaign was an essential leverage point for our negotiations. However, without a long-term vision and the scientific and economic analysis to back it up, the markets campaign would have been a standoff and nothing more" (Wareham undated). The CAD in particular was used within the negotiations up to the April 4 t h agreement and afterwards. In a funding report, Sierra Club campaigner Bill Wareham directly noted the importance of the CAD for the April 4 t h protected area successes (Wareham undated). The CAD also helped within the market campaign itself. As one interviewee (March 2004) stated, the CAD maps also helped convince large consumers of the importance of particular watersheds, In env i ronmenta l is t l i terature on the G B R it is c o m m o n to s e e re fe rences to the immanen t death of the G B R by c learcut t ing. Fo r e x a m p l e in the McAl l i s te r et a l . (1997) book: "Virtual ly every o n e of the eighty-odd major undis turbed d ra inages in the northern region is under app l icat ion for c learcut t ing by large forest c o m p a n i e s , and if no dec is i ve act ion is taken in the next seve ra l yea rs , the opportuni ty to s a v e the p lanet 's mos t important rainforest w i l de rness will be lost" (8). 152 By fall of 99, we had a draft from Round River, which cost us 200,000 and was a significant amount of work for all the groups involved. This was the first time anything like this had been done on such a scale. It was hugely powerful with customers - we could show, look X salmon stream will die because of logging here. It was reasonably credible, solid - and helped customers make their decisions. It moved concern for the forest from the solely aesthetic. The Headline in the Vancouver Sun on April 5 t h shouted out: '"From global pariah to eco-hero in one day': Agreement ends 'war in the woods'" (Hamilton and Kines 2001). Other local papers around the province like the Daily Bulletin in Kimberly, BC stated: "War in woods virtually over". However, most people interviewed in media articles stated that this agreement was only the beginning of a much longer negotiation process. Ray Pillman of the BC Outdoor Recreation Council (representing hunters) stated, "I'm not sure we've actually reached a final deal yet. We're always optimistic we would reach some sort of a deal. The one we have isn't very firm, and we still have quite a few years worth of work to do" (quoted in Culbert 2001). Ian Gill, president of Ecotrust Canada, wrote in a Vancouver Sun article that "the battle over whose science gets to determine what gets further protection and what gets opened to logging is far from over" (Gill 2001). Linda Coady of forest company Weyerhaeuser called it a "scary new model" and expressed her concern about the potential for success, even though Weyerhaeuser signed on. "There's a lot of uncertainty as to how this will work. But one thing is certain -the old system wasn't working. There is an appetite for change. And we are willing to go down the road of ecosystem-based planning - even though we don't know if it is economically viable" (quoted in Hume 2001). Coady was frank in noting that industry was forced into the deal due to the market campaign. 153 Identity Shift In some ways the April 4 t h announcement marks an identity shift for the GBR; it is no longer a rare, pristine space in need of protection, but rather a rare, pristine and protected space. The GBR is a network of protected areas. But the GBR is also a deeply corporate space. Indeed environmentalists may have actually strengthened corporate hold over the GBR through their choice of 'private' negotiating partners, re-affirming the legitimacy, power and rights of the large tenure holders over the space. Even though the General Protocol affirms First Nations as a 'government' with special interests in the space, there is no change in jurisdictional power or tenure associated with the agreement, so the forests are still under the purview of the Province and the tenure holders. But while the 42 new protected watersheds and deferral of logging in 77 others formed the major part of the announcement (and indeed were vital to securing environmental agreement), they were only the start of a larger process of negotiation over the future of the GBR, albeit one bound by the principles of Ecosystem Based Management (EBM). EBM is a concept closely linked to conservation biology and biodiversity conservation. As a key theorist and practitioner Herb Hammond notes, "An ecosystem based approach is the practical application of the sciences of landscape ecology (connections and interaction of forest stands across the landscape) and conservation biology" (Hammond undated). Without developing the argument, I note that EBM continues the on-going influence of conservation biology and associated sciences like ecology on the life course of the GBR. And as with the Moore study and 154 the CAD, protected areas and large-scale conservation planning remain central , although certainly EBM consists of far more than simply protected areas. 4 9 Much transpired in the years following the April 4 t h agreements; a new science body (the Coast Information Team) emerged to provide 'independent science' to the LRMP negotiations and guide the development of EBM; court rulings re-affirmed the Province's duty to accommodate First Nations interests in land and resource decisions; further scientific reports called for increased protected areas in the GBR; enormous sums of money were raised to support the move to conservation; a new government was elected and then re-elected; and negotiations crept along at the LRMP tables. In May 2004, the CCLRMP table concluded its work and gave its recommendations to the Province. The recommendations included a land use zone map delineating protection areas and other land use categorizations. The recommendations also incorporated specific details on how EBM should be enacted in the GBR beyond the protected areas including recommendations for changed forest practices and new implementation institutions. However, these recommendations represented consensus among stakeholders and the Province; First Nations did not sign on at this point. As such, the LRMP process then moved into 'government to government negotiations' between the Province and E B M , a s def ined by most proponents , has an expl ic i t h ierarchy e m b e d d e d within it. Fo r eco log is t Herb H a m m o n d , " E c o n o m i e s are part of human cul tures, and human cul tures are part of e c o s y s t e m s . There fore , protect ing e c o s y s t e m funct ioning prov ides for heal thy h u m a n cul tures, and the e c o n o m i e s that are part of these cul tures" ( H a m m o n d undated, unpaginated) . W i th the E B M a p p r o a c h , a major pr inciple is " focus on what to leave , not on what to take". In other words , an E B M p lann ing p r o c e s s will dec i de what to protect first and then s e e what is left over to ded ica te to other u s e s . T h u s , E B M m e a n s you build the protected a r e a s s y s t e m first and then layer other ' s ys tems ' on top. 4 9 Wi th in the pr inc ip les a g r e e d upon on Apr i l 4 t h , 2 0 0 1 , there are four pr inc ip les relat ing to Abor ig ina l r ights and over 15 s o c i o - e c o n o m i c pr inc ip les including potential ly t ransformat ive o n e s l ike: "Rede f i ne tenure a r rangemen ts to m a k e them more equi tab le" and "Prov ide greater local e m p l o y m e n t and e c o n o m i c benef i ts to commun i t i es through i nc reased local a c c e s s to local r esou rces " (Centra l C o a s t Land and R e s o u r c e M a n a g e m e n t P l a n F ramework A g r e e m e n t 2001) . 155 affected First Nations. Finally, on February 7 t h, 2006, the LRMP process concluded, receiving much international fanfare. Articles announcing the land use plan appeared the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Chicago Sun-Times, the Moscow Times, the Taipei Times, and even in the Jamaica Observer! Most of these articles focused on the gigantic area to be protected from logging - a whopping 2 million hectares. This number includes previously protected areas (443,000 ha), newly negotiated protected areas (1.3 million ha), and area within the newly created biodiversity area zone, in which no logging or commercial hydroelectric projects can occur (297,000 ha). By this land use plan more than 100 new protected areas were established. Media attention focused primarily on these huge numbers but the LRMP consensus also included a commitment to revised resource management rules, particularly in regards to forestry. These rules contain higher standards for environmental values and are meant to facilitate lighter touch forestry. New resource management institutions also emerged from these agreements, although they were quietly released without fanfare later in the year. These institutions are responsible for implementing and monitoring EBM in the plan area and give participating First Nations a greater say in land and resource decision-making.50 If the April 4 t h agreement seemed unfathomable, the February 7 t h agreement seems - on the surface - to be off the charts! Indeed I hope further projects will help make sense of how these agreements came to be and their relation to the history I have outlined in this thesis. I say 'part ic ipat ing' First Nat ions b e c a u s e there are a handful of af fected First Nat ions w h o have not s i gned on to any ag reemen ts and cont inue to protest the entire p rocess . 156 In the final conclusion to this project I reflect more generally on environmental politics, environmental science and what I call protected areas fetishism by turning back to Bruno Latour and Donna Haraway. The Politics of Nature In his book The Politics of Nature, Latour critiques environmentalism (what he calls political ecology) for attempting to speak for 'Nature' through the singular and authoritative voice of Science. Political ecology, argues Latour, has failed to 'get out of the Cave' relying upon the problematic division between the social world of politics and the natural world of truth (as told by Science). In Latour's view, environmental strategies (political ecology) relying on the solutions of Science (i.e. the voices of those supposedly able to 'see' objectively outside the Cave), have the affect of paralyzing politics: "If political ecology poses a problem, it is not because it finally introduces nature into political preoccupations that had earlier been too exclusively oriented towards humans, it is because it continues, alas, to use nature to abort politics" (19, his italics) In other words, by taking science as "a mirror of the world", ecology movements render politics powerless "through the threat of incontestable nature" (10). This confidence in Science promotes the belief that the "world had already been constituted, for the most part, under the auspices of Science" (83). The reliance on Cave-like epistemology, Latour argues, short-circuits "any and all questioning as to the nature of complex bonds between the sciences and societies, through the invocation of Science as the only salvation from the prison of the social world" (13). One can see threads of this in the environmental politics of the GBR, particularly as the CAD is declared the foundation or the framework upon which we can 157 layer other areas like economies or communities. And even more so, one can see this in statements of The Nature Conservancy (TNC), like those by Brandon et al. (1998), who argue that biodiversity protection should be an enterprise based on sound science. The invocation of science is also exemplified in the shift to large-scale conservation planning by many environmental NGOs, such as the hotspot programme developed by Conservation International. Such approaches to conservation are viewed as "the end result of scientific processes based on biological - as opposed to social or political criterion" (Chapin 2004, 23). Many different tactics are taken to secure these ideal geographies on the ground - in the GBR the market campaign was critical for gaining political leverage, whereas Conservation International utilizes its' significant political and economic capital to gain control of the 'hotspots'. Latour's critique is compelling and relevant, but less as an overarching critique of environmentalism and more as a critique that applies to some environmentalists some of the time. In the GBR, activists did call on Science to speak for Nature as with the CAD, but they also deviated from that ideal geography within the course of political negotiations. In early 2006, environmentalists accepted 33% protection of the GBR, which is short of the 50% recommended by the CAD. While science, especially conservation biology, was and is central to many biodiversity activists, the GBR activists were strategic and practical in their adherence to it. Conservation biology guided many of their 'asks' and campaign proposals in particular ways, but it was not the only influence. However compelling his argument is, we do not see Latour's critique applied to an actual, living environmental movement in The Politics of Nature. In a review of 158 Latour's most recent writings, Joel Wainwright (2005) identifies this missing application as a major problem with Latour's critique of environmentalism and his re-worked political ecology, stating that his argument "lacks worldliness" and does not "inquire into the social and political realities under which realities actually emerge" (119). Furthermore and most relevant to my project, Wainwright accuses him of failing to deal with "thorny problems of power, discourse, and history" (119) and not asking critical questions such as "why only certain actors [such as conservation biologists] can speak effectively" (119). In other words and in direct reference to his argument in The Politics of Nature, Latour does not explore critical questions such as: in whose interests does this particular form of political ecology or environmentalism exist? For Wainwright this failure stems from Latour's steadfast distain for theories of 'interests' (i.e. class, race, gender). In his short book War of Worlds Latour states his aversion for critical theorizing based upon 'explanations resorting automatically to power, society and discourse", as they find causation with "powerful agents hidden in the dark" (cited in Wainwright 2005, 121). Explanations such as 'discourse, knowledge-slash-power, fields of forces, empires, capitalism' are "no more than conspiracy talk" for Latour (Wainwright 2005, 121). For Latour such explanations such as colonialism and racism are themselves purified entities that do little to help us understand our world. Wainwright's critique of Latour is similar to criticisms put forward by others such as Donna Haraway (1997a) and Kirsten Campbell (2004). Haraway critiques Latour's focus on the existence of "startling hybrids of the human and nonhuman in technoscience" and believes it is more "epistemologically, politically and emotionally powerful" to "ask for whom and how these hybrids work" (Haraway 1997a, 280). For 159 Haraway, the scientist bestowed with the power to witness (in Latour's terms, to leave the Cave, or practice Science) is "linked with high class, effective power, and masculine gender" (Haraway 1997a, 31 ).51 Campbell (2004) summarizes a number of feminist responses to Latour, noting the 'suspicious' line he draws around what can be studied. Latour, argues Campbell, "excludes notions of structural inequalities such as class, gender, and race, for these are 'black box' categories that pre-exist our studies of science" (168). Campbell cites Sandra Harding, who argues that this approach to science studies is "artificially restricted to the micro processes of the laboratory and research community, explicitly excluding race, gender, and class relations," which in turn separates "research communities from the larger social, economic, and political currents in their societies" (Harding 1991, 162; cited in Campbell 2004, 168). Haraway (1997) agrees with Latour in that that many theorists and analysts have problematically drawn upon concepts like racism, class and gender as 'black boxes' - but she notes that there are many feminists now focused on showing how race, class and gender come into being or are produced through technoscience. My own project falls into this problematic avoidance of larger social currents. In particular, my work has largely ignored issues of how Aboriginal people were brought into the becoming of the GBR and the science surrounding it. This was not done blindly. The Aboriginal politics around the GBR are very complicated and I did not have enough research or evidence to characterize the relations, except in simplistic and sweeping manners. In some ways this was in response Bruce Braun's (2002) Intemperate 5 1 But H a r a w a y (1997a) is carefu l in a footnote to her cr i t ique to say that Latour h a s taken up s o m e feminist cr i t iques (279) and a lso e x p r e s s e s her apprec ia t ion of La tour 's work. 160 Rainforest, which while excellent as an examination of the textual representations of Aboriginal peoples by environmentalists, also, in my view, simplified the very complex relations between First Nations peoples and environmentalists. There are places within this project where I could have drawn out similar conclusions to Braun, but this was not my project aim and they would have been simplified characterizations. That said, in avoiding it almost completely, I too created a much cleaner, simpler analysis, inimical to what I set out to do. In addition to this gaping hole made by avoidance of First Nations, I believe I have falsely propped conservation biology up as the sole cause of protected areas dominance within biodiversity conservation pursuit. Up to this point in my thesis, I have largely focused on drawing out some of the problematic effects of knowledge practices. I have argued that conservation biology contributed to the creation of the GBR as a rare, pristine temperate rainforest in need of protection. Further, I argued that conservation biology provides a problematic epistemological foundation for biodiversity activists due to its overwhelming focus on protected areas, a fetishism that detracts time and energy from other, potentially more transformative biodiversity solutions. But in focusing on the knowledge practices I only scantly touched upon the many forces propping up this dominant approach to biodiversity conservation, concentrating in chapter 4 on the purification epistemologies found within conservation biology. I think I may have been too simplistic in creating the link between conservation biology and protected areas fetishism when the picture is much more complicated than that, as always. 161 Thus, while I have relied upon Latour throughout my thesis to describe knowledge practices at work, his theorizations around science and environmental politics are less useful; I cannot explain protected areas fetishism by invoking the Cave metaphor alone, or by accusing environmentalists of using science to abort politics. To help ferret out the contributions to 'protected area fetishism' I turn back to Donna Haraway's Modest Witness (1997a) and her analysis of genetics. The 'four strands' of protected areas fetishism Haraway (1997a) describes gene mapping as a type of 'corporealization' or spatialization of the body (141). Corporealization is "the interaction of humans and non-human in the distributed, heterogeneous work processes of technoscience. The work processes result in specific material-semiotic bodies - or natural-technical objects of knowledge and practice - such as cells, molecules, genes, organisms, viruses, ecosystems, and the like" (141-142). These work processes involve "institutions, narratives, legal structures, power-differentiated human labour, technical practices, analytic apparatus, and much more" (142). Like Daston's 'scientific object', the resulting 'material-semiotic body' (such as the rare, temperate rainforest of BC or the Great Bear Rainforest) is not a "fixed, seemingly objective thing" (142), but rather a node in a 'web of integration'. Fetishism, Haraway argues, results when the node - that material-semiotic body of heterogeneous relationality (142) - is mistaken for a 'fixed, objective thing'. Similarly, protected areas are fetishized when they are mistaken an autotelic thing into themselves, forgetting that they are a node "in webs of integrations" (142). Within much 162 conservation thought and practice, protected areas, I have argued, have become 'ends' or truths in themselves - spaces necessary for biodiversity conservation. This has problematic effects - particularly the concealment and/or displacement of other approaches to biodiversity conservation. In Haraway's analysis, gene fetishism is held up by triple strands, 'economic, psychoanalytic, and philosophical" (143). In conclusion to my project I weave through what I see as some dominant influences propping up protected area fetishism. They are not the same as Haraway's (or nearly as eloquently theorized) but are inspired by her approach to "ferret out how relations and practices get mistaken for ... things-in-themselves"(141). Thus below I draw attention to some parts of the 'web' holding up protected areas as the dominant approach to biodiversity conservation.52 Protected areas as politically possible The dominant political economy found in many parts of the world, what I have characterized very generally as growth-oriented, high-throughput and capitalist is one strand contributing to protected area fetishism. As an approach to biodiversity conservation largely compatible with this dominant political economy, protected areas are generally considered politically palatable by many of the powers-that-be, such as governments and corporations. This palatability, I suggest, is precisely because protected areas do not challenge the contemporary political economy nor power relations surrounding control of land, resources and profits from them. For example, I would suggest that the enactment of protected areas in British Columbia has not 5 2 It is important to note that the fol lowing d i s c u s s i o n did not form the c rux of my resea rch and a s s u c h shou ld be taken a s prel iminary thoughts on the larger soc ia l context, not a s substant ia l r esea rch f indings. 163 disrupted relations surrounding control of forest resources and the distribution of revenues from the use of those resources. Although there are examples where the establishment of protected areas have resulted in a disruption to the local political-economy (as discussed in chapter 4), these are usually minor hiccups in the broader scheme of the nation's economy and usually impact more on individuals and workers than corporate entities and shareholders. Protected areas don't 'rock the boat' as much as say trying to alter land tenure or remove entrenched incentives for biodiversity-adverse developments (i.e. corporate subsidies encouraging exploration and foreign investment). Thus, due to the relatively minor threat of their creation, activists face less opposition in their efforts to construct protected areas. Indeed, protected areas are an approach to biodiversity conservation embraced by many governments, industries, and their shareholders. So while many biodiversity activists may lament the state of the growth-oriented, capitalist political-economy and daydream about its demise, the widespread acceptance of protected areas by powerful actors provides much incentive for activists to focus their energy on an approach where wins are more likely (but still difficult). In other words, because of their compatibility with 'business-as-usual' and the contemporary political-economic system, protected areas are often 'winnable' campaigns. This, in turn, encourages activists to use the approach, which in turn contributes to the entrenchment of protected areas as the main approach to biodiversity conservation. 164 Conservation Funding Sources Conservation funding sources also work to prop up particular approaches to biodiversity conservation. In the GBR, for example, private foundations made up a large portion of the campaign funds, and these foundations prefer particular approaches and outcomes. For example, the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation has been a long-supporter of the GBR campaign. In 2003 alone they donated two million dollars to Rainforest Solutions Project, a coalition of large ENGOs. Hewlett is directed by an overall goal to "ensure conservation is the primary management aim on ecologically significant land in the West" (Hewlett Foundation website, their emphasis) or put more succinctly, "protect the remaining natural, open spaces of the North American West from degradation by industries, exurban sprawl, and property development" (Hewlett Foundation 2006, 3). The Packard Foundation contributed approximately 18 million US in support of the GBR and Taku River campaigns (Findlay 2004). That kind of capital does not go without influence! The prerogatives of these foundations are themselves shaped by their own dense nodes and factors, one of which is conservation biology.53 For example, the Packard Foundation recently hired Dr. Walter Reid as the head of their Conservation and Science funding program. Dr. Reid is closely linked with conservation biology and ecosystem science - he is a past board member to the Society of Conservation Biology. The Wilburforce Foundation, another funding source for the GBR, has a representative on the Board of the Society for Conservation Biology. The sheer capital power of foundations combines with particular approaches to biodiversity conservation - of which 5 3 It is important to note that ques t ions a round funding and the G B R did not form the co re of my research and is an a r e a for further explorat ion. 165 many focus on protected areas. Indeed, since foundation funds themselves grow with a spiralling stock market or with the growth of the economy, foundations themselves might directly compromise their existence by supporting biodiversity activism questioning and acting against the growth economy itself. In addition to private foundation funds, public or multilateral funding agencies also add large amounts of capital into the mix. Again, these are also directed in particular ways. Just one quick example - the Global Environment Facility (GEF) recently awarded Conservation International with 25 million for their hotspot program, of which much will be dedicated to expanding new protected areas in 14 biodiversity hotspots. Their proposal to the GEF reads: "Protected areas remain a critical foundation of biodiversity conservation worldwide, yet only 5% of globally significant biodiversity within most hotspots is currently protected" (Global Environment Facility 2006, 5). This 25 million is on top of another 25 million provided by the MacArthur Foundation and 25 million awarded by the Government of Japan. Biodiversity loss as a salvation history As Haraway (1997a) argues, the work processes constructing bodies like genes or protected areas involve a whole range of human and non-human actors, institutions, narratives, legal structures, technical practices, analytic apparatus, and so on. While the two previous 'strands' or influences focus on how the contemporary political economy and 'capital' contribute to protected area fetishism, these influences interact with scientific stories of loss and conservation. 166 Biodiversity loss is often communicated as an impending disaster, requiring drastic and urgent action. In the preface to the second Global Biodiversity Outlook, a document tracking trends in biodiversity, the newly appointed Executive Secretary demonstrates this: Biodiversity loss is rapid and ongoing. Over the last 50 years, humans have changed ecosystems faster and more extensively than in any comparable period of time in human history. Tropical forests, many wetlands and other natural habitats are shrinking in size. Species are going extinct at rates 1,000 times the background rates typical of Earth's past (Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity 2006). Indeed, as chronicled through this project, the becoming of the GBR is one rooted in the impending death of the global temperate rainforests. Haraway (1997a) refers to stories leaning on fear and disaster (like those of biodiversity loss) as "apocalyptic disaster-and-salvation stories" (43). For Haraway, many technoscience narratives are secularized Christian tropes, hoping to lead us to salvation and ultimately the "fulfilment and restoration of human nature" (44). The fear of impending disaster bound up in the technoscientific narratives surrounding biodiversity loss creates a distinctive sense of urgency and immediacy. Such an urgent timeline requires an urgent response to save us from impending doom. 'We' cannot wait; we must act now. It is either "Save or Delete" biodiversity as the Greenpeace campaign slogan hysterically shouts.5 4 The strength of this narrative within the technoscientific world of biodiversity loss and conservation contributes to the fetishism of protected areas. We cannot wait for other solutions; we must act now. Within this urgency, protected areas come to the rescue as immediate salvation, like Noah protected the earth's animals from the flood by ushering them onto the ark. We S e e h t tp : / /a rch ive .q reenpeace.org /saveorde le te / 167 must save biodiversity quickly, so regardless of the complex factors causing biodiversity loss it is best if we just cordon off biodiversity-rich spaces off from humans completely. One can see how the urgent salvation narrative of biodiversity loss interacts positively with the palatability of protected areas described above (the first 'strand'). If the problem is urgent, best to solve it with the least resistance possible.55 Western Wilderness Roots of Conservation Biology In this thesis, I have hopefully shown how conservation biology helps constitute new advocacy 'counter-objects', objects that are often defined in terms of their need for protection. In tracing some strands compounding protected area fetishism, I must finally return back to the scientific rationales propping up protected areas as critical to biodiversity. Recall in chapter 2, where I described some of the main rationales for protected areas baseline, backstop, and metapopulation (Clapp 2004). First, protected spaces (without significant human influence) are "vital benchmarks for natural processes]" (842), they act as a "baseline or scientific control against which the effects of intensive landscape transformations can be compared" (842). Secondly, protected areas provide insurance or a backstop "against mismanagement or unexpected consequences of industrial resource use" (842), which may include extinctions or resource depletion. Third, protected areas are "essential population sources" (Clapp 2004, 843) and "zones of excess reproduction" that help re-populate the wider 5 5 A s with Ha raway , I d raw attention to this 'sa lvat ion history' contr ibut ing to protected a rea fe t ish ism a p p r o a c h not to promote " comp lacency " to the threats to biodiversi ty, but rather to d raw attention to the w a y s those threats a re bound within a narrat ive of urgent sa lva t ion , one that a l so he lps to e n c o u r a g e certain r e s p o n s e s (protected a reas ) . A s H a r a w a y (1997a) a rgues , "There is no w a y out of s tor ies; but no matter what the O n e - E y e d Father s a y s , there are many poss ib le st ructures, not to ment ion contents , of narrat ion. C h a n g i n g the s tor ies, in both mater ia l and semio t ic s e n s e s is a modes t intervention worth mak ing" (45). Different story l ines, with different e m p h a s i s , cou ld lead to different intervent ions. 168 landscape and maintain healthy metapopulations (a network of local populations linked by dispersal). These rationales give protected areas the appearance of a 'fixed, objective entity'. However, these seemingly 'objective' rationales are deeply connected to the production of biodiversity and conservation biology in North America, and more specifically, within North American academia. This birthplace and forefathers carry within them many "factual, political and emotional arguments in defense of nature" (Takacs 1996, 42), one of which is the pursuit of wilderness preservation. While protected areas are promoted as a "purely scientific, objective entity" to protecting biodiversity, both protected areas and biodiversity are deeply entwined within North American notions of wilderness and nature. No matter how much biodiversity provides a more reasoned package for conservation efforts, it cannot escape its constitution in and amongst a desire for wilderness. Based on his interviews with some of the forefathers of biodiversity, Takacs argues wilderness is "smuggled in" under the rubric of biodiversity (43). In other words, the constitutive creation of biodiversity and the discipline dedicated to saving it are deeply linked with wilderness preservation - the protection of large, 'wild' spaces from humans. This founding feature, I suggest (along with others like Cronon 1995), goes a long way in cementing protected area fetishism within conservation biology. As noted in the introduction to this thesis, wilderness has been critiqued from a variety of locations and for varying rationales. Takacs summarizes wilderness as "redolent of class privilege, culturally rooted, and ontologically precarious" (42). Cronon argues that wilderness promotes the notion that humans are separate from nature and 169 is enmeshed within bourgeois and urban interests. Some of these same problematic features seem to be still present within present day conservation biology. While I have not done extensive research on this question, much of the science research carried out in the GBR (for example the Moore study and the CAD, as well as later studies under the Coast Information Team) are largely white, university-educated, male professionals. A quick glance at the Board for the Society for Conservation Biology demonstrates a widening of the 'Club of Rome' (recall in Chapter 1 - the Club of Rome was formed in the inaugural conference on biodiversity), but also Conservation Biology's steadfast location in North America. Of 20 board members to the Society, 15 are located in North America and Europe and 14 are male, somewhat parochial for "an international professional organization dedicated to promoting the scientific study of the phenomena that affect the maintenance, loss, and restoration of biological diversity" (Society of Conservation Biology website). In sum, scientific rationales help constitute protected areas as a 'fixed, purely scientific entities", entities necessary for protecting biodiversity. But despite their appearance as objective things-to-themselves, these entities emerge out of a specific place (North America), with specific people (largely white, male professionals) and amongst specific ideals of wilderness preservation. Final Thoughts My primary interest in this research project was to trace some 'technoscientific practices' constitutive of the Great Bear Rainforest. I asked, how does conservation biology/ecological science help constitute a particular kind of place, a particular kind of 170 forest, and a particular approach to biodiversity activism? In these tracings, I found a rare, endangered rainforest desperately needing protection and an environmental movement hell-bent on securing them (and ultimately successful in doing so). From these tracings I have argued that the 'technoscientific practices' surrounding the GBR are fetishistic, mistaking protected areas as a fixed, objective 'thing-in-itself necessary for biodiversity conservation, rather than an entity constituted through heterogeneous human and non-human relations. I have focused on this issue of conservation biology, protected areas and biodiversity conservation not to undermine the biodiversity issue or the enormous efforts of environmentalists in the GBR, but rather to try to understand the on-going dominance of protected areas within biodiversity activist efforts. I believe this thesis has gone some way in demonstrating the critical (and problematic) role of conservation sciences (particularly conservation biology) in creating and maintaining this dominance, although there is clearly more research to be done on this subject, in BC and elsewhere. Indeed, my examination of the GBR falls far from telling the whole story, ending too soon and focusing on such a small part of the process. What if the identity of the Great Bear Rainforest was not completely enmeshed within protected areas? What if the story of biodiversity conservation was not completely wrapped up within protected areas? What could happen in the unexpected? As Haraway (1997a) suggests, "Changing the stories, in both material and semiotic senses is a modest intervention worth making" (45). The technoscientific complex of protected areas is strong, but it is vital that 'we' - the community of concerned biodiversity 171 activists, scientists and citizens - draw upon a more diverse set of knowledge practices and stories in our pursuit of socially just biodiversity conservation. 172 Works Cited Barnes, T. 2005. Culture: Economy. In Spaces of Geographical Thought, eds. P. Cloke and R.J. Johnson, 61-80. Sage: Thousand Oaks, CA and London, UK. and R. Hayter, ed. 1997. 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